Gospel Story Finder

One family, with children of many different ages, tried studying during and after dinner, before bedtime, and on weekends—all without much success. They finally found their answer by having a family breakfast an hour before anyone leaves for work or school. This allows them to have a nutritious meal together and to study gospel principles each day. “We are a happier family now,” says the grateful wife and mother. “We have more time to talk together in a meaningful way, and our family gospel study has helped each of us understand and live the gospel better.”

They first heard that message from two lady missionaries who were tracting in their area. Sister Zulema Abrea accepted the gospel immediately. She helped her son Angel understand the story of the Book of Mormon and learn to study the scriptures in preparation for his baptism, which came almost a year later. Oscar, who was then too young, entered the waters of baptism at age eight.

It would be satisfying to write that Edealo Abrea joined his wife and sons in Church membership before his death eight years ago, but that did not happen. Elder Abrea’s father nevertheless supported his family, encouraging his wife and sons in their Church service. Elder Abrea remembers that when he was baptized, his father told him, “Angel, if you are going to be a member of that Church—if you are going to be a member of the Mormon Church—you have to be a faithful member. I remember that was a Sunday morning, when he was waking me up to go to the meetings. Really, he was a tremendous help for me.”

“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.

It was just another regular day at school for Sam. Until the cupcakes.
“Today is Ryan’s birthday,” Sam’s teacher, Mrs. Coley, said. “He brought a treat to share with us. Let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday,’ and then I’ll pass these out.”
Sam sat up straight and watched Mrs. Coley lift the lid off the box. The cupcakes stood in neat rows, piled high with swirly red frosting. On top, there were little plastic basketballs.
Sam wanted to sing really fast so they’d be done quick. But everyone sang so slow! He stared at the cupcakes the whole time he sang. The frosting looked like a twisty mountain with a cave full of magical creatures. Maybe the basketballs should’ve been dragons instead! Sam was practically drooling as he stared at the cupcakes.
When the song was finally over, Mrs. Coley called everyone to line up. Sam moved fast, but by the time he got to the front of the classroom, he was all the way at the back of the line. Well, not the very back. Jenny was behind him. Since it was his birthday,
Ryan was first in line. Mrs. Coley handed him a cupcake. Next was Emma. Then Zoey. Sam watched them taste their frosting before they even sat down. They giggled at each other’s red-stained tongues.
After what felt like five million years, it was finally Sam’s turn. “Oh no!” Mrs. Coley said. “I should have counted them first!” Sam glanced in the cupcake box. It was empty. Mrs. Coley was holding the very last cupcake.
Sam looked back at Jenny. There wouldn’t be another cupcake for her. She looked sad.
Mrs. Coley offered Jenny a granola bar, but Sam knew what Jesus would want him to do.
“That’s OK, Mrs. Coley,” Sam said. “Jenny can have it.”
“Are you sure?” Mrs. Coley asked. “I’m so sorry there isn’t one for both of you.”
Sam turned to Jenny. She gave him a small smile.
“Do you want to split it?” Jenny asked.
“That’s a great idea!” Mrs. Coley said. She found a plastic knife and sliced the cupcake in half. She gave one half to Jenny and the other half to Sam.
“Thanks for sharing!” Sam said.
Jenny smiled. “You too.”
Sam felt great as he walked back to his seat with his half of the cupcake. He was glad he chose to be kind to Jenny and that she had shared with him too. He didn’t think anything could make him feel any better. Well … maybe one thing. He took a big bite of his cupcake. Yum!

Elise wanted to dress up. She put on Dad’s shoes and a fake red nose.
I’m a funny clown.
Elise ran back to her room. She put on a yellow construction hat and grabbed a plastic hammer.
Elise hammered the floor before she ran back to her room.
I’m a strong builder.
Elise put on a glittery purple and silver gown and twirled out of her room.
Elise liked being a princess. She stayed dressed in her gown for the rest of the day.
I’m a beautiful princess.
At bedtime Elise changed into her favorite green pajamas. She walked out of her room and sat on Mom’s lap.
Who are you?
I am Elise. I am a child of God.

In 2015, in the state of Pernambuco, Brazil, 62 members of the J. Reuben Clark Law Society cooperated with the state Prosecutor’s Office in investigating the legal challenges of residents in four different nursing homes. For five hours one Saturday, these attorneys interviewed over 200 residents one by one, each of whom had been functionally forgotten by society.
During their interviews, they discovered several crimes that had been committed against the elderly residents, such as abandonment, mistreatment, and misappropriation of funds. A key pillar of this law society is to care for the poor and in need. Just two months later, the prosecutor successfully filed charges against the responsible parties.
Their assistance is a perfect example of King Benjamin’s teaching “that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.”

