Gospel Story Finder

Krista climbed the four steps to her front porch and dropped her backpack with a thud. Then she plopped down beside it and pulled out her social studies book, Adventures in Social Studies, Level 3. “Adventures? Ha!” Krista snorted. “More like nightmares! It’s all your fault,” she muttered. “Why did you have to be about Japan? Now what am I going to do?”
Dropping her book, Krista wrapped her arms around her knees and hugged them to her chest. Chewing on her lower lip, she thought back on school that day.
Mrs. Mickles had clapped her hands together to get the class’s attention. “To end our study of Japan, this Friday we are going to have a Japanese tea ceremony,” she announced.
The class buzzed with excitement. No one seemed to notice how still Krista was. My family doesn’t drink tea, she thought. How can I go to a tea ceremony and not drink tea? Maybe she would be sick Friday and miss the whole thing.
By dinnertime Krista still hadn’t solved her problem. Gloomily she gathered the dishes off the table and carried them to the kitchen sink.
“What’s wrong, Krista?” Mom asked as she loaded the dishwasher. “You’ve been frowning ever since you came home from school.”
“Oh, Mom,” groaned Krista, “I just don’t know what to do. In Primary we learned about the prophet Daniel and how he obeyed God’s food laws even when the king said not to. And then we learned that Heavenly Father has given us the Word of Wisdom. One of the things we’re not suppose to do is drink coffee or tea. But Friday we’re having a special Japanese tea ceremony at school, and if I don’t drink the tea, everybody will think I’m weird and call me a spoilsport.” Tears rolled down Krista’s face as Mom hugged her tight.
“Let’s sit on the couch,” Mom said. “I’m sure that you can find a solution to your problem if you try.” As they snuggled together, Mom continued, “Tell me more about Daniel. Maybe he can help you.”
Krista gulped and wiped her eyes with her hands. Biting her bottom lip, she thought hard. “Well,” she began, “Daniel was a boy when he and his friends were captured by King Nebu-something-or-other.”
“Nebuchadnezzar,” Mother said.
“That’s right,” replied Krista. “Nebuchadnezzar was a king who ordered Daniel and his friends to eat lots of rich foods and drink wine. He thought it would make them stronger. Daniel knew that God said to not eat those foods because they’re bad for you.”
“So what did Daniel do?”
Krista chewed on her lip again. “Well, he asked if he could eat simple foods and water. At first the answer was no, but Daniel suggested a test. He and his friends would eat the simple, good foods, while the rest of the boys would eat what the king ordered.”
“What happened?” Mom prompted Krista.
“Daniel won! In the end, Daniel’s group was wiser and looked healthier than the other group, so all of them had to eat like Daniel after that.”
Krista thought about Daniel. He had courage, disobeying the king, and he really loved Heavenly Father. I love Heavenly Father, too, so how can I be like Daniel?
Excitedly Krista jumped up from the couch. “Oh, Mom, I can be like Daniel! I can ask Mrs. Mickles if I can drink punch instead of tea because God doesn’t want me to drink tea.” She spun around the room until she collapsed dizzily to the floor. “I bet she’ll understand.”
The next morning Krista slowly approached Mrs. Mickles’ desk. The words that seemed so perfect last night sounded scary now. “Uh, Mrs. Mickles,” she blurted out, “can I talk to you about the tea ceremony? Our family doesn’t drink tea. My church teaches that it’s bad for you—so could I bring some punch to drink, instead?”
There! She’d said it! And Mrs. Mickles didn’t look upset. Instead, she was smiling. “What a good idea, Krista. I’m sure there are other children who might not want to drink tea or won’t even like it. I’ll bring some punch so that everyone can have a choice.”
Krista gave a huge sigh of relief. “Oh thank you, Mrs. Mickles. You’re the best teacher ever!” She headed back to her desk, half-skipping in delight. Now she could enjoy the tea ceremony!
Friday finally came. After lunch, the desks were pushed to the front wall, and a woven mat placed on the floor. The boys and girls took off their shoes and knelt in a half circle on the edge of the mat. Mrs. Mickles bowed to them, and everyone bowed back. Krista watched happily as her friends received little plates of cookies and their choice of tea or punch. When Mrs. Mickles came to Krista, they exchanged bows, then Krista took her plate of cookies and cup of punch. She smiled when Mrs. Mickles winked at her. Sipping her punch, Krista decided that the Japanese tea ceremony was pretty nice, after all—thanks to Daniel.

