Gospel Story Finder

When I was growing up, my body struggled with gamma globulin anemia. I had a hard time fighting off germs, so I got sick a lot.
One night I woke up with painful earaches. They hurt so badly that I thought my head was going to explode! I remember my mother and father coming into my room. My mother sat on the side of the bed and cradled me in her arms. Then my father placed his hands on my head and gave me a priesthood blessing. In that blessing, He told me that my Father in Heaven knew me. He was aware of my pain. He would bless me to sleep through the rest of the night.
I soon relaxed, fell asleep, and slept through the night and late into the morning. When I woke up, my ears felt better. But it still took several years before I was completely healed from my illness.
Over the next several years, my father continued to give me priesthood blessings to give me strength. He taught me that those blessings were opportunities for Heavenly Father to speak to me. My sickness became a way for Heavenly Father to help my faith to grow.

“Hi, my name is Robbie. I’m a senior in high school. Last night I had the inspiration that I need to write in a journal, so that’s what I’ll do. I kinda have already, but I’m hit-and-miss on random pieces of paper.”
This was the first official entry in Robbie S.’s journal. “It just kind of started like that,” Robbie says, “and then it started to transform, and I started to figure out why I needed to keep a journal.”
Robbie explains that he used to think keeping a journal was just for posterity, but then as he read in the scriptures each day and actually wrote down the impressions and ideas that came to him as he read, an important discovery came to him: “When I started to read my scriptures and write in my journal at the same time, I figured out that’s one way you receive revelation.”
Since ninth grade, Robbie had been consistently reading from the scriptures, but it was after turning to the “Pray and Study the Scriptures” section in Fulfilling My Duty to God: For Aaronic Priesthood Holders that he decided to transform his scripture reading into scripture study. He set a goal to read from the Book of Mormon every day and write in a journal about what he had read and about his day. Robbie liked how he could set his own goals in Duty to God. He says it was more personal and he felt like he was doing more than just checking off boxes to earn an award. “I really like that Duty to God is something you do your whole life,” he adds.
“As I studied the scriptures and wrote things in my journal afterward, I would look down at what I had written and say, ‘That is not me who wrote that.’ It was personal inspiration given directly to me from God. I have received answers to prayers and counsel for my life on things that I need to do better. I had no idea revelation worked that way.”

During Christmastime, I especially miss our little grandson Paxton. Born with a rare genetic disorder, Paxton suffered from countless health problems. Heavenly Father taught our family many special and tender lessons during the three short years Paxton blessed our lives.
My sister, Nancy Schindler, made a beautiful quilt in honor of Paxton. She called it “Name above All Names.” The quilt features 26 of the names of Jesus Christ—names beginning with the letters A through Z. The quilt reminds me of the glorious future family reunion with Paxton made possible through the Savior’s suffering, sacrifice, and Resurrection.
The quilt inspired me to begin a study of the names of Jesus Christ as revealed in the scriptures. Researching His names has become part of my personal scripture study. So far, I have identified hundreds of names for the Savior.
One of my responsibilities as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and as stated in the Doctrine and Covenants, is to bear testimony of Jesus Christ. The Doctrine and Covenants states, “The twelve traveling councilors are called to be the Twelve Apostles, or special witnesses of the name of Christ in all the world” (D&C 107:23; emphasis added).
Recently I was asked to speak during a sacrament meeting at Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. I felt prompted to speak about Jesus Christ and His hopeful names. I bore testimony of the Savior as “the bright and morning star” (Revelation 22:16), a “high priest of good things to come” (Hebrews 9:11), “a God of miracles” who rose “with healing in his wings” (2 Nephi 27:23; 25:13), “The Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6; 2 Nephi 19:6), and “the resurrection, and the life” (John 11:25).
At Christmastime, I like to recite the Savior’s different names as I walk to and from my office through the Christmas lights on Temple Square. I start with A, “Alpha and Omega” (Revelation 1:8); B, “the babe” of Bethlehem (Luke 2:12, 16); C, “Counsellor” (Isaiah 9:6; see 2 Nephi 19:6); D, “the Deliverer” (Romans 11:26); E, the “exalted one” (Psalm 89:19); F, “the founder of peace” (Mosiah 15:18); and so on.
Throughout this Christmas season, I look forward to memorizing more of His names and to looking for opportunities to honor His name. As you strive to make a difference this Christmas season, I hope you will make the Savior the center of your efforts and that you will bring glory to Him as you serve others in His name.

