Gospel Story Finder

Muriel’s life started out normal enough. She was a young child in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. She had a happy family, a safe and comfy home, a warm bed, and plenty to eat.
Then war broke out.
After that, things got bad in a hurry. Her low point came when angry men dragged her loving father—“The strongest Christian I know”—away from the family at gunpoint.
Thankfully, her father was reunited with them later on. But life was no longer safe for Muriel or her family. They fled to a refugee camp in Uganda.
Muriel was five years old when her family fled to a refugee camp in Uganda.
Photograph courtesy of Muriel B.
Refugee camps are temporary settlements for people who are forced to leave their home because of war or other reasons. They’re meant to offer safety, and this one did so, but life for Muriel and her family was still a long way from easy.
“We were grateful to be away from the war,” Muriel says. “And the people who ran the camp did the best they could to help us, but there wasn’t enough.”
Not enough food, not enough shelter, not enough medicine—not enough of anything.
“Insects would bite us at night,” she remembers. “And we would be without food for days at a time. There was also a lot of disease in the camp.”
The refugee settlement camp today.
Photograph from Getty Images
Muriel and her family were not members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints at the time, but they were devoted and practicing Christians. They had rock-solid faith in God and in His Son, Jesus Christ. “My parents kept telling me that I can always pray and fast.”
So that’s what she did. As a child in a refugee camp, at an age when many kids are learning to read and write, Muriel was praying every day for survival. She prayed for food. She prayed for safety. She prayed for the strength and courage to keep going.
And she saw God work miracles in their lives.
“God got us away from the war,” she says, “so I knew I could trust Him. Whenever we needed Him the most, like when we had nothing to eat for so long, He always blessed us. He worked small miracles that built up my faith in Him.”
By helping to raise her younger siblings, Muriel has many skills to call on now as she raises her own child.
After nearly two years in the refugee camp, her life took another turn. Muriel and the rest of her family moved to the United States to start a new chapter in a new land. For all she had seen and lived through, Muriel was still only eight years old.
That’s when her parents decided to find a new church to attend.
“I learned to care for young children when I was still a child myself. I had to! My parents needed my help.”
“My Mom and Dad always wanted to worship God and give thanks to Him,” Muriel says. “One Sunday, not long after we arrived in the United States, they said, ‘Let’s go look for a church.’”
They didn’t have to look far. While walking around town they came across two missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the street.
Before long, Muriel was baptized along with her parents. Muriel’s younger siblings were baptized once they were old enough.
Muriel with her mother and youngest sibling.
A lot of what she learned at church was familiar to Muriel, who’d been taught about God and Jesus Christ her whole life. Other topics were new. “I’d never heard of Joseph Smith or Brigham Young or the Book of Mormon,” she said.
Those weren’t the only new things. There was a whole new culture to learn. Here, Church members made a big difference. They taught the family how to use some of the electronic devices and appliances that were different from back home. They helped with the language. And they helped most of all by simply being friends.
Muriel encourages youth today to do the same thing. “Refugees need friends too. Our family didn’t have any friends when we came to this country, but once we joined the Church, we had so many people visit us! Now we have many friends.”
Over the years, Muriel has been able to help serve those same friends who blessed her life early on.
After she entered Young Women, Muriel served in class presidencies and assisted with all kinds of youth activities. She served and taught and shared her testimony.
Through faith in the gospel, Muriel and her family continue to find hope even during life’s struggles.
But one of the best ways she continues to help her friends is by lending her strength in the gospel and her faith in God.
“Some of my friends are struggling to find hope right now,” she says. “But I always tell them, nothing bad lasts forever. For me, I feel like there’s nothing God can’t get you through.
“Sometimes all I can pray for is courage to hold on longer. To keep pushing on. God has always helped me find that courage. For the most part, the blessing of courage to keep pushing ahead is all you really need.”