I saw a person at a restaurant who only had three fingers on each hand. At first I thought it was weird, but then I thought about Jesus Christ. He loves everyone just the same. I was born with bent pinkies. I know Jesus loves me just the same as He loves everybody else.
Elli L., age 8, Utah, USA

The usual feeling of ecstasy passed through me as the dangling chair steadily climbed upward over the dazzling whiteness of snow and the green velvet border of trees. The sun’s rays filtered through the pines, leaving a patchwork of shadows upon the snow.
Always at this moment of awed captivity I would remember the great Being who had created this wonderland. This time I suddenly realized that in all my haste I had forgotten my usual morning prayer. Seeing the unloading dock not far ahead, I shrugged, thinking that just this once it wouldn’t matter but just in case it did, I’d say an extra-long prayer that night. Having consoled my conscience, I put my thoughts to the task at hand, which was skiing!
The day passed as quickly as a dream. Much more rapidly than I’d expected, the lifts were shut down. My heart was heavy, for I didn’t want the day to end.
By the time we reached the car, the sun had sunk behind the distant peaks, leaving pinks and oranges sketched upon the sky. Sighing, I hopped into the car and realized how taxing the day had been. My breath slowed and my eyelids became heavy. Leaning on my parka, I dozed off.
Slowly and irritatingly I was awakened by my friend’s voice repeating over and over, “Go ahead. I can see. You’re still okay.” I tried to burrow deeper into the folds of my coat. Her voice continued to grate on my nerves until finally, out of curiosity, I sat up and gazed out the window.
There, totally encircling us, was a blinding sheet of snow. The falling fury of white upon the windshield made vision nearly impossible. Putting my hand to my mouth, I tried to recapture the gasp that had inevitably escaped. I wished I could once again bury my head in my coat and pretend I had never awakened to the blinding storm that raged around us. Being unable to do anything but clutch the seat in front of me, however, I stared forward, squinting equally as hard as the rest to catch even a glimpse of the dotted line or perhaps a shining road deflector.
The full effect of our dangerous situation hit me as the driver suddenly shouted, “I can’t see. I can’t see a thing!” She slowed to a complete stop.
Not wanting her just to stop in the line of traffic, we suggested that she pull off to the side. Near tears, she shook her head and explained that she was afraid that if we went too far to the side, we could roll to our death off the high, twisting mountain road. It was impossible to see where the side of the road was. I envisioned the road as it had been earlier in the day. I recalled the hundreds of feet of sheer dropoff, and, as if we had all had the same thought, we lowered our heads in prayer. The words were short and shaky, pleading and humbled words.
We raised our heads, startled by the loud blast of an 18-wheeler’s horn behind us. The light the 18-wheeler contributed made it possible for us to inch closer to the edge of the road as the trucker slowly crept past our vehicle. We held our breath, half expecting him to crunch into our side and topple us into the canyon below. But he passed us safely, together with a few other vehicles close behind him. Figuring this was our chance, we joined in the procession. The ten-mile-an-hour pace was tedious, yet we would have welcomed a much slower pace. It was still virtually impossible to see anything but blinking hazard lights and blinding snow. Nevertheless, we kept to the pace the trucker set. He seemed to know what he was doing, and slowly we relaxed as our trust in him grew. It seemed natural to think of him as our leader and protector, and security and peace grew in our hearts as we followed him. Once again we began to talk and sing.
Suddenly we awakened to the fact that in all our confidence and new assurance, we had somehow let the small convoy out of our sight. We didn’t know how far ahead of us they were because vision was impossible beyond a few yards. A sick feeling rose in the pit of our stomachs as we realized we could never navigate on our own the narrow way we followed.
Once again we stopped to offer another humble and sincere prayer. A kind and merciful Father heard us, for in a few minutes the storm broke just enough for us to see an occasional reflector and finally the welcome string of lights ahead. We all broke into relieved and excited laughter.
Up ahead we could dimly see the 18-wheeler faithfully leading the way. We rejoiced. This time we followed much more attentively. We kept to the trucker’s pace and submitted to his expert guidance. After nearly six hours of this tedious activity, we simultaneously shouted our relief at seeing our small country town. We flashed our car lights and honked our horn to show our appreciation to the trucker who had led us down the mountain in safety.
Arriving home, we offered a prayer of thanks. Although our prayer was still very humble, the pleading was gone. In its place was a deep reverence and gratitude to our Father in Heaven. I was ashamed that I had considered my day’s activities more important than a few moments for prayer.