When I joined the Church, I didn’t fully understand the deep significance of the law of tithing. However, I knew and trusted you, Elder Dan Hawkley, and I made a promise to you to pay tithing. I could tell you were anxious that I should keep that promise.
In 1964 there was only one mission in Japan, the Northern Far East Mission. A few months after you taught me, you were transferred to a place far away from my small branch. As you left by express train, these were your parting words: “Dear Brother Hotta, pay your tithing and keep the Sabbath day holy.”
I could not forget the challenge I had been given. However, to be honest, I must admit that I was anxious to buy a beautiful and glittering Japanese Bible like the one you had. I wanted it to help me remember what I had been taught, as well as to remember the elder who had helped to teach me. But it was too expensive for me to buy one.
I reasoned that if I didn’t pay my tithing, I could obtain the Bible. Satan spoke in a whisper: “Buy it. It’s your money. Don’t worry.”
But, dear elder, I couldn’t forget your challenge. I knew it had come through the power of the holy priesthood and the Holy Spirit. I didn’t buy that Bible. I paid my tithing instead. And because I overcame that challenge, I came to really understand the meaning of tithing as a covenant between the Lord and myself.
A few months later, the postman paid us a visit. He left a gift parcel for me. It was the size of a cake box. I opened the package and removed the Japanese Bible, beautiful and glittering, that you had sent me as a wonderful gift. I cried for joy at your deep love. Then I saw your note written on an inside page of the book:
“Dear Brother Hotta, hope you had a Merry Christmas. The work is really going well here in Gunma. Study hard. You can make elder real soon now. Do me a favor and try to make it to the temple in Hawaii. Isn’t the gospel wonderful? Love, Elder Dan Hawkley.”
Ever since that time, I have always paid my tithing. I have also been to the temple with my companion. And part of the reason I have been able to do so is because of the challenges and promises you made to me as a representative of the Lord.

The responsibility of communication is not alone on the shoulders of parents. The youth also have a responsibility to contribute love and strength to the family organization.
I recall a stage play that recently was made into a movie. It dealt with parents whose only child, a son, returned from military service. The father and son had never been close. It was a situation in which both father and son loved each other but were unable to find ways to express themselves, and therefore hostilities arose because each thought the other did not like him. It was a breakdown of communication.
But now the son was home from the army, and things were different. The father and son began to establish a whole new relationship. The high point of the play came when the boy said to his father something like this:
“Dad, I always resented you when I was younger because you never told me that you loved me, but then I realized that I had never told you that I loved you either. Well, Dad, I’m telling you now: I love you.”
For one electrifying moment the father and son embraced each other as the pent-up love and appreciation of years came flooding out. This probably would never have happened had the son not realized that he was as guilty of lack of expression as his parents.
Loren C. DunnConference ReportApril 1969, p. 22.

