Gospel Story Finder

The light of the restored gospel had first shone in our home in an extraordinary way. My father, Mosese, was raised a Methodist. But through years upon years of personal study in the Bible, he had concluded that the true Church of Jesus Christ as described in the holy scriptures was not known on our tiny native island. He never once allowed our family to attend church services of any kind, yet we would gather together daily at his feet as he taught from the Bible. With each passing year, as my father continued to search the scriptures, he became more convinced that the true Church of Jesus Christ was not in existence.
Thus we remained in darkness until, finally, in 1971 our cousin Siga returned for a short visit. Siga had settled in Hawaii. We were excited about this unexpected reunion. Straightaway my mother prepared tea for our visitor, but to our surprise, he would not accept it. He explained that while in Hawaii he had been baptized into the Mormon Church and no longer drank tea. Having never heard of such a religion, my father questioned, “What kind of church is that?” Siga suggested that he look it up in the dictionary. Under the entry “Mormon,” my father read, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Immediately my father jumped to his feet and pounded the table with his fist. In that instant, the Holy Ghost had confirmed in his heart that this was what he had been searching for all of his life. His whole countenance changed as he asked Siga to tell him about this church. A long conversation ensued as they began reading from the fourth chapter of Ephesians, discussing “one faith, one baptism” (Eph. 4:5) and the need for apostles and prophets. Siga suggested that my father contact the missionaries for further information.
And so it was that we learned, for the first time, of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My father began corresponding with President Ebbie L. Davis of the Fiji Suva Mission, who sent us a copy of the Book of Mormon. Other books and pamphlets regarding Church doctrine soon followed. All of these my father devoured, and he found answers to his questions. Within a short time, he desired with all of his heart that our family be baptized. The Church, however, was not on our island. We soon realized that to be baptized, we would have to go to where the Church was. And for us, that meant Suva.
At long last, after we had spent nearly two years planning and preparing, the day had finally come, and we stood aboard the Uluilakeba. Energy was thick in the air as we crowded on with the other passengers. Hope and excitement filled our hearts as we waited to depart on our journey.
The ship left the dock at approximately 8:00 a.m. on Monday, 10 December 1973. With all the emotions of that day, I hardly noticed the gusty winds and threatening clouds that loomed ahead. As the boat crawled into the open sea, however, the weather worsened. Soon forecasts came in of an approaching tropical storm. Despite the warnings, our captain was confident of a safe voyage. We continued onward, while around us the sea steadily grew fiercer and the rain fell harder. Before long all passengers were instructed to take shelter inside, while the crew navigated the rough waters.
The captain was a relative of my father, and he gave us his personal cabin to rest in while we endured the storm. There we huddled together as a family and waited. In spite of the now heavy rocking of the ship, after a few minutes, my brother and sister and I fell asleep.
After what seemed only an instant to me, we were awakened by my mother’s scream. Water was now coming in through a small porthole. Sitting up, I noticed that my father was not with us, and thinking he must have gone on deck, I left my mother and two siblings. Climbing up to the deck was quite difficult, although in my panic I did not realize why. I did not understand that the ship had taken too much water and was sinking. Just as I reached the deck, the Uluilakeba began to capsize, and I was plunged into angry waters.
My only instinct was for survival. Desperately I swam with all my strength to stay on top of the monstrous waves. Within a few minutes, I caught sight of an older man holding fast to two floating bags of coconuts. Managing to swim to him, I pleaded for a bag, and he mercifully gave me one. I took hold of the bag and clung to it for my life.
Minutes passed, and suddenly I spotted my mother. Seeing me as well, she swam over and we embraced. With words I will never forget, she told me to hold on to that bag no matter what, for it would save my life. Then, after kissing my cheek, she left me to search for my brother and sister. That was the last I ever saw of my mother.
As the storm continued to rage, I did not think about what had happened. I only fought to stay above the waves. Bobbing up and down in the sea, I could see many other people, but I could not find my family.
The hours stretched on like a terrible dream. Soon night fell, and we swam on in the darkness. After what seemed like forever, the sun rose again, and I held on through another day and another night. Finally, around 5:00 in the afternoon on Wednesday, a rescue boat discovered us.
More than two full days had passed. Of the approximately 120 passengers who had boarded the doomed ship, 35 were found alive in the water. We were taken to Suva and admitted to the hospital. There, I learned the details of what had happened. Less than four hours after leaving the dock, we had been struck by Cyclone Lottie, a short-lived Pacific storm. The Uluilakeba was never found. I also learned that of the five members of my family who had been aboard, I was the only survivor. My family’s plans to be baptized into the Church had sunk in the depths of the ocean.
Time moved forward, and I remained on the island of Viti Levu, the main island of Fiji. I went to stay with my older sister, who had moved away from home years before. In the chaos of the tragedy, President Davis lost track of me, and I lost track of the Church. Learning that I had survived, however, he instructed the missionaries to search for me. They looked for months but to no avail. President Davis’s time as mission president came to a close, and he passed the search on to his successor.
The years passed, but because of poor communication systems, I could not be found. The family I was staying with was not interested in the gospel, so I had little hope of finding the Church during my teenage years. I struggled with the loss of my family and wondered why I had been left alone. But I carried in my heart the truths my parents had taught me. Although at times I gave in to weakness and temptation, I always remembered my father’s testimony concerning Jesus Christ and His true Church. Eventually I got married and settled on Vanua Levu, the northern island of Fiji.
In March 1985 I was at work cutting coconut copra not far from the main road when an elderly couple in a small car stopped and called out to me. They asked me if I knew a man named Joeli Kalougata. But before I told them they had indeed found him, I asked what they wanted. They introduced themselves as Elder and Sister Kimber and explained that they were missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Finally they had found me! It was a glorious moment. Following six missionary discussions in two days, I was baptized on 18 March 1985, along with my wife, Elenoa. Our lives have never been the same since.
I look back on the great blessings my Heavenly Father has poured out upon me during my life. I will always be grateful for my loving parents and the principles and truths I learned from them. Because of my parents’ example, my wife and children and I now belong to the true Church of Jesus Christ.
In 1998 Elenoa and I flew to Tonga to enter into sacred eternal covenants in the Nuku‘alofa Tonga Temple and to perform temple ordinances for my parents and siblings. A few years later, our children were sealed to us in the new Suva Fiji Temple. I look at my family now—my eternal family—and thank the Lord for remembering me and bringing the gospel back into my life.

