Gospel Story Finder

“‘Secret pals?’” My best friend Laura raises her eyebrows. “What’s that?”
I laugh. Laura loves anything that has to do with secrets. It doesn’t matter that she can’t keep one for more than about a minute before she feels like she’s going to explode.
“‘Secret pals’ is a project my Primary class is working on,” I explain. “Sister Sharp assigned each of us someone to be a pal to. We’re supposed to do nice things for that person and not let her know who’s doing them—it’s a secret. Get it?”
“Of course I get it,” Laura says. “It’s like you’re going to be Santa Claus to whoever your teacher assigned you to, right?”
“Well, sort of, I guess. But Sister Sharp said that our acts of kindness shouldn’t just be gifts.”
“So whose name did you get?” Laura asks, her eyes suddenly growing wide with excitement. “Ryan’s?”
I roll my eyes. Of course Laura would hope I got Ryan’s name. She thinks he’s really neat. Last year she made him a gigantic flowery Valentine card and signed it, “From Your Secret Admirer.” I’m sure she’d love to be his secret pal.
“No—we’re all girls in this class.” I hesitate. “I’m going to be Shiela’s secret pal.”
“Shiela? She’s weird!”
I take a sip of my milk, not saying anything. I remember that was how I felt Sunday when Sister Sharp gave me my assignment. I wasn’t very happy about it. You see, Shiela is new in town, and she wears faded, ugly clothes. Everyone calls her “Raggedy Shiela.” And she is kind of weird. She sits in class, not saying anything. If someone asks her a direct question, practically forcing her to speak, she answers in a whisper! Last week I asked her what math problem she was working on, and I had to say “What?” or “Huh?” about twenty times before she said it loudly enough for me to hear her.
Besides all that, she hardly ever comes to Primary. I didn’t see why I had to be secret pals with someone who seldom comes to class.
On Sunday I sulked all the way home from church. I didn’t want to go out of my way to be nice to weird Shiela. The assignment had put me in a bad mood.
“Lisa, is something the matter?” My mom asked when we got home. “You were awfully quiet in the car.”
I told her about having to be Shiela’s secret pal. “She doesn’t even come to church,” I grumbled. “I wish I could be a secret pal for Kari or Nancy—anyone would be better than Shiela.”
Mom stood silent for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed. I could tell she wasn’t pleased. “Lisa, let me tell you some things about Shiela.”
She sat down on my bed with me and talked to me very seriously. First she reminded me about Heavenly Father, about how we are all His children and how He wants us all to be happy and help one another. She reminded me that in an eternal perspective, Shiela is my sister. That made me feel unhappy because I knew I wasn’t acting the way Heavenly Father or Jesus Christ wanted me to.
Then, making me feel a thousand times worse, Mom told me some personal things about Shiela. Things that made me cry. Suddenly I was glad I had the opportunity to be her secret pal, because she really needs one. I promised myself that I would be the very best one I could possibly be.
“Hey, Lisa,” Laura says, interrupting my thoughts.
I play with the straw in my milk, unsure how to go on. “Did you know that Shiela’s dad died?” I ask Laura, pushing away the rest of my lunch.
Laura raises her eyebrows. “No. I don’t know anything about her.”
“Neither did I until Mom told me. She visit teaches Shiela’s mom. Shiela’s dad died in a car accident last year. That’s why they moved here. Her mom had to get a job. It doesn’t pay very well so she can’t buy many clothes for Shiela.”
“Oh. That’s sad,” Laura replies. “We should stop people from making fun of her.”
I look down at my lunch, feeling miserable. I used to make fun of Shiela—not out loud, but in my head. “You know what else?”
“What?”
“Shiela used to have a twin sister named April. She died in the car crash with her dad.”
I can see tears forming in Laura’s eyes. “Oh. How awful!”
“Yeah. Mom says that’s probably why Shiela is so quiet. When her sister died, she lost her very best friend.”
Instinctively we both begin to look for Shiela in the cafeteria.
“There she is—sitting over there by herself,” Laura says. “Let’s go invite her to play with us.”
Weeks go by, and Laura and I and Shiela are best friends now. Sometimes Laura and I make cupcakes or cookies after school and leave them on Shiela’s doorstep with a note saying, “From your secret pals!” We’re pretty sure she knows they are from us, but we don’t care. Whenever Shiela asks if we are her secret pals we say: “We’re your best friends—there’s no secret about that!”