Five Beehive girls had a surprise introduction into the Young Women program in the Twin Falls 11th Ward, Kimberly Idaho Stake.

The girls of the ward were worried that five of their friends were only partially active, so they planned a surprise breakfast.

But instead of inviting their friends, they decided (with the permission of the girls’ parents) to “kidnap” them. Each of the five girls was pulled out of bed and taken to their leader’s house for a big breakfast of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. While waiting for breakfast to cook, the girls played games. They vowed that this was one morning they would remember.

President Nathan Eldon Tanner had not reached his peak as one of Canada’s great leaders. Opportunity and financial wealth beyond his wildest supposition were ahead. A call from the prophet and it was all laid aside.

President M. Russell Ballard, Acting President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, concurs. Despite the temporary closure of temples and meetinghouses, members of the Church have the spiritual tools they need to continue moving forward.
President Ballard remembers how he felt coming home from church on December 7, 1941, to find out that Pearl Harbor had been attacked and that the United States was about to be drawn into World War II. Like many people today, he worried about the future and wondered whether his own future would be lost.
“But that’s not what happened,” he said. Just as the free people of the world won that war, so will the world win the war against the coronavirus. “Everything is going to be just fine as we turn our hearts to our Father in Heaven and look to Him and to the Savior as the Redeemer of all mankind,” he said.

