Gospel Story Finder

When the patriarch asked my son Blaine, his father, and me to come fasting to his home to receive a patriarchal blessing, he told Blaine that this preparation would help him to be able to give Blaine the blessing the Lord would have him receive.
We arrived at the patriarch’s home and the blessing began. It was a remarkable experience.
I felt I knew what the patriarch would say before he said it. The Lord seemed to be giving me some special insight about things I would need to know.
As Blaine grew a little older, it came time for him to go on a mission. He was interested in athletics, school, and many other things, and the thoughts of going on a mission did not fit into his plans.
One day, he said to his father: “Dad, do I have to go on a mission?”
His father replied, slowing his words thoughtfully: “No … Blaine … You don’t have to go on a mission. My sons are to make that decision and go because they want to go.”
He then came to me and told me that his father said he didn’t have to go on a mission, so he wasn’t going to go.
“But Blaine,” I said, “What about your patriarchal blessing? The blessing says you will have to bring the gospel to many.”
He didn’t reply but he was thoughtful. Later, he happened to meet a friend, crippled from poliomyelitis, who had just returned from his mission, excited and happy.
“Hey, David,” he said, “Why did you go on a mission?”
“Oh, Blaine, I went for the same reason every boy should go, to show the Lord how much I love him.”
The comment struck fertile ground. The words of his patriarchal blessing came back to him and Blaine committed himself to serve the Lord in the mission field.
My remarkable foreknowledge of Blaine’s blessing was a great aid to me in helping him make his decision to serve a mission. I think every mother in Zion is entitled to this kind of spiritual help in preparing her sons and daughters for the privilege and the responsibility of missionary service.

On 29 November 2018, my dear wife, Ruth, went into labor with our fourth child. Although this was an exciting and joyous moment for us as a family, there was some major concern. The pregnancy was at 32 weeks and the expected delivery was to be late January 2019. This was approximately eight weeks early. The thought—and the now-evident reality—of getting our baby preterm was disturbing.
Before we rushed to the Aga Khan University Hospital in Nairobi that night, I said a silent prayer and beseeched the Lord so that both the mother and baby would be protected. As we arrived at the hospital, the doctors warned me of the possible dangerous outcomes of preterm delivery. They mentioned that the baby’s development could be affected due to incomplete time in the womb. In the worst-case scenario, loss of life happens, and mom and baby could be lost. Although this terrified me, I knew that God was in the details. I knew that the Lord would do His will upon my wife and baby. This assurance gave me a lot of peace. I had prayed many times for other pressing matters in the past, and I had seen the hand of the Lord. He had answered all my prayers from the days of my youth. I knew He would not forsake us even in this case however difficult it seemed.
Things went on well and our baby, David, was born weighing 1.5 kg (approximately 3.3 pounds). The doctors said he looked good for his age and that he was not in any extreme danger. He was placed in the neonatal intensive care unit and he responded very well to the care given by the doctors and nurses. Like many other times in the past, I saw the hand of the Lord and His choicest blessing in my wife’s and son’s lives. This experience helped me appreciate our great medical technology and the selfless acts of the hospital personnel. David is healthy and thriving now and has been a great addition to our family. He is a source of joy to us all. His siblings Payson, Precious, and Natasha love him dearly. He is a constant reminder of the greatness of God.

We have a wonderful sister in our ward who loved us first. She is Mom to some, Aunty Lavern to others, or Tutu to most of the kids in the ward and our street.
Because her husband was a fisherman, every summer at ward camp you would find Aunty Lavern sitting on the beach cleaning fish for others to eat. No complaints—just scaling, and gutting the fish and finally frying it all for the final luau on the last night of camp. But the thing I noticed was she did it all by herself. I also noticed that everyone loved to eat the fish she cleaned and fried but there were not many helping hands when it came to cleaning the fish.
As my children got older at ward camp and could look after themselves more I started cleaning fish with Aunty. After all, my dad was a fisherman, too. She still does it to this day, even from her wheelchair.
Because she loved us first, there isn’t anyone I know that wouldn’t do anything that Aunty wants or needs doing. One of Aunty’s favorite sayings is “many hands make light work” and I’m glad to say that many more hands have been added to fish detail at ward camp.

I wrote my dissertation at the University of California at Berkeley on pion-nucleon interactions. I have never seen a pion and I have never seen a nucleon, and yet I published an article on them, and I expect the scientific community to take that article seriously. I never touched anything I worked with. It wasn’t tangible; I couldn’t get hold of it.
I wrote my dissertation on pions without ever seeing any pions. I don’t know whether they are green or round or square or fuzzy, but when we turned on the cyclotron beam in the meson cave (a room made out of 12-foot-thick lead-impregnated concrete blocks), the beam struck a hydrogen target and splattered particles in all directions. Certain detectors that I had designed and had placed in appropriate spots in the cave registered these particles by sending out electrical impulses. All I actually observed was a series of two-volt jumps in the voltage on some coaxial cables. By fitting the pattern of these blips together, I published what I claim is a scientifically accurate explanation of certain pion-nucleon interactions.

