Gospel Story Finder

I often reflect on the day my sister Maryann and I first came to Hawaii. I was 6 years old and she was 5. I couldn’t imagine why my parents would allow their children to leave them at that age but that event impacted me for the rest of my life. I remember in those days the Pan American flight came once a month to Samoa, and it was a big island event. I can still smell the captivating fragrance of the moso’oi leis and the strumming of the guitars as busloads of people would gather at the airport to see who was coming and who was leaving that day. I remember my mom and dad whispering to us as we huddled for the final goodbye: “You are going to get a better education, then you will come back”. So my sister and I came with my grandfather, Miki Ah You. Uncle Junior often said my grandmother spoiled us more than her own children. Now that I’m a grandmother myself, I know exactly how that feels.

I remember when we first went to Laie Elementary School. My sister and I were placed in the same kindergarten class. I was so embarrassed to be in the same class as my younger sister. It was a thing then to change your name when you come to America. You know, Enele became Henry, Tomasi became Tom. So my aunt’s husband, Komisi, took us to school that first morning and without telling me, he changed my name to “Lorrance”. Because they called me “Louena” at home or ‘ENA for short, he thought the best way to fa’apalagi my name was to call me “Lorrance”. Mind you, the only real English words I knew then was yes and no. Throughout the day when my teacher asked me something I would simply answer “Yes” or “No”.

At the end of that first day, the teacher asked my Aunty Leise, who came over from her class to pick us up, “Is something wrong with your niece? Every time I called her name she would just answer ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. It was only then that I learned of my new name. So I struggled through that whole first year with my insecurities of being in a new environment. When we got to first grade, I had a kind, patient teacher, Sister Ruby Enos, who kept me in during recess and worked with me while the other kids were out playing. She taught me to read and write and speak English. When I finally was moved up a grade that year, I felt my first sense of accomplishment!

Have you ever been so afraid and discouraged as you faced a challenge that seemed far beyond your ability? Have you ever wanted to give up? I did at that time.

Joseph B. Keeler, one of Maeser’s first ­students, later managed the school’s finances and physical facilities while teaching eight classes per term. He was widely known for his splendid example, for listening, and for finding ways to help students in need.9 One day he overheard BYU’s fourth president, George H. Brimhall, expel a very uncooperative repeat offender. As the student was leaving, Keeler drew him into his office in order, he said, to “take care of the details.” He asked about the young man’s plans, which included going into business. Then, explaining that withdrawing from school would take a few days, Keeler offered the young man work in the office “to finish out the week.” The week became a month, and then more. The young man stayed in school. He graduated with honors and became an upright businessman. Years later, he attributed his “success in life to that great man.”10

I have watched my senior Brethren move around the circle and then graduate to the other side of the veil—so many great ones. President Harold B. Lee told me that I should associate with the older Brethren and learn from their experiences. I followed that counsel.

From Henry Wadsworth Longfellow:
Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time; Footprints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er life’s solemn main, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart again.1
These “footprints on the sands of time” will always remain visible to help guide you.

When I was a young member of the Quorum of the Twelve, we walked from our weekly temple meetings back to our offices. I would linger behind and walk with Elder LeGrand Richards. He had been somewhat crippled in an accident in his youth and walked slower than the others.

The other Brethren would say, “You are so kind to take care of Elder Richards,” and I would answer, “You don’t know why I do it!”

As we walked, I listened. He could remember President Wilford Woodruff. He was twelve the last time he heard President Woodruff speak. Elder Richards was a link to that generation. I absorbed every word he spoke.