It was a sunny spring afternoon, a week after my eighth birthday—a perfect day for a bike ride. My sister Marla, our friend Lisa, and I headed out on a backcountry road that was part of my family’s cattle ranch in British Columbia, Canada. The mountaintops glowed as the sun reflected off their snowcapped peaks. Excitement filled my chest as I pedaled.
I had been riding a two-wheeler for only about a week, so I was still a little shaky. The first part of the road was smooth dirt, flattened by regular tractor and hay-wagon trips. As the road wound past the thick green alfalfa fields, we began to pedal faster. I felt strong and free, coasting through the fresh mountain breeze.
Then we came to a division in the road. We could keep going straight along the edge of the field, or we could turn and take the road that went along the creek at the base of the mountain. We decided to take the more adventurous route.
Marla and I had been on this road several times before with our family, but this was my first time riding a bike here. I was a little nervous as my bike jiggled across a cattle guard, a ditch covered with evenly spaced bars to keep cows from crossing. I pedaled hard to stay with Marla and Lisa. The sunlight pierced through the majestic pine trees, creating a cheerful, bright pattern on the bumpy path.
As the road became rockier, I became more nervous. I was having a hard time keeping my balance. I wondered if the rocks would puncture my tires.
“I think maybe we should go back,” I said.
“Why?” Marla asked. “Are you scared?”
I would never admit to my older sister that I was afraid. “No. I just don’t want to get a flat tire.”
“Well, you can go back if you want, but we are going to keep going,” she said.
“Bye,” I called as I turned my bike around.
“We’ll see you at home,” Marla said. “We probably won’t go too much farther.”
I started toward home, all alone. The patterns on the road did not seem so cheerful now. I was suddenly aware of the strange sounds coming from the dark forest. But knowing that the comfort of home was near, I pedaled on. I was almost to the cattle guard when I sensed someone behind me. “Marla and Lisa must have decided to come home too,” I realized with relief. “Now I won’t have to ride home alone.” Swinging my leg over my bike, I stopped and turned around to see where they were. Marla and Lisa were nowhere in sight, but walking straight toward me was a black bear!
I froze. My bike clanked to the ground. All the advice I had ever heard about bears rushed through my mind. Don’t run or it will chase you. You can never outrun a bear. I started to walk slowly backwards.
Make noise to scare the bear away. Yell and bang two rocks together. I scanned the ground near my feet—no rocks, just dirt. I clapped my hands as hard as I could. But I could not yell. My throat felt tight. The bear kept walking toward me.
Pray. Throughout my life I had been taught to pray. My Sunday School teacher had even asked us what we should do if we saw a bear, and she had emphasized prayer. I had been taught to pray with my head bowed and eyes closed, but that was impossible now. I kept my eyes on the bear and silently prayed: “Heavenly Father, please help me! Please save me from this bear! Please help me know what to do.”
Praying and clapping, I walked slowly backward toward the cattle guard. Maybe if a cow couldn’t cross it, a bear would have trouble too. Maybe it would trip, giving me a chance to run home! I stepped carefully across the widely spaced beams.
The bear snorted and drooled. I watched as it followed me easily across the cattle guard. It rose onto its hind legs. I stood horrified as the grunting bear came toward me with outstretched paws. It towered over me, and I could see its sharp, wet teeth. Suddenly, the bear swiped for my head! I screamed as its large, curled claws got tangled in my hair and jerked me to the ground. I jumped back up. The bear, on all fours again, bit my inner thigh and pulled me down. It started dragging me across the road.
By then, Marla and Lisa had found me. Marla tried to distract the bear, but nothing worked. In seconds, the bear had dragged me across the dirt road to the base of the mountain. It surely would have pulled me into the thick bushes, but suddenly my pants ripped. They tore into two pieces, from front to back, even through the elastic waistband. Miraculously, its teeth had not punctured my skin. I leaped up. “Run!” a voice said to my mind.
I ran toward Marla and Lisa, leaving the bear with my pant leg in its mouth. Pantless and wearing only one shoe, I ran as fast as an Olympic track star. I overtook Marla and Lisa, who were also running. We lunged into the bushes and raced toward the creek. The thorny brambles scratched my legs, but I didn’t slow down.
Without pausing or looking back, I crossed a barbed-wire fence and sloshed into the creek. I lost my other shoe when it got wedged under a log. Almost home, I plunged through the water and ran across the wet cow corral. I squeezed through a fence and sprinted up the porch steps and through the front door.
My parents bombarded me with questions when they saw me without shoes or pants and covered with scratches.
“What happened?” Mom cried.
“Where are your pants?” Dad asked. “How did you get all those scratches?”
Still afraid, I couldn’t catch my breath. Stuttering, gasping, and crying, I finally managed, “I … ah … buh … buh … bear!”
Marla and Lisa ran onto the porch, and Marla told Mom and Dad what she had seen. Trying to calm me, Mom helped me into a warm bath.
Later that evening, clean and safe, we discussed the terrifying event. My palms were blue with bruises from clapping so hard, and my legs were covered in scratches from the bushes, but I had no marks from the bear. Its claws had brushed my head, and its teeth had gripped my leg, but my skin had not been broken. If the bear’s claws had been any closer to my head or if its teeth had bitten into my thigh, I could have been seriously hurt and would not have been able to run away.
I know Heavenly Father heard my prayers that day, and I know I heard the voice of the Holy Ghost telling me to run. Heavenly Father blessed me with a miracle.