The Lugo family of Valencia, Venezuela, learned that this new approach of starting small and being consistent can pay big dividends. After listening to general conference, Brother Omar Lugo, a Church member in the Falcón Venezuela District, felt inspired to begin his own home storage. He discussed the matter with his family, and they agreed to follow the prophet’s counsel.
They began setting aside food, water, and money, a little at a time. At first the difference was hardly noticeable. But after a while the Lugos found that they had accumulated a substantial reserve. Several months after they began building their home storage, a worker’s strike in Venezuela put many local workers’ jobs in jeopardy. Brother Lugo was among those who eventually lost their jobs.
For a time his family lived on savings. Seven months later the Lugo family was relying exclusively on the food they had stored. It took nearly two years for Brother Lugo to find work again, but his family was able to survive the difficult challenges of unemployment. They had built their reserve gradually, and when adversity struck, they were prepared and the Lord blessed them.

A dear friend of mine Tim Morris was having a surprise 50th birthday party. He lives in Heber City, Utah with his wife and two adorable children. His wife had messaged me on Facebook and asked if I would be attending, the party would be 6:00 pm on a Saturday. After some thought and a look at my calendar I told her I would love to be there.

I had planned on driving up on Saturday morning; attend the party and then drive back on Sunday. Sometime during the week, I had the thought come to me, it would be a good idea to go up on Friday. I had a few things I have always wanted to do in Salt Lake and if I went up on Friday, I could do those things on Saturday before the party. So, I decided I would go up Friday night. On Friday my day was going great, I got done at work just a bit early and thought I would leave a little earlier than I had planned. I got home and started to pack a few things for the trip. The wind that day was horrible; it was gusting 40-60 mph and was just relentless. I had this feeling that I needed to go into the back yard and do some weeding. I thought to myself, are you kidding? Weeding? I am leaving early and headed for a great weekend I am not going to stop and do some weeding. However, the feeling persisted so I got my hoe and rake and headed to the back yard. I hoed about ½ of the yard and raked it up. I had a feeling come over me that said I had done enough, and I could go. I cleaned up got in my truck and headed out on my trip.

As I got close to St. George, Utah, I was going to stop, top off my gas tank grab a drink and then head on to Salt Lake. I had this feeling come over me, it said: "you really don't need gas, you really don't need another drink, you can make it to Cedar, just go on to Cedar City". It seemed reasonable so I passed through St George and headed to Cedar City.

About 10 miles south of Cedar City I was driving in the right lane of the freeway. The speed limit was 80 mph. Very uncharacteristic of me, I was in the right lane doing 80 with my cruise control set. For those who know me, know I wouldn't normally be doing just the speed limit. The feeling came to me to just stay in the right lane put your cruise control at 80 mph, so I did it. But I was very content with driving the speed limit and just enjoying the drive.

I noticed a couple on a Harley Davidson motorcycle start to pass me in the left lane of the freeway. They both looked happy. I remember thinking, look how happy they are—Trish and I in a few months are going to be empty nesters and I hope we can find something together that is that much fun for us. They continued past me, about 100 yards in front of me the man began to change lanes into the right lane of the freeway. Just as he did that a powerful gust of wind hit them, the bike began to wobble back and forth, known in the bike world as the death wobble. It was clear they were going to crash, then the bike got close to the edge of the freeway and the front tire turned all the way right and it just stuck into the ground. The couple and the motorcycle were catapulted into the air at least 20 feet. I could not believe what I was seeing. The man and women were tumbling in the air head over heels over and over; the bike was doing the same. I saw all three of them hit the grassy area on the side of the freeway. It was sloped and grassy.

I slammed on my breaks and pulled over. When my truck stopped, I could see the man was directly to my right, the bike had hit the grass and was standing straight up like it was sitting on the kickstand. The woman was a bit further down the grassy hill, closer to the freeway. I jumped out of the truck and started to dial 911. I ran to the man because he was the closest to me. I could see he was hurt badly. He a horrible injury to his face. I felt his neck for a pulse, I thought I felt a week pulse but couldn't tell if it was him or my heartbeat pounding in my fingers, it was all happening so fast. I ran to the woman (his wife) and I could see she had at least a fractured leg. She was unconscious at the time and I could see she was still breathing. Just as I leaned over to check on her, she woke up and tried to sit up. I gently pushed her back down and told her, "Ma-am you have been in a terrible accident and you have a broken leg, I need you to lay down and not move" She passed out, but I could tell she was breathing on her own.