My mother taught me the gospel when I was young, but because my father was not a Church member, I always wondered if I was on the correct path. I never understood why my father had never joined the Church if it really was true. Still, I loved going to Primary and singing the hymns. I also enjoyed when my mother read the scriptures to me, and little by little I began to develop my own testimony.
When I joined Young Women, one of the first goals I made was to share my testimony every fast Sunday. Bearing my testimony became a habit for me and strengthened my desire to increase my knowledge when I was able to enroll in seminary.
My first seminary class covered the Old Testament. That year I not only grew to appreciate and value the Old Testament, but I also learned the importance of temples and genealogy.
I joined together with other students from my ward and got involved in family history work. We extracted hundreds of names and developed an enormous love for people we knew almost nothing about—just their names and other limited data. Even though I knew that the work we were doing was important, I sometimes felt discouraged and frustrated. I was working so that ordinances could be done for people I did not know, yet I could not reach my own father. He did not understand the importance of what I was doing. I continued praying and fasting that he would be touched.
The following year in seminary we studied the New Testament. One morning after I woke up, I began to read about the Savior in Gethsemane. Tears flowed from my eyes as I realized that the drops of blood He shed were for me. How I wished I had never sinned! The words of Isaiah that I had studied the previous year came into my mind: “He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him” (Isaiah 53:5). As I read about the Crucifixion and the Resurrection, my mom came into my room. I shared with her my feelings, my testimony, and my desire for my father to know what I had learned in seminary.
My testimony continued to grow the next year as we read the Doctrine and Covenants. I obtained a testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I also decided to follow his example and ask God if the Church is true. Although I already had conviction in my heart, one afternoon I found myself alone and sincerely prayed. As I did, I realized that the testimony I was asking for had been developing as I studied the scriptures and attended seminary.
The Lord opened my mind and my heart that year, and I understood the Doctrine and Covenants as I never had before. I also learned of the great value of souls (see D&C 18:10–16) and began to share my growing testimony with those who did not know about the gospel, including my father.
I knew that studying the Book of Mormon during my final year of seminary would also fortify my testimony. As I truly studied, I felt Heavenly Father’s love for me. The stories inspired me to the point that all I wanted to do was read the Book of Mormon. I began to take the Book of Mormon to school and would read it during my free time. I also began to discuss what I was reading with my father.
One day after a long conversation with my father about the gospel, I challenged him to read all of the Book of Mormon. I testified that, like me, he could receive a testimony.
I am happy to say that my father read the Book of Mormon. When he did, he knew the Church was true and was eventually baptized! My family is now preparing to be sealed in the temple. I know that attending seminary and reading the scriptures helped me develop my own testimony, and I know that they bless families.

The following story may help those of you who might question if you have the talents we speak of.
The famed naturalist of the last century, Louis Agassiz, was lecturing in London and had done a marvelous job. An obviously bright little old lady, but one who did not seem to have all the advantages in life, came up and was spiteful. She was resentful and said that she had never had the chances that he had had and she hoped he appreciated it. He took that bit of a lacing very pleasantly and turned to the lady and, when she was through, said, “What do you do?”

She said, “I run a boarding house with my sister. I’m unmarried.”

“What do you do at the boarding house?”

“Well, I skin potatoes and chop onions for the stew. We have stew every day.”

“Where do you sit when you do that interesting but homely task?”

“I sit on the bottom step of the kitchen stairs.”

“Where do your feet rest when you sit there on the bottom step?”

“On a glazed brick.”

“What’s a glazed brick?”

“I don’t know.”

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Fifteen years.”

Agassiz concluded, “Here’s my card. Would you write me a note when you get a moment about what a glazed brick is?”

Well, that made her mad enough to go home and do it. She went home and got the dictionary out and found out that a brick was a piece of baked clay. That didn’t seem enough to send to a Harvard professor, so she went to the encyclopedia and found out that a brick was made of vitrified kaolin and hydrous aluminum silicate, which didn’t mean a thing to her. She went to work and visited a brick factory and a tile maker. Then she went back in history and studied a little bit about geology and learned something about clay and clay beds and what hydrous meant and what vitrified meant. She began to soar out of the basement of a boarding house on the wings of words like vitrified kaoline and hydrous aluminum silicate. She finally decided that there were about 120 different kinds of glazed bricks and tiles. She could tell Agassiz that, so she wrote him a little note of thirty-six pages and said, “Here’s your glazed brick.”

He wrote back, “This is a fine piece of work. If you change this and that and the other, I’ll prepare it for publication and send you that which is due you from the publication.” She thought no more of it, made the changes, sent it back, and almost by return mail came a check for 250 dollars. His letter said, “I’ve published your piece. What was under the brick?”

And she said, “Ants.”

He replied (all of this by mail), “What’s an ant?”