Thirteen-year-old Henry Sanderson, on his way from Connecticut to Nauvoo, Illinois, was not sure if he was riding a railroad train or a boat on wheels.
This was September 1842, and Pennsylvania’s forests were becoming dotted with the reds and golds of autumn. To cross the Allegheny Mountains, Henry boarded a train with his parents and two younger sisters. It had a steam engine like a normal train, but the passenger cars were actually boats on train wheels. Near the mountain summit, trainmen unhooked the engine and snapped a cable to the cars. A motor at the top wound the cable and pulled the train cars up. At the summit, men released the cars and let them coast down the other side of the mountains without any engine at all. Then, for Henry’s final train-boat adventure, trainmen removed the wheels and put the boat-cars into a canal. Horses on a towpath beside the canal pulled Henry’s boat-car to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Henry knew his stay in Pittsburgh would be short, lasting only one winter. His parents, James and Mary Jane Sanderson, had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a few months earlier and had decided to move to Nauvoo. Henry felt glad to move because boys in his neighborhood in Norwalk, Connecticut, had made fun of him after his parents were baptized. At Pittsburgh, Henry helped his father do shoemaker’s work, a skill Henry had learned from him.
Late the next spring, the Sandersons boarded a steamboat and churned down the Ohio River and up the Mississippi River. They reached Nauvoo in the summer of 1843 when Henry was 14 and Nauvoo was barely four years old. Henry found young Nauvoo filled with new buildings, most of them small and made of wood, with taller brick houses here and there. Embracing the city on the west was a broad, crescent-shaped bend of the Mississippi River.
Soon after Henry’s family arrived, he hiked up the bluffs to visit the temple construction project. He walked around the 60-centimeter-high walls that workers were building skyward. He inspected the red brick store whose upper floor was the headquarters for the Church. On Main Street he found a brick post office and the Merryweather store.
The Sandersons became neighbors of Joseph Smith on Main Street, two blocks from the river. Henry’s parents moved into a log cabin next to Sidney Rigdon’s home, which stood between them and the Smiths’ new residence, the Mansion House. Henry saw workers put the final touches on the Mansion House, which the Smiths opened that September as a hotel.
Henry played with the Prophet’s sons. The oldest was Joseph Smith III, three years younger than Henry. Henry became best friends with Sidney Rigdon’s sons, Algernon and John W., who were near his age.
In Nauvoo, men and boys paid their tithing by working every 10th day on building projects. “My father and myself went regularly every 10th day to labor on the temple,” Henry said, “sometimes at the quarry and other times on the temple grounds.”
Henry, who knew and liked the Prophet, “had been to his house frequently and played with his boys and he would occasionally join us. I had been in games of ball where the Prophet was one of the players.”
Henry, 15, was outside his house when Joseph Smith left for Carthage. Henry saw Joseph shake hands and exchange canes with a stranger. Then Joseph rode away. That was the last time he saw the Prophet alive. Henry first heard the tragic news from Carthage Jail “when a runner went past our house shouting that the Prophet was killed.”
A day or two later Henry and crowds of others visited the Mansion House, where “I saw their murdered bodies after they were brought from Carthage.” The murders were “a sad blow to my father,” Henry said, “and for a time he was at a loss to know what the results would be, but [he] finally settled to the conviction that the Church would continue its progress and that the Twelve Apostles were the proper leaders.”
Needing income, Henry and his father went downriver to St. Louis, Missouri, to find jobs. His father joined George Betts’s shoe shop, which employed 25 men. Henry took a job at a small shop belonging to three LDS shoemakers. His mother and sisters joined them in St. Louis in the spring.
Henry’s good friends from Nauvoo, Algernon and John Rigdon, visited him in his new home. Their father, who had been Joseph Smith’s counselor, had decided to leave the Church and was moving to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. In “the last conversation that I had with them as we were saying good-bye,” Henry said, “the boys declared that they would return to the Church. … Knowing they were … sincere, I expected for some years to hear from them but was disappointed.” (John Rigdon rejoined the Church in 1904 just before he died.)
Mr. Betts sent Henry’s father to work on a farm that the Mississippi River had flooded the year before. The Sandersons moved there and lived in a “very good log house.” They plowed and planted, and the farm prospered. But with the summer heat, river sickness (probably malaria) struck the family. Henry’s father suffered the most and died on 16 September 1845, at age 41.
Henry, now 16, returned with his mother and younger sister, Mary Jane, 4, to Nauvoo. An older sister, Maria, stayed behind to work for the Betts family.
Henry, weak himself from the summer sickness, returned to St. Louis for his sister. He earned his passage downriver and back by working on the riverboats. On the trip down he was an assistant fireman, carrying firewood and loading and unloading freight.
On the boat trip back to Nauvoo, Henry was third cook and “had the cabin dishes to wash, they being brought down to me by the cabin boys.” He liked the job because he could eat the leftover food, which was better than what he usually ate. Some plates of food came to him “untouched,” so instead of dumping the food overboard as ordered, he let other cabin boys eat it.
Henry, who was big for his age, joined the Nauvoo Legion. He “enrolled in a Captain Black’s company” when unfriendly neighbors began harassing the Mormons in and around Nauvoo. Officers gave this teenager “something of a gun,” and he “sometimes was scouting all night and took delight therein, even at times when the mob was expected every hour.”
Early in 1846, when Henry was 17, the Saints had to leave Nauvoo. For the wagon trek across Iowa, Jonathan C. Wright hired Henry to be a chore boy and drive an ox team. Henry liked this job, except for Brother Wright’s restriction that Henry walk his horses but never run or race them.
While Henry was camped with the Wrights at Council Bluffs, Iowa, a United States army recruiter arrived. “I had told my comrades that he would not get a man,” Henry said. But President Brigham Young called a meeting in a brush-covered bowery and asked that 500 men enlist in the Mormon Battalion for the Mexican War. Henry felt impressed to answer the call, so he joined the army. Mr. Wright, upset at losing his hired hand, “was wrathy and said that I could not go.” But Henry went. He was not yet 18, as required by the government, “but as I had nearly got my growth in height I passed without difficulty.”
The next summer, when he was 18, he left California, where the Mormon Battalion had completed its march, and entered the Great Salt Lake Valley just after the 1847 pioneers arrived. Wanting to rejoin his family, he returned east with Brigham Young’s company late that same year to the Winter Quarters area.
Henry and his family came west three years later, in 1850. He married and lived at Union Fort, Fillmore, and Fairview, Utah. During his adult years he was a farmer, teacher, and shoemaker.