“As he talked and after he had finished his speech, my heart kept beating fast to testify to me that what he said was true. I kept thinking of the promises made to me in my patriarchal blessing, that the Lord would guide me to the right one.”
Marshall Gardener,Yuma First Ward, stationed with the Navy at Long Beach

Finally, Dene’s mother Anne, as mothers will, offers some insight into another side of his character. “He’s good with other kids,” she says. “He gets along with everybody. He’s so generous and kind natured. At Christmas he spent all the money he had earned at his job, after tithing, for presents for the family—things he knew we needed. Giving seems to give him more pleasure than anything else. When he was just a little boy, if somebody gave him a sweet, he always asked for another one for his sister Lesa. He likes to listen and doesn’t say very much. He doesn’t show his emotions, but he feels things very deeply. I’m very proud of him. The first time he blessed the sacrament, it was such a special time. I wanted to run down and hug him and kiss him just like he was still my baby, but I realize that he’s grown into a young man.”

Darrell Bevell had a decision to make. It wasn’t an easy one.
Growing up as the son of a football coach, Darrell had always enjoyed sports, whether it was basketball, baseball, or football. If his parents wanted to keep him happy, they put a ball in his hand. Consequently, whatever sport was in season Darrell was playing it. Big ball in the winter, small ball in the spring, oval ball in the fall. He was a good basketball and baseball player, but it was football where he really excelled. And as a quarterback it had always been Darrell’s goal to earn a football scholarship to a major college.
“I had been recruited by Arizona State, Washington, New Mexico, BYU, Utah, and Wyoming. Most of the big schools in the West were interested in me,” says Darrell. “I had a really good junior year and played well in the first two games of my senior season when I broke a finger on my throwing hand. I missed the rest of the season, and most of the teams that were recruiting me backed off because of the injury.”
Darrell eventually signed to play football at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff. It wasn’t exactly a big-time college football program as had been his plan, but school would be paid for and he was going to play college football.
“When I signed for that scholarship to play football, that was my dream. That’s what I always wanted to do. Right then I said, ‘Nope. I’m not going on a mission.’ I didn’t stop and really think about it because I got caught up in the excitement and everything.” That was the spring of 1988.
After signing with Northern Arizona, Darrell headed north from his home in Scottsdale, a suburb of Phoenix, to Flagstaff for two-a-day football practices in August. All he had on his mind was football. The mission thing had been decided, he thought.
“During those summer practices, I had been playing pretty well,” Darrell recalls. “But for some odd reason, right before the season started, it popped into my head, ‘Go on a mission.’ I knew I was about ready to turn 19, and I was still going to church every Sunday. But I again said, ‘Nope. I’m not going on a mission.’”
And that’s when an amazing turn of events took place. Almost immediately after deciding for the second time he wouldn’t go on a mission, Darrell began struggling on the field. “It was really amazing. A guy would go out for a short pattern and I’d throw the ball at his feet,” Darrell says. “So I called my dad and told him how this dang mission kept popping into my head and that I was starting to play terrible.”
Darrell’s father, Jim, told him to think about a mission and then pray about what he should do. “I did that, but I told the Lord in my prayer that I couldn’t quit the team because the season had already begun. I did promise the Lord that as soon as the season was over I’d begin thinking about a mission,” he recalls.
There was only one problem with that plan. When the season ended, Darrell didn’t think about a mission again. He had redshirted during his freshman season, so even though he was a sophomore in school, he was still only a freshman in football eligibility. And when the Lumberjacks’s starting quarterback the previous two years went down with an injury in spring practice, Darrell emerged as the number one quarterback. His dream had finally come true. He was going to be the starting quarterback for Northern Arizona University.
“After everything had been decided and I had talked to the coaches about being the starter, boom, going on a mission popped right back into my head,” says Darrell. “It had been a long time since I’d even thought about going on a mission, so I started praying about it. I kept praying and praying until I finally knew a mission is what I needed to do. I already knew the Church was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I just decided I should go on a mission too.”
Now he had a problem of a different sort. For two years, Darrell had been concentrating on football and telling everybody he wasn’t going on a mission. Now that he had decided to serve the Lord, he had to tell his coach he wouldn’t be his quarterback. Driving to Flagstaff with his father to break the news to the coaching staff, Darrell had a good case of butterflies in his stomach. “When I got to his office, I was really nervous,” he says.
After the quarterback and the coach shook hands, Darrell said, “Coach, I’m going to go on a mission for my church. I’m not going to come back next season.”
Obviously, finding out your starting quarterback is leaving the team for two years isn’t the kind of news that helps a coach sleep well at night. After hearing Darrell’s decision, he began trying to dissuade him. Darrell listened as his coach told him how football players who go on missions lose their drive to play after they return home, and how he was throwing away a chance at stardom. “I was believing a lot of what he was saying. But I’ve always been the kind of person who makes a decision then sticks to it. That’s something I’ve always tried to do. Since I’d already made my decision to go, it wasn’t that hard, regardless of what the coach was saying.”
So long, Flagstaff, Arizona. Hello, Cleveland Ohio Mission.

