Gospel Story Finder

Although seven-year-old Caylen Craven of Pawhuska, Oklahoma, has not ever had to go to war, he is a “stripling warrior” because he has learned how to be honest, too. One day while walking through the airport with his family, he saw a man in front of him accidently drop some money. Even though he is normally very shy around strangers, Caylen ran to pick up the money and return it to its owner.
Caylen’s mother wrote, “We were thankful that his first reaction was to do the right and honest thing, that he didn’t even think about keeping the dollar.”

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

Number 50 Rock Street, Lowell, Massachusetts, could be the home of any one of thousands of southeast Asian families that have settled in this city of 100,000. But 50 Rock Street is the home of Chea Touch (pronounced Cheea Tooch), a 15-year-old Cambodian boy who was baptized three years ago. A member of the Lowell Branch, this remarkable young man has been directly responsible for the baptisms of many other Asian friends.
“It has not been easy for my family and me to come to a new country. There are many things we don’t understand, and we have many struggles. The elders have shown us that they care about us and they want us to be happy,” says Chea. He adds, “I’ve always known I have a Heavenly Father who loves me. It’s been wonderful to learn more about him and know what I must do to return to him. I want my friends to know the truth so they can have the happiness I do.”
Chea’s story begins in 1987 when two elders, Paul Gooch and Garrett Black, were assigned to the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since there had not been elders in Lowell for a number of years, they felt it was appropriate to seek special help from Heavenly Father on the missionary effort. At the time there were only two Cambodian families who were members of the Church in that area.
Elder Gooch’s journal entry of April 11, 1987, reads: “On this beautiful, clear, spring day, Elder Black and I went upon the top of Fort Hill overlooking the city. We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place of refuge for the Asian people where they could rest in peace and safety, where the Spirit could dwell amidst them in their homes.” Both elders felt inspired. The entry continues. “We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place where the Asians might come to know Jesus as their Savior.”
The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in a 12-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son had visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
Chea’s maturity is no doubt a result of many of the things he has experienced in his young life. Like many Cambodians who have found refuge in the United States, Chea and his family are survivors. He was four and his sister Soph was ten in 1979 when they escaped with their parents from Cambodia and made their way to the Kavidan refugee camp in Thailand.
They lived in the refugee camp until 1984, when relief organizations sponsored their relocation to the United States. They’ve been in Lowell, Massachusetts, since then. Chea now has two younger sisters: Lundi, who is eight, and Dani, age six.
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attended church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined the Church. (As a Buddhist monk, Chea’s father made certain commitments that he feels would be violated should he join another religion.)
After his baptism, Chea and the elders became very good friends. “Almost every day Chea would come to our apartment,” recalls Elder Gooch. “He would tell us about friends and relatives he wanted us to visit. Sometimes we had a hard time keeping up!”
Smiling, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”
Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his new-found knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”
For Chea it is not a sacrifice but a real joy to share Heavenly Father’s message. “Each time I go with the elders I seem to learn something new. I enjoy learning about how to return to Heavenly Father—what I must do and what I must avoid.”
Irene Danjou, Chea’s former Primary president, remembers, “Each Sunday he would bring a different friend to church. He’d introduce them to me, spell their names, tell me their ages, and sit with them until they felt comfortable. Then he would go to his own class. He did this every week for a whole year!”
One example of Chea’s diligence and enthusiasm as a young missionary is recorded in Elder Gooch’s journal: “I was home for lunch, trying to prepare a talk for zone conference. Somehow I just couldn’t get my thoughts together. The telephone rang. It was Chea. He told me that he wanted Elder Black and me to visit the Vongs, a Cambodian family that had been in Lowell for a year. They were praying and fasting to find a church they could attend.”
Saveth Vong and her three children, Chetena, Chendra, and Tola, had narrowly escaped execution. Her husband, a pilot in the Cambodian Army, had been captured. Saveth and her children managed to get out of prison three days before they were scheduled to be shot.
Chea smiles as he recalls his and the elder’s first visit to the Vong home. “Everyone seemed so eager to learn. There were many questions. The Spirit was very strong.” Although the Vongs used a Book of Mormon printed in Cambodian, they needed help with gospel principles. Chea played an important role, assisting the elders as he translated discussions and shared his own experiences in the Church. Elder Gooch’s journal entry continues, “Day after day, Chea sat quietly by Saveth helping her understand the things we taught. He never seemed to tire of the message of the gospel.”
Indeed, as Chea taught the gospel his testimony grew. He recalls, “I remember reading 3 Nephi 27:7: ‘Therefore, whatsoever ye shall do, ye shall do it in my name; therefore ye shall call the church in my name; and ye shall call upon the Father in my name that he will bless the church for my sake.’ I thought, how could it be that I’ve never seen this scripture before? It makes so much sense. Heavenly Father’s true church must be named after his Son!”
This scripture also confirmed for Chea what he knew in his heart was true—that if he prayed to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus and asked for help to share the gospel message, Heavenly Father would bless his efforts.
When the Vongs made the decision to be baptized, Chea was delighted. Elder Gooch recalls that evening, “While we were driving home, Chea asked Elder Black and me to stop by a grove of trees in a nearby park so that we could thank Heavenly Father. We took turns giving thanks and expressing our joy. When we were finished, Chea climbed on my shoulders. After a few quiet moments Chea lovingly looked down, flashed his big smile and said, “The Holy Ghost is with us, Gooch, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Chea, it sure is.”
“I know—I felt it!”
The Vongs were baptized a week later.
Chea loves to fish and play basketball and enjoys video games. Like other Cambodian youth in America, he plays an important role in helping his parents learn their new language and culture. The adults spend long hours working to make ends meet and don’t have much free time to learn English. The youth, on the other hand, pick up the language quickly and bring it home. Chea’s been particularly fortunate. Along with his regular public school classes, he’s in a special program at a private learning center. Director of the center Joan O’Brien sees Chea as a unique child. “I think he’s a youngster who will be a real leader in the Cambodian culture. He’s like a water pitcher that cannot be filled.”