When I visited southern Brazil some time ago, my husband accompanied me. This was the area where he served his mission. One evening when we arrived at a meeting, we were greeted at the door by a young mother who introduced herself as my interpreter for the meeting. She excitedly turned to my husband and said, “Elder Tanner, you are the one who brought the gospel to my family many years ago. I was just a toddler at the time, but I grew up hearing your name associated with the first baptisms in our family.” Then she told us about each family member’s faithfulness in the Church through the years. What a touching reunion this was!
During the meeting, as my husband looked out at the audience, he saw others dotting the congregation to whom he had taught the gospel and who had remained faithful. When he bore his testimony, my husband expressed his joy to know of their continued faithfulness. He said he was reminded of the Book of Mormon story in which Alma met his dear friends, the sons of Mosiah, as he was journeying:
“Now these sons of Mosiah were with Alma at the time the angel first appeared unto him; therefore Alma did rejoice exceedingly to see his brethren; and what added more to his joy, they were still his brethren in the Lord” (Alma 17:2; emphasis added).
That night in Brazil, my husband likewise met dear friends from the past who “were still his brethren [and sisters] in the Lord.”

President Aires is a friendly, outgoing man who radiates genuine love for people. But he was a skeptic—an atheist from a family of atheists—when he met the LDS missionaries. The missionaries first contacted his wife, Domitila, who warned them her husband would not want to hear their message. So they made three visits without discussing religion, getting to know him, before he asked what they wanted. As predicted, he told them he was not interested, but he gave permission for them to teach his wife. During the third lesson, however, the gospel message began to reach him too. He and his wife were baptized in July of 1977.
Brother and Sister Aires were the first Portuguese couple called to serve as missionaries, in 1984. Maturity and ability with the language gave them advantages over younger missionaries. They benefited, too, from knowledge of Portuguese society and culture, especially in dealing with married couples.

Many appreciate this chance to be an example for their own family. Says Elder Vernon Snarr of Salt Lake City, “We felt that we could not expect our ten grandchildren to be obedient to a call from the Lord if we, as grandparents, were not obedient.”

During Sister LaVaun Asay’s orientation interview with her mission president, Elder M. Russell Ballard, now of the First Quorum of the Seventy, she confided to him that she didn’t know how to be a missionary and was nervous and frightened to try. So he kindly went through a practice session with her asking the golden questions.

Later, on her first missionary day in Kirtland Lake, Ontario, while her husband, Verl, was paying for their groceries, she found the courage to ask the lady at the grocery check counter the golden question. The lady responded positively.

After the Asays’ first discussion with this woman and her husband, Robert and Betti W. Guild, Robert invited his brother, Don, and his wife, Sheila, to join them. After a short time all four were baptized. Their influence among friends and other family members has led to at least twelve more baptisms so far—all because Sister Asay discovered courage she didn’t think she had.

Another blessing is spending twenty-four hours a day together—even though it takes some adjustment. Many couples reported their joy from working hard together, seeing their eternal companion doing the Lord’s work, and being involved in a spiritual atmosphere together for so many hours at a time.

Missionary couples and mission leaders are quick to insist, however, that a mission is not a leisure time—it is not a retirement vacation. “When a retired couple moves into missionary work,” says Elder Pinegar, “they have just accepted a challenging and exciting task.”

But Elder Dean M. and Sister Marchey Lloyd of Pocatello, Idaho, believe that shouldn’t discourage anyone. They appreciate the spiritual development they’ve had on their mission. “We were retired, and doing some long-planned traveling. We were enjoying our trips, but our spiritual life was not receiving much nourishment. Our decision to go on a mission brought new vigor, new emotions, new friends, new places, new challenges. It brought us closer together as husband and wife; we had a common goal and a real partnership. And best of all, it brought new spiritual growth, instead of spiritual retirement.”