Tino and Quim both found treasures of spiritual strength in the mission field. Quim recalls trying to teach one widow whose husband had spent much of his life as a missionary for another church. The woman had agreed to listen to the missionary discussions because her daughter was a Latter-day Saint. As one of the discussions progressed, however, she found it too difficult to accept the idea that the teachings of her church were not correct. “Elder Moreira,” she said, “I don’t want to hear any more of this doctrine. I am going to labor to finish the missionary work my husband started!”
Quickly, Quim offered a silent prayer, asking what to say. He was inspired to assure the woman that her husband had already accepted the gospel in the spirit world.
Later, the woman’s daughter told Quim that after saying her own personal prayers that evening, she lay meditating on how she could help her mother accept the gospel. Suddenly, “I saw my father in my room. He said, ‘That missionary spoke the truth, and I want your mother to be baptized.’”
Because of her daughter’s experience, the mother agreed to listen to the missionaries again. This time, there was a different spirit about her; she was baptized a week later.

I share with you an account described in a mother’s letter to me relating to prayer. She wrote:
“Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.
“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied, ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’”
The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.”

At the Chicago airport, I had a flight transfer, and two other passengers sitting there with me asked what I was going to do in Salt Lake City. I tried to explain. Then, in beautifully simple language, one woman looked me in the eye and said, “Well then, you have to listen as hard as you can to learn as much as you can so that you may love completely.”

I think that wonderful woman was not far from the foundations of how we begin to build a beloved community: “We see you,” “We will learn to see ourselves with you,” and “Together we will face the whole host of difficulties rooted in our history and prejudices and our own confusion.”

One night, I couldn’t sleep because I was very scared about things that weren’t there. I asked my dad if he would give me a blessing. He gave me one, and my mom tucked me back in bed. Then she pulled out my Bible and starting reading from Psalms. When she got to Psalm 4:8, it was all about my trouble falling asleep! It said, “I will both lay me down in peace, and sleep: for thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety.” We said it was “my scripture,” and my mom typed it on a piece of paper for me, and I was able to get to sleep. I know that Heavenly Father puts things in the scriptures to help us. I also know that blessings really help you, and I’m glad my dad has the priesthood so that he can give them to me.
Melanie Fry, age 11Layton, Utah

Joseph F. Smith was called on a mission when he was fifteen years old. He served in the Hawaiian Islands for over three years.
After his mission, he was traveling through California with a small group of men while returning to the Salt Lake Valley.
One afternoon, a mob of drunken men on horses rode into their camp. They were swearing, shooting their guns, and yelling, “Kill the Mormons!”
The other men in the camp ran and hid in the bushes by the creek. Joseph F. was gathering firewood. Why should I run from those men? he thought.
The leader of the mob rode up to Joseph F. and aimed a gun at him. “It’s my duty to kill every Mormon. Are you a Mormon?” he yelled.
Joseph F. stood tall. He looked the mob leader in the eyes. “Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.”
The mob leader was surprised. “Well you are the … pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow. I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.”
Then the mob rode off. Joseph F. and the other men were not harmed.

After the last tree was decorated and the last card was signed, the youth set out to show the hospice patients how much they cared through their actions. They spent the afternoon doing yard work, scraping and painting houses and sheds, even doing housework.

“Helping people at their homes can be awkward at first,” says Priest Justin Saunders. “But they really appreciated it and seemed glad to have us. It turned out to be fun.”

Apparently, people were more than appreciative. They were ecstatic. One woman, whose husband had been bedridden for some time, took pictures of the youth scraping and painting the shed outside their home. She wanted him to see them in action, even though he couldn’t get outside.