By 1844, Joseph's enemies, again former members of the Church, seemed bent on his destruction. He began planning with the brethren to move the Church west to the Rocky Mountains. Governor Ford, meanwhile, made plans to have Joseph taken east to Carthage.

Late on the evening of the 22nd, Orrin Porter Rockwell rowed Joseph, Hyrum and Willard Richards west across the Mississippi River. But the Lord required one more sacrifice of Joseph. On the 23rd a message from Nauvoo told Joseph that several feared that if the Church's enemies came to Nauvoo and found Joseph gone that the mob would attack the city. Joseph made the fateful decision. If his life was of no value to his friends, it was of no value to him. The small party returned to Nauvoo the next day and made preparation to go the Carthage.

Joseph knew what Hyrum only suspected, that they were riding to Carthage to seal their final testimony.
By the afternoon of June 27, 1844, only John Taylor and Willard Richards remained in the Carthage Jail with the Prophet and his brother Hyrum.

Five years ago, my husband and I decided to start a YouTube channel, where we began to genuinely share the way we live as members of the Church of Jesus Christ. Our idea was to talk about our beliefs through our lifestyle.
We have had the great blessing of receiving inspiring messages from several of our followers telling us about going to church for the first time or even getting baptized! These messages have filled us with so much joy.
We are very grateful for the enriching experiences that social networks have offered us in spreading the message of the restored gospel just by sharing our lives. But while social media can generate incredible experiences, help us develop meaningful relationships, and allow us to share our testimony of the gospel, it can also give us experiences that weaken us spiritually, lead us to judge others in unrighteous ways, and lose sight of who we truly are.

[Sister Owen] It wasn't obvious at the time, but now we can both clearly see the Lord's wisdom in prompting Steve to return to Ricks--and I am thankful to be married to a man who follows such promptings. By that time, I had graduated from Ricks College, but it just so happened that my sister Patricia was living in Rexburg. She has always been a stabilizing influence in my life, so I found myself visiting her often. Coincidentally, this allowed Steve and me to see each other more often. To make a long story short, by the end of the year, Steve and I were married. And at the end of Steve's fourth semester, our first child was born.
Those were sweet, happy days--but they were also lean days. We were poor as newlyweds, trying to live on $15 per week. One of Steve's coaches used to leave two gallons of milk from his cows on our doorstep. Acts of kindness like that kept us fed physically, and there were just as many loving friends and mentors who kept us fed spiritually--people like Patricia; Sister Blakely, my dance coach; President Eyring, who was the president of Ricks when we began our studies; and many others.

I recently visited with a woman who has been battling a life-threatening disease for over two years. She indicated that prior to her illness, her days were filled with activities such as cleaning her house to perfection and filling it with beautiful furnishings. She visited her hairdresser twice a week and spent money and time each month adding to her wardrobe. Her grandchildren were invited to visit infrequently, for she was always concerned that what she considered her precious possessions might be broken or otherwise ruined by tiny and careless hands.