“Come on!” Vicky’s brother called. “Let’s go play with the Rowes!”
The Rowes were their new neighbors. They had moved to Bosnia and Herzegovina from the United States. They had kids the same age as Vicky and her siblings. But they didn’t speak Bosnian. Vicky was the only one in her family who spoke English. She translated so they could play together.
Vicky sat with Mrs. Rowe on the porch while the other kids played.
“Your family seems different,” Vicky said. “In a good way.”
Mrs. Rowe smiled. “Would you like to come to church with us? That might help you see why we’re different. Our church doesn’t have a building here in Bosnia, so we have church with our family at home.”
Vicky was curious when she arrived at the Rowes’ house on Sunday. First they sang a song. One of the children said a prayer. Then Mr. Rowe prayed and passed bread and water to each person. They said it was called the sacrament. After that their daughter Jessie gave a talk.
“Heavenly Father loves us. He speaks to us through the Holy Ghost,” Jessie said. “Sometimes the Holy Ghost gives us a peaceful feeling. Or sometimes He gives us a thought.”
The next day, Vicky walked to the store to buy bread. On her way home, she was about to pass by some trash cans when a voice in her mind stopped her. Stay away, it said.
Vicky stood still. Suddenly, a car came spinning around the corner. CRASH! It slammed into the garbage cans.
Vicky took a deep breath. She was so glad she listened to the voice!
Later, Vicky told Mrs. Rowe the story. “Was that the Holy Ghost?”
“Sounds like it. Sometimes the Holy Ghost warns us of danger.”
“God protected me,” Vicky said. “I’ll always listen to the Holy Ghost.”
Vicky kept going to the Rowes’ house for church every Sunday. Then Vicky shared the Book of Mormon with her mom. Soon her whole family was learning about the gospel from the Rowes. Vicky translated for everyone.
One day Mr. Rowe asked Vicky’s family a question. Vicky repeated it in Bosnian. “Will you follow the example of Jesus Christ by being baptized?”
Vicky waited. She wanted to be baptized. But she was nervous about what her family would say.
Finally, Vicky’s dad spoke. “Da.”
“Da,” her family said.
Vicky was so happy she felt like her heart was going to burst. “Yes,” she said to Mr. Rowe. “Yes, we will.”
A week later, Vicky and her family drove for five hours to the nearest Church building. Vicky felt happy as she stepped into the water to be baptized. She felt even happier when she was confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Now she would have the Holy Ghost with her always.

The beginnings were underway. The stone was beginning to roll forth. But with the grown came opposition. The Prophet moved the center of his operations from Ohio to Missouri, and was then driven to Illinois. By 1840 twelve stakes had been organized: one in Ohio, one in Iowa, two in Missouri, and eight in Illinois. The time had then come to expand the work over the great waters. The year 1839 saw members of the newly called Quorum of the Twelve Apostles preparing for missionary assignments. The expansion created a need for better travel and communications. The Lord was already preparing the way with new and advanced technology. Morse was developing the first telegraph system in 1837. The first crossing of the Atlantic by a steam-powered ship occurred in 1838. The railroad had started to grow in the United States and by 1840 there were 2,818 miles of track.

Then opposition struck at the very heart of this new Church: The Prophet was illegally imprisoned. On the 27th day of June of 1844, a mob stormed the jail and his life was taken. After the death of the Prophet, persecution became so intense that again it was necessary for the Saints to leave their homes and journey into a barren frontier. Under the leadership of Brigham Young, members of the Church moved forward across the Mississippi and on towards the West in the epic pioneer trek. Of the almost 70,000 who attempted the journey, about 9 percent were laid to rest along the way—a tremendous loss for a young, struggling church.

I appreciate the art work of Arnold Friberg. Several years ago I was visiting him in his studio in Holladay, Utah, on a Sunday morning after priesthood meeting and Sunday School. He showed me his famous painting of George Washington praying at Valley Forge and a number of other magnificent paintings and sketches. I observed that he was a little tired as we talked, until I asked him about a sign I noticed hanging on the wall which read, “I believe in God and Cecil B. DeMille.” With renewed enthusiasm and excitement, he told me of his experiences with Cecil B. DeMille as The Ten Commandments was being produced and filmed. He told me how this tiny, yet powerful, man had improved the lives of all with whom he came in contact. “He inspired us to think big, in epic proportions,” said Brother Friberg, “and I have never been the same. He made us all better.” And that’s what we’re to do, brothers and sisters.