“I hear you’ve got a big date for the prom,” my younger brother Max commented at dinner.
“Who said I had a date for prom?” I asked casually, continuing to eat my potatoes and gravy. I could feel Mom’s and Dad’s eyes on me, but I didn’t look up.
“Oh, I heard some of the guys talking,” Max answered. I noticed a mischievous glint in his eyes. Max is only 11 months younger than me, but he towers over me four and a half inches. Therefore, he likes to think of himself as Mean Max. Already as a sophomore he has quarterbacked our varsity football team to a division championship and is now playing first base for the varsity baseball team. “How’d you get Dale Beecher to ask you?” he snickered. “I know Dad can’t afford to bribe him.”
“Max,” I cut in, glowering over at him.
“I heard Dale tell Cory Crandell,” Max insisted.
“But I haven’t told him yes.”
“What?” Max asked, setting his fork on his plate.
“I’m just not going with him,” I shrugged.
Max finished chewing. “Any reason? Or do you have so many dates nowadays that you can afford to turn down lowly guys like Dale Beecher?”
Even for a younger brother, Max really is good looking. More than once my best friend Sandra Bentley has joked about taking Max out.
“Line me up with your brother Beau, and I’ll line you up with Max,” I would bargain jokingly.
“You’ve got a deal. When do you—”
“Don’t you dare say anything to Beau,” I’d threaten. For about ten years I’d had this terrible crush on Beau Bentley. He was a freshman in college, and every girl in town was in love with him. He had been a football and basketball hero, seminary president, and last year’s senior boy voted most likely to succeed.
“Max,” Dad cut in, “let Denise worry about her own dates. Maybe this Beecher fellow isn’t good enough for Denise.”
“Dad, about the time she gets that picky, she won’t ever have a date. Why, I can think of a hundred girls that Dale could—”
“Max,” Dad cautioned from the end of the table.
“So you’re going to turn him down?” Max asked. He looked down the table at Dad, held up his hands in surrender and added, “I’m just asking, not hassling her. Why can’t you go?”
“It’s not like money is our most abundant commodity, Max.”
“Money? Why do you need money to go to a stupid dance?”
I didn’t want to explain what Max already knew. Since Dad had been laid off things had been tight around our place and would be until he returned to work at the end of May, the week after prom.
“A prom isn’t like a regular dance,” I explained impatiently. “You don’t just wear a dress to the prom,” I pointed out. “It has to be a formal, something nice. You have to buy a flower for the guy. I would definitely need new shoes.”
“I think we could help you out,” Mom volunteered.
“Mom, we can’t even buy a jug of milk. We have to drink that putrid powdered stuff from our food storage, and you think we can waste money on a prom formal?”
“It’s your prom, Denise,” Mom went on. “We’ve all planned on your going. You’ve put so much time and work into it, being on the prom committee and all. It wouldn’t be fair if you stayed home.”
“Yeah, we’ll help you, Denise,” Melanie called out.
“Thanks,” I smiled, amazed that the family would really volunteer so willingly, “but I couldn’t feel good about letting you do that.” I could feel a warm blush on my cheek. “This isn’t the last dance of my life. It’s just prom. We really can’t justify throwing money away on the prom.”
“Sometimes there are things a family needs to sacrifice for,” Dad said.
“You don’t go around sacrificing to go to a stupid prom,” I smiled. “Don’t worry. I haven’t planned on going. Really. It’s just no big deal.”
I was proud of the way I handled things at the dinner table. I had been indifferent about the whole thing. I almost thought I’d convinced myself—until I got to my room, closed the door, and was alone. Then I bawled for the next 45 minutes nonstop.
It was a little after 8:30 P.M. when a knock sounded on my door. “Come in,” I said, quickly wiping away my tears.
The door pushed open and in walked Max. “So, how’s the family martyr?” he greeted, plopping down on my bed.
“What?” I gasped.
“Oh, don’t sacrifice for me,” he began to mimic me, daintily clasping his hands in front of his chest, batting his eyes furiously and using a high-pitched voice. “Sacrifice for everyone else, but oh mercy don’t sacrifice for me.” He snickered, shook his head and then asked in his regular tone of voice, “What are you trying to do, play Cinderella?”
I glared at him. “Max, I’m really not in the mood for your jokes; I have a ton of homework.”
“So you don’t really want to go to the prom?” he asked. “You just want the rest of us to go into mourning.”
I hesitated and bit down on my lower lip. “I’m not going.”
“You don’t want to go?” he persisted, studying me.
For a moment I thought I detected a hint of compassion in Mean Max’s teasing eyes. “If things were different here at home.”
“Denise,” Max cut in. He placed his forearms on his knees. He knit his fingers together and stared at the floor. “How much would it cost to go? I don’t mean if you went out and bought a fancy formal,” he added quickly. “Mom could make you something if she had some material. What would everything cost?”
I shrugged. “Maybe $25 or $30 for material. I really don’t know, though. About the same for the shoes. But I’m just making wild guesses because—”
“You could get by with $80 then?”
I stared at Max, completely baffled. I nodded once. Max stood up, reached into his pocket and pulled out four twenties and tossed them to me. I stared dumbly down at the twenties, unable to think. I knew Max had a little money put away. “I can’t take your money, Max,” I stammered. “You’re saving for a set of weights.”
“Hey, it’s not a gift, Denise,” he said, starting for the door. “I just don’t want you to go around broadcasting our poverty. It’s a loan.” He coughed nervously. “Until you get some bucks to pay me back.”
I could feel tears in my eyes, and a lump as big as my fist in my throat. “And what if I can’t ever pay you back?” I asked, totally bewildered and struggling to keep the sob out of my voice.
He turned and jabbed a finger in my direction and in his best Mean Max tone said, “You’ll pay me back, Denise. I don’t handle charity cases.”
Laughing and crying at the same time, I ran over to Max and threw my arms around his neck and said, “Thanks, Max.”
“Now don’t slobber and bawl all over me,” he growled, pushing me away. “You don’t have to get so emotional over a lousy loan.”