And then she received the shocking news that her mortal life was in jeopardy and that she might have very limited time left here. She said that at the moment she heard the doctor’s diagnosis, she knew immediately that she would spend whatever time she had remaining with her family and friends and with the gospel at the center of her life, for these represented what was most precious to her.

I watched Jason dribble the ball down the court, weaving around two Trojan players while I tried to outrun the one guarding me. Jason leaped toward the side of the basket and shot. The ball teetered on the rim for a second before it swished through.
“Go, Jason, go!” cheered a crowd of little kids. I should have felt happy because our team, the Jets, had finally tied the score. But I didn’t want to hear Jason’s name anymore. He always scored the most points and caught the most rebounds—and got the most cheers.
The big red numbers on the clock showed only one minute left in the game when Dave passed the ball to me. The court was clear. I dribbled the ball down the sideline, the sound of thundering footsteps close behind. I jumped as high as I could and shot, trying to bounce the ball off the backboard and into the net. It hit the rim and bounced off. So who caught the rebound? Jason. Who scored the winning basket? Jason.
It wasn’t easy being in the same fifth grade class and on the same basketball team as a superstar. All the second and third graders knew Jason. They ran up to him on the playground and crowded around him like a fan club. I’d be famous, too, if I scored fifteen points a game. Secretly I wished that Jason would disappear. Then one day he did!
“Jason has to have his tonsils out,” Mrs. Litten told the class. “He’s going to be out of school for at least a week.”
Dave groaned. “Now we’re going to get trampled by the Kings,” he whispered to me loudly. “Our team will never win without Jason.”
“Maybe,” I whispered back. Mrs. Litten gave me a look that said, “Be quiet and do your work.” I tried to concentrate on my spelling words, but I kept thinking that maybe I’d finally have a chance to be the star. Maybe now the kids would be shouting, “Go Taylor!”
Basketball practice was a disaster, however. I practiced shooting from the free-throw line, and only one ball swished through. And when I tried dribbling fast, I tripped over the ball. But I didn’t give up. I started practicing my free throws again. It wasn’t going to be easy to be famous.
On Wednesday, Mrs. Litten asked me to stay after class, and I wondered what I’d done wrong.
“Taylor, I have a favor to ask.”
“Yes?” I was curious now, instead of worried.
“Would you fill in for Jason tomorrow and Friday? He goes to the second grade classes after lunch to help them with their schoolwork. They’re missing him.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Litten smiled. “You’re a good student.”
“Sure.” But I wondered what I was getting myself into.
The next day I walked into a second grade class after gulping down my sandwich. My stomach felt as though I’d swallowed a roller coaster when I saw all those faces staring at me. The teacher introduced me and told them that I played basketball like Jason. Suddenly everyone was asking me questions, and the time passed like a video on fast forward.
Right before I left, little Angelica gave me a hug. “Tell me your name again?” she asked.
“Taylor,” I repeated for the zillionth time—but I didn’t mind one bit. In fact, I felt fantastic!
“I need to know your name so I can cheer for you,” Angelica told me. “Just like for Jason.”
That’s when I figured it out. All the kids knew Jason because he helped them out. It had nothing to do with basketball! I thought that over.
That afternoon I had my own little cheering section at the game, and I started grinning like a circus clown. But I wasn’t thinking about being famous. Instead, I was planning to bring some dinosaur stickers for Robby, and a book about kittens to show Angelica. I planned to tell Mrs. Litten that I wanted to keep volunteering, even when Jason came back.
“Go Taylor!” shouted Angelica, and I was glad I’d learned that some things are much better than being a basketball superstar!

We had a son, Seth, who was born with Down syndrome. He loved everyone and would never allow anyone in his presence to get upset or to use the word stupid. He would always tell us, “Calm down. Relax.” One day when he was 20, he came to me and said that he wanted to go home. I said “Silly, you are home.” He said, “No, I want to go to my home far away.” Shortly afterward he was diagnosed with leukemia and was dead seven months later. In those seven months Seth spent his time helping us to get ready for him to leave. He decorated his entire room from floor to ceiling with pictures of rainbows to remind us that God loves us.