She went to work and this time she was excited. She found 1,825 different kinds of ants. She found that there were ants that you could put three to the head of a pin and still have standing room left over. She found that there were ants an inch long that moved in armies half a mile wide and destroyed everything in their path. She found that some ants were blind; some ants lost their wings on the afternoon they died; some milked cows and took the milk to the aristocrats up the street. She found more ants than anybody had ever found, so she wrote Mr. Agassiz something of a treatise, numbering 360 pages. He published it and sent her the money and royalties, which continued to come in. She saw the lands and places of her dreams on a little carpet of vitrified kaolin and on the wings of flying ants that may lose their wings on the afternoon they die. [Jeffrey R. Holland, “Borne upon Eagles’ Wings,” in Speeches of the Year, 1974 (Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 1975), pp. 402–3; see also Marion D. Hanks, The Gift of Self (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1974), pp. 151–53]

When I was presiding over the Edmonton Branch a man came to me and said, “I can’t pay a full tithing this year. I have had to do some building, some remodeling, and so on.” I told him that the Lord had said that he would pour out blessings that we would hardly be able to contain. He said, “I still can’t do it.” Right after the first of the year that man spent several days in the hospital with a high doctor bill, and he paid it. I am not suggesting that he was there because he didn’t pay a full tithing, but I am suggesting that the evidence is there that he could have paid a full tithing.

I used to be the same way. I reserved my best behavior for people I didn’t live with and let my family have what was left over. My mom and I fought constantly for years. I exploded over stupid things, and I was grouchy all the time. I’m a little older now and married. I don’t even know where most of my friends are, let alone what they’re doing. The people I thought were most important to me are gone. Now I realize that my best friends are at home.

When I was in the MTC, my companion taught me an important lesson of being in favor with man, or in this case, other missionaries. Throughout our time there, I thought the world of this elder and admired his obedience and hard work. However, it was difficult for him at times to get along with the rest of our district as they continually would bump heads. He felt at times they might not be as obedient as they should or follow the MTC rules to exactness like he did.

At the end of our two month training before we left to The Kingdom of Tonga, he wrote in my journal and a small excerpt from it reads, "All I was trying to do was be the kind of missionary the Lord wanted me to be, but it was hard with all this negative pressure around me to conform to the 'group standard'. After a lot of prayer and searching the scriptures, I found my answer. It's found in 2 Timothy 2:24-26. In summary it says two things: Love with the pure love of Christ all those around you, but never compromise your own standard." He continued writing, "No matter how much good you do, no matter how obedient you are, no one will follow your example if they don't love you."

What a valuable lesson for me to learn at the start of my mission of how important it is to genuinely love others in a way that they would want to follow the example that I could set for them. To me this means being a concerned friend before a home teacher/visiting teacher.

On October 25, 1995, Derrick Parke, of Carey, Idaho, died suddenly of a heart defect while playing racquetball with a friend. At the time of his death, he was attending his first semester at Ricks College and had just completed his mission papers. Derrick was known as an outstanding athlete in football, basketball, and track. He was an example to many for his sportsmanship, athletic ability, integrity, and kindness. The following is adapted from his father’s talk, given at his funeral.
As the bishop of the Carey First Ward, I was given the unique opportunity to interview my own son prior to filling out his mission papers. When the interview came to a close, and Derrick was about to sign his name on the line, I said, “Derrick, wait a minute. I want all the cards on top of the table. Are you worthy to go on this mission?”
He then looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Dad, I am.” And with that, he took the pen in hand and signed his mission papers.
Three days later he died.
But I don’t think that this was coincidental. Heavenly Father had a hand in this. I know that Derrick had a far greater mission to attend to, and that’s why he was taken. As I look back upon his life, there was never a better time for him to go. It was Derrick’s time to go home; he was ready. He lived his life in such a way that he was ready.
The walls of Derrick’s room are covered with laminated pictures of his success stories in sports; his trophies line the foot of his bed. But at the head of his bed is an 8-by-11-inch picture of the Savior. Derrick had his priorities in order. He knew what was first. He knew that the Lord was first, and that these other things were second.
I know that many young people would envy some of the successes that he’s had in sports. But the greatest success is to have the Savior by the head of your bed and to recognize that great blessing in your life. I know that we are an eternal family, and I know that Derrick knows that too. And Derrick knows that because he understood why he was on the earth.
It was this understanding that drove Derrick to do what is right. I know he had his personal prayers. He read the scriptures and attended seminary. The way Derrick lived his life showed that he loved the Savior.
President Boyd K. Packer once said that most people live and die, without knowing why they are here (see Ensign, Nov. 1983, p. 16). But that was not the case with Derrick. He knew why he was here. He had a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Not only was he desirous to be a missionary, but he was willing to pay the price to be worthy to serve a mission. And like everything else he did, he paid the price.
And because of this, he was ready to serve wherever the Lord chose to call him. It just so happened that the Lord called him home.