Sometimes it takes years to find the truth, and for me and my family it took generations. Three generations, to be exact. But we had found The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints again. My great-great-grandfather, Chief Washakie, of the Shoshone Indian tribe, had been baptized many years before, along with the rest of the tribe, but the generations that followed them had fallen away. Now we had returned to the gospel, and I was the first missionary to be sent from the Wind River Branch out into the mission field.
The day I received my call was exactly two weeks after I had sent in my papers. Before opening the envelope I knelt down to ask my Heavenly Father if this was where he wanted me to go. I begged with all my heart that he would answer me, and the answer came with the same peaceful feeling I had received when I asked about the gospel before my baptism. “Yes, this is the mission I have chosen for you,” came the answer, and I quickly opened the envelope. I was called to the California Ventura Mission.
Once on my mission, as I prepared for a transfer, I thought back to all the spiritual experiences I had had. I remembered a humble woman who asked my companion and me, with tears in her eyes, why we hadn’t come sooner. I remembered a little ten-year-old we baptized who worked long hours in his neighbor’s garden so he could first earn money to buy a Bible and then go on a mission. I also remembered one sacrament meeting when a woman I had baptized came up to me and said, “It’s all because of you,” when she received a call to serve in the Primary. She practically radiated gratitude as she thanked me for coming to her door the afternoon we met.
All these experiences were a fulfillment of a blessing I had received before leaving on my mission that said I would bring many people into the Church who would become great leaders. But now I was facing a transfer that I was not excited about, completely unaware of what was in store for me in my new area. The transfer was to Agoura Hills, California. I believed my mission president was an inspired man, but why Agoura Hills? The area was very affluent but very low in baptisms. You could count on one hand the baptisms in that area for the past several years. I had been one of the top baptizers in the mission for several months, but now all that would probably change. Then I remembered the words from a song that was sung at my farewell: “I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” So I went.
It is every convert’s dream to find the missionaries who baptized him and let them know about the change they brought to his life with the gospel. I also had that dream, especially because so many members of my family had been baptized after the elders left our area. I was now serving a successful mission. I had a sister attending Ricks College, another sister on a scholarship at BYU, and a brother and a sister both preparing to go on missions. I had lost track of the elders who had converted me. I wanted to find them and let them know how many lives they had touched.
My second Sunday in Agoura Hills, just before sacrament meeting started, a man in the ward came up to me and asked me about myself. I told him I was from Wyoming, and he said they had sent a son on a mission to Wyoming. A sensation of electricity ran through my body, but I knew it was not likely that this was one of the elders that I knew. So I asked, “What mission? The Colorado, Utah, or Montana mission?”
He said his son had served in the Billings Montana Mission, and when I asked him if he had ever been in Lander, Wyoming, where I was converted, the man answered yes again. I asked him a few dates and names and soon discovered that the man I was talking with was the father of one of the elders who had converted me. I said, “Your son is one of the elders responsible for bringing me and my family into the Church.” The man immediately introduced his wife, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was seeing a direct result of the sacrifices she and her family had made to send their son on a mission. Brother Miller introduced me to other members of the ward, and every time he told them who I was he choked up. I sat in sacrament meeting with tears streaming down my face as I thought of the mysterious ways the Lord had worked in my life. Who could have predicted that Elder Miller would come to my home and I would go to his almost nine years later?
I was able to see Elder Miller again, and he looked the same except for the three little daughters clinging to his leg. I finally had the chance to tell him thank you. He too was overcome with emotion as he told me what a feeling of satisfaction he had, seeing someone he had taught having as much success in the gospel as my family and I were.
I am truly grateful for that family who gave so much to bring me and my family the gospel. Because of their sacrifices, we as Lamanites are fulfilling Nephi’s prophecy in 2 Nephi 30:6, where it says, “and many generations shall not pass away among them, save they shall be a pure and a delightsome people.” [2 Ne. 30:6]

At first, the Prophet Joseph asked his wife, Emma, to write the words he spoke as he translated. Others, such as Martin Harris, also helped. But the translation was going too slowly. Joseph Smith needed to devote all his time to the work with a scribe who could also commit all his time. Oliver Cowdery was guided by the Lord to offer to help the Prophet in this work. In a matter of a few months, the translation of the book was finished.

Giving gifts of love and service to those less fortunate has been a hallmark of the prophets’ Christmas experiences. In 1931, during the Great Depression, President Harold B. Lee was president of a large stake in Salt Lake City, Utah. President Lee determined that he would know the needs of his stake members and do everything he could to alleviate their want. By survey he learned that more than half of his stake, almost 5,000 people, were dependent on others for help, including almost 1,000 children under the age of 10. He mobilized members to collect toys and organized workshops to repair, paint, and clean old toys or make new ones so no child would be without on Christmas. He decided that every family in the stake should have a dinner for Christmas and solicited food donations to make that happen.1 Later as an Apostle, Elder Lee was asked to organize the Church’s welfare program based on similar principles of service, sacrifice, and work.

But by early February 1915, Elder Cowley was temporarily without a companion (a difficulty not encountered by present-day missionaries), and he battled homesickness by studying the Maori language and visiting his Maori friends. His journal entry for 8 February is typical: “This is a very lonely place and I am afraid that I would be inclined to be homesick if I didn’t have my books to study. … After studying several hours I took a walk up the road to another Maori home. Here I made some new friends and had a little religious conversation.”3

For a number of years we have lived outside of the city. We have horses and other farm animals, including chickens. Some of the chickens are free to roam the barnyard. The children have to be alert to find where these chickens lay their eggs, for sometimes they are found in the haystack or in the woods or under the woodpile.
One spring a little speckled hen hid her nest under the manger in a small place where she could not be seen. None of us knew where she was, but we were sure that she must be sitting on a nest somewhere.
One day when I arrived home, the children came running to tell me that they had found the little hen and her nest. They had found the nest because the chicks had hatched and had begun to make little peeping noises.
They pulled me to the barn, and I carefully reached back under the hen and brought out a handful of little chicks. As the children gathered around, touching the soft little chicks, one of our daughters took a chick and held it carefully.
“That will certainly make a nice watchdog when it grows up, won’t it?” I asked. She looked at me like I didn’t know very much, telling her a chick would grow to be a dog.
I quickly corrected myself and said, “It won’t grow up to be a watchdog. It will be a nice riding horse, won’t it?”
She looked at me again with a puzzled expression, for even though she was only four years old, she knew that the little chicken would not grow up to be a dog or a horse or even a pheasant or turkey. Somehow she knew that the little chick would grow up to be either a hen or a rooster—much like its mother or father.

