Gospel Story Finder

Sister Yee with two sisters in Micronesia who are raising children abandoned by parents.
As I’ve been reflecting on the blessings of the covenant bond we have with God, I thought about my assignment to visit the Asia North Area.
I had the privilege of traveling to the small islands of Chuuk in Micronesia, about 1,500 miles (2,400 km) southeast of Japan. Two of the sisters on Weno, Chuuk, have given their lives to raise children who have been abandoned by their parents. These two sisters felt it was important to raise these children in the gospel. One of these sisters is single and working full-time as a school counselor.
I shared with them President Nelson’s message to the sisters of the Church, which is that you sisters are loved, necessary, and precious.
The beautiful single sister who is raising her nieces and nephews broke down in tears and said she had not felt precious lately; she had felt forgotten. But she testified she felt of God’s love and awareness for her in the prophet’s words that she was indeed “precious,” and she knew it was true. She felt God’s healing love; she felt relief.
The Lord has said, “Know ye not that I, the Lord your God, have created all men, and that I remember those who are upon the isles of the sea?” (2 Nephi 29:7).
These sisters are known to their Heavenly Father and Savior. They are not alone. And neither are you and I in our trials and challenges. The Lord sent me roughly 8,500 miles (13,700 km) by plane, train, car, and boat to bring God’s love and relief to “the one” on the isles of the sea. And so He will find you and me on our personal islands where we might feel alone in the concerns and the burdens we carry in our hearts. He is present and prepared to bless, guide, and comfort us.

This principle of preparing the ground by showing sincere love is further illustrated by a miracle that occurred in our family in recent years.

My wife has a twin sister, Michelle. She has a good, generous heart, yet for many years, her goodness was somewhat overshadowed by ill feelings toward the family and toward the gospel and some tragic choices that led to addiction and suffering. Try as we might, Michelle was not always willing to receive our attempts to connect and we sometimes felt that our prayers for a better relationship were in vain.

At one point, my teenage daughter, Ella, decided that she wanted a relationship with her Aunt Michelle. She determined to write her once a month, no matter the response. After four months of unanswered letters, my wife received a surprising text from Michelle that went something like this: “I just checked my mail, and I found Ella’s letters. Tell her I’m in tears right now and that this is the first time since I can remember that I’ve felt like an aunt and like I am a true part of a family. I’ll write her as soon as I can.”

We had prayed and fasted for many years to know how to help Michelle, and the simple, no-strings-attached nature of a young woman’s letters were a catalyst that set in motion one of the most beautiful seasons of love and connection with Michelle and her son that we’ve ever experienced. She has since voluntarily and heroically left her addictions behind, and we now have daily conversations that are laced with gratitude, love, light, and truth. Michelle also started classes with Pathway this last week.

Nobody was a stick-in-the-mud when everyone got stuck in the mud at the annual Lethbridge young adult football game. Part of one of Rex Brandley’s fields on his farm in Raymond, Alberta, Canada, was flooded in anticipation of the “Mud Bowl,” and everyone wanted to play.
At the kickoff there were two opposing teams. But soon jersey colors were obliterated by a covering of goo. It was hard to tell one squad from another, let alone find the ball or execute a play!
Some of the players did score a first down or two, but whether or not there were any touchdowns is still being debated. A few hats and boots remain buried in the quagmire.
Following the battle, irrigation canals and the main irrigation ditch in the center of the town served temporarily as wash sites for the grungy gridders, who then topped off the afternoon with a barbecue.

At a very young age I realized my father and mother loved each other very much. It became evident in the symbols that represented their bond. Their anniversary was an event marked with great celebration. At other times of the year, outward symbols served to renew their marital commitment. The look on my mother’s face when my father presented her with a dozen red roses is indelibly painted in my mind. The symbol was powerful in my life, and my parents renewed the event many times as I grew older.

On my own wedding day, we also selected roses to represent our special occasion. Thus we continued a tradition that symbolized commitment, a symbol I had loved to witness in my parents.

Several years ago, after attending professional meetings in Europe, I had the pleasure of being bumped to first class on a flight from Paris to the United States. It was an entirely different world from what I normally experience. As I was enjoying the legroom and reclining in luxury, the flight attendants kept bringing wonderful dishes and offering wine to go along with them.

After I had declined the wine for about the third time, a flight attendant came up behind me, leaned down close to my ear, and teasingly said, “Mr. Hart, no one will ever know.”

Shocked out of my blissful state, and wondering what she knew about me and how, I simply said, “Well, I would know, you would know, and”—pointing overhead—“most important, He would know.”

She said, “Got it,” and brought more fruit juice instead. That was an easy choice to make.

On another occasion, when Governor Carlin of Illinois sent Sheriff Thomas King of Adams County and several others as a posse to apprehend the Prophet and deliver him to the emissaries of Governor Boggs of Missouri, Sheriff King became deathly ill. At Nauvoo the Prophet took the sheriff to his home and nursed him like a brother for four days (Cannon, p. 372). Small, kind, and yet significant acts of service were not occasional for the Prophet.