Sometimes a lower-paying job near home leads to a part-time job during the school year. One student decided against a high-paying out-of-state construction job to stay home and work in a service station. His friend took the construction job, and although at the end of the summer he was financially better off than the station attendant, he couldn’t find a part-time job when he returned home for school. By the end of the year, the station attendant who had earned less per hour during the summer had made more than the construction worker had. He also learned enough about auto mechanics to take good care of his own car.

As I conclude my remarks, may I share with you an experience of several years ago which depicted the strength of you dear sisters in Relief Society.
During 1980, the sesquicentennial year of the organization of the Church, each member of the Relief Society general board was asked to write a personal letter to the sisters of the Church in the year 2030—50 years hence. The following is an excerpt from the letter written by Sister Helen Lee Goates:
“Our world of 1980 is filled with uncertainty, but I am determined to live each day with faith and not fear, to trust the Lord and to follow the counsel of our prophet today. I know that God lives, and I love Him with all my soul. I am so grateful that the gospel was restored to the earth 150 years ago and that I can enjoy the blessings of membership in this great Church. I am grateful for the priesthood of God, having felt its power throughout my life.
“I am at peace in my world and pray that you may be sustained in yours by firm testimonies and unwavering convictions of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
Helen Lee Goates passed away in April of the year 2000. Shortly before her impending death from cancer, Sister Monson and I visited with her and her husband and family. She appeared calm and at peace. She told us she was prepared to go and looked forward to seeing once again her parents and other loved ones who had preceded her. In her life Sister Goates exemplified the nobility of Latter-day Saint women. In her passing she personified your theme: “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear.”

The first few years of our marriage seemed nearly perfect. After my husband and I were sealed in the México City México Temple, we both graduated from the university and our first daughter was born. My husband had a good job and was called as bishop in our ward. Then we were able to move to Jalisco, a part of México where my grandparents had lived. We had always dreamed of rearing our children in a peaceful place, and Jalisco met the desires of our hearts. Our way of life, however, would soon change dramatically.
In Jalisco, our second daughter was born. Unfortunately, I suffered severe complications after her birth. We were able to meet the expenses from our savings, but then, two weeks later, my husband lost his job. With no income, we had to move from our house. Credit card bills, car payments, and rent were strangling us.
Eventually, my husband began to work nights as a taxi driver. Frequently his expenses exceeded his income, but his work did bring a little food to the table. Then the car broke down, and even that little source of income ended. We sold or pawned many of our possessions. At the same time, México underwent a serious currency devaluation, which added greatly to our financial distress.
My husband was emotionally and physically exhausted, so I got a job as a teacher in a bilingual elementary school. The work was hard, the salary small, and I had to leave my little ones in the care of a Church member. To save money, we moved to a cheaper place in a poorer section of town.
As I struggled to go to work, care for the family, keep up the house, and participate at church, I became very depressed. One terrible night I was so distressed I had to be hospitalized. After giving me a sedative, the doctor said, “You’re drowning yourself in your problems. That’s for cowards, and I don’t think that is what you are. Think about it.”
Her words resounded in my mind, and I closed my eyes, searching for something to give me courage. I reviewed my life. Yes, all our material possessions are gone, I told myself, but I am still alive, and I have a wonderful husband and two precious daughters. I remembered I had not been born to accumulate goods or to live in tranquillity. I had come to serve my family and others and to build the kingdom of God.
When I returned home, I prayed as never before. I pleaded with my Heavenly Father to strengthen me. I spoke with my bishop, and he told me, “The Lord will remove from your path that which is hurting you.” The following day I learned that I had been fired from my job without any explanation. That same day I learned I had been granted a scholarship to further my education. Being able to spend time teaching my little ones did a great deal to heal my spirit.