Recently, a bishop who was concerned about reverence in his ward expressed his concern to the members of the ward council and asked for their suggestions. Hesitantly, the Primary president raised her hand.
“Well,” she said, “one person consistently does a lot of enthusiastic visiting in the chapel just before and after sacrament meeting. It can be pretty distracting.”
The bishop had not noticed anyone being especially noisy in the chapel, but he said he would talk to the offending party. He asked the sister who it was.
She took a deep breath. “It’s you, Bishop,” she said. “I know you’re just reaching out to people, and we all appreciate your desire to greet everyone who comes to the meeting. But when others see you moving around the chapel talking to people during the prelude music, they figure it’s OK for them to do the same thing.”
When others in the ward council nodded in agreement, the bishop thanked her and asked for recommendations. The council soon decided that the bishopric, including the bishop, should be in their places on the stand five minutes before sacrament meeting to set an example of reverence in the chapel. During a follow-up discussion, the council members indicated unanimously that the simple plan had worked and that reverence in sacrament meeting had improved decidedly.

I was actually asked this question by my best friend. I told him that my church advised me not to date until I was 16, but that it was also a family guideline and my decision. He was impressed by this response and told me that it was my morals that had originally impressed him. He was glad that I stuck so strongly to my beliefs. He waited over 200 days until I turned 16 to take me on a date, and we are still best friends.
Kristen L., 16, North Carolina

Later, another couple came in. They, too, had contributed liberally throughout the year. As we were about to conclude our visit, the husband said, “Bishop, is there anyone in the ward who has special needs this Christmas? We don’t have a lot of extra money, but we would like to give what we do have to someone who needs it.”
Immediately I thought of a single mother in our ward. She was doing her best to be self-reliant and certainly wasn’t looking for a handout. But money was tight. She was going back to school, and there were medical bills to pay. Surely she would be a worthy recipient of this couple’s generosity.
I accepted their offer in her behalf. They told me they weren’t interested in knowing the name of the receiver. And they, too, wanted to remain anonymous.
The husband pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and stacked several twenty-dollar bills on my desk. As he was doing so, his wife said, somewhat apologetically, “It’s not much. But now that our children are grown, we don’t feel that we’re doing as much in the ward as we used to. This is the least we can do.”
I protested at her apology, knowing they were doing much in their Church callings and in their quiet service to neighbors and to an elderly parent. And I thanked them for being so generous.
The next day, while taking the money to the recipient, I became a little uneasy. How would she receive this gift? Would she be offended? Would she hesitate to accept it?
When I handed the money to her, I described the spirit in which the gift had been given and encouraged her to receive it in that same spirit.
She accepted the money gratefully.
“I can accept this,” she said, “because when times were better for me, I often gave anonymously, just like this.” Then she told me about the secret projects her family had done over the years. She told me about times when she had purchased a frozen turkey and left it, with all the trimmings, on someone’s doorstep. She told me about anonymously mailing money to people who needed it, and about purchasing a coat and boots for the child of a needy friend. Now, in her time of need, she was a gracious receiver.