César likes Oaxaca, but it is not his lifelong home. As an officer in the Mexican Air Force, Brother Arzate has been transferred all around the country, and César has attended eight different schools in four cities. “It’s a little hard at first, because no one knows me and so I don’t have any friends,” he admits. But then he quickly adds, “I pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to help me make new friends and get good grades.” César loves his country and is proud of his father for helping to defend it.
César used to be rather shy, but Church activities have helped him to become more outgoing. Although friendly with everyone, he chooses close friends carefully. And these friendships last. He receives letters and telephone calls from all over Mexico. His best friends are his brother, Daniel (5), and his sister, Diana Gisela (2). His parents can leave them in his care with total confidence that he will keep them safe and happy. Even when the family goes on an outing, César pays attention to what the younger children are doing. He does this in a caring, not-at-all bossy way, and his little brother and sister love him dearly.

Some time ago, Sister Haycock and I accompanied President and Sister Kimball, President and Sister Tanner, and others on a visit to the Holy Land for the dedication of the Orson Hyde Memorial Gardens. While there, we visited a number of places held sacred in the memory of Christians, and particularly Latter-day Saints, because we were walking where Jesus walked.
We visited the Garden Tomb, and after sitting with President and Sister Kimball inside the tomb, we came out into the sunshine and beauty of the garden. The cameramen who recorded the trip were anxious to get pictures of President Kimball walking in the garden, but I was concerned because the path was paved with flagstones, making it rough and uneven underfoot. I cautioned President Kimball to be careful and not fall. He responded quietly and with dignity: “Don’t worry, Arthur. I am used to walking on holy ground.”
We then visited the Garden of Gethsemane. We saw the small but beautiful garden with its ancient olive trees that many believe were there when Christ knelt and prayed to his Father just before his betrayal. Again a film crew wanted to record the event for history. Our Israeli guides went to the priests in charge and asked permission for President Kimball’s party to enter the part of the garden that was fenced off. Permission to enter for five minutes would be given, the priests said, upon the payment of 5,000 Israeli pounds per person. For President and Sister Kimball and one photographer, that would be 15,000 pounds, or 450 U.S. dollars, for 5 minutes. The Israeli guides shook their heads, and one of them said, “No, this is a holy man. He came here to worship, not to pay tribute.”
In addition to all his many other virtues, President Kimball has a wonderful sense of humor. While traveling in Europe a couple of years ago, it became necessary to stay over for a full week before going to Poland to finalize arrangements for official recognition of the Church in that land. I thought perhaps we could use the time to climb the Matterhorn, visit the fjords of Norway, or explore beautiful England by taking a boat trip on the Thames River, but instead, President Kimball said he wanted to visit the missions in Italy, Austria, and Germany. He left it up to one of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve and myself to arrange the itinerary. We arranged special meetings each night in a different city or country.
As soon as we arrived in the first mission, President Kimball asked when the missionary meeting was to be held. I told him that we hadn’t planned any missionary meetings because all of the missionaries would be attending the general meeting that night. He said he still wanted a special missionary meeting. I told him the reason we didn’t plan a separate meeting with the missionaries was because of the time and energy required. He replied, “I know what you are trying to do. You are trying to save me, but I don’t want to be saved. I just want to be exalted!” I then went to the phone and arranged meetings all over Europe for the balance of our trip.
One day recently, about noon, I was urging President Kimball to have some lunch and then take a nap. He resisted, and I indicated that if he didn’t do as I suggested, Sister Kimball might scold me. He looked up at me and with a chuckle and a sly grin said, “Well I’d rather have her scold you than me!”
One evening President Kimball stayed late at the office, and so I continued working at my desk. It turned out that he was going to a dinner at the Lion House at 6:30 and was waiting for Sister Kimball to come and meet him so they could go to the dinner together. About 5:30, he urged me to go home, but I told him that I would stay as long as he did. He insisted, so I said, “I am torn between doing my duty to stay close to you and doing what you ask me to do.” He looked up at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, “They both ought to be the same, hadn’t they?”
I was with President Kimball when I saw the mantle of presidency fall upon him the day after Christmas 1973. I had taken President Harold B. Lee to the hospital in Salt Lake the afternoon of December 26 because he was tired and the doctor thought he ought to get a rest and have a checkup. His family had gone home for a brief period, and I was alone with him in the room when he began to have difficulties. Within seconds I called a nurse and then a doctor, and immediately the alarm was sounded—“cardiac arrest.”
A team of doctors and nurses with sophisticated equipment began an heroic hour-long struggle in an effort to save his life. As I watched, I became convinced that unless the Lord did indeed work a miracle, President Lee could not live. I at once called President Romney and then reached President Tanner in Phoenix and got in touch with President Lee’s wife and family. Again convinced that unless the Lord took a hand there would be a change in the leadership of the Church, I felt that the next President of the Church should be present.
I immediately went to the phone and called President Kimball, and when he heard my voice, he responded in his usual cheerful manner, “Well, Arthur, how are you tonight?” I said, “Not very well. I am at the hospital with President Lee, and he is very ill. I think you should come at once.” He said, “I’ll be right there,” and I hung up. As I did so, I was conscious of the fact that I had not even told President Kimball which hospital we were at. Nevertheless, he was the first to arrive. Then President Romney came, and then President Lee’s wife and family.
It was on this sad occasion that I learned a great and fundamental lesson in priesthood and Church government. As you know, President Romney was a member of the First Presidency, while President Kimball was the President of the Quorum of the Twelve. As soon as President Romney arrived, President Kimball turned to him and said, “President Romney, what would you like me to do?” At the moment there seemed little that any of us could do, except pray and wait. A short time later, the doctor came and gave us the awful news that President Lee was dead. Quietly, President Romney, knowing that the First Presidency was now dissolved at that precise moment and that the mantle had fallen upon President Kimball, turned to him and said, “President Kimball, what would you like me to do?”
In a recent conference President Kimball said: “We believe that we have in this Church the answers to all questions, for the Lord is the head of the Church, and He has given us the program. Our message is what it has always been, and our hope is that our people will live the commandments of the Lord. They have been revealed in the holy scriptures and by living prophets throughout many years.”
No, President Kimball is not an ordinary man. He is a Prophet of the Lord.