Dad says it’s OK to use the barn for our riding club meetings. How about another one of those apples, McGraw? Well, guys, what do you say?” asked Jason Farwell, flipping the hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head.
“Boy, Jason, that’s great!” said Eddie Fowler. “Say, McGraw, where’d you get these good apples?”
“Mom gave me a whole sackful. Do you suppose we could have trail rides and rodeos and cookouts and stuff, Jase?”
“Sure. You in?” Jason asked Dexter McGraw, who liked anything that involved food or horses. “How about you, Eddie, you in?
“You bet,” mumbled Eddie with a mouthful of apple.
“Hey, Jase,” he said, swallowing, “let’s ask Barney Lightner to join too. He rides.”
Eddie always wanted to include Barney in their plans. Jason said it was because Barney was the only one in school who had redder hair and more freckles than Eddie.
“Now. Who wants him? He’s weird.”
“Not really, Jase. He’s pretty neat when you get to know him. OK? Here he comes now. Hey, Lightner!”
“Hi, Eddie, guys. Hey, can I have your apple cores when you’ve finished eating your apples?”
“See what I mean? A real winner,” grumbled Jason sarcastically under his breath. “Nuts, there’s the bell. Boy, they never make recesses long enough. Come on, we’ll finish talking after school. Oh, Lightner, here’s your apple core.”
After school Jason and Dexter met to finish making plans.
“Oh, no,” muttered Jason. “Here comes Eddie and Lightner. Hey, Lightner, eaten any apple cores lately?”
“Aw, knock it off, Jase,” said Eddie. “You know he takes them home to Thunder.”
“Lightner, what do you think of the idea of us starting a riding club?” asked Dexter. “We want to have trail rides and rodeos and stuff like that.”
“Yeah,” grumbled Jason. “You might as well join, too, Lightner.”
“Thanks, guys, but I wouldn’t have time for it. Oh, here comes the bus. I have to get home and ride old Thunder. See ya.”
“Well, how do you like that?” said Jason. “For a poor kid, he’s pretty snooty if you ask me.”
Saturday turned out to be one of those beautiful spring days when the sun feels extra warm and the breezes feel extra cool. The riding club had planned a trail ride and camp-out in a canyon called Webster’s Gulch. Since it was on their way, the boys decided to stop at the Lightners’ house to give Barney a chance to change his mind. Mrs. Lightner said they’d find him in the barnyard riding old Thunder.
As the boys rounded the corner of the house, they saw Barney astride—a mule! He took turns pleading and hollering at the animal, but it wouldn’t budge an inch. When Barney saw the boys, his face became even redder than his hair, and he stammered, “He’s not usually this stubborn. Honest.”
Not being able to afford the horse Barney had always dreamed of owning, his mother allowed him to ride their old work mule, which Barney had named Thunder.
After what seemed to Barney like an eternity of laughter and cowboy jokes, the boys finally left. One thing was sure—he was going to have a miserable day at school on Monday. They’d see to that!
Later the boys camped half-way up the canyon, and set up a tether line to tie their horses to. A wide ledge about four feet up the canyon wall made a perfect place to pitch their tent.
Late that night it started to thunder violently, and the lightning flashed almost without interruption. Eventually the thunder subsided to a distant rumble, but the rain remained a steady torrent. After a few ghost stories the boys dropped off to sleep.
Just before dawn, the boys were suddenly awakened by Jason’s shout of alarm. The horses had broken loose from their tether line, and the canyon was now a raging river, with water inching up toward their tent.
The boys made a desperate scramble up the sheer wall of the canyon only to fall down again to their ledge, which was rapidly disappearing under the water. And Jason, in his try for safety, twisted his ankle.
The boys saw their tent being swept away, and they knew that they would be next.
“Listen!” yelled Jason above the sound of the rushing water. “I hear something!”
Above the rumble of the distant thunder, the roar of the water, and the steady drumming of the rain, they heard someone hollering!
There, on the rim of the canyon above them, was Barney, and he was lowering a rope to them. His friends quickly tied the rope under Jason’s arms while Barney tied the other end to Thunder. Then Barney and Thunder pulled Jason and then the other two boys to safety.
“Boy! I never thought I’d be so glad to see your old mule!” exclaimed Eddie. “How’d you know we were in trouble, Barney?”
“I woke up when your horses went galloping through Mom’s garden. I figured you might have been flooded out after that heavy rain. So I rounded up old Thunder, grabbed a rope, and got here as fast as I could.”
Everyone at school on Monday was buzzing about how Barney Lightner and old Thunder had saved the boys from a flash flood.
“Well, Barney,” said Miss Wilkins, their teacher, “I hear that you’re some kind of a hero. And that Thunder of yours must really be some kind of horse!”
Barney sank down in his seat, fearing what would surely come next, when a shuffling sound in the doorway diverted everyone’s attention. There, on crutches, stood Jason.
“That’s right, Miss Wilkins,” Jason said with a wink toward Barney. “Old Thunder is some kind of horse!”