There were many miracles during those seven months. I will mention only one. My oldest son, David, and his beautiful wife, Leah, were getting married in the Washington D.C. Temple. Seth was very ill, and we knew that he probably didn’t have much longer to live. It was a difficult choice for me to choose which son to be with that day: with my son as he was married for time and all eternity or with my son who was dying.

I stayed with Seth, and my husband went with David to the temple. Seth wanted to go to the reception that night very, very badly. We decided to let him go for just a few moments and even planned to take him there in a wheelchair because he was so weak and had difficulty keeping food down.

When we got to the reception, Seth would have none of that. He ate what he wanted and he danced with all the young women there. He didn’t want to leave for hours, but eventually we took him home, where he immediately was very sick again. He died a day later. I learned so much from Seth, particularly about unconditional love. We chose to look for the spiritual and positive things in this experience, and we found them.

The patient was tall, good-looking, and dressed in white, and he looked into my eyes without uttering a word. I had come to pick up his prescription so I could go buy his medication.
Just then a nurse, also dressed in white, appeared and held out a piece of paper to me. It seemed to be a medical history.
“Is this his file number?” I asked.
She did not reply but merely turned the sheet over. There on the back was a number: 12.830.
This incident would not be remarkable in any way if it were not for the fact that this particular patient had died more than a year before, on 7 April 1990. He was my younger brother, Carlos Hugo, and I was only dreaming.
I awoke at 4:00 A.M. and immediately wrote down the number. That same day I got up early and told my daughter Ana about the dream. I showed her the number, and she said it looked like a date, not a number on a medical file. A light went on in my mind. This dream had to have something to do with the family history information I was looking for on my paternal grandmother. For 10 years I had tried to find my father’s birth certificate. With no success, I had turned my efforts toward locating information on his mother.
When I had the dream, I had intended to return to the historical archives in the province of Mendoza, Argentina, to see if researchers had found any information that might be useful to me. I had asked them to search the years between 1925 and 1932. But before going to the archives, I felt a strong prompting to visit the Godoy Cruz cemetery.
By 8:00 A.M. that same morning, I was asking Mr. Paz, an employee at the cemetery, if he would do me the favor of using that date to look through his records for any information on the death of my grandmother, Margarita Flores. As he leafed through the old worn books, I prayed silently and fervently.
Suddenly I heard him say, “Well, are you ever lucky! This is where your grandmother is buried.” He wrote out a document so stating, signed it, affixed a seal to it, and then kindly went with me to sector H, where I saw a small brass plate that read, “Margarita Flores. Died 12/8/1930”—the same date I had seen in my dream.
I was not yet born when my grandmother died. But more than 60 years after her death, I was able to find the place where she was buried.
I next went to the archives to see if they had found anything relating to my grandmother. “Negative,” said the man who waited on me. I handed him the certificate Mr. Paz had given me at the cemetery, and five minutes later I was holding a photocopy of my grandmother’s death certificate in my hands. Using this information, I was eventually able to locate my father’s birth certificate and the names of my great-grandparents.
In His infinite mercy, our loving Heavenly Father had made it possible for necessary information to be communicated to me. I immediately sent all the data I had obtained to the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple so that vicarious ordinances could be performed.
I know I have much more to do. But I also know that when our minds and hearts are willing and when we make the effort, we receive help from heaven. One day there will be a glorious resurrection, and with all my being I desire to find myself united with my loved ones.