Oliver Cowdery shared with the Prophet Joseph Smith many of the profound events of the restoration. Oliver had witness after witness of the truth of the restoration. He shared with the Prophet Joseph the events of John the Baptist and Peter, James and John in restoring the priesthood and authority to baptize. He was a party to the marvelous appearances in the Kirtland Temple, becoming one of the three witnesses of the Book of Mormon and Moroni's visit. Oliver penned all but a few pages of the Book of Mormon as it fell from the lips of the Prophet Joseph. President Faust said:
"No one except the Prophet Joseph was more honored with the ministering of angels than Oliver Cowdery. But when the Prophet Joseph fell upon hard times, Oliver was critical of him and became estranged from him. Despite the efforts of the Prophet to reach out the hand of fellowship to him, he became hostile to the Prophet and the Church and was excommunicated."[12] Oliver allowed his thoughts and concerns of the moment to overcome his experiences in the past and distort what he saw of the future. He forgot who he was and what he had experienced He forgot all the spiritual witnesses that the Lord had given him. Because of this forgetting, he became blinded by his own personal ambition and lost his exalted place in the leadership of the Church.

Yet later, a few years after the Prophet Joseph died, Oliver remembered who and what he had been in the church. Realizing the errors of his past Oliver repented and expressed interest in coming back to the Church. Oliver appeared before the high council and said:
"Brethren for a number of years I have been separated from you. I now desire to come back. I wish to come humbly and be one in your midst...I seek no station. I only wish to be identified with you...I wish to become a member of the church again...I...handled with my hands the gold plates from which [the Book of Mormon] was translated. I also beheld the interpreters. That book is true."[13]
He remembered his testimony.

To assist scientists in their study of terrestrial (land) plants and animals, a number of excellent zoos and botanical gardens have been developed. And to study aquatic organisms that inhabit freshwater lakes and streams, many large aquariums have been built. However, attempts to create similar large facilities for the study of marine or saltwater creatures have always met with frustration; that is, until recently. For on October 15, 1980, the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C., opened its doors to a new 3,000-gallon piece of transplanted ocean that is home to over 200 species of marine plants and animals, including about twenty different types of living corals. And that was a real accomplishment, because living corals had never before survived for any length of time in an aquarium completely isolated from the sea.
When my family and I read of this feat, we decided that we would try it too. Our first step was to write to the Smithsonian scientists for advice. We waited anxiously for a reply; but after a couple of weeks without hearing from them, we decided that they probably thought we were not serious about it. So we tried another approach. I had to attend a meeting of scientists at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography, so I took two of my young sons with me. While there, we visited as many marine biologists as we could, getting tips on how to proceed. After some discussion with them, the best advice they could give us was, “Don’t try!” Well, their negative advice only heightened our desire to take up the challenge.
Since our home in Tempe, Arizona, has a very mild climate, we decided to construct an outside pond rather than an indoor tank. Our first step was to dig—and dig and dig. Every member of the family helped at one time or another, as did many of the neighborhood children. We not only had to excavate a basin for the water, but also a much deeper hole for an underwater viewing chamber.
We started near the end of November, and about a month later the excavation was complete, including the viewing chamber and a twenty-foot arching bridge that spanned the two-lobed basin at its midpoint. We waterproofed the sides of the pond by laying five layers of black polyethylene plastic over the soil. Then came several trips to the dry bed of a nearby river, where we collected thousands of pounds of smooth, round rocks to put on top of the black plastic. These rocks were then covered with fine sand—fourteen tons of it.
Last of all, a friend of ours helped us install a pump and sand filter to circulate and purify the water. Initially, all this system consisted of was an intake port at the bottom of the pond and a return port beneath the center of the bridge. Later, however, we expanded it to include a return port at the deep end of the pond and another at the shallow end. Then, since the shallow end had an island in the middle of it, we built up two ridges of river rocks between this island and the pond’s banks to create a tidal pool into which the shallow return port would empty its water.
Lining this pool with crushed seashells created another filtering system, as the water entering the tidal pool had to flow through these shells and rocks to reach the bottom of the pond where the pump withdrew it.
In addition to water impurities, another problem we had to worry about was temperature. It seemed likely that the pond would probably get too cold in winter and too warm in summer. About that time we read where the Steinhart Aquarium in San Francisco had just installed the first solar panels ever to moderate the temperature of a saltwater tank. So as in the case of the Smithsonian Museum, we again asked, “Why not us?” And two weeks later we had our own solar heating and cooling system ready to go.
The last bit of construction was a four-by-six-foot piece of plywood supported by four redwood supports in the deep end of the pond. It protruded about six inches above the water surface, and to it we strapped several long palm fronds to provide a place of shade and refuge for those sea creatures that shun the sight of humans. Then, a twelve-inch diameter plastic pipe was positioned at the bottom of this area and partially covered with rock and sand to create a cave for extremely reclusive creatures to hide in.
Finally, everything was ready. It was time to fill the pond and hope that there were no leaks. Since we wanted to know how much water it held, we checked the water meter to our house and then turned our hose into the basin. Several hours later when the water reached the top of the surrounding banks, we calculated a volume of 4,000 gallons—larger by a good margin than even the Smithsonian’s system.
In the midst of our initial success, however, we still had some reason for concern. Water began to seep into the observation room from around the viewing port. After a few hours, though, it subsided, probably due to the wood swelling when it became wet. Fortunately, it has not leaked since.
The first creature to inhabit our pond was a small dime-store turtle, secretly supplied one night by one of the neighborhood children. Then came fifty black mollies from a local aquarium shop. All of them did extremely well as algae began to grow in the pond, and several different types of aquatic insects appeared. Still, the pond was just a pond. We had yet to add the synthetic sea salts that would start it on its way to becoming a true marine ecosystem.
Join with us next month and read about this conversion process and the first of our several trips to Mexico and the Gulf of California, where we collected specimens for our “backyard ocean.”