The whole family pitched in after that. Mom started on the dress. Sanford, Valerie, and Melanie pooled baby-sitting money and insisted on buying the boutonniere. Mom fixed my hair. And Dad surprised me by getting me a pair of earrings and a necklace. I knew they must have broken him, but he acted as if it were nothing. And all the while, Mean Max groaned and grumbled about all the fuss over a stupid junior prom.
Friday morning, the day of the prom, during breakfast the phone rang. It was Dale Beecher. “Eh, Denise,” he stammered nervously, “something’s come up.” I held my breath, sensing that my magic was about to crumble. “My Grandmother Hansen died late Wednesday night. Her funeral’s tomorrow in Arizona. Because I was out of town yesterday to the baseball game, I didn’t find out about it until late last night.” He paused. I closed my eyes and fought back the tears. “We’re leaving this morning. I know that’s crummy, especially for prom.”
“I’m sorry,” I heard myself say, “about your grandmother.”
“Whose funeral?” Max asked, looking up from his bowl of cracked wheat cereal as I returned to the table in a dismal, disappointed daze.
“I guess I’m not going to the prom after all,” I answered.
“Huh?” Max grunted in surprise.
“Dale’s grandmother passed away,” I said, reaching for a slice of toast. “The funeral is tomorrow in Arizona.”
The rest of the day I agonized behind a facade of fake smiles and fast chatter, never mentioning to any of my friends that my prom night would never be. After school I went straight home, shut myself in my room and made a weak pretense of study, but mainly I just stared at the wall and told myself I wouldn’t cry.
A little after six there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I called. Max walked in carrying a corsage in a white box. He tossed it on the bed in front of me. “There’s a flower for you,” he said gruffly.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
He cleared his throat and stuffed his fists into his pockets. “I really don’t care about the money, Denise.” He cleared his throat. “I know you want to go, and—well—you would have probably done the same for me.”
“But the flower, Max?”
“I figured I could take you—if you wanted to go. I know I’m no Dale Beecher, and you might think it’s dumb to show up to the prom with your baby brother,” the words gushed out, “but at least you’d get to see what it’s like.” He blushed. “After all, it’s your prom. You ought to at least show up.”
“But, Max.”
“Hey, if it would embarrass you, I could grease my hair back, paste on a bushy mustache and long sideburns, and wear dark glasses so no one would know who you were with.” He grinned sheepishly and dug his hands deeper into his pockets.
The tears I’d held back so well suddenly broke loose. I rushed to Max, threw my arms around him and squeezed, and this time I didn’t let him wriggle away from me.
“Now don’t go get all emotional,” he complained brusquely, trying to pull away.
I grinned through the deluge of tears. “Your asking means more than a hundred proms. But I know how you feel about proms. I won’t put you through all that.”
Max shrugged, relieved. “I figured you’d turn me down, so I have plan two.”
“Plan two?”
“All you’re doing up here is staring at the wall and trying not to bawl, so I came up to rescue you.” Before I could utter a protest, Max took me by the arm and dragged me to the kitchen where Mom, Dad, Melanie, Valerie, and Sanford were sitting around the table with a big bowl of buttered popcorn and cans of pop. He pushed me into a chair, shoved the popcorn in my direction and announced, “After tonight you’ll never want to go to a prom.”
“Where did all this come from?” I gasped.
“We’re having banana splits at midnight,” Sanford called out.
I looked at Max, who avoided my gaze. “Something tells me somebody’s not going to get a set of weights right away.”
He shrugged. “Sometimes a guy’s got to sacrifice. The others chipped in too.”
For the next two hours we forgot all about the prom and gorged ourselves on pop and popcorn. We played Uno and Rook and laughed until we were sick. I had never realized I could have so much fun with my family, especially on prom night.
At 8:30 P.M. when we were just getting ready to set up Trivial Pursuit, the doorbell rang and Sandra rushed in. “Why didn’t you tell me Dale was out of town?” she demanded. “Tami Roth just called and said he had to go to his grandmother’s funeral. Why didn’t you say something? You’ve got to go,” Sandra burst out. “You put the whole prom together.”
“But, Sandra, I don’t—”
“You don’t have time to sit around and gape,” Sandra cut in. “I’ve got a date lined up for you. Beau’s home for the weekend, and he just overheard me saying you didn’t have a date. He spoke right up and said he’d take you, that he’d love to take you. I didn’t pressure him at all. Honest!”
“You’ve got a date with Beau Baby,” Max called out, thumping the table with his hand and standing up. “You landed the big one without even trying.”
Everything was happening so quickly. A few hours earlier the prom had meant everything to me. But the last two and a half hours altered my feelings. I guess the last two weeks had changed that. I could feel tears well up in my eyes. They weren’t even tears of excitement because I could go to the prom with Beau Bentley. They were tears of joy, and I was suddenly glad about Dad’s layoff and Dale’s absence because those seemingly devastating circumstances had helped me discover my family in a way that I never had before.
“What about it, Max?” I smiled over at him. “You spoke first.”
Max took a deep breath and pondered for a moment with that teasing glint in his eye. “Well,” he drawled, “since Beau Baby’s howling at the door, I’ll back out this time.” He shrugged. “I know that will be a real step down for you, but I guess we’d better give Beau a break this time.” Sighing deeply, he dug his fists into his pockets. “I’ll even let him borrow my corsage. I doubt he thought of that.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, smiling.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll sacrifice this time. After all, I’m getting used to sacrificing now. But,” he added, raising a finger, “we will expect you home for banana splits. You can even bring Beau if you want.”
I laughed, gave him a quick hug and said, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Promise.” He swallowed and tried to duck his head. The Mean Max mask was gone. I saw a trace of mist in his eyes, and I knew I would be the luckiest girl at the prom, not because I was going with Beau Bentley but because I had the greatest family in the world.