As a young man, I visited many denominations and was confused because each one taught different interpretations of the scriptures. I did not feel good about the irreverence I found in some of them, so I gave up trying to find a church to attend.
Several years later a friend of mine, Cleiton Lima, was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He did not mention this to me even though we were good friends, but as time went by, I began to see changes in him. On Sundays I usually went to his house in the morning so we could play football, but I could never find him at home. This happened two or three Sundays in a row. Finally Cleiton told me that he could no longer play football on Sundays because he was honoring the Lord’s day. I told him, “This church is making you crazy.”
Then Cleiton invited me to attend church. I gave him an excuse because I was still disenchanted with religion. For 10 months, Cleiton brought over missionaries to teach me, but I always excused myself or told them I was too busy. But he never gave up.
One day in June, he invited me to attend a Church dance. I teased him, “Is there going to be free food and a lot of girls?” Laughing, he said yes!
I have to admit that I was defeated by my stomach. I visited the church and loved it. I was welcomed by everyone, I ate a lot, and I became interested in attending a meeting. When I arrived at church on Sunday, I met many people and heard their testimonies. I was not familiar with the Book of Mormon, but I felt the Spirit of the Lord when various Church members testified, “I know that the Book of Mormon is true, that this is the Church of Jesus Christ, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet called by God.” I had never felt so good. I still did not want to meet with the missionaries, but that testimony meeting touched me.
The next week, Cleiton again invited me to go to church. I couldn’t because I had another obligation. I could see the sadness in his face when I told him I didn’t know if I could go.
However, on Sunday morning I awoke with a desire to go to church. I got up at 6:50, which was difficult for me, and I got ready and waited for Cleiton to come. He was surprised when he saw me dressed and waiting. That Sunday the bishop taught about the priesthood. I felt the Spirit strongly and had the impression that I should take the missionary lessons. By the end of the Young Men meeting, I knew that I was going to be baptized.
When church ended, I told Cleiton, “I want to be baptized!”
He thought I was joking. But then he said, “If I call the elders, will you meet with them?” I answered yes.
I was taught by great elders. When I heard the message of the Restoration, I had an even greater confirmation that I should be baptized. But I wanted to know for myself the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. The elders marked Moroni 10:3–5 in my Book of Mormon and invited me to pray and ask God if it is true.
The next evening I remembered that I had not yet read the Book of Mormon. As I began to read, I felt a very strong spirit. I prayed, and before I was finished, I knew that the Book of Mormon is true. I am grateful to God for having answered my prayer. I was baptized in July 2006.
I later served as a missionary in the Brazil Cuiabá Mission, and my friend Cleiton served in the Brazil Santa Maria Mission. We did what Cleiton did for me: invite people to come unto Christ and help them receive the restored gospel through exercising faith in Jesus Christ, repenting, being baptized, and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. This truly is the way to salvation.
Let us always invite our friends and relatives to learn of this gospel, for the Savior invited everyone when He said, “Come unto me” (Matthew 11:28). I know that this is the Church of Jesus Christ and that now is the time to invite everyone to come unto Him.

Getting where he is now hasn’t been easy. He’s a sprinter with a marathon schedule. Moroni is off to school early. After school there’s just enough time to wolf down a snack before heading off to training. By the time he’s home, at around 8:00 P.M., he barely has time to eat dinner and do homework. Then it’s off to bed. Keeping up with Moroni isn’t a challenge just on the track.
“It’s a sacrifice,” Moroni says. “A lot of times I want to do other things, like hang out with my friends or play the guitar. But there’s no time.”
As Moroni tries to juggle his training schedule with homework, family, church, and friends, the scripture about a man running “faster than he has strength” takes on more than one meaning for him.
Like many Latter-day Saint teens, Moroni has had to be careful not to overload himself by doing too much. From his experience as a runner, Moroni knows that you can hurt yourself when you push too hard. As King Benjamin told his people, “It is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength” (Mosiah 4:27).
But to Moroni that scripture isn’t an excuse to stay in his comfort zone; it’s a challenge to increase his strength. When he began competing in the 100 meters at age 14, his top time was 11.9 seconds. Through growth and training, he has increased his strength and improved his time. Now Moroni’s best time in the 100 meters is 10.46 seconds—the Mexican record in the junior (minor) division.
“It’s the consistency in training,” he says, “every day without quitting. I know I have limits, but they can change. On the track there are times when I think I can’t make it, but stretching that much farther is part of the sacrifice to get better.”
Or in King Benjamin’s words: “And again, it is expedient that he should be diligent, that thereby he might win the prize” (Mosiah 4:27). That lesson hasn’t been lost on Moroni off the track.
“Trials that once seemed impossible aren’t necessarily,” Moroni says. “The Lord will never give us challenges we can’t overcome. We can overcome them even if at first we think we can’t. Never giving up is how we grow and get better. In the end, the sacrifices are worth it.”