Just last week the First Presidency and the Council of the Twelve were provided the opportunity to view the new Church history exhibit situated in the museum just west of Temple Square. I loved the replica of the entry to the Fourth Ward—one of the original wards in the valley. I noted with keen interest the lighted map which plotted the pioneer trek from Nauvoo. However, my heart was truly touched when I gazed at an actual handcart displayed in a place of honor. The handcart communicated to me a silent yet eloquent account of its long and momentous journey.
Let us for a moment join Captain Edward Martin and the handcart company he led. While we will not feel the pangs of hunger which they felt or experience the bitter cold that penetrated their weary bodies, we will emerge from our visit with a better appreciation of hardship borne, courage demonstrated, and faith fulfilled. We will witness with tear-filled eyes a dramatic answer to the question “Am I my brother’s keeper?”
“The handcarts moved on November 3 and reached the river, filled with floating ice. To cross would require more courage and fortitude, it seemed, than human nature could muster. Women shrank back and men wept. Some pushed through, but others were unequal to the ordeal.
“Three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue; and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of that ill-fated handcart company across the snow-bound stream. The strain was so terrible, the exposure so great, that in later years all the boys died from the effects of it. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child, and later declared publicly, ‘That act alone will ensure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant, and David P. Kimball an everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end’” (LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts to Zion [Glendale, California: The Arthur H. Clark Company, 1960], pp. 132–33).

Rose bounced on her toes as she peeked out the window. Their friends would be here any minute!
Every year at Christmastime, Rose and her family acted out the Nativity. They always invited people to come over and join them. This time they had invited their neighbors and the missionaries! Rose was excited because their neighbors had a baby to be baby Jesus.
Everything was almost ready. Mom was taking the treats out of the oven. Rose’s little brothers had picked up all their toys. Ellen was getting the costumes. And Rose had even taped a big, yellow star to the wall for decoration.
“Rose,” Mom called from the kitchen. “Can you help Ellen get the costumes ready?”
“OK, Mom!” Rose turned to help her sister, who was carrying an armful of blankets.
“We have blankets, towels, and dress-up clothes from the closet,” Ellen said. “We can even use this basket as a pretend manger.” She handed Rose a big basket. Rose put a soft blanket inside it for the baby.
“Perfect,” said Rose.
Rose’s little brother Jack pulled a gray blanket over his head and made a funny face. “Can I be the donkey?”
Rose laughed. “No, silly! You wanted to be a Wise Man, remember?”
“Oh yeah!” said Jack. He grabbed the toy crown and put it on his head.
Then there was a knock at the door.
“They’re here!” Rose said. “I’ll get it.”
Soon the house was full of happy people. Rose helped everyone get their costumes on. The sister missionaries were the shepherds. Her brothers and sister were the Wise Men. The cute baby was baby Jesus, and his parents were Mary and Joseph.
Rose put on a soft, white hat. She was a sheep.
Finally everyone was dressed and ready to go. Elder and Sister Yancey, a missionary couple from their ward, opened the New Testament to the Nativity story. They read the verses out loud. Everyone acted out their part.
At the end of the story, everyone sang “Silent Night.” Rose felt warm and happy. She knew she was feeling the Holy Ghost. It felt like Jesus was close to her heart.
After the song, Mom played the video “Samuel and the Star.”* Ellen said a prayer. Then they brought out the treats. Everyone had fun visiting.
“So, what was your favorite part?” Sister Yancey asked.
“I liked singing the song,” Ellen said. “And playing with baby Jesus.” Ellen bounced the baby on her lap. She had been playing with him ever since the song ended.
“I liked bringing Jesus gifts,” Jack said. He was still wearing the pretend crown.
“What about you, Rose?”
Rose spread her arms out wide. “I liked everything!” she said in a loud voice. “But most of all, I liked having everyone here to celebrate Jesus. Because that’s what Christmas is all about.”