“I’ve been known to spit when I speak,” he began. “So those of you in the front row are like the people at Sea World who sit in the splash zone!” I smiled at this clever attention getter given by the last speaker of the day in the “Introduction to Persuasion” speech class that I teach at Oregon State University. What I didn’t know was that the real attention getter was yet to come.
Teaching college students the art of persuasive speech is always a challenge for me. Although arguing comes easily for most students, constructing reasoned arguments is another matter. Analytical skills must be drilled and re-drilled. This, their final speech, was to be a polished culmination of the skills they had rigorously studied during the quarter. The assignment was to persuade their classmates to perform some action.
It had been a good day. The arguments had been strong and the issues relevant, and now one of the most promising persuaders in the class, Phil Sanchez, had just engaged our interest with his good humor. Phil was a newly returned missionary from my ward, and I looked forward to what he had to say.
But I was momentarily stunned by his bold delivery as he said, “One of my heroes is a man named Joseph Smith. Shortly before his death he said: ‘I have a conscience void of offense toward God and toward all men. I shall die innocent.’”
The attention of the class was abruptly captured, as was mine. I was seized with a sense of panic. I now felt powerfully protective of the things Phil was about to cast before this crowd of self-proclaimed nonbelievers.
In an attempt to give credence to critical thinking, I often goaded the students into frank discussions about a variety of controversial topics to allow them to test the waters of opposition. Conflict was no stranger to this group. As a result, everyone’s personal values, beliefs, and attitudes had been hung out for all to see. We had a snowboarder who pushed the limits of authority, admitted to drug use, and approached life as a party he was hosting. We had our so-called punk with spiked orange hair and body piercings. We had several students who openly opposed religion and any belief in God. We had a born-again Christian, and, of course, Phil and I were both members of the Church. It was a wonderful and diverse group of students who had developed a remarkable affection for each other, despite their vast differences.
Involuntarily, I stole a glance around the room, fully expecting to see a smirk or a hint of hostility. I wondered briefly if Phil had listened to my lecture on audience analysis. I was certain he had opened a gate through which a flood of cheap shots could flow.
Just then he dipped his long arms into a big box and announced that he had a gift for everyone. He called each student in the class by name and presented each one with a copy of the Book of Mormon. On the inside cover, he had written personalized messages to each of his classmates. To one he wrote, “Check out Helaman, chapter seven. You remind me of Samuel the Lamanite because of your individualism and courage. I think you will enjoy getting to know him.”
After all of the 19 students had their books, Phil asked them to read with him about Lehi and his family. They then turned to successive scriptural passages that were already neatly marked and followed along as Phil moved them through the key components of his message. I continued my surveillance of the youthful faces and noticed a visible transformation taking place. As I watched this class reverently turn to Alma, then 3rd Nephi, then Moroni, and eagerly and respectfully read along, I felt their willing collaboration as their spirits were touched. Phil gave his personal witness to this precious gift and glowed as he told of his joy in being a missionary. He closed by having them read Moroni’s promise that they could also know the truth. He then issued a stirring and sincere challenge for them to read the book.
Our routine was for each speech to be immediately critiqued by pre-assigned peers. On this day, the two assigned to give verbal criticisms had been particularly brutal with their comments in the past. As I called for the first critique, I warily wondered what words Ty, our wise-cracking “skater dude” would choose to describe his experience. He simply said, “This is the first time in my whole life I found myself believing something just because the person who was saying it believed it so much.”
The second student, Josh, had previously told the class on several occasions about his run-ins with religion in general and with various clergymen. I nearly shuddered as I asked for his response. Without a trace of defiance, Josh offered a lopsided grin and said how great he thought it was that Phil had taken the time to personalize the books and give them as gifts. He then vowed to read his book, openly admitting that this was the first time he had ever received a religious message without any feelings of malice or disdain and without wanting to argue back.
Then the time was up. The class was over. Nineteen students stowed their new copies of the Book of Mormon in their backpacks and quietly—almost reverently—filed out of the room.
The courage, testimony, sincerity, and good will of a young returned missionary had invited the Spirit, the best kind of persuasion there is.