Late that afternoon I got a phone call. It was Joel. We had been best friends when we were little kids but hadn’t spent much time together for quite a while.
“I got my driver’s license,” he said proudly. “Dad said I can take the car. Do you want a ride?”
“A ride?” I repeated, astonished. Was this really Joel? I tried to imagine him cruising on a Sunday afternoon with a load of giggling girls. It just didn’t work. In fact, the thought gave me brain flutters. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m offering you a ride to the fireside,” he said. “What did you think I meant?”
Now it all made sense. The stake youth fireside was in the next town. It did not sound very interesting. Going to a meeting like that was exactly Joel’s kind of thing to do.
“I’m sick of meetings,” I told him. “I may never go to another meeting as long as I live.”
“Have you got something better to do?” he asked.
“Let me put on a tie,” I groaned. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
There was nothing special about Joel’s family car. He drove it very carefully, making sure he didn’t speed or leave any patches of rubber at the intersections. We had a nice talk on the way to the stake center. I’d forgotten what a good friend he was and how much we had in common.
The fireside was one of those “come if you want to” affairs that hadn’t been advertised very well. There weren’t very many people there. Just the faithful, I thought as I looked around. I was surprised by the warm feeling that came over me. A girl my age led the singing, and other kids said the prayers and introduced the speaker. I suddenly felt very close to everyone I saw. Going to the meeting was Joel’s idea, but I was sure being blessed by being there!
“Friends are important,” the speaker told us. “When you pick your friends, you choose the direction of your life.” He told how friends had helped him stay close to the Church when he was a teenager. Then he read a scripture from the Doctrine and Covenants that really hit me. It was a verse where the Lord calls his people “friends.” “The Lord,” the speaker explained, “reserves the title friend for those who are valiant in obeying his commandments. He speaks to his friends and hears their prayers. They are the ones who stand beside him, and he stands by them. A true friend will help you stay close to the Church and to live a righteous life.” What he said made sense. I started thinking about friends in a different way.
A few years have gone by since I was offered those two rides on the Sabbath. I’m sad to say that Tom was on the wrong road. He got in a lot of trouble and broke his family’s heart. I’ve always been grateful that I didn’t jump to accept his sudden offer of “friendship” that day. Joel, on the other hand, was honorably released from a mission in New York about the same time I returned from mine in Japan. We had a joyous reunion. He’s still my very good friend.

Before Christmas my parents bought a box full of copies of the Book of Mormon to give to people. That was when I had the idea to take some to school and give them as presents to three of my teachers.
When I got to the music classroom, I saw my music teacher and thought, Go ahead, Sophia. Give one to her! I walked slowly up to my teacher. But I didn’t have the courage to give her the book.
I went to a corner of the room and prayed very quietly. “Heavenly Father, I ask Thee to help me give this book to my teacher.” When I finished my prayer, I felt very strongly that I should give the book to her. Suddenly I had courage.
I went up to her. She looked at me, and I gave her the Book of Mormon and said, “Teacher, I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I want to give you this Book of Mormon!”
She took it and looked at the cover. “Look inside!” I said. She saw that I had written a few words.
She hugged me and said, “Oh, Sophia, thank you for giving this to me!”
After I sat down, she said to the class, “Look what Sophia gave me. I am going to read it during the holidays!”
When I got home, I ran to my mother and said, “Guess what! I gave my teacher a Book of Mormon.”
She smiled and said, “That’s wonderful! You’re a great example to me, Sophia.”
We decided to pray to thank Heavenly Father for giving me the courage to give my teacher the Book of Mormon.

I recently had an insightful conversation with a 15-year-old Aaronic Priesthood holder. He helped me understand how easy it is in this Internet age for young people to almost inadvertently be exposed to impure and even pornographic images. He pointed out that for most principles the Church teaches, there is at least some recognition in society at large that violating these principles can have devastating effects on health and well-being. He mentioned cigarette smoking, drug use, and alcohol consumption by young people. But he noted that there is no corresponding outcry or even a significant warning from society at large about pornography or immorality.

My dear brothers and sisters, this young man’s analysis is correct. What is the answer? For years, prophets and apostles have taught the importance of religious observance in the home.