But using healthy humor to smooth the trials of life is part of a happy home. Couples marry each other in part because they are happy when they are together. How wonderful it is when, after marriage, they continue to make each other laugh. Dan’s humor, in all kinds of situations, has been a delight and a balm to our family. One day when I was doing some hand sewing, I lost my needle in the carpet. Dan knelt down to find it. As I started to help, he said, “No, don’t. I’m sure I’ll run it into my hand any minute.”

Every marriage has incidents that can become private, lighthearted signals to each other. One of ours began many years ago when Dan told me of an idea that had come to him. We’ve both forgotten what it was, but I must have abruptly squelched it, because he paused, then said, “Well, for just a minute there, I thought it was a great idea.” Now, whenever one of us feels put down and says, “Well, for just a minute there, I thought … ,” we both laugh, and the message is clear and friendly.

There are some family crises that can become laughable lessons. My aunt and uncle, both fond of practical jokes played on themselves and others, lived on a ranch without running water. One cold, rainy evening, my uncle came in drenched to see his wife sitting comfortably by the fireplace. She said, “Dear, since you’re already wet and cold, will you bring in a bucket of water?” He went out and returned with the water, dumped it on her, and said “Now you’re wet and cold. Could you go get the water?” They laughed as they retold the story, and the incident became a family joke. So now when we really shouldn’t ask a favor, or when we realize we are imposing, we start the request with, “Since you’re already wet and cold … ,” and the job usually gets done with a smile.

A key to unlocking healthy fun in marriage is faith—faith in God, in each other, and in the future—faith enough to relax and enjoy the day we are now living. With faith, we can see some humor even in our trials.

If we want the spirit of the Lord in our marriages and in our homes, we must “come unto Christ, and be perfected in him, and deny [our]selves of all ungodliness” (Moro. 10:32). If Christ would not say it, we will not say it, even at home. If Christ would sacrifice to sanctify a relationship, so will we—especially at home. Spirituality is loving what Christ loves. It is wanting a celestial marriage enough to let go of telestial attitudes. A telestial attitude is selfish, with the focus on my needs, my pleasure, my time. Terrestrial attitudes—worrying too much about what other think—hurt marriage, too. Is our family comparable to those around us? Is our home nice enough? What do our neighbors think of the way we spend our leisure time?

Since we are sons and daughters of celestial parents, our spirits respond with joy when we live like celestial people. A marriage built on celestial principles has a power available to it that is greater than our combined strength.

While we were expecting our ninth child, an examination revealed that I had cancer. The doctors could not determine the source or extent without endangering the baby, and she wasn’t old enough to survive birth. But they did know the cancer was spreading. So we were asked to decide whether the doctors should operate despite the risk, or if they should wait until the baby had developed more fully.
To me there seemed to be no answer. I wanted to live and to rear our eight children. But I also felt protective of the child I was carrying. We struggled for several weeks, giving the baby more time to mature, prayerfully seeking to know the will of the Lord. Our answer came when, after much prayer and fasting, Dan said to me, “Barbara, it will be all right. I have scheduled surgery.”
Because of priesthood power, he could do more than make that difficult decision. He called our home teacher, a neighbor who had had his own struggle with cancer, and my brother. In the name of Jesus Christ, my husband, assisted by those men, blessed me and our baby that what was done would be best for both of us.
Dan again wrote me a letter the night before surgery: “These past days have been filled with more anxiety and soul searching for me than any time in my life. … As we have passed through swells of faith and depths of fear, I have experiences a purging I didn’t know I needed. The priesthood blessings you have received are from the Lord. Tonight as we sat in your hospital room, I was aware of your struggle between fear and faith. I experienced it myself for many hours after I returned home. Just now I have received, with burning assurance, the Lord’s seal upon the blessings you have received. … [The doctors], as instruments in the hands of our Father in Heaven, will do what is needed to perform His work.”
The surgery was successful. Our healthy daughter, now fifteen years old, was born seven weeks later.
Our burdens and challenges continue, but we are still striving to improve. Dan is living the promise he made on our wedding day. He does what he knows is right. He is never harsh or unkind. I am learning how to express my happiness and gratitude, and even to make decisions more quickly.
Brother Gerald Lund, a Church Educational System administrator, tells the story of medical personnel taking a truckload of supplies into the jungles of Africa to set up a hospital. The bridges they had to cross were not strong enough to support the truck. Rather than lightening the load by leaving precious supplies behind, they stopped at each river or ravine to strengthen the bridge.
When we set out to build a celestial marriage, we have no choice but to carry the whole load the whole way. We cannot drop off the heavy things, such as problems with children, financial burdens, or poor health. When we, in our problem-solving truck, reach a chasm, sometimes we must be willing to stop and strengthen the bridge for our marriage to get through.
When we do so, our love increases, and together we find happiness. We also draw closer to the Lord and come to know of our Savior’s deep concern for our family.
If we are faithful to marriage covenants made in the temple, the Lord has promised that we “shall inherit thrones, kingdoms, principalities, and powers, dominions, all heights and depths … and … shall pass by the angels, and the gods, which are set there, to [our] exaltation and glory in all things” (D&C 132:19).
If Dan and I are together forever, we will both be perfected. My challenges for today are to see my sweetheart now with that eternal potential, to patiently work on my own imperfections, and to let the Lord influence my husband to work on his. Through love, laughter, and spirituality, the two of us will work together toward exaltation.