A few days later, as Winnie and Atobora were going around looking for an apartment to rent because their scheduled marriage was nearing, they met a pastor of a church. While they talked about the rent, the pastor stopped mid-sentence, looked directly at Winnie, and in a state that was obvious to them that he was overcome by the Holy Spirit said something like “You were told to go see a certain man and when you saw him, he told you to bring this young man with you and he would have a conversation with both of you together. You have not done that yet. When you go to him, he will introduce you to a church and that church is the true church of God.”
Atobora then asked the pastor why he was not a member of that church knowing that it is the true Church of God. The pastor admitted that the true Church did not have a paid clergy and he needed the offerings from his congregation for his upkeep. As soon as they left that pastor, they went to Brother Johnson’s home. Over the course of three weeks, he taught them all six missionary discussions and they were ready for baptism.

Bells were brought to North America by the Catholic priests who accompanied the early Spanish explorers. These bells were hung in the Indian missions, where some still ring to this day. North America’s most famous bell, the Liberty Bell, was cast in 1753. This United States symbol can be seen in Philadelphia’s Independence Hall. The bell cracked in 1835 and has been silent for more than 150 years.

Our faith can and will increase as we make an effort to study the scriptures daily and as we familiarise ourselves with the teachings of His prophets and apostles. While growing up as a young boy, I lived with my grandmother. She could not read or write, but she loved the scriptures. She went to Church every Sunday and memorised the verses that were read aloud. She would then return home and ask me to read them to her over and over again.

One night whilst reading 1 Samuel, chapter 3, I came across a scripture that got me to sit up and wonder. I read about how Samuel was called as a prophet. That scripture stirred something within me. In fact, from that moment onward I started wondering why God had stopped calling prophets in our day. I started by asking the very pastors in our family church; and since they could only attest it to the fact that God has spoken and that’s why we have the Bible, I started looking elsewhere. I then started a quest of searching for a church that believed in a God that spoke to His children through prophets and apostles as He did to Samuel of old.

I was only about 10 or 11 years old when I started this search, which took me from church to church until I met the missionaries as a teenager. The question I had for them in our first meeting was simple, “Do you believe in a God who speaks? Their answer was a resounding “yes”, and then they shared with me how Father in Heaven called Joseph Smith and restored His church through Him. I joined the Church because of that simple answer, and through the years I have been richly blessed by the teachings of living prophets and apostles. Their counsel has helped me increase both my faith in and testimony of the Saviour Jesus Christ. A simple practice of daily scripture study as taught by my grandmother has helped me as an individual, and now as a father—as my wife and I strive to teach our children the value of daily scripture study.