Dieuveut Demosthène, 18, and Robenson Marcel Laroque Jean, 19, are the best of friends. And they intend to keep it that way. Forever.

“We were neighbors, and we played basketball together,” Robenson explains. “I joined the Church when I was 16, and after a while I suggested to Dieuveut that he should come too. I prayed a lot, and I persisted. Now look at him, a strong member of the Church. I’m proud of him.”

“Robenson invited me many times,” Dieuveut says, “and over time I accepted. He has always spoken with superb words, like he understands everything. So his invitation wasn’t worrisome; it was extraordinary. After a while I started having lessons with the missionaries, and I joined the Church when I was 17.”

That’s the ideal way for missionary work to be done—friends sharing the gospel with friends and giving referrals to the missionaries to teach them. “From me—one person in the Church—now we are two, and we continue the same work together,” Robenson says. As a result of their efforts, one of Dieuveut’s big brothers and another friend have also joined the Church. One became two, and two became four.

Rather, Dieuveut says, as people realize the happiness the gospel brings, the Church in Haiti will keep growing. “I am truly grateful to Robenson for sharing the gospel with me,” he says, “and that’s why I want to share the gospel with others. Last week I asked myself, in the past did I know what joy was? Because today, even if I don’t have everything materially that I want, I always feel at peace with myself. I have a great hope that I will be close to my Heavenly Father.”

“I’m already trying to be a missionary,” Robenson says. “Each day I carry my backpack with several copies of the Book of Mormon in it, just to share with others. Many of them know I’m a member of the Church, and I’m eager to share my testimony. To go on a full-time mission will be a great opportunity to serve God by serving His children. It is my great desire to go.”

Dieuveut says he often talks with returned missionaries. “They have told me how the Lord was able to bless people through the missionaries, and I would like to share in such blessings. They have told me how they lived in the mission field, how much they enjoyed it. Also, after their missions, they are worthy, good examples. I want to be like that.”

What will the future bring? “Heavenly Father has His plan for Haiti,” Dieuveut says. “He is giving members here the opportunity to become strong. It is Haitians teaching Haitians, and that will bless us.”

Robenson will soon receive his mission call, and he hopes it’s to Haiti. Dieuveut won’t be far behind and also hopes to serve in his native land. But whether they’re called to Haiti or to some other country, they know that they will make many more friends in the Church and that their own friendship will continue. Because when you’re friends in the gospel, you’re friends for eternity.

I’m grateful that our youth leaders planned a visit to the temple. As we were preparing for this trip to Apia, Samoa, we were happy for this rare opportunity. We joyfully went into the temple to do baptisms for the dead—for those who are in the spirit world waiting for us to find our family history and do work for them.
During baptisms, I saw a young man in our group baptized for Faataga Agavale, my grandfather. I felt tears of joy in my eyes, and I knew his spirit was there. I was very happy we were able to do work for him in the temple.

I recall speaking with a young man who first came to this community while in military service. One Sunday he wandered through Temple Square. Conversations begun here eventually led to his baptism.

Four or five years later I was interviewing him to become an elders quorum president. He told me of his childhood as an orphan, pushed from one place to another, of the loneliness and desolation of his life, of all opportunities for education and growth foreclosed against him. Then he came into the Church and received first one assignment and then another, each just a little beyond his capacity at the time; but as he served, his capacity increased.

And now he was prepared for a major responsibility. His entire life had changed. Today he is an officer in the Church, a valued employee in a position of responsibility, a good husband, an exemplary father, an excellent neighbor.