Orderville, Utah—One December evening some of the sisters of Orderville met to plan a Christmas treat for the children. The Order had no luxuries and the necessities were strictly rationed. About the only sweets the people had was molasses, so, the sisters decided to make molasses candy and cookies for the youngsters.
But on Christmas Eve, they came to “Grandmother Spencer,” wife of Howard Orson Spencer, bishop and leader in Orderville, with the news that the brother in charge of the molasses “won’t let us have any. He says our allowance for the month is already used.” Grandmother’s lips tightened. “The children are going to have something for Christmas. I’ll speak to my husband after dinner—he’ll give us permission.”
When her husband came in tired and hungry, Sister Spencer hovered over her husband and after dinner urged him to rest by the fire. As he sat looking drowsily into the flames, she said in a low voice, “You do think the children should have some candy and cookies for Christmas, don’t you Howard?” “Ummmhmmm,” was the sleepy response, and grandmother went away smiling. She reported to the ladies that everything was all right, “My husband has given us permission.” “Did he say we could have the molasses?” asked one doubting Thomas. “He didn’t say ‘No,’” replied Sister Spencer truthfully. “Now we won’t wake up the brother in charge of the molasses. We’ll just slip out and take what we need.”
The man in charge of the molasses barrel was very conscious of his responsibility. On the lid of the barrel he had placed a section of heavy logging chain and a large boulder. Only a thin wooden partition at the head of the bed separated him from the barrel outside, and he was a light sleeper. Shivering from the cold the women crunched through the snow toward the barrel. It was beginning to snow again and the night was very dark.
With infinite caution they removed the heavy chain without so much as one betraying clank. It took the combined efforts of all the women to lower the boulder noiselessly to the ground. There was a breathless pause as Sister Spencer raised the lid and dipped into the barrel with a saucepan. She emptied its contents into a bucket and dipped again, and again. “We have enough now,” whispered one of the women. “Let’s go back.” With the same caution the chain and boulder were replaced and the women filed back to the warm kitchen to make the Christmas goodies. But, there was a dismayed gasp when they looked into the pail. “Oh dear, we haven’t enough molasses. We’ll have to get some more.” “Oh no, Sister Spencer. It’s cold and dark. It’s too risky.” “Well, just the same, we must unless we want the children to be disappointed.”
There could only be one answer to such a statement and the little band of mothers went again to the molasses barrel. They returned safely and set to work. When morning came, every child in Orderville had two molasses cookies and one big slightly sticky lump of candy in his stocking. Santa Claus had not forgotten them. Grandfather insisted all his life that he could not remember ever having given the women permission to get the molasses.
Our Pioneer Heritage, 18 (1975): 160–61

While sitting in my police car watching for speeders one afternoon in June 1996, I heard on my radio a report of an argument between a convenience store clerk and some customers. Two junior officers were being sent to the store. I wasn’t seeing many speeders, so I decided to drive to the store to offer help. I felt impressed to drive along a seldom-used road.
Before long I heard on the radio that the first officer to arrive on the scene was Ben. I was concerned because he was a newly hired officer with little experience.
As I continued on the back road, I heard the dispatcher report that the customers at the store were drunk and becoming combative. I was somewhat relieved when I heard that the second officer, Rocky, who was a little more experienced, had arrived at the scene.
Then came a report that the customers, four of them, had just left in a blue compact car. Still driving toward the scene, I heard another police jurisdiction broadcast a description of the car and its occupants and request officers to look for it. Rocky’s voice came on the radio, giving the direction the car was last seen traveling.
Moments later, I saw the car speeding toward me. My heart sank when I heard someone advise that an officer had been assaulted. I guessed that Ben, the rookie officer who was first on the scene, had been attacked.
I quickly turned around and began to follow the car, which then pulled over and stopped as if waiting for me to pass. Believing that the people in the car had just assaulted a police officer, I followed different tactics than I might have otherwise, and all my senses were on alert. I turned on my emergency lights and stopped my car some distance behind the vehicle. After informing the dispatcher that I had the car stopped, I drew my gun and waited for backup. About a minute later Rocky arrived to assist me.
We began to call each person out of the car at gunpoint, one at a time. Rocky interviewed each person. In the meantime our sergeant arrived with an off-duty officer who, it turned out, had been assaulted only verbally by two of the men in the blue car. Ben was uninjured and was still at the store interviewing witnesses.
The four men were arrested. Inside their car was a semiautomatic assault rifle and several boxes of ammunition. Later we discovered that the rifle had been modified to function like a machine gun. We also learned that one of the men arrested was a gang member with a long history of violence, especially against the police.
After our police reports were finished, we conducted a debriefing, during which I recounted the events as I remembered them. I told the others I had heard that the people in the blue car had assaulted a police officer. The room grew quiet for a moment, and then the sergeant said that no one on any of the radio frequencies had said anything about a police officer being assaulted. I looked around the room, and all agreed that no one had said anything about an officer being assaulted. I told them I had definitely heard someone report it.
Ultimately I concluded that the Holy Ghost had spoken to me in such a way that I would listen at a critical time. Had I not heard that an officer had been assaulted, I might have been less cautious—and I might even have lost my life.
I am deeply grateful for the voice of inspiration that put me on alert that day.