One Saturday evening in April, my fellow teachers and I attended a fireside that the branch had organized to celebrate the Prophet Joseph Smith’s birthday and the restoration of the Church. Members shared messages about the Prophet’s life and bore their testimonies and expressed their love for him. I would have felt the strength of their testimonies even without the help of the missionaries who sat behind us to translate.
As I listened, I reflected on how hard it must be to accept the story of a young American boy who knelt in a grove of trees so far across the world and spoke to God. And yet these faithful members felt the power of this message and embraced it.
I had been practicing with the branch choir, and I joined with them as they sang “Faith in Every Footstep” in Russian. There in front of me as I sang was proof of this marvelous work coming forth among all the children of men. With tears in my eyes, I added my testimony to theirs through music in their native language.
After the meeting, Evgeni Kharin, a member of our branch presidency, came bounding towards us American teachers and exclaimed with joy in his Russian accent, “Sisters, rejoice! The Church is restored!” It was as if I had heard the news for the first time.
The Church is still very young in Russia, and these members, who did not always have access to the gospel, understood what a privilege it was to know that Heavenly Father restored the gospel to the earth through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I realized then how much I had taken that knowledge for granted. I had a testimony of the gospel, but I had not felt like jumping for joy because of it—until now.
Since then, in times of spiritual weakness I think of the love of the Russian people and the light in Evgeni’s eyes as he told me to rejoice, for the gospel truly has been restored.

When I was seven years old, I was diagnosed with cancer.
During the next year, I went through several rounds of chemotherapy and eventually a big surgery. The surgery left me cancer free until my freshman year of high school, when it came back and spread to my liver, where it remains to this day.
Through this whole process, I’ve become a stronger person as I’ve grown closer to my Savior. There were times when I felt like He was very close to me, telling me to keep fighting because my journey here on earth was not even close to done. These experiences strengthened my testimony of Christ.

Our final concert was held in the beautiful city of Florence at the Duomo, the third largest cathedral in the world. But this cathedral is different. The beauty is on the outside, where the entire surface is tiled with different colored marble. Inside it is very plain, and we were told it was done this way so that people would not be distracted when they were worshipping.

One priest was so moved by the concert we gave there that he asked us to sing for the mass which followed. It was thrilling to sing to our brothers and sisters as they worshipped the Lord in their manner.
We poured all of our love we had learned in Israel into the songs we sang. Singing from behind the congregation, we created a spirit not felt by these people before. The mass ended, and we sang, “Come, Come, Ye Saints!” Never before have I heard it sung with more power and conviction. The spirit created was indescribable.
One small, frail woman worked her way, cane in hand, through the crowd and in broken English synthesized the feelings of our entire tour: “You sing. You love.”

“Hooray!” Andrew yelled when he saw the batch of cookie dough that his mother was putting into the refrigerator. “That means tomorrow is ‘Cookie Sunday!’”
“Yes,” replied his mother. “Do you remember what you must do to earn these cookies?”
“I remember. I just need to tell you one thing that I learned in sacrament meeting. That’s easy.”
“You’re right, Andrew. It’s too easy for a big boy like you. This time I want you to tell me three things that you learned.”
“Three!” Andrew took a closer look at the cookie dough. “Is it chocolate chip?”
His mother nodded. “You know, Andrew, listening longer will help you be reverent longer too.”
When the bishop stood up at church after the sacrament had been passed the next day, Andrew forgot to listen. He was busy looking at his favorite book about Jesus. He especially liked the picture of Jesus with the children. He liked to imagine that he was one of those children and that Jesus was smiling at him.
Mother tapped Andrew on the arm as the first speaker stood up. It was Samuel Jenkins, a friend of Andrew’s big brother. Andrew liked Samuel because he sometimes let Andrew play with his basketball. He gave Samuel a big smile, and Samuel smiled back! Then he started his talk. Andrew listened hard. Samuel said that he was saving his money to go on a mission. I’m saving my money, too, Andrew thought. He had a special box that had a place for his tithing, his missionary savings, and his spending money. He was saving his spending money to buy a red toy truck just like the one Toby had. Where is Toby today? he wondered. Andrew saw Toby’s father and baby brother sitting in front of them, but Toby wasn’t there. Toby was his best friend, and he had taught Andrew how to tie his shoes. Andrew was leaning down to see if his shoes needed tying, when his mother tapped him on the back. Oh-oh, thought Andrew, I’m not listening any more.
Andrew looked up just in time to see Samuel sit down and another man take his place. The man’s name was Jethro Williams. He and his family had just moved into the ward. Andrew thought that Brother Williams had kind eyes. Brother Williams was introducing his family, so Andrew turned around to locate them in the congregation. He didn’t see any boys his age in the family, but there was a little girl. Andrew also looked around for Toby, but he didn’t see him. He did see his friend Jacob, though, and gave him a little wave. Andrew felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder, so he quietly turned around and saw Brother Williams opening his scriptures.
One day I’ll have my own scriptures too, Andrew thought. My scriptures will have a black cover like Dad’s, with pages that make a whispering sound when you turn them. He leaned over and saw that a lot of words in Dad’s scriptures had red-pencil lines under them. That meant that the words were extra special.
Brother Williams was reading something about the Lamanites, so Andrew opened his Book of Mormon Storybook and turned to his favorite story about Samuel the Lamanite. He was still busy looking at the pictures when he heard the organ start to play. Is the meeting over already? Andrew wondered. No, it’s just a rest hymn, he decided as the congregation sang “The Spirit of God.” Andrew sang especially loud on the chorus. In Primary the music leader had said that when the children sang the chorus, they sounded like angels.
After the song, Sister Williams stood up. She had a soft voice that reminded Andrew of his Primary teacher. His Primary teacher often said, “Bless your heart.” Andrew listened hard to hear if Sister Williams would say that, too, but she didn’t. Instead, she said another word a lot. She said, “thankful.” Andrew listened, and he counted on his fingers that she said it five times!
She really is thankful, Andrew thought.
Then Sister Williams began to cry a little. Andrew used to feel funny when grown-ups cried in church, but his mother told him that people sometimes cry when they feel very happy inside because of their blessings. Andrew decided to count his own blessings. He thought of his new bicycle that he was learning to ride and of his pet gerbil, Blacky. Then he thought of Amanda, his baby sister, who was asleep on Dad’s lap. Andrew was reaching over to pat Amanda’s curly head when the organ began to play again. The meeting was almost over! This time it was a hymn that Andrew didn’t know, but he helped hold the book for his mother and hummed softly.
After dinner that afternoon, Andrew’s mother got out the bowl of cookie dough. “Well, Andrew,” she said, “tell me what you learned today.”
Andrew thought hard. “Samuel Jenkins talked about saving for his mission. He told me that when he goes on his mission, he’ll give me his basketball! Isn’t that great?”
Mother nodded. “Yes, that’s great. And I’m glad that you were listening when he talked about being a missionary. What else did you learn?”
“I learned that we have a new girl named Sarah Williams in our Primary class. Her father had her stand up in sacrament meeting. In Primary I found out that she likes chocolate chip cookies, just like me!”
Mother smiled. “OK, Andrew. That counts. Shall we take her some cookies to share with her family today?”
“OK, Mom.” Andrew’s eyes lit up. “And could we take some to Toby too? He wasn’t at church today because he’s sick.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Mother. “But first you need to tell me one more thing that you learned today.”
Andrew spoke slowly, “Well, Sister Williams was thankful for five things, and in church I could only think of three things that I was thankful for. But now I’ve thought of two more.”
“What are they?”
“I’m thankful for all my friends and for chocolate chip cookies to share with them!”