Last summer a group of young women from Alpine, Utah, decided that they would become “more fit for the kingdom.” They determined to focus on the temple by walking from the Draper Utah Temple to the Salt Lake Temple, a total distance of 22 miles (35 km), just as one of the pioneers, John Rowe Moyle, had done. Brother Moyle was a stonemason who was called by the prophet, Brigham Young, to work on the Salt Lake Temple. Each week he walked the distance of 22 miles from his home to the temple. One of his jobs was to carve the words “Holiness to the Lord” on the east side of the Salt Lake Temple. It was not easy and he had many obstacles to overcome. At one point, he was kicked in the leg by one of his cows. Because it would not heal, he had to have this leg amputated. But that did not stop him from his commitment to the prophet and to work on the temple. He carved a wooden leg, and after many weeks he again walked the 22-mile distance to the temple to do the work he had committed to do.
The young women in the Cedar Hills Sixth Ward decided to walk that same distance for an ancestor and also for someone who was their inspiration to remain worthy to enter the temple. They trained each week at Mutual, and as they walked, they shared what they were learning and feeling about temples.
They began their walk to the temple early in the morning with a prayer. As they started out, I was impressed with their confidence. They had prepared well, and they knew they were prepared. Their eyes were set on their goal. Each step they took was symbolic of each of you as you too are preparing now to enter the temple. Your personal training has begun with your daily personal prayers, your daily reading of the Book of Mormon, and your working on Personal Progress.
As these young women continued to walk, there were distractions along the course, but they stayed focused on their goal. Some began to feel blisters forming, and others felt knees starting to protest, but they kept going. For each of you, there are many distractions, hurts, and obstacles along your path to the temple, but you too are determined and keep going. The route these young women took was mapped out by their leaders, who had walked and driven the course and determined the safest and most direct way to go. Again, your course is marked, and you can be assured that the Savior has not only walked the course but will again walk it with you—every step of the way.
Along this journey to the temple there were fathers, mothers, family members, and priesthood leaders acting as guardians. Their job was to ensure that everyone was safe and protected from danger. They made sure each young woman stayed well hydrated and had enough nourishment to maintain her stamina. There were aid stations provided by their priesthood leaders, with places to rest and to drink water. Young women, your fathers, your mothers, your bishops, and so many others will be your guardians as you walk your path to the temple. They will call out cautions and direct your course, and should you become injured or hurt or get off course, they will help you.
I was impressed that in the final miles of their walk, brothers, other young men, and friends came to support these determined young women and to cheer them on. One brother lifted his sister, who had large blisters on her feet, and carried her on his back the final distance to the temple. As these incredible young women reached their goal, tears were shed as they touched the temple and made a silent commitment to always be worthy to enter there.
The temple walk is a metaphor for your life. Parents and priesthood leaders stood guard along the route. They provided support and aid. Young women guarded and encouraged each other. Young men admired the strength, commitment, and stamina of the young women. Brothers carried sisters who had been injured. Families rejoiced with their daughters as they ended their walk at the temple and took them safely home.