Many years ago my children and I hiked to the top of South Sister, a 10,358-foot (3,157 m) mountain in Oregon. After several hours we encountered a long 45-degree slope of tiny volcanic pebbles. With the summit in sight, we pressed on only to find that with every step, our feet would sink in the pebbles, causing us to slide backward several inches. My 12-year-old son forged ahead as I stayed with my 8-year-old daughter. Fatigue and discouragement soon set in, and she was heartbroken, thinking that she might not join her brother at the top. My first impulse was to carry her. My spirit was willing, but sadly my flesh was weak. We sat down on the rocks, assessed our situation, and devised a new plan. I told her to put her hands in my back pants pockets, hold on tight, and—most important—as soon as I lifted my foot to take a step, she should quickly put her foot in its place. She mirrored my every move and relied on the lift that came from hanging on to my pockets. After what seemed like an eternity, we made it to the top of the mountain. Her expression of triumph and satisfaction was priceless. And yes, she and her brother were, in my estimation, real hikers.
With the current conditions of the world, we desperately need real learning and teaching in our homes, meetings, and gospel classes. I know that your quest to improve may seem overwhelming at times. Please do not become discouraged with your progress. I think back on my experience hiking with my children. We agreed that every time we stopped to catch our breath, rather than focusing exclusively on how much farther we needed to go, we would immediately turn around and look down the mountain. We would take in the scenery and say to each other, “Look how far we’ve come.” Then we would take a deep breath, quickly turn, face uphill, and start climbing again one step at a time. Brothers and sisters, you can parent, lead, and teach after the manner of the workings of the Spirit. I know you can do this. I testify you can do this, and lives will change.

Moisés swung open the gate and walked into the car parts shop. School was over, and it was time to help Papá at work. Moisés grabbed a broom and started to sweep. He liked to help Papá. He even got to earn some money.
Soon it was time for Moisés to leave. He said goodbye to Papá and started to walk home. He felt sad as he walked. It always felt strange to go home without Papá. Moisés’s parents were separated. He and his seven siblings lived with Mamá. Papá lived somewhere else. Mamá worked three jobs because they didn’t have much money. It was a hard time for all of them.
One day there was a knock at the door. It was two missionaries. They shared a message about Jesus Christ. They also taught about a prophet named Joseph Smith. Moisés felt something special inside as he listened.
The missionaries kept coming back to teach Moisés, Mamá, and some of his siblings. Moisés and his family started going to church. They read the Book of Mormon. They stopped drinking coffee. They even chose to be baptized!
Moisés learned that Heavenly Father loved him. And even though things were still hard for his family, he felt more comfort and peace.

“We’re going to America!” Eleven-year-old Henry was excited. His parents had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints before he was born. His family loved the gospel, but not everyone in England felt the same way. Some of their neighbors wouldn’t speak to them, and some people at school were mean to Henry and his siblings because of their faith. But in America they could go to Utah and be with other members of the Church.
Henry looked at his parents, and his smile faded. They didn’t look excited. “Aren’t you happy to be going to America?” he asked.
“It costs a lot of money to get there,” his father said. “It will take a long time to save enough for all six of us to go, and we don’t want everyone to have to wait that long. So we have decided to go to America one at a time. And Henry, we want you to go first.”
“All by myself?” Henry asked.
His father nodded. “You will take a boat across the ocean, from England to New York City,” he said. “Then you can go by train to Salt Lake. Once you get to Utah, you will stay with our cousins the Lowes. In the meantime, we will stay here and save our money so we can join you soon.”
Henry’s stomach dropped. Going to America was something he’d dreamed about, but he didn’t want to go without his family. “I don’t know, Papa,” he said. “I’m not sure I can go all by myself.”
“We have faith in you,” Papa said. “You are brave and smart, and Heavenly Father will protect you.”
Henry thought hard about it. Even though some people had been mean to his family, he liked his life in England. He had friends, and he had his family. He liked going to school, singing in the church choir, and playing with his brothers and sisters in the countryside. He knew these things would change if he went to America.
What if I don’t like it there? he wondered.
Then he looked at his parents. He knew they wanted him to be happy, and he knew they would come to Utah as soon as they could.
“Do you think you can do it?” Mama asked.
Henry took a deep breath. “I can do it.”
She gave him a hug. “We’re very proud of you.”
A few weeks later, Henry and his family woke up early and walked to the dock. Everything Henry owned was packed in a wooden trunk his father had made for him. They had painted his name on the front, along with the words Salt Lake City.
The dock was crowded, and Henry walked close to his family. How will I find my way around in America when I’m all alone? he wondered.
Finally they reached the S.S. Nevada, the ship that would carry him to America. Henry swallowed hard as he looked up at it. It was the biggest boat he’d ever seen!
Henry hugged his family goodbye, then boarded the Nevada. He stood at the railing and waved to his family until he could no longer see them. He said a prayer in his heart that Heavenly Father would protect them. Someday they would all be together again in Utah.
I can do this, he told himself. God will watch over me, and everything will be all right once I get to Utah.
To be continued …