Parents, the days are long past when regular, active participation in Church meetings and programs, though essential, can fulfill your sacred responsibility to teach your children to live moral, righteous lives and walk uprightly before the Lord. With President Monson’s announcement this morning, it is essential that this be faithfully accomplished in homes which are places of refuge where kindness, forgiveness, truth, and righteousness prevail. Parents must have the courage to filter or monitor Internet access, television, movies, and music. Parents must have the courage to say no, defend truth, and bear powerful testimony. Your children need to know that you have faith in the Savior, love your Heavenly Father, and sustain the leaders of the Church. Spiritual maturity must flourish in our homes. My hope is that no one will leave this conference without understanding that the moral issues of our day must be addressed in the family. Bishops and priesthood and auxiliary leaders need to support families and make sure that spiritual principles are taught. Home and visiting teachers can assist, especially with children of single parents.

The young man I mentioned earnestly asked if the Apostles knew how early in life teaching and protecting against pornography and impure thoughts should start. With emphasis, he stated that in some areas even before youth graduate from Primary is not too early.

Youth who have been exposed to immoral images at a very early age are terrified that they may have already disqualified themselves for missionary service and sacred covenants. As a result, their faith can be severely impaired. I want to assure you young people, as Alma taught, that through repentance you can qualify for all the blessings of heaven. That is what the Savior’s Atonement is all about. Please talk with your parents or a trusted adviser, and counsel with your bishop.

I recall a few years ago I was supervising the missions in western Europe. We needed a mission president with a certain language proficiency. Several names were brought forward, but none of them seemed to be right. Then one of the Brethren remembered that he had met a man—I think it was in Korea—several years before. He was a member of the Church who was in the customs service. Somehow just the mention of that name and the Spirit confirmed it. He was called, by virtue of the time pressures, by telephone to preside over the mission. I visited him a few weeks later. He was living in Washington, D.C. He was within reach of the number one office in his category. His lifetime had been spent progressing through the ranks, thinking that perhaps one day he would stand at the head of that division. His senior officer had indicated that because of a health problem he would retire early and that this man was being recommended for that position. It was just at that time that the telephone call came.
I wanted to get acquainted with him and was invited to stay overnight. He brought me a message from his superior. The message was this: “Tell that Brother Packer of yours that you’re no missionary; I’ve worked with you for 30 years, and you haven’t converted me. Tell them they’re making a mistake. And you’re making a mistake. You’re a fool.” (I’m leaving out one word.) “If you will give up your retirement and all that you’ve reached for—why? Why would you do it?”
Simple answer: he’d been called. We live to know, in this church, that the response to a call does not depend on the testimony and witness of the one who delivers the call. It depends, rather, on the testimony and witness of the one who receives it.
It was very interesting. We were looking for a man who spoke French. It was not until after he was in the mission field, and we had some opportunities and responsibilities relating to some of the problems of some members we had in Spain, that we discovered that he wrote and spoke Spanish fluently. I suppose if we’d searched through the Church for a man who spoke French, spoke Spanish, and had had some diplomatic experience, particularly as it related to customs work, we would have gone afar in the world and not found him. Yet it was through the “chance” memory of one of the Brethren that he’d met a man a few years before in Korea who spoke French that he was found.

In 2013, I was successively called to serve as ward employment specialist, government relations specialist in the stake public affairs office, and then director of public affairs for the Brazzaville Stake. It was a breathtaking year—and spiritually mind-boggling—as I began to wonder about my callings in the Church, especially since this experience was not taking into account that I had no one at all in my family to join me in my spiritual journey.
Indeed, I remained very single with five children to take care of; and up to then, none of them were interested in the new religion of their father. In fact, my beloved children were suspecting that their father—who they knew as Christian—at the twilight of his life had suddenly embraced a new religion, one which may have some malicious intentions.
But this scripture reproved me: “For if a man know not how to rule his own house, how shall he take care of the church of God?” (1 Timothy 3:5).
I realized that I needed to help my own family come to an understanding of my commitment to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. While constantly praying—in secret and publicly—to ask the Lord’s help on this matter, the Church extended to me a new calling as national public affairs director for the Republic of Congo. Our first French-speaking, Central Africa regional public affairs directors conference of the Church took place in February 2014 in Kinshasa DRC. I was sensitive about my marital status, but I was comforted when I saw that only one of the five directors gathered had a wedding ring on his finger—the others were single.
But this was a temporary consolation, as the General Authority Seventy presiding over the conference—as well as the area public affairs director—pointed out this issue of being single that prevailed among the gathered public affairs directors. We were exhorted to remain worthy and were encouraged to become married and receive temple ordinances with our spouses. The public affairs director had these concluding words, “The restored Church of Jesus Christ will continue to grow, with or without you; but if it is with you, it is for your good.” These were inspired and unforgettable words and boosted my desire to enter the holy temple and to experience the eternal reality of its sacred ordinances.
So over time, the Lord blessed me—and my desire to once again be joined in marriage was fulfilled. In December 2014, Parfaite Nkounkou and I were legally married at the city hall in Brazzaville. Six months later, we entered the Johannesburg Temple for the very first time, where we were sealed for time and for all eternity.