Another new missionary was so shy and bashful he could not look at me without blushing. I discovered he had been reared on a pig farm and was much more comfortable with pigs than with people. It was very difficult for him to talk to anyone, yet he had a burning desire to be a great missionary. Later, when we attended zone conference in the zone to which he was assigned, the missionary stood to bear his testimony: “President, I have discovered that becoming a missionary is like playing football.” He told of his leaving the farm to attend high school. As he registered for school, he noticed the football team practicing and decided he would like to play, but he didn’t have any football shoes or the money to buy any. Then he remembered that his cousin had been a football star at the school. He visited his cousin, asking whether he could borrow his shoes. His cousin gave him the shoes but warned, “Don’t you disgrace them.”

Our missionary got on the team. In the first game of the season, he found himself opposite a great, big, mean opponent. He took one look at that fearsome opponent, gulped, and said to himself, “‘I can’t knock him down! But my cousin could—and I’m wearing my cousin’s shoes.’ So I went ahead and knocked him down, and kept on knocking him down all through the game.”

What kind of a missionary do you think he became?

Tavita started learning patience when he was a young boy. He needed a direction in his life, and when he was thirteen years old, a good friend got him into weight lifting. By the age of fourteen, Tavita could lift almost twice his own weight.
“People thought that I was twenty years old when I was only fourteen because of the way I acted and the way I looked. I had the body of an adult. Even so, I still loved to play and watch cartoons on television.”
In the following years Tavita continued to grow in both strength and size. He entered and won weight lifting competitions around the country. At the age of fifteen Tavita traveled to Little Rock, Arkansas, where he was recognized as the strongest 14–17 year-old in the United States. For five years he won national titles. By the time he was eighteen years old, he could squat-lift 412 kilos.
In high school Tavita excelled at weight lifting and football. In his first season playing football, he was selected for high school teams at both the state and then the national level. His list of awards goes on and on. “I excelled in football and weight lifting because they are the two sports I love the most,” he says.
But Tavita excelled not only because of his love for the sports, but because he taught himself strict discipline. That discipline helped him learn Cantonese while still preparing to enter the Hong Kong Mission. “When I got my call to Hong Kong, my next thought was, ‘What is a 120-kilo Samoan going to do there?” But I knew that was where Heavenly Father wanted me to serve.”
At the beginning, Tavita had difficulty learning the language. It was frustrating to not be able to communicate his strong feelings about the gospel. “Through patience and prayer I learned to endure. The relationship between my Heavenly Father and me grew closer, more than I ever thought it could. My knees literally had calluses on them.”
Patience and long-suffering helped him succeed on his mission. These attributes have continued to help him succeed in his college studies and football career. During high school, he thought he had to prove something. But now all he feels he needs to prove is his worthiness to his Heavenly Father.
Tavita continues to work out six days a week. “I take a lot of pride in building the body Heavenly Father gave to me. I want to keep it clean and to keep it physically as well as spiritually fit.”
Tavita also strives to be a good example to all his friends, both members and nonmembers. He wants to have a positive influence on those around him.
But first and foremost is his relationship with the Lord. “The relationship I have with my Heavenly Father is a little like the one I have with my own dad and mom. I try to serve Him to the best of my ability and to do what He wants me to do.”
Tavita’s father recently died, and his mother is living in California. But every opportunity they have, the family gets together to have fun. Tavita especially enjoys working on cars with his brothers and cousins. ‘I love to fix cars. I love anything to do with hands and tools. I have a strong talent for being able to fix and repair things. In fact, my father was a mechanic, and my brothers are also mechanics.”
Tavita has enthusiastic advice for the young people of the Church. “Serve a mission. Especially the young men when they turn nineteen years old. Go now. It might not be the easiest, but it will be the best two years of your life.”
He also advises youth to learn the importance of the gospel in their lives.
“Stay close to the Church,” Tavita adds. “Have a close relationship with your Heavenly Father. It has helped me.”
And that’s the kind of attitude which, whether he’s standing or kneeling, makes Tavita Sagapolu a true spiritual giant.