“I picked the first name that popped into my head—my best friend, Jill. She knows I’m a Latter-day Saint, and she’s been to several Primary activities with me. I knew that she wouldn’t laugh or tease me if I talked about religion.
“The best plan, I figured, was to discuss the Church whenever I could, wherever we were, whatever we did. At first it was hard, and I racked my brain for ideas. But pretty soon I could relate anything to the gospel.
“At the swimming pool I told her that Latter-day Saints believe that our bodies are temples, that we should take care of them and keep them fit.
“After Mixed Chorus, I said, ‘This reminds me of singing for stake conference. We did a special number on the Book of Mormon. Have I told you about the Book of Mormon yet?’
“Yesterday Jill called and asked if she could come over and talk to me. I was really excited. I was sure she wanted to learn more about the Church. Instead, Jill said, ‘Thea, you’re definitely going overboard with all this Mormonism stuff.’
“I was shocked! ‘I-I’m just hoping to interest you so that you’ll want to be baptized,’ I said.
“Jill shook her head. ‘I like you, Thea, but I’m perfectly happy in my own church and I don’t want to change. Not now, anyway. You believe what you believe and let me do the same, OK?’
“‘OK,’ I agreed.
“‘Fine. Hey, let’s bike down to the creek.’
“I’m glad Jill’s still my friend. I guess I was a little too pushy.”
“People who are satisfied with their own religion are often difficult to convert,” Sister Searle said. “But if Jill ever does have questions, she’ll know whom to ask.”

One day three years ago, when I was 87, I was at a social event. A woman was there playing the piano; she played about like I do. When I asked her name, I found out it was Alice Bodily, my bishop’s mother. She was 90 years old at that time.
I asked my bishop if he thought his mother would like to play duets. He asked her, and she said she would love to. So three years ago we started playing piano duets every Wednesday morning for one hour for our own enjoyment.
We progressed from easy children’s duets to a couple of duets I used to play with my mother. But what we loved the most was playing duets of the sacred hymns of the Church. Our two favorites are “Joseph Smith’s First Prayer” (Hymns, no. 26) and “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294).
By playing every Wednesday and practicing in between, we got fairly good and impressed our children with a little concert. My bishop said he would like to have us play in sacrament meeting, so we learned “The Spirit of God” (Hymns, no. 2). That was a real challenge for us, but we worked on it for several months and surprised ourselves and our children and probably our ward members too. Before the COVID-19 hit, we played this hymn in five of our children’s wards.
There are many beautiful hymns that we now love to perform, such as “Come, Follow Me” (Hymns, no. 116), “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing” (not in the current hymnbook but easy to find), and “Called to Serve” (Hymns, no. 249). Sometimes finding a duet arrangement may mean asking for help, but a family member, ministering sister, or ward music leader is usually happy to assist.
We even found a collection of Christmas songs and prepared a 40-minute program to present at an assisted-living facility in December. Another musician joined us and played a xylophone and a set of bells to add variety to our performance.
Through our music, at our ages of 90 and 93, we feel that we are bringing “Joy to the World” (Hymns, no. 201) not only at Christmas but also all year long. We have been playing together regularly now for three years. Choosing to play duets together was clearly a key decision for both of us!