I ran back to the man and began to feel for a pulse. The 911 operator kept asking me if I could feel a pulse. I told her I thought I did but I couldn't be sure. I felt his neck, his wrist, I listened to his chest. The wind was howling, and cars kept driving by, because of the steep slope no one could see us, and no one would stop, I was all alone. I was kneeling by him and I tried to think of any way I possibly could, but it wasn't going to happen. As I was feeling for his pulse it felt to me that his neck was broken. About that time, I saw a Trooper in an unmarked truck pull up. He had seen the accident in his rear-view mirror and turned around and drove back down the side of the road against on-coming traffic. I told the 911 operator that a trooper was there, and I needed to let her go and I hung up. I explained the situation to the Trooper. I told him I thought the man was dead. I asked him to check for a pulse just to make sure, he did, and he felt nothing. I told him the woman was alive but had at least a broken leg. He ran to her and began talking on the radio. I could hear him giving directions; he called for a life flight helicopter. Soon another Trooper came, he and the other Trooper tended to the woman and called in more information on their radios.

I just knelt next to the man. The spirit whispered to me to put my hands on his head and give him a Priesthood blessing. However, it was made very clear to me that he was not coming back and that it was his time, he was dead. I gave him a Priesthood blessing.

I took his left hand and I just held it. I put my hand on his chest and I just rubbed it. As I knelt there, I brushed the dirt and the grass off of him. I straightened his legs made him look as comfortable as I could. I looked directly above his head as if he were standing right there. I spoke to him out loud and said, "I am so sorry you died today. I am so sorry this happened to you. I am so sorry for your family and what they are about to go through. I promise you; I am not going to leave you." I felt compelled to just stay next to this man. I looked in his wallet and found his name. I also learned that he was an off-duty Sheriff's Deputy from a county in central Utah. The first Trooper that came, walked up to me and knelt beside me, he asked if I was ok? I am sure it seemed odd that I was just kneeling there holding this man's hand. I told him that I was fine. I explained that almost 8 months ago I had lost my youngest son who was 20 in a motorcycle accident. He gently said; "I am sure this can't be easy". The truth was, it wasn't hard at the time. I felt a great sense of calm, I was supposed to be right there, and I wasn't moving.

The paramedics finally came. They came over to the man and asked me for an update. I told him that he was dead. They needed to verify so they pulled up his shirt and put some EKG wires on his chest. They turned on the machine and within a few seconds looked at me and said, "Yes sir, he is dead". They then pronounced the time of death. They quickly moved on to work on the wife. I asked one of the paramedics if they could get me a sheet so I could cover him up to his chest. I was worried about his wife looking over and seeing only me kneeling next to him and that might be upsetting to her.

They brought me a sheet and I covered him up to his chest. The freeway was shut down and the Life Flight helicopter was trying to land in the horrible wind. They finally were able to land in the middle of the freeway. After they loaded the wife in the helicopter, I pulled the sheet up over his head and tucked it in all around him. I just knelt there and held that man's hand. I had no concept of time. Later after recreating the accident I realized I had been kneeling next to him for almost an hour and a half. One of the Troopers came to me and explained that he would need me to write a statement. I, of course, agreed. By that time there were other Troopers there and I knew the man would not be alone. I told the Troopers it was very important to me that he was not left alone. They promised me that an officer would be standing by his side and would not leave him. I got out of the truck and walked up to two Troopers and gave them my statement. One looked at me and told me that he had heard about me losing my son and he was so sorry. He had tears in his eyes, and he went on to tell me that he knew this man. He told me that the man's father was a retired Utah State Trooper and he had worked with him. I told him how sorry I was for him and all of them. My heart was breaking.

He said I didn't have to leave, but that I had done more than enough and that if I wanted to, I could leave. I made sure the sheet was secure and that he wouldn't be alone, and I got in my truck and drove off. I noticed I had blood on my hands, and it had begun to become sticky. I needed to wash my hands. I stopped at a TA Travel gas stop. I went in and washed my hands, got a cool drink and filled up my tank. As I was walking around and gassing up, I kept looking at people and thinking, you have no idea what just happened, you have no idea what I just saw, you have no idea that a man's life had just ended. Those feelings from David's death came racing back to me.

Before leaving Las Vegas, I had called our middle Son Zach who attended BYU–Idaho. I told him I was coming up and if he wanted to drive down and meet me. I would get a hotel in Salt Lake and we could spend Saturday together. I was grateful that Zach would be with me that night.

I had the chance to do a lot of thinking on the remainder of that drive. I thought about all the things that had to take place to put me in that exact place at the exact time. The man died in a motorcycle accident; David had died in a motorcycle accident. He was a Sheriff's Deputy; I had been a Sheriff's Deputy. A man was with David and held his hands when he died; I was with this man holding his hands when he died. I thought about all it took to get me to that place at that exact time. Simply a miracle!