“I moved to Salt Lake City around 1950,” Vinca says. “I was a nurse, but I had to renew my certificate to practice in the U.S.”
The move gave her a chance to learn English better. It also gave her another opportunity to learn about the Church. She lived in the Beehive House and worked at a doctor’s office across the street. She also played the cello in the Utah Symphony and made a number of good friends.
“I attended church with them too. And I walked on Temple Square during my lunch hour every day. But I still thought of religion as something you could decide to make a part of your life as you liked.”
After two years in Salt Lake, Vinca moved to Sacramento, California, USA, and lived for a short time with the family of one of the missionaries who had taught her in Denmark. When she made enough money as a surgical nurse to support herself, she moved out on her own. She and the missionary dated and eventually became engaged.
“Things didn’t work out,” Vinca recalls, and when they broke off their engagement, she moved on, losing touch with Church members.
Not long after, Vinca met Ward, a dentist and oral surgeon who was born and raised in Sacramento. He was a strong, handsome man who had served as a navy officer during the war. Though 11 years older than Vinca, he swept her off her feet, and the two were married in 1954.
They bought a home not far from his practice. Though they could not have children, they had a wonderful, loving marriage. They worked, they traveled, he painted, and she continued to play her music. Life was good for many years.
Ward passed away in 1985. Vinca lived on in their home until about 1999, when she started feeling anxious to move. Her home was large, more than she needed, and she felt a desire for change. She discovered a small town that suited her in Haines, Alaska. She retired there, and so things would have ended if the missionaries had not come knocking on her door once more in 2006.
At last, after many chances and many years, the timing was right.
“I never really had known much about religion,” Vinca says, “but I knew some things that made me ask questions, things that disappointed me or seemed strange.
“When I learned about this gospel, everything just made sense: the plan of salvation, what is expected of us, the promises made, the Book of Mormon. I like especially the Church doctrine of temple work for those who pass away who have not been introduced to the gospel. I felt at ease about it; it was something I could accept because it was clear and open to me, like coming home.
“I finally did what I should have done a long time ago. I don’t know why it took me so long. I had met a lot of wonderful people, and they all had some influence in my decision to join the Church. It did take years, but getting baptized was the best thing I ever did.”
Vinca was baptized on October 14, 2006—on her husband’s birthday. Just a year later, she attended the temple for the first time and was sealed to Ward (by proxy) for time and all eternity. For Vinca, the experience of attending the temple and of being sealed to the love of her life “was unbelievable, beautiful.”
Having gained this supernal blessing of being sealed to her beloved husband, Vinca desires now to share temple blessings with her relatives. Though she is 86 years old and suffers from kidney failure, she is motivated.
“I hope my husband and his parents and my parents and my own brothers and sisters will accept the gospel. I have a lot of temple work to get done.
“One of my main projects in life now is to do as much temple work as I can, as much genealogy as possible. I feel I have a reason for living here. Even if I live to be 100, it’s all right. I have things to do now. It feels good, really, to be able to do it.”
As Vinca turns her gaze back to her house to head inside, she is filled with the hope that comes from the gospel of Jesus Christ. Being a member of this Church “has been a blessing in so many countless ways. You feel peace of mind. You feel stronger. When things are absolutely gorgeous, you feel, ‘Oh boy, this is heaven.’ It makes you feel grateful for living.”
Vinca lives with a grateful heart—because the fire of the gospel and the hope of eternities with her loving husband burns bright within her.