We’ve decided Georg can’t play with us anymore,” Johnny said as he stood up straight.
“Why not?” David asked.
“Come on, you know!” Johnny answered.
“No, I don’t. Georg might be different from us, but that’s no reason to keep him from playing,” David defended.
“Different? Georg is more than different. He’s stupid.”
“He can’t understand, but he’s not stupid!” David exclaimed.
“If you ask me, not understanding is what stupid is,” one of the other boys joined in.
Eleven-year-old David looked helplessly at his cousin. Georg’s innocent face was one big smile as he watched David, who wanted to run and hide and never have to look at that smile again. But that was impossible.
Georg’s parents had died, and Georg had come all the way from his home in Denmark to live with David. David looked again at Johnny and his other friends. Their faces glared from a circle around him, waiting for an answer.
“All right, I’ll take Georg home,” David sighed.
Angry with himself for not knowing what to do, and angry with Georg, David took hold of his cousin’s arm and started toward home.
“No, David,” Georg said as he stood still. “Ball.”
“Georg, you don’t understand,” David said, feeling very helpless. “The guys won’t let you play with them anymore.”
Georg’s smile faded and his eyebrows pushed together very puzzled. Then just as suddenly he smiled again, “Yah, Davy.”
“Georg, they don’t …” David started to explain, and then he realized that Georg wouldn’t understand anyway. “Oh, never mind. Come on!”
David walked a little faster, thinking hard about what had happened. Why did Georg have to come live with me? Why don’t I have an ordinary cousin like everyone else? One who can speak English!
Soon they were home. Georg went to play in the family room and David went to his room and stretched out on his bed to think some more.
“Are you sick?” Mother asked as she came into David’s room to put away some clothes.
“No,” David answered. “I’m just thinking about something.”
“You certainly must be thinking hard. Can I help you?” Mother asked as she sat on the bed.
“I don’t know.” David stared at the ceiling. “Mom, why is Georg the way he is?”
Mother looked surprised, “What do you mean?”
“You know. He’s—well, he’s different,” David replied.
“How do you mean different? He’s the same size as you. As a matter of fact, he’s wearing your clothes. Georg likes the same things you do—chocolate bars and pancakes. And he gets happy or sad over the same things you do.”
“But, Mom, he’s …” David stopped, not sure of how to say what he meant.
“Did something happen today?” Mother asked.
“Yes, the guys wouldn’t let Georg play because they said he isn’t smart enough.”
“Georg is very smart. He doesn’t speak the same language we do, but he’s learning fast. Georg has other traits that make him very special, though, and you don’t need to speak the same language to understand those.”
David looked puzzled. “But my friends don’t want Georg around, and I don’t blame them. He just doesn’t understand when we try to tell him how to do something. What am I supposed to do?”
“I can’t tell you,” Mother advised. “That is something you have to decide for yourself.”
Mother smiled as she stood up. “There are two things you should remember, though. First, Georg loves you very much. Second, Georg may not be able to understand yet, but he is a child of God just like you and your other friends, and Heavenly Father loves him just as He loves you.”
Suddenly Georg ran into the room. “Come, Davy!” he cried breathlessly.
Mother winked at David as she left the room.
“Come, Davy,” Georg urged.
“Oh, all right,” David said, not really wanting to go. “I’ll come.”
Georg took hold of David’s arm as he guided him to the couch. Then he opened a book and started to read. “Vay,” he sounded out a word carefully, smiling that happy smile David knew so well.
“Vay?” David repeated.
“Vay.” Georg’s smile grew bigger and bigger.
David looked at the book. “We! The word is we.”
Georg looked disappointed, but then he smiled again. “Vee,” he said.
David shook his head back and forth. “No, we,” he said as he turned away from his cousin and went back to his room.
Why? Why? Why? he kept thinking as he flopped on the bed. If Georg could only understand, we could have so much fun together!
David had been on his bed only a moment when he heard a soft knock at the door. The door opened slowly, and Georg’s blue eyes peered cautiously around the door.
“Davy?” he asked softly.
David didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at Georg, who walked over to the bed and sat down. Georg spoke slowly, but it was no use. David couldn’t understand. The words just didn’t mean anything to him.
David looked at Georg. He doesn’t understand what I say, but I don’t understand him either. For the first time David began to wonder what Georg must think of him. Maybe Georg thinks I’m stupid because I don’t understand him.
David looked at Georg again. He was still talking as if he were desperately trying to explain something. All at once David knew exactly what Georg was trying to say! He wanted to be friends. He was telling David how much he liked him. David didn’t need to understand Danish, for he could see it in Georg’s face.
Georg had finished talking now, and he sat waiting for an answer. David felt ashamed. Then he smiled and Georg smiled back. Both boys understood without words!
“Dinner is ready,” Mother called.
David motioned to Georg, and they both hurried from the room.
As David passed his mother in the hall, he stopped. “I was wrong, Mom. It isn’t Georg who doesn’t understand—it’s me. And, you know, Georg may not understand English, but he sure understands friendship. And he’s teaching me. Georg really is a special friend.”
Mother smiled. “You know, you’re pretty special yourself,” she replied.
Georg was already at the table. His face was all aglow with his special smile that beamed, “Hi, friend!”
“You know, Mom,” David chuckled, “maybe Georg could teach me Danish!”

I became aware that I was attracted to men as a teenager. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings or how to talk about them, so I just buried them for a long time.
I was too afraid to acknowledge that this was a part of my life. I felt that if I just continued to keep the commandments, pray, read my scriptures, and go to the temple and if I served a mission, God would somehow miraculously take these feelings away from me.
While all those practices did help establish my testimony of the restored gospel and of God and Jesus Christ, my attractions didn’t change. Eventually, through a lot of deep soul-searching, praying, and skilled therapy, I became closer to Them, learned to truly understand and feel Their love and mercy, and learned to work through my attractions while keeping my covenants.

That could have happened to me. After graduating from college, I worked for a couple of years at a local nonprofit organization, where I was inspired by the skills of a new manager. I decided to pursue a master’s degree so that I could gain the kinds of skills he had.

Between the time I was accepted to the program and the time I was to attend, we learned that I was pregnant with our first child. Pregnancy is always a challenge, but due to some medical complications, pregnancies are particularly difficult for me. When I arrived to begin my master’s program, the heaviest question in my heart was whether I should be pursuing the degree at all. After all, I was now anticipating motherhood.

In my new ward, I was promptly called to be an assistant nursery leader. The counselor in the bishopric who set me apart for my new calling laid his hands upon my head and bestowed upon me all the usual authority, gifts, and admonitions attendant on a calling in nursery. Then, speaking to my most hidden fears and my deepest questions, he told me, in the name of Christ, to pursue and complete my master’s degree, that this was the will of God.

So I did.

Near the conclusion of my master’s degree, my husband received a good job offer in Washington, DC. I was preparing to be a stay-at-home mom to our then-one-year-old daughter. I felt unsettled by the move, and I wanted the confirmation of the Spirit to help soothe me. But the more I prayed, the more agitated I became. So my husband and I prayed, fasted, and attended the temple to seek guidance about whether or not to take the job.