Sometimes beautiful things happen that just can’t be explained other than to say, “the Lord’s hand was in it.” That’s the only way to describe what happened at the temple in Kinshasa, Democratic Republic of the Congo, on 14 March 2024.
“To God be the glory!” exclaimed Sister Harlaine Odia with tears of joy when Sister Janeen Redd showed her this picture and told the story of what happened that day:
Sister Harlaine and Sister Redd see this picture as evidence that the hand of the Lord is guiding the work they both are doing in the office of the Church’s Africa Central Area in Nairobi, Kenya.
Sister Harlaine is the area planning manager. Sister Redd is a senior missionary who is working with Sister Harlaine and a team of two other senior sister missionaries in the Area Office. The team of sisters is working to provide the benefits of the Church’s General Temple Patron Assistance Fund to members of the Church in the Africa Central Area. The fund provides financial assistance for travel, food, and lodging to members so they can receive their temple blessings in temples located far from their homes. Currently, the only operating temple within the Africa Central Area is in Kinshasa.
Additional temples are under construction in Lubumbashi, DRC, and in Nairobi, Kenya. Others have been announced to be built in Kananga, DRC; Mbuji-Mayi, DRC; and Brazzaville, Republic of Congo.
So, who is in the picture and why is it so significant to the two sisters?
The picture shows newlyweds Nicole Bukasa and Ezi Kalenda standing outside the Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple joyfully awaiting their sealing in the temple that day. They had traveled to the temple with their newlywed friends Tresor Tshilombo and his wife, Naomie Mukadi, from the remote town of Luputa, DRC—a distance of 1,470 kilometers from the temple—which they had traveled by a four-hour bus ride to the airport in Mbuji-Mayi and then a flight from Mbuji-Mayi to Kinshasa.
Sister Redd had traveled to Kinshasa from Nairobi with her husband, Elder Jeffrey Redd (who serves as associate area legal counsel in the Office of General Counsel for the Africa Central Area) along with David Stanford (area legal counsel) and his wife, Marie-Laure, for some meetings. While in Kinshasa they planned to worship in the temple. As the Redds and Stanfords arrived at the temple, a simple exchange of greetings turned into a conversation in which the Redds and the Stanfords were invited to act as witnesses for the sealings of these two newlywed couples.
Ezi, Tresor, and Naomie had served as missionaries in the Kinshasa DRC West Mission under the leadership of Francois M. Mukubu. President Mukubu is now the president of the Kinshasa temple, and it is he who performed the sealing ordinance for the two couples.
After asking a few questions, Sister Redd discovered that it was her team in Nairobi that had processed these two couples’ applications to participate in the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund just a few weeks before she unexpectedly met them in person half a continent away at the temple in Kinshasa. No one who knows this story believes that it is just a coincidence that the Redds and the Stanfords walked onto the temple grounds at the exact moment necessary to make the connection with the two previously unknown-to-them newlywed couples, a connection that resulted from saying “bonjour.”
The hand of the Lord is guiding His work. Many more members of the Church will be blessed to receive temple blessings and to make covenants with God in His holy house as beneficiaries of the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund.
And Nicole and Ezi’s son, who is expected to be born in May, will be born in the covenant.
As Sister Harlaine exclaimed, when she saw the photograph, “To God be the glory!”
Members who are interested in learning more about the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund can contact their bishop or branch president.

The boys and their fathers were both challenged to read the Book of Mormon during the school year. Trever Hansen said, “My Dad and I always sit down together and read for as long as we can. Then we have scripture reading as a family.”

My dad spent lots of time on our vacation trying to get a picture of a bee flying in the air. Once when he was just about to get a picture of a bee going into a hollyhock blossom, a scary thing happened. A big white spider jumped out of the flower’s center and grabbed the bee behind its neck. It bit the bee and finally ate some of it, but we didn’t watch that part.

I want to thank you for including the story of the currant bush by Hugh B. Brown in the January New Era. The day that I received the New Era I was really down in spirit. It seemed that everything possible had been going wrong in my life. But after reading “The Currant Bush” I have been able to look at my difficulties differently. I know that the Lord loves me and wants the best for me. Thank you.
Renee BillingsFreiberg, Germany