As I was driving, I had the strong impression that I should somehow try to get in touch with his parents. However, I had no idea where they lived or how this could even happen. I tucked that thought away, but it never left.

Zach and I had a great time together Saturday. We drove up to Heber City and with other friends and family joined the surprise party. While at the party I saw an old friend from Nashville I had not seen in years. I was telling him the story and how I felt like I wanted to somehow visit the Mom and Dad. He looked at me and said I think I know this family. He walked out to the garage and made a phone call. He came back in and told me he had gotten the address to the Mom and Dad and he immediately text it to me. I just stood there stunned. Again, what are the chances of all the people my friend would know, he would know this family and be able to get me their address.

The next morning Zach and I had breakfast together in the hotel, said goodbye and he headed for Idaho and I set my GPS for Delta, Utah. As I drove the 2-3 hours to get there, I thought I might be nervous. But I wasn't, I was calm.

When I arrived at their home, they were standing outside on the front walkway. They were talking to some friends who had come to visit. I stood on the sidewalk and politely waited until they were done talking and the other folks had left. I walked up to the man and asked him if he was Mr "Smith". He said he was. I said, "Sir, my name is Greg Maples; I was the first one on the scene at your son's accident and I was with him when he died". He was a big man, 6'4" and every bit a Trooper. He looked down and said, "You were?"
"Yes, sir, I was, and I thought I would come by and talk with you."
His wife came off the steps and said, "You were with my son when he died?" I told her I was, and they invited me in. They lived in a modest, but nice home. We sat in the living room together. I told them who I was, and I told them about our son David and how he was killed. I told them I would like to tell them the story of the accident. I explained that I could tell them all they wanted to know, or as little as they wanted to know. I started telling the story exactly as I have told you today. After a minute the father began to cry. He said he had not cried since they got the news. However, he had only two questions that he wanted answers to and no one could answer them. He had asked the Troopers and the other Sheriff's deputies but none of them could tell him because they weren't there. The two questions were, did my son die alone? And did my son suffer? He said, “You have come and answered both those questions.”

I was able to look him in his eye and tell him, "Sir your son was never conscious, he did not suffer, and he was never alone, I never left his side."

The emotion for me was palpable, this was a sacred moment. A few minutes later, a brother of the man killed pulled up and came into the home. He was a master driller, a good size man, and looked tough. His father told him who I was and that he should listen to me. As I told the story he began to cry. He said he had just been talking to his wife on the phone and told her he had two questions that he just had to have answered. Did his brother suffer and was he alone? Once again, I was able to look him in the eye and tell him. It was another sacred moment.

I told the mother that I had been impressed to give her son a blessing, I told her what I had said and what the spirit had whispered to me about his death. She confided in me that the one thing she wanted and was hoping for was that somehow her son had received a Priesthood blessing.

This sweet mother leaned in close to me and asked me, "Mr. Maples does it ever get easier?" With all the compassion I could muster, I told her, "No it doesn't. However, you will learn to live with it, you'll learn to get by and move forward. However, the pain is always there."

I told them to look for the tender mercies the Lord would send, I promised them they would come. I told them I know we are not alone, and He knows you and loves you.

I learned during my visit that the woman had a broken neck and several broken bones. She had already had four surgeries and two of them that very day. She had a long recovery ahead of her. She was a schoolteacher and he was a Sheriff's Deputy.

I got up, hugged the brother and the mother. Then I hugged the dad, I thought he was going to squeeze the soul out of me, and it felt good. I loved that man. I didn't know him, but I knew more about him at that moment than most of his family and friends ever will. I loved him. We said goodbye and I started for home. I drove in silence just thinking about all that had happened. I just couldn't stop thinking about all that had happened and how it unfolded. I knew I was going to be different from this experience, it was going to change me for the rest of my life.

In Doctrine and Covenants 84:88 it says"
"….for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up."
I testify that God is involved in the details of our lives. He loved this family enough to orchestrate all of these events just for them. I am grateful the Lord was able to use me to help this family. I am grateful for the Spirit that truly testifies of all things.