Now, let me tell you an interesting story about repentance. There was a man by the name of Syd who lived in a little Maori village on the east coast of New Zealand. At that time a large branch of the Church was there with about 400 members. One Saturday afternoon after a long, eight-hour drive, President Cowley arrived at this village and went directly to see his old friend Syd. As a young man, Syd had been an outstanding athlete. Some missionaries had taken him to America, where he attended high school and some college. He became a well-known basketball player and, as an all-star athlete, he received a lot of publicity. His picture was in the papers many times, and everybody knew about this fine athlete from New Zealand. He was ordained a seventy while he lived here, but when he went back to New Zealand he found he was the only seventy in the whole country. He didn’t have a quorum to belong to, and he became somewhat inactive. The first thing he knew, he was tampering with the Word of Wisdom and was in the habit of taking it easy. But deep within his heart he still knew the gospel to be true.

Now, as mission president and as friend, President Cowley called on Syd. Let me explain that among the Maori members and the missionaries, President Cowley was known as “Tumuaki,” a word of utmost respect meaning “president” or “beloved leader” in the Maori language. “Tumuaki” found Syd sitting in a rocking chair on his front porch smoking a big cigar. He didn’t stop chewing on his cigar as President Cowley sat beside him to visit. After they had talked and laughed for a while, President Cowley became serious and said, “Syd, I want you to come to church tomorrow.”

They both looked toward the old chapel that was nearby, and Syd said, “I think it would fall in! I haven’t been there for a long time. I don’t think I’d better risk it.”

President Cowley said, “Syd, I want you to be there. I’m going to do something important tomorrow.”

Syd inquired, “What are you going to do?”

President Cowley answered, “I’m going to release the branch president and put in a new one.”

Syd said, “Why don’t you just tell me who the new branch president will be, and then I won’t have to get myself cleaned up for church in the morning.”

President Cowley said, “Well, I’ll tell you who it is. It’s going to be you.”

Syd had that old cigar in his mouth. He pulled it out and looked at it and said, “Tumuaki, you mean me and my cigar?”

President Cowley said, “No, Syd—just you. We don’t need your cigar.”

Then Syd threw the cigar out on the ground in front of the porch. He thought for a moment, turned to President Cowley, and very humbly said, “Tumuaki, I don’t break the Word of Wisdom anymore. I’m a full-tithe payer. I’ll be the branch president, and I’ll be worthy. Tomorrow morning I’ll be there, and I promise you that I’ll be the best branch president in the whole country. You won’t have to worry about me and whether or not I’m living the gospel.”

For the next several years, Syd served as one of the strongest and finest leaders in New Zealand. His son became the first bishop in the ward when the stake was created, and his grandson was just recently released as bishop. His whole family is strong and active in the Church today and is one of the great families in New Zealand. Why? Because old Syd knew how to repent. He repented on the spot. When he was called to repentance, he quit his worldly ways. He became and remained a faithful Saint until the day he died.

I asked Janie first. She’s my baby-sitter. “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” she answered, returning to her book, “but I wish I had the blue dress in this catalog.”
It was a pretty dress.
“I’m saving my baby-sitting money to buy it,” she added.
I next asked Mom as she left for work, “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” she said, “but I wish the living room would be picked up and vacuumed. After work I must go by the dry cleaners, so I’ll be late.”
When my big brother came home from school, I asked him, “Jack, how can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” he replied, “but I wish for an A in geometry.”
That afternoon and evening Jack left the television off and worked hard on his geometry.
As soon as Dad came home, I asked him, “How can wishes come true?”
“I can’t tell you,” he answered, “but I wish my good suit was cleaned and pressed. I need it tomorrow.” Looking at Mom’s note saying that she would be late, he started picking up the living room. “Hmmm … it needs the full treatment,” he said. He wheeled out the vacuum cleaner.
“I wish I could ride my bike, now that you took off the training wheels,” I said as he was putting the vacuum cleaner away.
“Come on, I’ll help you practice.”
First he showed me how to stop and get off. Then he gave me some good starts, and I began to get the hang of it.
When Mom came home, she looked around with pleasure at the clean, inviting living room. And the next morning Dad was happy to find his freshly pressed suit in his closet.
That afternoon Janie seemed happy. She had received a birthday check from her grandmother. “In another week I’ll have enough for my blue dress.”
Jack came home, walked right past the basketball hoop he loved to shoot at, and went into his room.
“When’s the test?” I asked.
“Next week. I have three more study sessions.”
A week passed. I practiced every day riding my bicycle in the driveway. I had a skinned elbow, a bruised knee, and a scraped ankle, but I finally mastered the bike.
I was proudly riding it when Janie came by to model her beautiful blue dress for me.
“You look great, Janie,” Jack said as he came down the sidewalk. Then he grinned and waved a geometry test paper with a 94 on it!
How can wishes come true? Figure it out—I did!