It was freezing outside, and the cold air bit the cheeks and noses of the Stevenson family. After a fun day of skiing, they walked through the snow toward their car. They looked forward to getting in the car to warm up with the heater.
But when Elder Stevenson reached into his pocket, the car keys were gone! “Where are the keys?” he thought. Everyone anxiously waited for him to unlock the car. Without the keys, they were locked out! They couldn’t open the door or start the car. They couldn’t turn on the heater.
The first thing Elder Stevenson did was say a prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help them find the car keys. Next he thought as hard as he could about where he might have dropped them. He then remembered a ski jump he had gone off earlier in the day. “Maybe the keys are there in the snow,” he thought.
Some of the family went back with Elder Stevenson to the top of the ski slope and skied down the run. By the time they got to the bottom of the ski jump, the sun was starting to go down. They searched for the keys as it grew darker. To their amazement, they found the keys just before it got too dark!
Praying and finding the keys to their car reminded Elder Stevenson that Heavenly Father will not leave us standing in the cold. He gives priesthood keys and authority to leaders of the Church to help lead us all safely home to Him.

About seven years ago, Marie Holley and Margaret Adamson moved into our ward in North Dakota. Both had doctoral degrees in nursing, and they had been hired to design a graduate degree program in the College of Nursing at the University of North Dakota. It was a challenging task, and they began it with vigor. We felt fortunate to have two such talented people in our ward.
Then, just six months after moving into our midst, Marie found that she had a rare form of cancer. Doctors felt she had only a few months to live.
But the doctors did not know about Marie’s strong desire to live. For almost three years, she fought her disease with her will and with every medical treatment doctors could prescribe. Finally, she grew so ill that she had to retire from work.
When Marie became too weak to take care of herself at home alone, she hired someone to come in to make lunch, give her baths, and do housekeeping tasks. I was Marie’s visiting teacher, and my companion and I helped in every way we could. Her friend Margaret came every day after work to be her night nurse.
In the spring of 1983, Margaret became ill from her long hours of working and caring for Marie. At this point, the Relief Society became involved. We set up a schedule, and Relief Society sisters faithfully signed up to come and stay with Marie during the day—every day. Until then, we had thought of compassionate service as something we did in an occasional time of need. Now it became an important part of our daily lives.
As the summer went on, Marie’s health grew worse. When doctors could offer no more help, Marie became eligible for the Hospice program. The Hospice is an organization of volunteers from the community who give basic nursing care for terminally ill patients who wish to die at home. The Hospice volunteers took over the nursing, so we Relief Society sisters organized ourselves to be Marie’s home companions.
At first, the Hospice volunteers were uneasy about having the Relief Society sisters help Marie. They had found that well-meaning friends of the terminally ill are often unreliable. Our Relief Society sisters were also uneasy about working with the women from the Hospice. In our area, many people think of the Church as a cult, and we wondered what the volunteers would think of us and our beliefs.
We also had other concerns. Our Relief Society had never been asked to care for a dying sister. Many sisters wondered what they should say and do. So we prayed. We held meetings and taught the sisters what to do in an emergency and how to give pain-killing shots.
We began to live by the calendar. Often we didn’t know the volunteer who would be on the shift before or after us, but Marie would always introduce us. The Relief Society sisters and the Hospice volunteers first became acquaintances and then friends. The Hospice women marveled at how busy we were—many of us were young with small children—and that we all still came to spend time with Marie. The volunteers began to admire us.
After several months, Marie became suddenly worse and went into a coma. Our bishop, who was also a physician, notified Marie’s family. The Relief Society sisters and Hospice volunteers flocked to Marie’s bedside to say goodby and to tell Marie how much we had grown to love her. It was an emotional time as we prepared to let her go.
But Marie didn’t die. Two days later, she came out of the coma. She hadn’t been ready to go, she said.
Some of the Hospice volunteers expressed anger and frustration. In a meeting with the Relief Society sisters, they asked, “Why does God allow her to suffer on and on and on?” They also asked us how we could be so calm as we watched Marie’s great mind and life being wasted.
This gave us an opportunity to explain something about the plan of salvation. The Hospice volunteers sat silently as we told about why we are here, the purpose of our lives, and the promise of what lies before us in eternity. We explained that death is just another beginning, not an end. The meeting ended on a thoughtful, spiritual tone.
Several months later, after fourteen months of our constant care, Marie finally died. Her funeral was not a sad occasion. Marie had not wanted it to be. Instead, it was a calm, peaceful “goodbye for now,” with the assurance that we would see her again.
Most of the people who attended the funeral were not Latter-day Saints. Many were Hospice volunteers. Many others were from the university. The audience listened attentively as the principles of the gospel were explained, as Marie had requested. After the funeral, I heard many interesting comments:
“Why, it was the most beautiful funeral I’ve been to! It was so well organized, I had to keep reminding myself that all you people were volunteers.”
“I remembered all the things Marie has told me before, and it all fit together. Your beliefs are so logical.”
“I wish I could really believe as you do. No wonder you feel so comforted.”
“I’ve lived in this town for many years, yet I’ve never had the courage to come into your church. I am so glad I came today.”
“I’ve been reading the books Marie gave me, and I was so interested to hear where we came from and why we are here.”
We discovered that Marie had given each nonmember who had cared for her a copy of the Book of Mormon and a copy of Elder LeGrand Richard’s book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, with a challenge to read them both. “After I’m gone, someone will come and explain them to you and answer your questions,” she had told her friends.
During Marie’s illness, seventy-five people had helped—forty-five Relief Society sisters, twenty-two Hospice volunteers, and eight part-time employees. Through caring for Marie, so many strangers have become friends. She has planted the seeds of the gospel in the hearts of many people. Now it is up to us—her friends—to nourish those seeds so that the Lord might reap the harvest.