In March 2024 when the weather was still quite chilly, the Chorley 2nd Ward of the Chorley Stake, led by Elders Quorum President Martin Cook and other members of the ward, completed an outdoor Service Activity in Cuerden Valley Park, Lancashire.
Ms. Laurance McCormick, a neighbour of Brother and Sister Wild, approached them and asked if our Church members would be willing to help clear a totally overgrown area within the park so that wild flowers could be planted. There is a big push around the country to do this as it helps bees and other insects to thrive. Brother Cook contacted Laurance and offered our help, which then led to a meeting with one of the park rangers, Phil. Tools, health and safety equipment, and even hot chocolate were to be provided.
On the day of the service, Saturday 9th March 2024, ward members met with Phil as well as Liam and Andrew, two other park rangers. Instruction was given by the rangers and they split the 24 members, full time missionaries and one non-member into 3 working parties. It was very hard work, but fun nevertheless, with new friendships developing and old friendships strengthened. By 11:30am most of the work was done, and what a difference the concerted efforts had made. Everyone felt rewarded by the work and difference that had been made. All was cleared and made ready for the planting.
Some days later Martin got a message from Phil, thanking him and all the wonderful hardworking members. They said that the day was a fantastic success, with all the goals achieved and the team would be welcome to check back in three or four months when the flowers are blooming.
Service in the community is a blessing to all and a bridge builder for missionary work. Those undertaking this wonderful service included Bishop Shead, the Lewis family, Peter and Luke Fagg, Thomas Warburton and Cassius Rosslee, Lauren Gladwinfield, Bryan and Linda Loynes, Stephen Harrison, James Bradley, David Brown, Dan Dudley, Peter Wilson, Nick Wild, Jo Hughes, Bradley Whitfield, Laurence McCormick, Helen Hughes, Terence Kendell and Martin Cook.

“A few years ago when I was in junior high school, a lot of talk was going around about anti-Mormon literature, especially a certain account of Joseph Smith’s life. My mother, a convert to the Church, reads a great deal of Church literature and has a deep and sincere testimony of the gospel. I knew that she had purchased that particular book some time before and had read it at least in part.
“Convinced that absolutely nothing could shake my testimony, I asked her if I could read it too. She gave me a very final no. Indignantly I asked why. She then explained to me that my testimony and understanding of the gospel, although good, were not strong enough or great enough not to be shaken by that sort of literature. She told me that when I gained a greater knowledge and understanding of the gospel, I could read it and see the flaws in it, and that until then it would be better if I read pro-Church literature to build my knowledge so that when I was faced with anti-Mormon views I would have answers rather than questions.
“I followed her advice and have gained a far greater testimony than I thought possible then. I have now read part of that book along with other anti-Mormon literature, and I can see that a few years ago that sort of thing might have been very damaging to my tender and growing testimony. Perhaps not, but I am sincerely thankful I didn’t take that chance.
“When discussing this with my mother recently, she made this statement: ‘We never need to be afraid to read anything, but we need to be better prepared to read some things.’ Sometimes it’s astonishing what good counsel parents can give us.”
Toni KuttlerPocatello, Idaho

Last summer I planted a garden of tomato plants, 14 in fact. Seven different species. I planted them at a time when you usually don’t plant a garden, mid-July in the heat of the summer. However, it was the only time I had to make a garden, so I did my best despite the heat.

I took those little plants from their small, temporary containers and placed them into a wide and deep plot of earth. And like most plants that get transplanted, for the first while they looked a little sad and leaned over to one side. They probably said, “Why did you pull me from my comfortable familiar container and put me in this new and unfamiliar soil with plants I don’t even know?”

When I paint, I call this transition period the “in-between period” where the painting doesn’t look like what you want it to. Where you’re in new territory, without the answers and not feeling confident. It’s when you’re sitting in unfamiliarity and adjustment. I’ve gratefully observed, however, that this uncomfortable “in-between period” often comes just before something good or even great.

Well, I took special care of those little plants and gave them extra water in the heat and tied small sticks to them to provide extra support. I put nutrients in the soil to help the roots adjust. Guess what happened over time? These tender little plants began to “get root,” [22] strengthen, and grow. And what was a small group of fragile tomato plants grew into a hearty tomato jungle! Things that I didn’t even plant began to grow—don’t ask me how.

When we get transplanted into new places—with new experiences, people, and relationships—it takes us a bit of time to acclimate and, in some cases, to understand why we are there. But as we trust in the Lord, listen for His direction, and watch for His manna day by day, He will walk with us, teach us, and help carry our burdens. He will nourish and strengthen our roots in the heat of the day.

Imagine if these plants never were transplanted from their original containers. Their development would have been stunted, and they would’ve been more vulnerable to stress and disease.