The matter of our imminent move remained unresolved until the very last day of class in my master’s program. I felt a tremendous and unmistakable outpouring of the Spirit, and a clear, quiet, and calm voice spoke to my mind, telling me I would return for a PhD. I knew why I had been so uneasy about the move to Washington.

I didn’t tell my husband right away what my prompting had been—only that I’d had one and that I was at peace. We decided that when he had the same sense of peace, we could make a plan together based on our individual promptings.

Soon thereafter, he felt strongly that we should make a short-term move to Finland for an internship he had been offered. From Finland I applied for the doctoral program. In Finland my husband started his business.

I finished the doctoral program in about three years and soon found myself—most unexpectedly—on the full-time faculty at BYU. In addition to food, clothing, and shelter, our work has afforded us freedom, family time, fulfillment, challenges, and a great deal of happiness. We now have four children, and they are—individually and collectively—the central joy of my life. This was a future only God could see for me.

I remember telling this story to my friend Kris, who shared that her own story was very similar to mine but had resulted in almost the exact opposite educational path. Kris had always hoped to pursue a PhD. But when she inquired of the Lord, He led her in a different direction. Kris focused on raising her young children at home, finding fulfillment and joy in her decision and trusting the Lord and His guidance.

From ancient times comes an example which emphasizes this truth. Darius, through the proper rites, had been recognized as legitimate king of Egypt. His rival, Alexander, had been declared legitimate son of Ammon; he, too, was Pharaoh. Alexander found the defeated Darius on the point of death and laid his hands upon his head to heal him, commanding him to arise and resume his kingly power, concluding, “I swear unto thee, Darius, by all the gods, that I do these things truly and without fakery,” to which Darius replied with a gentle rebuke, “Alexander, my boy … do you think you can touch heaven with those hands of yours?”

Brethren, are we prepared to touch heaven as we fill our priesthood callings?

Few residents knew or even noticed the Smiths. But when anti-Mormon writers in the 1830s wanted to smear the peculiar new faith, they came up with affidavits from Palmyrans that called Joseph Smith and his family ne’er-do-wells. But the neighbors who knew the Smiths best held better opinions. One such, Orlando Saunders, went on record to vouch for the persecuted family’s character:
“I knew all the Smith family well … the old man was a cooper; they all worked for me many a day; they were very good people; Young Joe (as we called him then), he worked for me, and he was a very good worker; they all were. … They were the best family in the neighborhood in case of sickness; one was at my house nearly all the time when my father died; I always thought them honest; they were owing me some money when they left here. …
“One of them came back in about a year and paid me.”1

Years ago my husband and I purchased a home we adored and spent a lot of time and money fixing it up. Eighteen months later, the economy took a dive. We had to spend our hard-earned savings on a hefty mortgage and a slew of unforeseen expenses.
Months of trials and financial hardships went by. We hit a particularly difficult month of home and auto repairs, medical bills, and a decrease in pay. Our savings quickly disappeared.
I remember praying, asking over and over again for the things we needed. Consumed by stress, I found it difficult to care properly for our children and our family’s needs as I was falling into depression and despair. Still, I continued to pray, seeking comfort and knowing prayer to be the anchor keeping me from falling further into darkness.
After months of praying for help, I began thinking of ways to pray more fervently. The Spirit brought to my mind counsel from priesthood leaders and scriptures that taught the importance of expressing gratitude to Heavenly Father. These promptings helped me realize that I needed to express deeper appreciation for my blessings and ask less for the things my family and I needed. I decided that I would try for one week to let go of my daily pleadings and express only gratitude in my prayers.
It was difficult. I felt my family had so many needs. I felt as though I was letting my family down by not asking for the blessings we so desperately needed. How would the Lord bless me when I didn’t ask?
Despite my nervousness about it, I tried. I soon realized that my prayers were no longer monotonous pleadings. I regained the ability to recognize the needs of others and see beyond my problems to the blessings that were still mine. My gratitude was drawing me closer to the Savior, comforting me in ways I could not have received otherwise.
A scripture kept coming to mind: “If God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?” (Matthew 6:30). This scripture humbled me as I continued to pray. Through gratitude, I was learning more about true humility.
As the week progressed, my prayers changed from “I thank Thee for food, clothing, and shelter” to “I thank Thee for the family that Thou hast preserved and kept well, for the protection Thou dost continue to afford us. I thank Thee for the provisions Thou wilt continue to bless us with.” I also remember praying, “I thank Thee for our dependence upon Thee, for Thy mindfulness of us, and for the pathway Thou art preparing for us to escape this bondage, whatever it may be.” Somewhere along the line, my prayers became prayers of not just gratitude, not just humility, but of faith also. Without asking for blessings, I was expressing faith that the Lord would provide for us, and my faith was growing exponentially.
During these prayers, my thoughts were often drawn to the sacrifice of the early Saints, and I would ask myself what I was willing to sacrifice. A few more days passed, and we put our beloved home up for sale. The real estate market was severely depressed, but amazingly we were blessed to sell our home. Though we took a significant loss—as we had expected—our family was now in a position to begin building a more firm temporal foundation.
Still, selling our home in such difficult times is not the miracle that I take with me from this experience. The miracle is the faith I developed and the understanding I gained. President James E. Faust (1920–2007), Second Counselor in the First Presidency, declared gratitude to be a “saving principle.”1 I think I experienced something of what he was talking about as I turned my heart and prayers to Heavenly Father, receiving comfort, peace, and guidance. My newfound testimony of gratitude is that it inspires humility, humility encourages faith, and faith brings miracles.