A true story from the USA.
The freezing wind howled, and snow swirled around the handcart. Jane pulled her thin blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her feet felt numb, but she kept walking. They were on their way to Salt Lake City, Utah.
Jane and her family had learned about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in England. When the prophet asked Church members to come to Utah, her family saved every bit of money they could to make the journey. They sailed across the ocean. Now they were traveling by handcart across the plains. They had walked for several months, and they were running out of food.
Tears slid down Jane’s cheeks. “I’m so hungry,” she told her older brother Thomas. “I don’t think I can walk another step!”
Thomas cut a piece of loose rawhide from the wheel of the cart. “Here, chew on this,” he said. “It will be OK.”
“Thank you,” Jane whispered as she chewed on the tough leathery piece.
Soon it was time to camp for the night. Some of the men left to hunt for buffalo. Jane hoped they would find some. Her stomach felt so empty. While they waited, Jane and her family huddled around a small fire, tired, hungry, and cold.
“Let’s say a prayer,” Jane said.
The family knelt together, and Mother prayed. “Father in Heaven, we have no food for supper. Please help us.”
Jane and her brothers and sisters sat quietly for a moment. Then Mother sat up straighter.
“What is it?” Thomas asked.
“I just remembered something.” Mother hurried to the handcart and opened the family trunk. Then she pulled out a small metal box and opened it. Inside were two very hard biscuits. They were left over from their ocean voyage months before.
Jane felt excitement bubble up inside her. They did have food! “We can break them into smaller pieces to share,” she said.
But when they tried, the biscuits were too hard to even break in half.
“Let’s try this,” Mother said. She put the biscuits in the Dutch oven and poured a little water on them. Then she set the lid on and put the heavy pot over the coals.
Jane and her family prayed again. She thought of the story of Jesus Christ in the scriptures, when He fed the five thousand with only a few loaves and fishes. She knew Heavenly Father could help them too.
After a little while, Mother slowly opened the pot. It was filled to the brim with food! There was plenty to feed their whole family.
Jane hugged her mother tightly. “It’s a miracle!”
About Jane Rowley
She was eight years old when she traveled to Utah.
She traveled in the Willie handcart company and walked 1,300 miles (2,092 km) to get to Salt Lake City.
The prophet Brigham Young sent a rescue team to help them.
Illustrations by Simini Blocker

Misha Sukonosov never imagined that attending English classes with the missionaries in Chernihiv would lead him to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. But that changed after several months of attending the classes.
Misha loved the spirit he felt as the missionaries taught him English. And when he finally accepted their invitation to attend Church meetings with them, he was surprised to feel the same spirit at church.
Finally, one of the elders invited Misha to simply do what he knew was right and be baptized.
Misha knew it would take a great deal of courage to go against his family’s traditions. In Ukraine most people are lifelong members of the predominant church. His family was no exception.
His mother wanted him to wait a few years to be baptized, so he agreed to wait until he turned 16. In the meantime he attended church every week and began serving as branch pianist.
“That helped me come every Sunday, because I had to come or there would be nobody to play,” Misha says.
Finally, when the wait was over, Misha was baptized in the Desna River on July 1, 2006. At the time, he had no idea how quickly his family would follow his example.
His mother, Olga, started coming to church to learn more about her son’s new religion. She came so often that the branch president asked her to play the organ in sacrament meeting so Misha could be called as the music director.
After six months of hearing the members’ testimonies, including her son’s, Olga developed a testimony of her own. Misha baptized his mother in December 2006.
Olga still plays the organ every week. Misha, now 17, keeps busy by helping the branch presidency, serving as a branch missionary, and leading the hymns in sacrament meeting.
“I know the Church needs me,” he says. “I am so grateful for these chances to serve. The Church helps me as I help others.”

It is being able to talk in the language of music when other languages are not shared that intrigues these young people. Sarah said, “Last year I had a friend who was a piano major. We met some Africans who had come here, and they couldn’t speak English. We all went to a practice room and sort of talked by way of the music. They would just play pieces; then my friend would play something for them. Everyone could understand. It was like we were talking through music.”

“A few years ago I read an article written by Jack McConnell. … He recounted that during his childhood, every day as the family sat around the dinner table his father would ask each one in turn, ‘And what did you do for someone today?’ The children were determined to do a good turn every day so they could report to their father that they had helped someone. Dr. McConnell calls this exercise his father’s most valuable legacy, for that expectation and those words inspired him and his siblings to help others throughout their lives. As they grew and matured, their motivation for providing service changed to an inner desire to help others.”