Three years ago, Edward Pentreath was attending a large youth activity in England, where he lives, when he remembers feeling the Spirit in an overwhelming way.
“After the evening fireside, I went back to my room. I was praying, and suddenly I realized that this gospel is all true. I was so happy. All I could say was, ‘It’s true. I know it’s true.’ I remember calling a good friend of mine. When he picked up the phone, all he could hear was me saying, ‘It’s true! It’s so fantastic!’”
Now when Edward, a member of Ipswich England Stake, describes the feeling he had that night when the Holy Ghost testified of the truthfulness of the gospel, he describes it as a “warm shiver and a tingle which went through my body.” He has learned to recognize that feeling. He says he feels the Spirit often now that his friends are going on missions and as they have opportunities to bear their testimonies at camp, at youth conferences, or in church.

Many is the time in my current position when those in their advanced years have sought counsel in getting their families to share and take an interest in them. I remember reading of such an experience, which I would like to share. This item was found in an old magazine. No author’s name was mentioned, just this from a heavy-hearted observer. He said:
“Just next door lives a wonderful old man. He is still very alert and active. That special morning he awakened earlier than usual, bathed, shaved and put on his best clothes. Surely, he thought, they would come today.
“He didn’t take his daily walk to the gas station to visit with the old-timers of the community, because he wanted to be right there when they came.
“He sat on the porch with a clear view of the road so he could see them coming. Surely they would come today.
“He decided to skip his noon nap because he wanted to be up when they came.
“He had six children. Two of his daughters and their married children lived within four miles. They hadn’t been to see him for such a long time. But today was a special day. Surely they would come today.
“At suppertime he refused to cut the cake and asked that the ice cream be left in the freezer. He wanted to wait and have dessert with them when they came.
“About 9 o’clock he went to his room and got ready for bed. His last words before turning out the lights were: ‘Promise to wake me when they come.’
“You see, it was his birthday, and he was 91.”

Tommy had noisy feet. When he came into the house from outside, his feet went clomp, clomp, clomp. Then baby sister woke up, opened her big blue eyes, and started to cry.
“Oh, Tommy,” sighed Mother, “now see what you’ve done. You woke up sister again. Why can’t you walk quietly?”
When Daddy was watching his favorite television program, he grumbled, “Tommy, can’t you walk quietly? I can’t hear a thing!”
When Tommy walked up the steps to the chapel door, his feet went clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp!
Then Mother would say, “Sh-h-h, Tommy. Sh-h-h!”
When he walked down the chapel aisle, Daddy would whisper, “Quietly, Tommy. Quietly.”
Tommy didn’t want to walk clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp.
He didn’t want to wake up his baby sister.
He didn’t want to make it hard for his father to hear his favorite television program.
He didn’t want to make a noise in Heavenly Father’s house.
Tommy didn’t want to disturb people with his clompy feet.
He really wanted to walk quietly. So one day after everyone had been saying, “Sh-h-h, Tommy! Sh-h-h!” Tommy said to himself, “I’m going to try very hard to walk quietly. I’m going to try to keep my feet from going clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp.”
And Tommy did try. He tried hard. He began to listen very carefully to his feet.
When Tommy came in from outside, his feet went clomp on the floor. Then Tommy said to himself, “I must walk quietly. I must not wake up baby sister.” And right then his feet did exactly what he told them to do.
When Tommy went into the chapel, his feet started up the steps with a big clomp. But then Tommy said to himself, “I must walk quietly when I enter Heavenly Father’s house.” And his feet did exactly what he told them to do.
Tommy kept trying to walk quietly. Instead of going clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp, his feet went clomp, clomp. Then they just went clomp. And one day they didn’t go clomp at all.
Tommy’s feet came in from outside so quietly that when Mother saw him standing by her in the kitchen, she said in surprise, “Tommy, I didn’t hear you come in. You must have pussycat feet!”
Daddy was watching his favorite television program that night when Tommy came in and sat down in his own small chair. Suddenly Daddy looked up and said, “Tommy, I didn’t hear you come in. You must have cushions on your shoes!”
One day Tommy’s Sunday School teacher said, “My, some of you children have noisy feet today. Your feet went clompety-clompety, clomp, clomp up the stairs and clomp, clomp, clomp down the hall and clomp into our classroom. We should all walk quietly in our Heavenly Father’s house.
“Tommy, you have very quiet feet. Would you please show the other boys and girls how to walk quietly?”
Tommy smiled a big happy smile, and as softly as a pussycat he showed the boys and girls how to walk quietly.
And after that Tommy never had any more trouble with noisy feet.