They were on their way to the nearest temple when youth from the Bloomington Ward, Minneapolis Minnesota Stake, pulled into Nauvoo. They were about to check into the historical Nauvoo House when they learned it was right in the line of the summer’s horrible flooding. The youth went to work immediately, joining a sandbagging brigade that strengthened the levy between the inn and the river. Everyone from the smallest Beehives to the largest priests worked side by side.

So much for touring Nauvoo. They almost missed seeing the show at the Nauvoo Visitors’ Center too, because while they were sandbagging, no one picked up the tickets they’d reserved months earlier, and their tickets were given away to others. When the visitors’ center missionaries heard what had happened, they delayed the show while the youth cleaned up, and they brought in extra seating to accommodate those who had helped save the Nauvoo House.

The youth felt it was probably the most memorable excursion they would ever take. They not only had the chance to serve the dead by doing baptisms in the temple, but they were able to serve the living and generations to come by helping save a historical landmark.

Rookies Kenny, Jacob, and Harlan may have made the Little League Angel Park Dodgers team, but they still have problems. In Making the Team, even though they ace the tryouts, they still have to prove to the older guys that they, the rookies, really are good. In Big Base Hit, Harlan is going to be kicked off the team if he doesn’t come through for it. Find out how the team got out of its awful slump in Winning Streak. In What a Catch! veteran player Brian will have to quit the team unless he can show his dad that he can play well. Jacob and Harlan are convinced that Kenny thinks that he is too good for them in Rookie Star.Dean Hughes7–11 years

Help with temporal tasks is also a form of ministering. At the October 1856 general conference, President Brigham Young announced that handcart pioneers were stranded in deep snow 270–370 miles (435–595 km) away. He called for the Latter-day Saints in Salt Lake City to rescue them and to “attend strictly to those things which we call temporal.”4
Lucy Meserve Smith recorded that the women took off their warm underskirts and stockings right there in the tabernacle and piled them into wagons to send to the freezing pioneers. Then they gathered bedding and clothing for those who would eventually come with few belongings. When the handcart companies arrived, a building in the town was “loaded with provisions for them.”5

When I received the news that my brother, Sergio, had died, I was in my room studying and Mom was reading emails he had written us just the day before. He told us that he was happy to be serving a mission in Chiclayo, Peru, and to be a representative of Jesus Christ. He told us of his love with so much enthusiasm that our smiles were inevitable.
Moments before receiving the call from his mission president who gave us the devastating news, my mother and I listened to a song my brother loved. Suddenly a strong feeling of peace flooded the whole room. The Spirit was so intense. We even shed tears because the warmth and the feeling that overcame us were so real that no words can describe it. And just 10 minutes later, the phone rang.
Mother and I listened to my father respond to all the questions that he was asked. We knew if the mission president was calling, something serious was happening. Then we heard Father respond, “There must be some mistake. This cannot be happening.”
I asked what was happening. That was when Dad answered us, his eyes full of tears, his voice hoarse: “Little Sergio has died.”
I cried bitterly, asking myself again and again, “Why, Heavenly Father? Why do we have to go through this? Isn’t a mission supposed to be the safest place in the world?!”
In spite of having the gospel in our life and knowing the plan of happiness, there seemed to be no consolation for our anguish. I knew that only our Heavenly Father could help us in our circumstances.
That night, in a moment of clarity, I ran to find my scriptures because a passage from the book of Alma came to mind that my brother had shared with us several weeks before he passed away. It says, “O that I were an angel, and could have the wish of mine heart, that I might go forth and speak. … I would declare unto every soul, as with the voice of thunder, repentance and the plan of redemption. … But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish; … I ought not to harrow up in my desires the firm decree of a just God, for I know that he granteth unto men according to their desire, whether it be unto death or unto life” (Alma 29:1–4).
I understood then that my brother wanted us to know that he was alive and was with us in spirit, but that he had left this life because he had been called to preach in the spirit world. He wanted us to know that his absence would be like an extension of his mission calling—just another transfer, because he loved being a missionary, and the most profound desires of his heart had been fulfilled: to be “an angel” of the Lord. He could dedicate himself completely to the work of the Lord, to declare unto every soul “repentance and the plan of redemption,” the plan of happiness.
Although he is not physically with me, I still feel my brother’s presence. I no longer ask, “Why, Heavenly Father?” because the answer is clear and profound: “the Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?” (Doctrine and Covenants 122:8).
As a family, we have poured out our hearts to God, and we have found consolation thanks to the gospel. We know that this is a life of probation and that our spirits are eternal.
Through the hope of the infinite love of our Savior Jesus Christ and our Heavenly Father, we know that all things are possible. Thus, even though our understanding is still incomplete and in this life we cannot yet see all those whom we profoundly love, thanks to His life, we know that this is but a momentary, temporal circumstance.
It’s been just over four years since Sergio passed away. I admit that even now the sad days and the tears continue to appear from time to time, because I miss the presence of my beloved brother. But my heart overflows with gratitude when I remember that this is but a temporary situation. My hope is that finally, one day, we will meet again and reunite with our eternally happy family, forever and ever. This is greater than any pain I have to bear now.