Wilford Woodruff, too, could see humor winking at him through the hardships of his mission. He writes of his experience in January of 1830 when he was twenty-seven years old. He and his companion walked sixty miles in two days, without food. On the first day they were confronted by a bear, lost their way, were followed by wolves, and finally, late at night, reached a cabin where they were given nothing to eat, though they were allowed to sleep on the floor. That, writes Elder Woodruff, was “the hardest day’s work of my life.” The next morning they walked twelve miles in the rain to the house of a man who, they discovered, had been in the mob that drove the Saints from their homes in Jackson County, Missouri, a year earlier. As they reached the cabin, the man’s family were sitting down to breakfast. To read from Elder Woodruff’s account:
“In those days it was the custom of the Missourians to ask you to eat even though they were hostile to you, so he asked us to take breakfast. … He knew we were Mormons; and as soon as we began to eat, he began to swear about the Mormons. He had a large platter of bacon and eggs, and plenty of bread on the table, and his swearing did not hinder our eating, for the harder he swore the harder we ate, until we got our stomachs full; then we arose from the table, took our hats, and thanked him for our breakfast. The last we heard of him he was still swearing. I trust the Lord will reward him for our breakfast.”7

I was touched by the journey of one brother who asked himself, “When the Lord calls, will I hear?” I will call this fine brother David.

David converted to the Church some 30 years ago. He served a mission and then attended law school. While he was studying and working to support a young family, he came across some information about the Church that confused him. The more he read these negative materials, the more unsettled he became. Eventually he asked to have his name removed from the records of the Church.

From that time on, like Alma in his rebellious days, David spent a great deal of time debating with members of the Church, engaging in online conversations with the purpose of challenging their beliefs.

He was very good at this.

One of the members he debated with I will call Jacob. Jacob was always kind and respectful to David, but he was also firm in his defense of the Church.

Over the years, David and Jacob developed a mutual respect and friendship. What David did not know is that Jacob was praying for David and did so faithfully for more than a decade. He even placed his friend’s name for prayer in the temples of the Lord and hoped that David’s heart would be softened.

Over time, slowly, David did change. He began to remember with fondness the spiritual experiences he once had, and he remembered the happiness he had felt when he was a member of the Church.

Like Alma, David had not completely forgotten the gospel truths he had once embraced. And like Amulek, David felt the Lord reaching out to him. David was now a partner in a law firm—a prestigious job. He had developed a reputation as a critic of the Church, and he had too much pride to ask to be readmitted.

Nevertheless, he continued to feel the pull of the Shepherd.

He took to heart the scripture “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” He prayed, “Dear God, I want to be a Latter-day Saint again, but I have questions that need answers.”

He began to listen to the whisperings of the Spirit and to inspired answers of friends as he never had before. One after another, his doubts turned to faith, until finally he realized that, once again, he could feel a testimony of Jesus Christ and His restored Church.

At that point, he knew that he would be able to overcome his pride and do whatever it took to be accepted back into the Church.

Eventually, David entered the waters of baptism and then began counting down the days until he could have his blessings restored.

I am happy to report that this past summer, David’s blessings were restored to him. He is again fully participating in the Church and serving as a Gospel Doctrine teacher in his ward. He takes every opportunity to speak to others about his transformation, to heal the damage he caused, and to bear testimony of the gospel and the Church of Jesus Christ.

For example, my older sons, who grew up when the Beatles were popular, wanted to follow the current fashion fads. Now, I don’t like fads, have never liked them, and probably will never like them. But I decided to let them win—with moderation. Why?
Because I felt that I was winning in all of the areas that really mattered. My sons could be classified as “good boys.” They went to early morning seminary (6:25 A.M.), attended Church meetings regularly, paid their tithing, were average in Scouting, made above-average grades, served as my home teaching companions, were faithful in their priesthood assignments, and fulfilled their chore responsibilities around the home.
The only negative thing they wanted to indulge in, in my estimation, was some of the fashion trends. But compared to everything they were doing that was right, or at least satisfactory, style, in my opinion, was not really significant.
Did it corrupt them? No. Because at the same time, they were doing all the important things. Both of the older boys have completed full-time missions now and still look like missionaries today, several years after they returned.

I thought of this as I sat once with a choice person who had been wronged, and in her anguish and anger had herself subsequently acted in error. Her sins were serious, innocent people had suffered, and the road back was difficult. But that was past. In contrition and humiliation she had followed the course to full forgiveness and had received it. There was a serenity of spirit and a sweet radiation of peace about her that made me think of parables of lost sheep and coin and son, and the language in them concerning the joy and rejoicing in heaven over “one sinner that repenteth.” (Luke 15:7.)
I said, “You really do understand the joy and rejoicing in heaven, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she said with a warm smile. Then, not accusing and not condemning, “Brother Hanks, why isn’t there more rejoicing in the ward where I live?”
I have pondered that question in my mind and heart.