You may be rejected. You may even meet anger. Now, you might well ask, “Wait a minute. You told me that I could bring peace, and instead I get war coming back at me. How can that be?”

First, don’t feel picked on, because we’ve all had that happen. I have a memory of watching my little boys kick each other as they lay before me on the floor during our family night as I taught a lesson on peace in the family. In fact, that topic would bring it on. They heard me, they understood me, and yet they had been kicking for a long time before I started preaching. Now, years later, they reach across the world to help each other. But the change takes time. So be patient and persistent.

Pierre’s idea for a choir of homeless men never got off the ground in Paris because he didn’t stay in Paris. His older brother and sister had moved to Montréal, and he visited them frequently. In April 1995 he moved to Québec to get married. His engagement didn’t work out, but Pierre fell in love with Canada and decided to stay. He set up a successful dental lab and, of course, began volunteering.
“On my second day here,” he says, “I inquired at the tourist office where I could volunteer.” By coincidence, the tourism officer was a volunteer at l’Accueil Bonneau, a homeless shelter, and told him how to find it. “I arrived in time for lunch, and they gave me an apron,” he recalls. “I started to serve lunch to the homeless. For more than a year I did this.”
But the same frustrations he had felt in Paris resurfaced, and so did his idea. He typed a flyer and handed out 600 copies to the men in the food line. It offered employment to “singers, even beginners, for part-time work. Men only. Any age. Any nationality. Must love to sing. Musical knowledge not necessary.” Thirty men expressed interest, but at the first rehearsal only 3 showed up. However, 7 came the next day. The day after, 12 showed up. Pierre taught them four Christmas carols from the LDS hymnbook.
The metro was an inspired and logical location for their performances. “If the mountain won’t come to you, you must go to the mountain,” says Pierre. “Thousands and thousands of people come to the metro.”
Residents of Montréal are accustomed to seeing homeless people on the street, but they were not prepared for what they encountered in the metro station at 7:30 A.M. on 17 December 1996. It was an unforgettable experience for the performers and the commuters. “I couldn’t see the faces of the spectators,” Pierre explains, “because I was conducting, but I could see the faces of my friends in the choir. Their faces changed. People crowded around us. Several missed their trains to listen longer. One woman began to cry, and her sobs filled that improbable event with incredible emotion. It was like a tide coming in. People were crying, singing with us, putting money in the hat to the cadence of the melody, clink, clink. They started to make a line to put money in the hat. It was a wonderful experience.”
That first concert brought in more money than they had expected. The next morning the choir earned even more. “But the greatest pay the men received,” says Pierre, “was when people came directly up to them, spoke to them, and shook their hands. This meant much to men who had spent their lives digging in garbage cans, begging, or even stealing simply to survive.”
The choir sang every day that Christmas season except Sundays. The money they earned allowed all of them to spend the holiday in more comfortable circumstances. A few were able to visit relatives. Some hadn’t seen their families in years.
“After the last performance,” Pierre recalls, “I asked my friends, ‘Do you want to keep going with this choir, or do you want to stop now and start it up again next Christmas?’ ‘Keep going,’ they insisted.”
After the choir’s first subway concert, the media quickly learned about them. Two days later they were invited to introduce the weather forecast for a large television station, and the next morning articles appeared in most of the Québec newspapers. This unexpected free publicity allowed the choir to sign contracts for concerts at festivals, schools, churches, banks, and other television stations.
“The media,” says Pierre, “has helped give us a voice for our message that life is beautiful, that it is really worth living, and that we should never give up. Everyone deserves a second chance, and no one should be excluded, even if he or she is different.”