“You are never alone when you have faith in Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.” I have heard phrases like this many times, but I never before understood them to the depth that I do today.
Every person eventually faces the inevitable fact that one day he or she may be alone. For me, due to a divorce, children moving out, and early retirement, this day came sooner than I had anticipated. The most excruciating obstacle I had to overcome was living with this sudden quiet and emptiness after spending years of precious time with family and friends, spouse and children, and fellow employees.
While I enjoyed the visits with my home and visiting teachers and other friends, most of the time I felt completely alone, and I didn’t like it. The constant stillness eventually evoked an uncontrollable stream of tears. I had nowhere to turn for comfort except on my knees in prayer.
After I cried to Heavenly Father for what seemed to be hours, a transition started to take place inside of me, and I felt Heavenly Father’s Spirit. For a moment my tears subsided as I absorbed His love piercing my soul. I knew He understood my sadness, and that allowed me to feel comfortable enough to cry even longer, just as a child who has fallen cries when seeing his or her mother. As I buried my head in what I imagined to be Heavenly Father’s lap, I knew He was willing to comfort me for as long as I needed. Occasionally, I had some fleeting thoughts of being too old to be acting this way. However, I knew that it didn’t matter to Heavenly Father how old or young I was. I just knew that He understood me and would always be there for me.
Today, although I would still prefer to be married, I have come to enjoy the quiet. I listen to the ocean waves and watch the sunset. I literally stop and smell the roses. I listen and act according to the guidance of the Spirit. I am not afraid to be alone because I am not alone as long as I believe in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I see the Spirit of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in most everything I do.
“Through faith in Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father, you are not alone.” Those words have a new and profound meaning deep in my heart today, and I know without a doubt that I am never alone. I am His daughter, and He loves me.

When my children were young, I tried to enroll them in preschool. I began applying to schools in the area, but with each application, I encountered the same difficult response: as soon as the staff met my sons and found out about their condition, we were informed that the school no longer had any openings. Eventually a facility in a neighboring town welcomed us, but this was only after we were rejected by every preschool in our city.
It was incredibly painful.
Riding public transportation wasn’t much easier. Sometimes, when I would scold the boys for making too much noise on the train, they would act out, causing strangers to tell me that I was being abusive. Other times, I would restrain myself from quieting the boys out of fear of how they might react, only to have other passengers tell me that I was being neglectful.
I even had social workers insist that I place one of my children in a semipermanent facility, with contact only once every two years, because they believed I’d never be able to raise two children with autism and ADHD as a single mother. However, having personally experienced the pains of a difficult childhood—my parents divorced when I was a toddler and for various reasons weren’t able to care for me—I was determined to do my best to give my sons the deep love that every child deserves.
Several years ago, I attended a work seminar, and I noticed that some of the seminar leaders would fold their arms and bow their heads before eating lunch. These people are usually so nice, I thought to myself. Why are they in such a bad mood whenever they sit down to eat?
I quickly learned that they were praying—not sulking—and I couldn’t help but ask more questions about their faith. They were overwhelmingly kind and had such a unique spirit about them, and I yearned to know more. I learned that they were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and we quickly accepted their invitation to attend church with them.
Due to his autism, my younger son was afraid of being in large groups and meeting new people, but the ward welcomed us with open arms and did everything they could to accommodate our needs. The members set aside a special room at the back of the chapel just for my son, and they fulfilled our request to avoid making eye contact with him until he felt more at ease. Even when one of my children would disrupt sacrament meeting, we were treated with the utmost respect and kindness.
I saw my sons unfold in the warmth of the ward’s embrace. They quickly made new friends, and my sons even started to attend Primary classes on days that I was unable to attend church.
We were eventually baptized, a memory that still brings tears to my eyes. At the baptismal service, the ward members—understanding my children’s fear of crowds—tiptoed into the back of the room after the boys had been seated to avoid frightening them. Afterward, we were offered a mountain of congratulatory sweets, and the love in the room was so palpable that my sons remarked, “I want to be baptized again!”
I have nothing but gratitude in my heart when I think about the deep love demonstrated by the members in our ward—a love that ultimately allowed us to find the light of the gospel. The ward perfectly encapsulated what it means to have our “hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another” (Mosiah 18:21). My family was truly blessed by the kindness of these welcoming Latter-day Saints.
It’s now been two years since my sons and I were baptized. Both of my sons have been ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood, and I’ve seen an incredible change in their demeanors.
I’m grateful for the many caring individuals who accepted my family and who helped my sons overcome their fears through the power of love. I’m grateful for the gospel of Jesus Christ, through which even the deepest wounds of prejudice can be healed. And above all, I’m grateful for a loving Heavenly Father, who prepared a way for my family to find peace and belonging, even when I couldn’t see what that path would be.
I’ve learned that as we make room for our differences, we make room for greater love. Each of us is a beloved child of heavenly parents, and as we remember this truth, we can all—no matter where we are or who we are—become one in Christ (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:27).

One late night I was going home by bus. I was tired, but the bus driver was attentive and awake. Then I noticed how treacherous some of the roads were. There was no shoulder, just the opposite lane on one side and a huge cliff on the other. Any deviation from the road could cause either a serious accident with oncoming traffic or a tragic plummet off the cliff.
I noticed that the driver never went out of the highway lines—never once veering to the potential harm of either side. I started to think about how much our lives are like this situation.
My bus driver knew that diverting from his lane could have harmful outcomes, and because of that, he would not deviate from his path. Having a similar mindset about worldly temptations and distractions can help us to avoid situations that could put ourselves or others in spiritual jeopardy.