This is a story of a young girl, living in New York, who before age three lost her father when his boat sank on a large lake. She, her mother, older brother, and younger sister moved to a new city in another state to live with her aunt and uncle. Sometime after the family arrived, missionaries and members of a newly organized religion came to their town with the glorious news of the Restoration of the gospel. They told a remarkable story of an angel delivering an ancient record to a young man named Joseph Smith, a record he had translated by the power of God. Two of the visitors, Oliver Cowdery and John Whitmer, had actually seen the engraved metal pages of the ancient record with their own eyes, and Whitmer witnessed he had held the golden plates in his own hands. This record had been recently published, and Brother Whitmer brought the book with him. The name of the book, of course, was the Book of Mormon.
When 12-year-old Mary heard the missionaries speak about the book, she had a special feeling in her heart. Even though the Book of Mormon was thick with many pages, Mary yearned to read it. When Brother Whitmer departed, he gave one precious copy of the book to Brother Isaac Morley, who was a friend of Mary’s uncle and a local leader in the new church.
Mary later recorded: “I went to [Brother Morley’s] house … and asked to see the Book; [he] put it in my hand, [and] as I looked at it, I felt such a desire to read it, that I could not refrain from asking him to let me take it home and read it. … He said … he had hardly had time to read a chapter in it himself, and but few of the brethren had even seen it, but I plead so earnestly for it, he finally said, ‘child, if you will bring this book home before breakfast tomorrow morning, you may take it.’”
Mary ran home and was so captured by the book that she stayed up nearly all night reading it. The next morning, when she returned the book, Brother Morley said, “I guess you did not read much in it” and “I don’t believe you can tell me one word of it.” Mary stood up straight and repeated from memory the first verse of the Book of Mormon. She then told him the story of the prophet Nephi. Mary later wrote, “He gazed at me in surprise, and said, ‘child, take this book home and finish it, I can wait.’”
A short time later, Mary finished reading the book and was the first person in her town to read the entire book. She knew it was true and that it came from Heavenly Father. As she looked to the book, she looked to the Lord.
One month later a special visitor came to her house. Here is what Mary wrote about her memorable encounter that day: “When [Joseph Smith] saw me he looked at me so earnestly. … After a moment or two he … gave me a great blessing … and made me a present of the book, and said he would give Brother Morley another [copy]. … We all felt that he was a man of God, for he spoke with power, and as one having authority.”
This young girl, Mary Elizabeth Rollins, saw many other miracles in her life and always kept her testimony of the Book of Mormon.1 This story has special meaning to me because she is my fourth-great-aunt. Through Mary’s example, along with other experiences in my life, I have learned that one is never too young to seek and receive a personal testimony of the Book of Mormon.

(3) In far-off Europe, beyond a curtain of iron and a wall called “Berlin,” I visited, with a handful of members, a small cemetery. It was a dark night, and a cold rain had been falling throughout the entire day.
We had come to visit the grave of a missionary who many years before had died while in the service of the Lord. A hushed silence shrouded the scene as we gathered about the grave. With a flashlight illuminating the headstone, I read the inscription:
Joseph A. Ott
Born: 12 December 1870—Virgin, Utah
Died: 10 January 1896—Dresden, Germany
Then the light revealed that this grave was unlike any other in the cemetery. The marble headstone had been polished, weeds such as those which covered other graves had been carefully removed, and in their place was an immaculately edged bit of lawn and some beautiful flowers that told of tender and loving care. I asked, “Who has made this grave so attractive?” My query was met by silence.
At last a twelve-year-old deacon acknowledged that he wanted to render this unheralded kindness and, without prompting from parents or leaders, had done so. He said that he just wanted to do something for a missionary who gave his life while in the service of the Lord. I thanked him; and then I asked all there to safeguard his secret, that his gift might remain anonymous.