Ella watched as her grandfather threw another box onto the lawn. Her grandmother stood by the door, tears streaming down her cheeks. She said nothing, though. Ella knew her grandmother would never speak against her grandfather. Tradition did not allow it.
Grandfather had made it clear—if Ella and her mother joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, they would no longer be welcome in his home.
Ella hurriedly gathered her belongings from the wet grass. The breeze, heavy with humidity, did little to cool the growing heat that blanketed the small island of Saipan, part of the Northern Mariana Islands in the central Pacific Ocean.
She picked up a picture frame, her heart breaking a bit as she looked at the broken glass that held a photograph of her parents on their wedding day.
Without her grandparents, she and Mama were all alone in the world. Ella’s father had died before she was born.
The missionaries had changed everything.
Grandfather hadn’t wanted to let the missionaries inside when they had first come to the small frame house. Only Mama’s quiet insistence had won out in the face of his opposition. Pointedly, he’d remained in the kitchen whenever the missionaries visited.
The two young men spoke the language with broken accents. Even so, Ella knew that she was hearing the truth. She felt it in her heart, even when her mind was not sure. Together, she and her mother read the Book of Mormon and felt the Spirit.
Until the missionaries had invited them to start attending the Church, Ella and her mother had gone to her grandparents’ church—the same one their parents had attended, and their parents before them.
Being baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints meant more than leaving their former church. It meant cutting themselves off from family and friends.
She wanted to blame the missionaries and tell them that because of their preaching, she and her mother no longer had a family or home. Even as the thought formed, she knew that the young elders weren’t to blame. They had only spoken the truth and challenged Ella and her mother to accept it.
Where will we live? Ella wondered. Her mother’s job as a store clerk barely paid enough to support them, even while they lived with her grandparents. Apartments were not easy to find in Saipan.
Then she remembered the stories the missionaries had told about the early Saints and the sacrifices they’d made for their beliefs. Some had lost homes and families as Ella and her mother had. Others had even given their lives for the gospel.
Despite everything, Ella knew that she and her mother were doing the right thing. Already the gospel had brought blessings into their lives. Mama had stopped smoking. For years Ella had begged her to stop. She knew how Mama had struggled to give up the habit she’d had since she was sixteen years old.
While Ella was still remembering these things, the missionaries arrived and calmly began gathering up the boxes and piling them into a borrowed truck.
“Don’t worry about a place to live,” one elder said as he lifted Mama’s shabby suitcase into the truck. “The Knudsens have an extra room and said that you can stay with them as long as you need to.”
Brother Knudsen taught Sunday School, and his wife was the Relief Society president. One of their daughters was in Ella’s Primary class.
Ella watched as her mother’s eyes filled with tears. “It is too much.”
“They’re already planning on it,” the other elder said gently. “Is this all?” He gestured to the boxes in the truck.
Mama nodded.
After the short trip to the Knudsens’ house, the elders carried the boxes and suitcase inside.
Brother and Sister Knudsen greeted them with big smiles. “We will enjoy the company,” Sister Knudsen said when Ella’s mother thanked them for their hospitality.
Ella had to share the room with Mama, but she didn’t mind.
“We’ll give you a chance to get settled,” Brother Knudsen said. “We hope you’ll join us for dinner tonight.”
“Why don’t Grandma and Grandpa love us anymore?” Ella asked her mother once they were alone in their new home.
Mother gave Ella a tired smile. “Your grandparents haven’t stopped loving us. But they don’t understand that we have found a new way of life.”
Ella knew that her mother was talking about the gospel. “Will we ever see them again?”
This time the smile reached Mama’s eyes. “Of course we will. Your grandma feels really bad about what happened. I think your grandpa does, too. He’s just too hurt to admit it. And too stubborn.
“Someday they’ll accept us and maybe the gospel. Until then, we have to keep loving them and let them know that being members of the Church hasn’t changed what we feel for them.”
Ella hoped so. She missed her grandparents already.
“What do you want to do first in our new home?” Mama asked.
Ella reached for her mother’s hand. “Let’s say a prayer. We have much to be thankful for.”
“New members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints cannot make it alone. … They need us and we need them.”Elder Richard H. WinkelOf the Seventy(Ensign, November 1999, page 81.)

When Alma Elizabeth’s family reached Utah they settled in Mount Pleasant. As a pioneer she worked hard. She learned how to card and spin wool, weave carpets, milk cows, knit and crochet, make gloves out of buckskin, weave hats out of braided straw, stack hay, and bundle wheat.
One time she collected wheat left in the fields after the harvest and sold it for $10. With some of the money, she bought ten yards of calico for her first party dress.

Early in our marriage my husband and I relocated for his schooling. In our new ward I worked closely with a woman whose manner I found brusque and insensitive. Looking for sympathy, I complained to my husband, lamenting that such a woman would be in a leadership position in the ward. Rather than offering the sympathy I expected, my husband presented an informal but valuable lesson on the importance of love and tolerance.
In the Church, he said, we are all working together to build the kingdom of God. He suggested that individual members are like bricks. None of us “bricks,” however, is perfectly sound. Under close scrutiny each is flawed—a gouge here, a bump there. When we are placed side by side with other bricks, there is seldom a perfect fit. Invariably there are gaps or wobbles where others’ imperfections come into contact with our own. Without the “mortar” of love, tolerance, patience, and forgiveness, our efforts to build the kingdom would come to naught.
As our family has grown and my experiences in helping to build the kingdom have broadened, I have often reflected on this simple lesson. I am reminded of my own responsibility to be more charitable in my interactions with others. And where my own shortcomings are concerned, I am more appreciative of those who are liberal with “mortar” in their dealings with me.
Lee Ann Fairbanks, Moses Lake 10th Ward, Moses Lake Washington Stake

Illustrations by Julie Young
Sarah hopped and skipped. She was ready to hike around Silver Lake with her family. Her brother, Josh, ran ahead.
Soon the sun began to feel hot on Sarah’s arms. Her legs began to feel tired.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said. “We’re almost back to our car.”
Bridge Closed
Then Sarah saw a big orange rope blocking the path. “The bridge is broken,” Dad said. “We’ll have to walk back around the lake.”
“But I’m so tired!” Sarah said. Josh sat down in the dirt and frowned.
“Do you remember the story of the pioneers?” Mom asked.
Sarah nodded. She liked the pioneers.
“They had to walk a very long way,” Mom said. “Sometimes it was really hot, and sometimes it was really cold. But they kept walking. When they got to their new home, they built houses and temples.”
Sarah was glad the pioneers kept walking. She would keep walking too. She held her hand out to Josh. “Come on,” she said. “We have some more walking to do.”