I have a sweet friend who some time ago found herself in such a state. I do not know, nor need I know, what her problem was, but she did summon the courage to go tearfully to her bishop to confess. A Church court was held. She was excommunicated and began the difficult process of repentance. Quite a long time later, after the spiritual healing had taken place and at the time of her baptism, she expressed great appreciation to a bishop who had shed tears of caring for her, even while being firm in the steps that must be taken; to a dear friend in Relief Society, who, she said, had helped her “to understand and forgive all those who couldn’t understand or forgive” her; to those who had helped to keep her testimony strong in those quiet, desperate times when “coming home again” seemed nearly impossible.

I recently had a note from this friend, married now in the temple with a lovely family. She says, “Tell the sisters that it is all worth it. Tell them how beautiful and joyful life can be when you keep the commandments.”

Thirty years ago a true story unfolded in the most remote part of New Zealand. The windswept Chatham Islands are located in the South Pacific Ocean about 500 miles east of Christchurch. A hardy and resourceful 650 people lived there, isolated in the lonely, harsh environment of those days; and a young, inexperienced, and newly qualified doctor was responsible for their medical care.
An eight-year-old boy, Shane, had sustained a serious head injury 40 miles away on the far side of the island. He was being rushed in across the swamps and along the beaches on the backseat of an old, rusty car to the four-bed cottage hospital. He was unconscious.
The young doctor was unprepared to handle such a case, with little experience and having only the most basic of surgical instruments. Shane was in a critical condition. There was obvious bleeding inside his fractured skull—and blood clotting could fatally compress his brain. The doctor had never even seen a brain operation, but he knew he had to perform the delicate surgery immediately—or watch a little boy die.
There were blood donors to be called in, blood to be cross matched, an anesthetic to be prepared. The antique X-ray machine had broken down, so no helpful X-rays could be taken.
There was the first of many phone calls to Wellington, where a neurosurgeon tried to imagine the scene and guide the nervous young doctor through the process of a very delicate surgical procedure.
Shane’s mother prayed. The doctor prayed; the nurses prayed; the doctor’s wife prayed.
Responsibilities had to be delegated in this busy scene. The policeman administered the anesthetic, a nurse became the surgical assistant, and the work began under an Anglepoise light as darkness fell.
The first surgical incision, nervously performed, did not reveal any bleeding, so other incisions needed to be performed through Shane’s small skull to find the source of the bleeding. More calls to the neurosurgeon for direction and reassurance were made, and his advice was followed in every exact detail. After six hours of anxiety and pressure, the surgery was completed, the hemorrhage of blood into the brain cavity ceased, and a successful outcome was achieved. Serenity replaced chaos. It was around midnight.
The doctor was a young father. He thought about his family and the blessings they enjoyed. He was grateful for the many tender mercies of the Lord in his life and especially for the presence of the Comforter during the last 12 hours. He was grateful for the presence of an unseen expert who imparted of His far-greater knowledge freely in his time of need.
At the critical time in a desperate situation, the Lord provided the guidance and the ability for a young, inexperienced doctor to perform a miracle and preserve the life of a small boy, who was precious before the Lord.
Neil Hutchison was the young doctor who prayed for help and had the faith to rely on the Lord and the neurosurgeon, enabling him to perform a miracle under the most difficult of conditions. He now serves as the bishop in the East Coast Bays Ward in Auckland, New Zealand.
Bishop Hutchison advised me, “I had the privilege of meeting Shane and his father a couple of years ago in Christchurch for the first time since that day in 1976. He is an electrician with his own business and is aware of no defects from his long operation. He is such a nice chap, and I can’t help pondering on how thin the veil is between this life and the next.”

Testimonies abound in Tonga of the power of the priesthood as a means of bringing comfort or healing to those in distress. When 44-year-old Sione Siaki of Tongatapu fell ill with fever and pain, many feared he would die. The hospital in Tonga was full, but a nurse brought medication to his home. Day after day he suffered, for more than a month. “I was waiting to die,” says Brother Siaki. “Then our Relief Society president suggested a ward fast. She talked with our bishop, and twice our ward of 300 members fasted for me. Before the fasts, I couldn’t move. Two weeks after the second fast, I sat up and gradually got better. Now I am a temple worker. When I am in the temple, it comes straight into my mind that maybe this is why I was saved.”