Growing up in a small village in Kenya, we were basically peasants. My father had a job in agriculture on the lowest rung of the government. He worked in the fields with farmers. And so at home, he always asked my brother and me to join him on our small farm as he worked to provide food for our family. When he was away, he assigned us each a portion of the field to plant, or weed, or harvest, depending on the season.
I learned a lot of lessons working with my dad. I remember admiring how well he weeded his patch. He was so thorough in removing the weeds. He would carefully remove the weeds and all their roots. The plot he weeded was always so clean, while my plot was often messy with weeds that I hadn’t completely removed. He never lectured me while we weeded, but his example taught me a lot. And I applied it to other areas in my life.
Because of his example, when I did school homework, I was careful and thorough. Because of him, today I don’t leave details unattended. I don’t leave “weeds.” When I help people, I try and get at the root of their problems. That came from spending time with my father on our small farm in the early years of my life.

I was in Richfield and saw a good friend that I had met in San Antonio on my mission. His name is John. His eyesight is failing; he is almost blind. His family needed a car. He had bought an old van for, I believe, $200, and thought he could make it work. It didn’t run. He bought parts—as many as he could afford. About three months later it still wasn’t running. He really needed the money back out of the car, so he let it be known that he was selling it.

One of the good men there went to him and said, “John, I understand you’re selling your car.”

John answered, “Yes, I am.”

The man asked, “How much do you want for it?”

John said, “Well, I’d really like to get what I have into it. I have $200 into it.”

The man said, “Two hundred dollars, huh? Would you take $300 for it?”

Tears started glistening in John’s eyes, and he said, “That would be wonderful.”

Then the man said, “Well, then how about $400?”

Then the tears came a little faster.

“Okay. This is my final offer. I’ll give you $500 for it.”

God bless those kind of people! I’m so grateful for that kind of faith in the Church.

Dr. Neal Halfon, a physician who directs the UCLA Center for Healthier Children, Families, and Communities, refers to “parental benign neglect.” One example involved an 18-month-old and his parents:
“‘Their son seemed happy, active and engaged, clearly enjoying time and pizza with his parents. … At the end of dinner, Mom got up to run an errand, handing over care to Dad.’
“Dad … started reading phone messages while the toddler struggled to get his attention by throwing bits of pizza crust. Then the dad re-engaged, facing his child and playing with him. Soon, though, he substituted watching a video on his phone with the toddler until his wife returned.
“… [Dr.] Halfon observed a dimming of the child’s internal light, a lessening of the connection between parent and child.”

How can the 2025 Philippines Area Priorities help lead families to the temple? Members can find a pattern and inspiration in the wonderful experience of the Santos family.
Jerusalem “Jerome” Santos grew up in a Latter-day Saint family, active in the Church. As he transitioned to adulthood, Jerome however drifted away from full activity and got busy with other pursuits. He found work, got married, and raised a family of two daughters.
But something kept coming back to his mind through all the years: his testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Living in Sorsogon City in Bicol, Jerome started searching for the nearest Church meetinghouse and found a member who oriented him with the location and time of Sunday services.
The following week, Elder Lagrimas and Elder Maximo of the Philippines Legazpi Mission happened to be in Jerome’s neighborhood and felt inspired to approach him as he was fixing the tarpaulin of the family’s sari-sari store. “Can we help you?” Elder Lagrimas asked. “It’s alright, I’m done already,” Jerome replied. “Thank you, Elders.”
Sensing he was a Latter-day Saint, the missionaries befriended Jerome, who opened his home to them. They discovered that his wife Maryjane and daughters Rahda Israel and Tamara Elijah were not Church members. Jerome asked the missionaries to teach his family.
“At first, my wife was hesitant because of her family’s religious background,” Jerome recalls, “but as we went along the Elders were able to address her questions and concerns.” More importantly, Maryjane learned something that impacted her deeply: their family could be forever not just for this life but for eternity.
Jerome desired to personally baptize his family, who had all agreed to join the Church. However, because he had been away from the Church for so long, his membership record had to be located. Jerome contacted his former youth leaders for help, and they helped him access a Church hotline number which helped resolve his membership record concerns.
On September 30, 2023, Brother Santos baptized his wife and their two daughters. “I was so overjoyed!” beams Maryjane in describing that special day.
Now that they were walking the covenant path together, the Santos family worked out their goal: to become worthy of a temple recommend and be sealed as a family. They became active members of Bacon Branch in Legazpi Stake, attending sacrament meeting and accepting callings. The branch leaders also helped prepare the family to become worthy.
Finally, on December 17, 2024, the Santos family was sealed for time and all eternity in the Manila Philippines Temple. “I was so happy to enter the temple and be sealed to my family,” Tamara, 9, smiles. “For me,” Rahda, 14, adds, “I felt so much closer to Jesus Christ in His House.”
Looking back, Brother Jerusalem Santos knows that the Lord, through his Saints, was mindful of him: “I know that Jesus Christ really has a plan for us, both individually and as a family.”