First, every ward needs a Sister McManaway.
Let me tell you about Sister McManaway, our Young Women president. Bishops, I hope that you have someone like her. When she read that a bishop’s most important responsibility was the youth of his ward—well, she believed that. When she pointed it out to me, I told her I believed it, too. She said, “You don’t act like it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you never do anything with the youth. You never interview them. You never come to opening exercises, and all during our meeting you interview adults.”
One day Sister McManaway knocked on my door and said, “Look here, bishop, I have a book for you to read. You don’t have to read it all, just the parts I’ve underlined.” It was a book by Elder Vaughn Featherstone entitled A Generation of Excellence.
First I read the underlined parts, and then I read the entire book. That book had a great impact on me, and I’m grateful that Elder Featherstone took the time to write it. But equally important, I’m grateful to Sister McManaway for caring enough about the youth to say, “Bishop, you need to read this book.”

Drusilla Hendricks and her family were camped farther down the wagon train when Brigham and his group arrived. While most of the families of Mormon Battalion members were still in Winter Quarters, the Hendrickses and some others had gathered enough resources to join those going west. More than a year had passed since Drusilla watched her son William march away with the battalion, and she was anxious to reunite with him in the valley—or sooner.32
Already Drusilla’s company had encountered returning battalion soldiers along the trail. The faces of many Saints, anxious to see their loved ones, brightened hopefully when they saw the troops. Sadly, William was not among them.
They saw more battalion soldiers a month later. These men captivated the Saints with descriptions of the Great Basin and let them taste salt they had brought with them from the Great Salt Lake. But William was not with this group either.33
Over the next several weeks, Drusilla and her family labored over mountain trails, crossed rivers and streams, climbed steep hills, and navigated canyons. Their hands, hair, and faces became caked with dust and grime. Their clothes, already threadbare and tattered from the long journey, offered little protection from the sun, rain, and dirt. When they reached the valley in early October, some in their company were too ill or exhausted to celebrate.34
More than a week passed after Drusilla and her family arrived in the valley, and still they had no news about William. After the battalion arrived at the California coast, some veterans had stayed behind to work and earn money while others headed east to the Salt Lake Valley or Winter Quarters. For all Drusilla knew, William could be anywhere between the Pacific Ocean and the Missouri River.35
With winter approaching, Drusilla and her family had almost no warm clothing, little food, and no way to build a house. Their situation looked bleak, but she trusted in God that all would work out. One night, Drusilla dreamed of the temple the Saints would build in the valley, as Wilford Woodruff had a few months earlier. Joseph Smith stood on top of it, looking exactly as he had in life. Drusilla called her husband and children to her and said, “There is Joseph.” The prophet spoke with them, and two doves flew down to the family.
Waking from the dream, Drusilla believed the doves represented the Spirit of the Lord, a sign of divine approval of the decisions she and her family had made. She believed that their sacrifices had not gone unnoticed.
Later that day, a group of footsore battalion veterans arrived in the valley. This time, William was among them.36