Teach them to love others by serving others. That brings the Spirit. The Prophet Joseph taught that, and he lived it. Of the many examples recorded of his loving nature, the one which most touches me occurred in Carthage Jail the night before his death. One of the men who went there with him was Dan Jones. The Prophet sensed the danger from the mob. He had reason to turn inward, to think of himself and his own peril. Instead his heart turned outward to comfort someone else.
“When all were apparently fast asleep, Joseph whispered to Dan Jones, ‘are you afraid to die?’ Dan [answered], ‘Has that time come, think you? Engaged in such a cause I do not think that death would have many terrors.’ Joseph replied, ‘You will yet see Wales, and fulfill the mission appointed you before you die.’”
Dan Jones survived to serve missions in Wales. Thousands of Welsh converts came to Zion. Some were gifted singers. They were among the first members of what became the Tabernacle Choir. When we hear the choir sing, I hope we remember Dan Jones, the faithful friend of the Prophet Joseph. Teach those you love to remember Joseph’s comfort given when he needed comfort. When we comfort others, out of our faith in the Lord, He sends the Comforter to us. And the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, gave Joseph the power to give prophetic and loving encouragement.

Priests Doug Lloyd and Zac White know that school is important. After being on their school’s Academic Decathlon team, it might seem as if that is the only thing that’s important to them—they brought home nine gold medals in their regional competition in varying subjects. All that gold has earned them the nickname “the Golden Boys.”
But these boys from Petaluma, California, both know there are other things that are important, too. Things like keeping the Sabbath day holy. In order to participate, Doug and Zac had to convince the team that not studying on Sunday was a good idea. Because of their persistence, the team agreed to study on a weekday instead.
“Most of the team was actually pretty good about it,” says Zac.
Doug adds, “We actually spent more time studying during the week than we would have on Sunday, so the whole team benefitted.”
Zac and Doug are also successful in sports and Scouts. And they are active in early-morning seminary—further proof that these golden boys know real treasure when they see it.

Hironui Johnston, 16, and his sister Merirani, 15, spend a lot of time at the Papeete Tahiti Temple.
They aren’t performing baptisms for the dead, except for a couple times each year. They aren’t even inside the temple. They’re on the temple grounds—not gardening or doing some other service project—just sitting or walking around. But always looking.
“I love to see the temple,” says Merirani. “We have a lot of good memories here.”
Hironui and Merirani go to the temple grounds because of how they feel there. It’s a place where they can get away from the world.
“Our neighborhood isn’t bad, but there are some bad kids there,” says Hironui. “So we spend time here. It feels so good to be on the temple grounds.”
Sometimes their whole family comes, whether for a family home evening activity or just to spend time together.
“Sometimes when we aren’t getting along, we come here to put things right again,” Hironui says. But even when the Johnstons aren’t at the temple, the temple is part of their lives.
“I think we have a picture of the temple in every room in our house,” Hironui says. “It’s beautiful. It reminds us that our family can be together forever. Seeing it helps us feel the same peaceful spirit.”
Hironui and Merirani are part of the first generation of Tahitian members who don’t know what Tahiti was like without the temple, which is now more than 20 years old.
“We watch our parents go to the temple,” says Hironui. “We see them living worthy to go. We see how their temple attendance blesses us, and we choose to follow them.”
That love for the temple, which began with the Johnstons’ parents, has been passed on to Hironui and Merirani. And it won’t end there. Their actions can pass it on to the next generation.
“I want to have children someday,” says Merirani. “I want to teach them that the temple is the house of the Lord and that if we are faithful we can be together forever because of the temple.”
“The Lord has given us a real blessing by building His house in our land,” Merirani says. “But the greatest blessing is that through the ordinances of the temple, our ancestors and families can be sealed together, and we can all live with our Father again. I would do anything for that blessing.”

I often suggest that people think honestly about their temptations. One individual who tried this approach realized the women depicted in pornography would not act that way in real life. He learned that the images he saw were enhanced using computer technology and did not represent reality. He further discovered that some of the actors indulged in alcohol or drugs to numb their feelings, allowing them to participate in degrading activities. Because of this man’s honest approach to pornography and his efforts to recognize it for what it is, its attraction diminished significantly. He was able to cultivate more fully his ability to distinguish good from evil (see Gen. 3:5; Moses 4:11).

On one occasion a girl was trying to decide whether or not to marry a certain young man and was confused because at times she felt doubt and uncertainty and at other times was certain she wanted to marry him. When they were together it seemed right, but when she was alone or away from him, there was much doubt and uncertainty. We talked about many things: the kind of person she wanted to marry, the element of trust in marriage, possible reasons for her doubt, and why at times it seemed all right. Toward the end of the conversation she was asked to consider what she really felt was the right thing to do. After a few moments she said that she had really known all along it wasn’t right but had just put aside those feelings. One must follow the counsel of Mormon and “search diligently in the light of Christ that ye may know good from evil …” He then promised, “… if ye will lay hold upon every good thing, and condemn it not, ye certainly will be a child of Christ.” (Moro. 7:19.)