In 1832 the Savior declared to the prophet Joseph Smith, “Behold, I will hasten my work in its time” (Doctrine and Covenants 88:73). Today, 193 years later, that hastening is evident in the work of the “gathering” occurring every day at the Tema Campus Institute Gathering Place in the Ghana Accra East Mission, where family history, missionary, and temple experiences converge to produce miracles.
The miracles in Tema began in September 2024 with the repurposing of an empty building that had formally housed the Ghana missionary training centre and two anchors: BYU Pathway and the Church Seminary/Institute program. Under the direction of two capable and visionary leaders, stake president Stephen Abu Jr. and Bishop Prince Mensah, multiple enrichment classes were added to the offerings available at the building. In less than a year, the influence of these programs grew tremendously, and the building with its programs became a powerful gathering place for the young single adults in the Tema Ghana Stake.
These offerings of spiritual and temporal instruction have attracted a consistent and increasing flow of students. These young single adults are between 18 and 35 years old, are predominantly male, and roughly half of them are “friends of the Church.” These young single adults come voluntarily every day, most of them at some expense and effort to make the trip, and they spend afternoons receiving this instruction after finishing required school classes or day jobs.
It was into this environment that a newly arrived single sister senior missionary was placed. Sister Betsy Thornton, from Utah, had accepted a calling to serve in the Ghana Accra East Mission. On her arrival, despite not having much experience in the subject, she willingly accepted the assignment to teach an institute family history class, having faith that Lord qualifies those He calls. With the aid of fellow institute instructor, Eric Osei Asare, help from some tech-savvy Pathway students, support from other resources, and by exercising a lot of patience, she put her shoulder to the wheel, and her class began to thrive.
Sister Thornton invited missionaries who were serving at the Tema Gathering Place to come teach about the importance of not only building FamilySearch trees but of also uniting those efforts with the blessings of the temple. As they learned about the importance of family history and began to build their trees, the students experienced great joy in discovering their ancestors and other family members on FamilySearch.org/Africa. In concert with the teachings of the temple, students began to be curious about the gospel of Jesus Christ. That curiosity turned into spiritual affirmations of truth and instilled in the members a desire to be baptised for their deceased loved ones. As for the friends, many of them felt the desire to be baptised themselves.
Recognizing the opportunity to build on this spiritual affirmation, Sister Thornton planned a visit the Accra Ghana Temple, where she would take her students to feel the power of the temple. Initially, 22 of the students signed up to go, but that number grew quickly as recently baptised members in the Tema Stake heard about the excursion and asked to join. From there, other young single adults, not wanting to miss out on such an opportunity, joined the group. Eventually, over 70 young single adults, both members and friends of the Church, committed to visit the temple.
On 13 June 2025, one-and-a-half busses filled with eager students pulled into the Accra Ghana Temple parking lot. The group was received by a crew of supportive area missionaries who assisted in hosting, teaching, and guiding at the temple. Following a group photo on the temple steps, the 22 Church members in the group, including seven new converts, were then ushered into the temple to participate in baptisms for their ancestors.
Plans were to take the remaining 50-plus students, friends of the Church, on a tour of the temple grounds, but in a wonderful and unexpected turn of events, a member of the temple presidency emerged and invited all of them to enter the temple waiting room, where he taught them about the nature of covenants and the blessings of the temple. It was truly a miraculous opportunity for each of them to receive counsel and absorb the peace available in the house of the Lord.
Words are barely adequate in describing the surprise, wonder, and reverence present in that experience. Many of the members and their friends later expressed their feelings about the temple, about how sacred, peaceful, and beautiful it was, and how they felt the presence of Jesus Christ and His love in His holy house.
Although the temple experience was the culmination of the trip, there remained other wonderful experiences for the students. Upon leaving the temple, they walked next door to the Christiansborg Stake Center, where students had the opportunity to hear from area family history and African history specialists. Some students were also able to work with specialists in the FamilySearch IT center.
Following those presentations, they had the opportunity to walk next door to the Ghana Accra Missionary Training Center. The privilege of entering this center was another life-changing experience. The new MTC president graciously greeted the group, bearing testimony about the work taking place there. Then, dividing the students into four smaller groups, MTC staff took the students for a real-time view of life there as a missionary. They toured the cafeteria, saw the outdoor field and exercise space, and peeked into the classrooms, where a number of languages were being taught. They noted the prophets’ names on classroom doors, photos on the walls that captured the history of the MTC and Church in Ghana, and marvelled at the diversity of missionaries there, commenting on the warmth, happiness, and spirit of the missionaries.
After a full and rewarding experience at the temple compound, the students piled back into the busses and headed home to Tema. This life-changing experience impacted both members and friends alike, as members felt closer to their deceased relatives and talked about preparations for serving missions, while friends began contemplating their own faith, many expressing a desire to join the Church. Several were even baptised in the days and weeks afterwards. As a result of the success of the excursion, the Tema center added another family history class for new students wanting to learn about these things, and another temple excursion was planned for August of the same year.
All who participated in this activity affirmed that the hand of the Lord is directing the affairs of the Church through programs such as FamilySearch, the Gathering Place, and other YSA programs. These programs strive to bolster the spiritual, educational, and inclusive community being cultivated at the Tema Campus Institute Gathering Place. The united efforts of all involved furthered the gathering of Israel through increased family history work, missionary participation, and temple ordinances. Those who are a part of this miraculous surge gratefully affirm that this is God’s time and He is directing the work at the Tema Campus Institute Gathering Place.