For Prince Henry Omondi’s family, learning to keep the Word of Wisdom did not only mean learning to live without tea, coffee, alcohol and tobacco. It also meant an extra monthly expense for the family’s already tight budget.
“We really suffered temporally after my mother’s death,” says Prince. His father had to support nine children, ranging between 16 years and two months of age, on one income. During these tough times, “I had questions in my mind and I sometimes would doubt if God loved me,” he says. But when his family met the missionaries, the teachings they shared went “deep into my heart.
“As the missionaries taught us, I felt God’s love for me and felt God had a purpose for me,” he says.
Many of his family members felt the same. Except for two of Prince’s older brothers, the entire family was baptized.
Prince says that one way to know his purpose was to keep the commandments with exactness.
“One of the commandments which was new to me was the Word of Wisdom,” he said.
“Not taking alcohol, tobacco or any harmful drugs was not an issue, but tea and coffee was a challenge. I remember my Father telling the missionaries that drinking chocolate was too expensive, and we could not afford it. But the missionaries encouraged us, and my dad had the faith and courage to squeeze money to be able to buy drinking chocolate instead of tea or coffee.”
A year later, Prince was ready to serve as a full-time missionary in the Kenya Nairobi mission.
“I can say missions change lives,” he says. During the time he served, there was a lot of persecution of the Church in Kenya, with anti-Church sentiments frequently being printed as newspaper headlines.
“As I walked the streets of Nairobi, I was many times accused of joining the Church for the sake of money”. A particularly difficult confrontation with a detractor became his turning point. That evening, he says, “I realized I had to pack my bag and go home or know for myself.”
Prince received his answer.
“For the first time, like the Prophet Joseph Smith, I could say I knew it, the Lord knew it and I could not deny that I was in the true Church.”
After the completion of his mission, “life was not easy,” says Prince.
“We were still struggling as a family to put meals on the table, but that did not affect my faith in Jesus Christ.”
A former mission friend suggested that he try to move to America to study.
But in order to do that, he needed to secure a study visa. “When I went to apply for my visa the first time it was rejected because I did not have strong enough family ties to prove I would come back to Kenya after my schooling,” he says. “I was determined. I felt this was my opportunity to excel in life and somehow improve life for my family. So, I tried a second time. Again, my application was rejected.”
Undeterred, Prince decided to give it one more go.
On the way to the embassy to submit a third application, he stopped in at his older brother’s office, who had agreed to provide a bank statement to bolster his case.
His older brother asked someone to prepare a drink for Prince, and after a few minutes he was presented with a cup of tea.
“I told my brother, who was not a member, ‘you know I do not take tea.’
“He apologized and laughed and asked the lady to prepare drinking chocolate for me. I responded, ‘Do not worry, just give me the documents and I will rush to the embassy.’
“But,” says Prince, “he insisted.”
Prince waited while the hot chocolate was prepared, drank it, got the document, and left.
He was walking past the Kenya Cinema—only a few meters away from the American embassy—when he heard a blast.
That blast was the sound of gunshots.
“If I had left only three minutes earlier, I would have been caught in the middle of the August 1998 terrorist attack on the US embassy,” says Prince.
“Those extra three minutes waiting for the hot chocolate to be prepared saved my life.”
More than 200 people died in terrorist attacks in East Africa that day, “but I feel I was protected personally because I lived the Word of Wisdom,” says Prince.
“I can testify that if I had thought that drinking tea was a small commandment, I am not sure I would be alive today.”
Prince saw the very real promises contained in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants come into play: “And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angels shall pass by them . . . and not slay them” (verse 21).
In the end, Prince never went to America. He discovered that “the Lord had great plans for me here in Kenya,” he says.
“The gospel changes lives,” Prince testifies. As the Lord’s children, all we need to do is “hear Him and do what is right.”
Prince Henry Omondi is the first counsellor in the Kenya Nairobi West Stake. He is the faculty leader in Seminaries and Institutes for the Nairobi Kenya and Kampala Uganda missions.

Marin Watt was a direct descendant of George D. Watt, the first member of the British Isles to be baptized. He visited from his home in the USA and met the cast member playing his ancestor in the show. He commented, “It truly was an experience of a lifetime for me personally. Having been told of the event of George D. Watt and the race to the River Ribble and his being the first person baptized has always had a special place in my heart. But, now I have been there. I have walked the footsteps of my Great Great Grandfather. I have been at the Temple which is there because of baptisms over 186 years ago involving my ancestors. I heard and witnessed how the people of the British Isles know of that baptism and what it still means to them today. I was able to watch the pageant, in England, of those events surrounding the introduction of The Gospel of Jesus Christ in my ancestral land and so much more.”

In my late teens I joined the Church against the wishes of my family. When I was in my 20s, I began working on my family history after my father passed away. Soon after, I became a busy wife and mother raising young children, and the family history work stopped.
Because I didn’t have any family in the Church, I had a strong desire to research my family history. I loved doing it and always longed to have more time to work on it.
When I was 33, my life took an unexpected turn when my health began to decline. Where I once was able to hike with my family, taking a walk around the block became difficult. Cleaning house in two hours on a Saturday became impossible, and I was just happy if I could get through vacuuming. Where I once had a large circle of friends, now my circle of friends declined because I could no longer be there for them as I had in the past.
It was at this time that I began to take up my family history again. My daughter began doing research for her dad’s side and in one evening completed work that had taken me years to do. I completed several generations on my line and submitted the names to the temple for the work to be completed. I had always wanted to go through the temple for my family members myself, but my health and the distance from the temple made it impossible.
After submitting the names, I began to cry, feeling like I had let my family members down since I wouldn’t be there with them on the special day the ordinances were done for them. A week later as I logged on to FamilySearch.org to check the progress of their temple work, I saw something amazing. Not only was the work being completed, but members in the Accra Ghana Temple were doing the work! I was so surprised to see members halfway around the world completing temple work for my little family. I burst into tears again thinking of the sacrifices of the people in Ghana as they made their way to the temple for my family. I am so grateful for those members of the Accra Ghana Temple district who did what I could not: attend the temple and grant my family the blessing of temple ordinances.