Days start early for sixteen-year-old Jenny Flinn, who lives in the little town of Broadway, near Ilminster in Somerset, England. There’s lots of work to be done, animals to feed, and cows to milk—at least an hour of chores—before she leaves for school.
But there are also rewards. The morning air is brisk, and Jenny breathes deeply and feels renewed. The sun is warm, more tan than yellow as it chases fog away. The fields are damp, but the dew seems to wrap each plant in crystal. The animals, already awake and eager for attention, seem happy just to be alive.
Jenny wouldn’t say it out loud, but living here is like living a prayer of thanksgiving. Yes, there’s work to be done. But work is life, and life is good.
Jenny isn’t the only Flinn up early. By 6:15, her seventeen-year-old brother, Peter, is already off, pumping his bicycle down the lane to do his paper round, which covers most of the homes in Broadway. Peter isn’t particularly keen about getting up at dawn, at least not until he gets going. But by the time he’s halfway into town, he knows the joy of the morning too—the feeling that the day is his to conquer, his own marvelous opportunity to see things through.
Peter’s mind is on work this day, too. As he folds each Daily Telegraph and slips it into a door slot, he’s thinking of all the jobs he’s done, from egg selling to fruit picking, to putting money away for his mission. He’s thinking how that mission is getting closer all the time. Peter might not say it out loud, either, but he’s glad he’s learned to work. It’s a skill that will help him as a missionary. And it feels good to start the day by getting something done.
Jenny and Peter are the oldest of Bruce and Margaret Flinn’s children. The others are Lindsey, 14; Neal, 12; Elizabeth (“Lizzy”), 9; and Rachel, 5. To visit the Flinns on their six-acre smallholding (family farm) is to see not two, but eight, people who know a lot about working. To visit them is also to see much of what can make a family succeed.
“We moved here as much for the children’s sake as because of our own feelings,” explains Brother Flinn, who works full-time as a seminary teacher supervisor in addition to maintaining the smallholding. “Because of my work, I travel a lot. It would probably be easier to live in town.”
“But if we moved,” Sister Flinn says, “our quality of life would drop. We couldn’t keep all the livestock. We wouldn’t learn all the skills about being self-reliant. We might not know as much about how to love work.”
How to love work?
“We believe in the principle of work,” Brother Flinn explains. “We believe it’s a spiritual principle. It’s not just obtaining the end result; it’s the actual doing of the work. It’s good for you.”
And do the children agree?
“When we complain about having to do things,” Lindsey says, “Mum will say, ‘Fine. Shall we move to the town?’ None of us has ever said yes.”
“There are pros and cons to everything,” Peter says. “But I’d say I’m fine here.”
Now all this talk about willingness to work may have you thinking that the Flinns are perfect. The truth is, they’re a typical family with teasing and quarrels and sometimes tears, just like any family. But they’ve learned to work at being a family, too.
“What do we gain from being together?” Jenny asks. “Patience, mainly.”
Does she ever think about being with her family forever?
“When they’re not annoying me,” she teases.
Her ability to laugh is typical of the entire family. They enjoy jousting verbally, but also know they have to do it with love, so that feelings aren’t hurt.
“Everybody’s got their own personality,” Lindsey says. “We’ve learned to adjust for that. Besides, if you say anything negative, Dad makes you say two things positive.”
Other challenges? “One of the biggest ones is juggling time,” Jenny says. “I have to do the animals twice a day, so that’s an hour each morning and evening, and in between I’ve got school. And there’s homework, two hours every night, and seminary is home study, so I have to find time for that, too.”
Church activity can be a struggle because of isolation. “We’re fifty miles from the stake center,” Peter explains. “There’s lots of traveling involved, and not everyone has a car. There’s only two of us in my quorum, and the other one lives forty miles away. We make an effort to see if he wants to come out, but there are various problems, like parents who don’t want to bring him in because it’s out of the way. Distance is the major drawback.”
And in school, being a Latter-day Saint doesn’t keep temptation from being all around. Twelve-year-old Neal says a survey showed there were only two people in his entire class who hadn’t used alcohol.
What’s the counterbalance?
“We have good lessons at church,” Jenny says. “We have good lessons at seminary. And good home evenings at home. We live for Fridays (Mutual night) and Sundays to be with Church kids and strengthen each other.” And of course, there are scriptures and prayer and family support.
“If I have a really major problem, I know I can turn to my family,” Lindsey says. “I suppose I’d call them my best friends. If I didn’t have them to turn to, where would I go?”
That’s an attitude Jenny exemplified when, even though she was taking final exams and needed to study, she walked down to the school to pick up Rachel. “Mum and Dad were late getting home,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “I knew Rachel would panic if no one showed up.”
That’s part of being a family, part of what the Flinns learn every day.
Step into the Flinns’ family room, and you’ll notice one wall is adorned with corn dollies, the kind actually made from wheat. “You have to braid the stalk while it’s flexible,” Sister Flinn explains. “When it gets old, it’s brittle and won’t bend.
“That’s what we’re doing as a family,” she says. “We live the gospel. We learn about family love. And the children braid them both into their lives.”

The last file we’ll look at is probably the biggest. It’s been around the longest. Anthony’s first job was as a bagger at a grocery store on an air base. He saved 25 percent of his money for his mission fund at first. He later got a job at a car wash through a friend in his seminary class. He’s been working there ever since and has been saving half his earnings for his mission. A few months ago, however, Anthony realized he wouldn’t meet his goal if he maintained this saving pattern. He would have to step it up. So he cut his other expenses and started putting away much more money. And he counts it as a blessing of paying tithing that he also got a raise at work. He’s going to make it.
And it’s a good thing too, because he just got his mission call to Boise, Idaho. Because he’s been through saving for his mission, Anthony has some advice: “Be prepared to work for your money, but I can testify that when you work to earn as much as you can, then the Lord will take care of the rest.”
He also counsels other young men and women preparing for missions to be spiritually ready. He reads his scriptures every night and morning, studies Church history, memorizes the scripture mastery scriptures, and listens to advice from his parents, among other things, all in preparation for his mission.
Like Nathan Neeley, Anthony also remembers being inspired when he sang “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission” in Primary. Through his faith, diligence, and preparation, the hymn he’s singing now is “Called to Serve” (Hymns, no. 249).

And now, my brothers and sisters, I would like to tell you about another feature of this wonderful building. If I get a little personal and even a little sentimental, I hope you will forgive me.

I love trees. When I was a boy we lived on a farm in the summer, a fruit farm. Every year at this season we planted trees. I think I have never missed a spring since I was married, except for two or three years when we were absent from the city, that I have not planted trees, at least one or two—fruit trees, shade trees, ornamental trees, and spruce, fir, and pine among the conifers. I love trees.