After boot camp and medical training, I was assigned to an air force base in Colorado, USA. One day, I received a letter from my oldest brother stationed in the Philippines. He had joined the air force about a year before I did. He told me that he had become a member of the Church, and he wanted me to meet with the missionaries. I immediately recalled the experience in boot camp with the brave airman. My wife and I met with the missionaries, and we were soon baptized.
A few months later, I had the missionaries visit my younger brother. He and his wife were also baptized. My brothers and I now have large families with grandchildren. We all love the Lord and His Church.

Recently I participated in a pioneer trek with young men and young women in our ward. Each morning I asked myself, “What is my sacrifice? How do I come after them?”
On the second day of the trek we had pulled our handcarts eight miles (13 km) when we came to a place on the trail called “the women’s pull.” Men and women were separated, and the men were sent ahead up a hill. As we started to pull our handcarts, I looked up to see our priesthood brethren, young and old, lining both sides of the trail, hats off in respect for the women.
The path was easy at first, but soon we were in deep sand, and the hill grew steep. I had my head down and was pushing with all my might when I felt a tug on the cart and looked up to see Lexi, one of our young women and my neighbor. She had pulled her handcart to the top and, seeing our need for help, ran back. When we reached the top, I wanted so much to run back to help those following me, but I was breathing heavily and my heart was pounding so hard, the words heart attack entered my mind more than once! I watched with gratitude as other young women dropped their handcarts and ran to help.
When everyone reached the top, we took some time to record feelings in our journals. I wrote: “I didn’t prepare well enough physically so didn’t have the strength to help those following me. I may never need to pull a handcart again, but I never want to let my sisters down spiritually, never!”
It was a sacred experience that awakened me spiritually to my duties to my family and others. Throughout our journey I reflected on what I had learned.
Lining both sides of the trail were faithful, obedient, covenant-keeping men. Their priesthood power—the power God uses to bless all His children—lifted, strengthened, and supported us. They were a reminder that we are never alone. We can have this power with us always as we keep our covenants.

On January 19, 1970 I found myself standing on a doorstep in Fayetteville Arkansas waiting with my missionary companion for a response to our knock. I had been in the mission field exactly three days and was learning the art of tracting and door approaches. Of course I was nervous and afraid of the unknown behind the door. On the first door I had knocked on the day before, a Methodist minister answered and invited us to a “healthy” three hour discussion of the Bible with he and two other ministers. Today I hoped that things would be different.

As the door opened I started with our greeting and approach explaining that we had come with a message from a prophet of God about the Savior Jesus Christ. The man at the door asked what church we belonged to.

“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or the Mormons” I replied.

“Oh, your prophet or whatever you call him died yesterday, didn’t he?” stated the man in the door.

“No,” I replied “Our prophet is David O. McKay and lives in Salt Lake City, Utah.”

“Yes, that’s him. He died yesterday,” said the man. “I just heard it on the news.”

Some of you might understand how I felt at that moment. I was nineteen, had been to one semester at Ricks College, received a mission call, spent five days in the mission home (MTC), and then sent to my mission area of Tulsa Oklahoma. I had been raised in a community where the LDS Church was in a minority but in a home where the seeds of a testimony of the restored gospel built upon prophets and apostles had been planted in my soul. My testimony of those principles at that time was small, having been tested only by my high school classmates. Now here I was in a strange place (Arkansas), among people that I didn’t know, without the comfort of my home, my parents and familiar ward members and told that the person I believed to be the prophet was gone.

I was devastated. I had put all of my trust and testimony at that time in the only prophet that I had known, President David O. McKay. Indeed at his passing two out of every three members of the Church had known no prophet other than President McKay who served from 1951 to 1970. He was known for his expansion of the Church's worldwide mission. He was well known for his quotes “Every member a missionary” and “No success can compensate for failure in the home.” Under his administration, the first stakes were created outside of the United States. He also strengthened Church membership with a renewed emphasis on the value of family life and education.

The test: Did I have the faith to accept a new president of the Church as the prophet? That day I wrote in my journal “His passing will be a great test (of faith) upon a lot of the people.” In the days that followed I felt much like the man who brought his afflicted son to the Savior to be healed who “cried out, and said with tears, Lord, I believe, help thou my unbelief.”

At first I was frustrated with my siblings when they wouldn’t respond to my invitations. I became angry with them, and they started avoiding all talk on the subject of church. My dad helped me realize that isn’t what the Church is about. He reminded me, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” I learned over time that I needed to love them as they are. I found little ways to serve them and show them I genuinely love them. Even though this did not win immediate results, they began to be more open to talk about the Church and were more receptive to my invitations when I showed them love.
Name withheld, Taiwan