There have been times when I found myself acting more like a judge than a teacher. When I was a young father, I volunteered as a coach for my children’s soccer teams. I remember one game in particular—I was shouting from the sidelines, pointing out mistakes, and expressing frustration when players were out of position or lost the ball.

At the time, I did not understand that a more effective way to motivate and inspire is to recognize what people are doing right, not just what they are doing wrong. As I began to change my approach, I noticed something important: the players responded differently. They trusted me more. The attitude and atmosphere changed. I moved from being a judge and a critic to being a supporter and a teacher.

If you suffer from worry, from grief or shame or jealousy or disappointment or envy, from self-recrimination or self-justification, consider this lesson taught to me many years ago by a patriarch. He was as saintly a man as I have ever known. …
He grew up in a little community with a desire to make something of himself. He struggled to get an education.
He married his sweetheart, and presently everything was just right. He was well employed, with a bright future. They were deeply in love, and she was expecting their first child.
The night the baby was to be born, there were complications. The only doctor was somewhere in the countryside tending to the sick. …
Finally the doctor was located. In the emergency, he acted quickly and soon had things in order. The baby was born and the crisis, it appeared, was over.
Some days later, the young mother died from the very infection that the doctor had been treating at another home that night.
John’s world was shattered. Everything was not right now; everything was all wrong. He had lost his wife. He had no way to tend both the baby and his work.
As the weeks wore on, his grief festered. “That doctor should not be allowed to practice,” he would say. “He brought that infection to my wife. If he had been careful, she would be alive today.”
He thought of little else, and in his bitterness, he became threatening. …
One night a knock came at his door. A little girl said simply, “Daddy wants you to come over. He wants to talk to you.”
“Daddy” was the stake president. …
This spiritual shepherd had been watching his flock and had something to say to him.
The counsel from that wise servant was simply, “John, leave it alone. Nothing you do about it will bring her back. Anything you do will make it worse. John, leave it alone.” …
He struggled in agony to get hold of himself. And finally, he determined that whatever else the issues were, he should be obedient.
Obedience is powerful spiritual medicine. It comes close to being a cure-all.
He determined to follow the counsel of that wise spiritual leader. He would leave it alone.
Then he told me, “… It was not until I was an old man that I could finally see a poor country doctor—overworked, underpaid, run ragged from patient to patient, with little medicine, no hospital, few instruments, struggling to save lives, and succeeding for the most part.
“He had come in a moment of crisis, when two lives hung in the balance, and had acted without delay.
“I was an old man,” he repeated, “before I finally understood! I would have ruined my life,” he said, “and the lives of others.”
Many times he had thanked the Lord on his knees for a wise spiritual leader who counseled simply, “John, leave it alone.”

Feeling the influence of the Spirit is what the gospel means to many members in Otavalo—people like Lauro Yamverla and his wife, Lucila. In the beginning, he made it hard for the missionaries to teach him, Brother Yamverla recalls. But when the Spirit bore witness that their message was true, “I set a goal that if I was going to be baptized, I was going to follow the gospel’s teachings strictly.” When he began closing his grocery store on Sundays, he worried at first about losing business, but it actually got better.
Brother and Sister Yamverla have been deeply involved in service since they came into the Church. As ward Relief Society president, Sister Yamverla is concerned with helping sisters in her area learn practical things, such as cooking and other basic homemaking skills. But even more important is teaching them “to convey the love of Christ to others.”