Well, some 36 years ago I planted a black walnut. It was in a crowded area where it grew straight and tall to get the sunlight. A year ago, for some reason it died. But walnut is a precious furniture wood. I called Brother Ben Banks of the Seventy, who, before giving his full time to the Church, was in the business of hardwood lumber. He brought his two sons, one a bishop and the other recently released from a bishopric and who now run the business, to look at the tree. From all they could tell it was solid, good, and beautiful wood. One of them suggested that it would make a pulpit for this hall. The idea excited me. The tree was cut down and then cut into two heavy logs. Then followed the long process of drying, first naturally and then kiln drying. The logs were cut into boards at a sawmill in Salem, Utah. The boards were then taken to Fetzer’s woodworking plant, where expert craftsmen designed and built this magnificent pulpit with that wood.

The end product is beautiful. I wish all of you could examine it closely. It represents superb workmanship, and here I am speaking to you from the tree I grew in my backyard, where my children played and also grew.

It is an emotional thing for me. I have planted another black walnut or two. I will be long gone before they mature. When that day comes and this beautiful pulpit has grown old, perhaps one of them will do to make a replacement. To Elder Banks and his sons, Ben and Bradford, and to the skilled workers who have designed and built this, I offer my profound thanks for making it possible to have a small touch of mine in this great hall where the voices of prophets will go out to all the world in testimony of the Redeemer of mankind.

When I was five, my mother had a problem with her back and she could not stand up for very long. One afternoon after lunch she and my two-year-old sister, Dafne, fell asleep.
I was playing a video game—my favorite thing to do. When I was playing the best part of the game, I thought about my mom. She always has to keep the house clean. Now her back was hurting her a lot. I thought I should help her and surprise her when she woke up.
I stopped playing my game. I went into the kitchen, stood on a chair, and started to wash the dishes. There were lots of dishes, but I thought Mom could sleep some more if I did this for her.
I was still washing dishes when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Mom, asking what I was doing. I told her I was helping her back get better, and she started to cry. Then she said she was very happy because I wanted to help her. She hugged me and said that Jesus was happy about what I was doing.
I learned in Primary that we should be like Jesus. I never understood very well what I should do to be like Him. But because I helped Mom, I learned that the Holy Ghost helped me get the idea to help my mother when she needed it. The Holy Ghost helped me be like Jesus.

“One of his favorite subjects is that of being a good neighbor and friend to people. When he was younger he was particularly kind to a girl who was especially sad. Later the girl told him she had anticipated taking her own life; but since Dad had been so kind to her, she had decided life seemed worthwhile after all. He likes people and likes to help them.” His wife added that he is always pleasant and willing to help even if someone calls him in the middle of the night.

The morning session was opened by the president with a polished and stirring address. Next we called on his second counselor. He was obviously flustered. … (We had previously indicated that both counselors would probably speak in the afternoon session. We were to go to his home for the noon meal. He had known there would be time to go over his notes, so he had left them at home.)

For want of his notes, he turned to testimony, giving an inspiring account of an administration he had performed during the week. A brother, given up by his doctors, had been called from the very shadows of death by the power of the priesthood. I do not know what was on his notes, but surely it could not have compared in inspiration to the testimony he bore.

My family had family prayer and family home evening, and during those times, I learned the importance of communicating with Father in Heaven.
I remember one time when one of our puppies was run over by a car. Heartbroken, I carried the puppy into my mother. “He’s not going to live!” I cried. With her infinite wisdom, she helped me place the tiny body in a box and suggested we say a prayer. We knelt and prayed, then headed to the vet.
When the vet came into the room, he took one look at the puppy and asked why we had come. “There’s nothing wrong with this animal,” he said. But I knew that there had been—I had seen the car run over him. That was a great testimony to me about the power of prayer. I knew then and know today that Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers.

I’ve had many problems with my temper. I used to yell at people because I thought they were such idiots. My temper had a very short fuse. The way I overcame my “short fuse” was by reading the Book of Mormon, writing my feelings down on paper, and making a conscious effort to change. After about a week, I could tell that I wasn’t getting mad at people nearly as often.
Elder John O. Leyer, 19Indianapolis, Indiana

Truman had a desire to join the main body of the Church, and in 1835 he moved his little family to Kirtland, Ohio, where he found work waiting for him in the temple. Pulpits, pews, stairs, window casings, and doorjambs all needed to be built. The Prophet Joseph Smith noticed his fine work and put him in charge of many other buildings in Kirtland.
When the Kirtland Temple was almost completed, Truman was ordained a seventy. Eagerly he prepared for another mission. But shortly before he was to go, the Prophet Joseph asked him to stay and build a store. Truman told the Prophet that he was now a seventy and wanted to serve a mission. The Prophet simply said, “Well, go ahead.”
After Joseph Smith left, Truman struggled with his thoughts: How could he bear testimony of a prophet of the Lord if he, Truman, was not willing to heed that prophet’s counsel? Truman remained in Kirtland and built the store and many other buildings that were needed.