In the 1970s and 1980s, the international perception of Soweto, South Africa, included images of terror, violence, and rioting. Home to more than four million Blacks, this segregated township southwest of Johannesburg was the scene of great social upheavals that helped bring worldwide attention to—and the eventual abolition of—apartheid, the policy of racial separation in South Africa.
But even during those violent, troubled years, a miraculous transformation was underway in Soweto. The gospel of Jesus Christ was being preached there, a branch of the Church was created, and missionaries and members of various races were working side by side to establish a spirit of tolerance, understanding, unity, and peace.
Now there is a stake in Soweto, and the future is bright. Two young men are deacons in the Soweto Ward and exemplify the dramatic changes that have taken place there.
When you approach the Vilakazi home, you’ll likely hear laughter and the shuffling sounds of a soccer ball being kicked back and forth. When you enter the front gate, identical twin 13-year-old boys are playing an energetic game, teasing each other good-naturedly between kicks of the ball.
The yard is immaculate, the lawn and flower garden have been tended with great care, and the car parked in the driveway is polished. Sister Vilakazi smiles when you compliment her on her home and garden. “The twins help with the work,” she says.
These 13-year-old twin brothers—filled with seemingly boundless energy and enthusiasm—are also best friends and are together practically all the time. They are in the same classes at school and church and have many of the same friends and interests. When Nkosinathi is swimming, playing sports, or sketching elephants, lions, and tigers, Bonginkosi is usually right there doing the same thing. When Bonginkosi is studying the scriptures, passing the sacrament, or bearing his testimony to a friend, Nkosinathi is more than likely right alongside him.
Except at school, where some know them as Allen and Bryan, Nkosinathi and Bonginkosi use their African names. The names reflect their parents’ joy at their birth. In their native Zulu tongue, Nkosinathi’s name means “God be with us.” Bonginkosi’s name means “We thank the Lord.” Both boys take seriously the responsibilities that come with their names.
Their parents and four older brothers and sisters had already joined the Church when the twins, the youngest in the family, were born. The whole family was sealed in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple when Nkosinathi and Bonginkosi were five years old. The twins were baptized at age eight and were ordained deacons at age 12.
Most of their friends at school are not yet members of the Church, and Nkosinathi and Bonginkosi know the importance of representing the Church well and sharing the gospel with friends.
Sometimes people tease the twins because they won’t follow the crowd in doing things they shouldn’t. Does the teasing and name-calling bother them? “Not that much,” says Nkosinathi, “because I know what’s right. So I just walk away.” Both boys admit that at those times, it’s especially nice to have a twin brother close by.
Their courage and example have been rewarded. For example, “our friend Mbuso Yende became interested in the Book of Mormon,” says Bonginkosi, “so we gave him a copy. Then we invited him to church.” The boys invited the full-time missionaries to teach Mbuso in their home. As a result, Mbuso was baptized and is now a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood in the Soweto Ward. And Mbuso’s mother and other family members are listening to the missionary discussions and attending church with the Vilakazi family.
Having tasted the delicious fruit of missionary success, they are more encouraged than ever to continue preparing for their missions.
“I want to go on a mission to teach the gospel to people who don’t know, who aren’t fortunate enough to have learned about the gospel,” says Bonginkosi.
“I also want to share the message of our Church,” says Nkosinathi, “so others may know the truth.”
Although their missions are six years away, both boys are focused on their goal. “We study the scriptures together and in family home evening,” says Nkosinathi, adding that they are looking forward to attending seminary when they’re old enough. “And we pray every day,” says Nkosinathi. As a result, they feel more prepared to answer questions about the Church and to bear their testimonies. It’s not at all uncommon to see one or both of them—in white shirts and ties—helping the full-time missionaries tract and teach.
The twins do chores around the house to earn money and learn skills for their missions. They help their dad, Gideon Ndondo Vilakazi, by washing the car and working in the yard. When their older sister is working, they help care for her baby. They are learning how to cook (Bonginkosi’s specialty is chicken curry) and to iron their own shirts. “They help me with the dishes and the laundry,” says their mom, Lovedalia Thandekile Vilakazi. “And they help me clean the house by sweeping and scrubbing the floors.”
The boys loved their years in Primary. (Their mother is Primary president.) They learned the Articles of Faith and, at a moment’s notice, can still recite or sing all 13 word for word and explain their meanings.
Now they are following their dad’s footsteps in the priesthood. (Brother Vilakazi is high priests group leader.) “Being a deacon means a lot to me,” says Bonginkosi. “I feel I’ve grown a lot by finishing Primary and going into the deacons quorum. I was really excited to pass the sacrament for the first time.”
In addition to passing the sacrament, the twins and the six other deacons in the ward collect the hymnbooks after meetings, clean and wash the sacrament trays, close the windows, and help keep the meetinghouse tidy. And they enjoy participating in activities with other young men and young women in their ward, such as playing soccer, swimming, hiking, giving service, and attending Mutual.
Their heroes are Nephi and Joseph Smith. And they also have modern-day heroes. “I look up to my bishop,” says Bonginkosi, “because he’s a very righteous man.”
“He always assists people with any problem they have,” says Nkosinathi.
Energetic teenagers, faithful bearers of the Aaronic Priesthood, a blessing and support to parents and family, good friends to others, prospective missionaries. These young men—and many others like them—represent Soweto’s bright promise for the future. “God be with us!” “We thank the Lord!”