In celebrating the organization of the Young Ladies’ Retrenchment Association, the predecessor to the Young Women organization, the Provo Utah Edgemont South Stake held a program using the theme “Apples and Aprons.”
The theme came from the girls’ service activity that involved making aprons for missionary work. Each ward selected a different color of checked gingham, and each girl used her own pattern to make an apron with a pocket. Placed in the pocket was the girl’s written testimony along with her photograph and address. The aprons were sent to the missions presided over by members of the stake. They went to Denmark, Mexico, Argentina, and California.
The girls wore their aprons to the get-together, where they participated in activities that were common 116 years ago when Brigham Young organized the Retrenchment Association. These included a spelling bee, a cake walk, and jumping rope. Refreshments were also typical of that earlier time: milk, homemade bread, jam, honey butter, and apples. Raquel Lambert, one of the stake Young Women, said of the experience, “It encouraged us to be proud of our heritage, spread the seeds of our religion, and make new friends.”

“I was born and grew up in the community of Tooele, Utah, where my father managed a newspaper. As a youth, I worked at the newspaper office and also helped take care of the family cows. My brother, Joel, and I had the responsibility of not only taking care of our cows but, during the summer, also gathering our neighbor’s cows and taking them to the fields on the edge of town to graze on the grass. This is how I made my first money. Later, my brother and I worked on a eight-hectare farm on the edge of town which the family owned. We were teenagers and my father wanted to keep us busy.
“One day a neighbor came to Father carrying a list of things we were doing wrong on the farm. After the neighbor finished reading the list aloud, Father sat back in his chair, looked at him, and said, ‘Well, Jim, you don’t understand. I’m raising boys and not cows.’”

Some time ago, while serving as bishop of a YSA ward here on campus, I was helping a young lady with some questions she was dealing with. I used Lehi’s vision of the tree of life in chapter 8 of 1 Nephi as a reference to help her with some of her concerns. When we finished, she wondered out loud how come she was never taught to use the stories in the Book of Mormon in current, real-life challenges. She said her family read from the book often and that she had attended seminary and her Young Women’s classes and that she had a testimony of the Book of Mormon and knew it is true, but she had never realized its potential to be used in her everyday life. So, I wondered if others have the same concern. Let me walk through some ideas that may help you understand what I mean.

Marie Purcell, of the Massey Park Ward in the Auckland New Zealand Papatoetoe Stake, experienced the joy of this work when she and her parents sealed her beloved grandfather, Afele Schwenke, to his family—a blessing he did not receive in his lifetime despite his faithfulness and service to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Afele Schwenke, born on April 10, 1912, was deeply rooted in his faith and dedicated to his family. Together with his wife, Soala, Afele served the missionaries of Malaela Aleipata for nearly two decades. The couple opened their home to the missionaries, insisting they stay in their Western-style house while Afele, Soala, and their children lived in their Samoan fale. His generosity left a lasting impact, and his home became a place of gospel teaching.
Although Afele had a strong testimony and faithfully paid his tithes, he struggled with fully living the Word of Wisdom. His love for the Church never wavered, but he passed away in 1967 without receiving the blessings of the temple.
Years later, while reviewing family history records, Marie and her parents discovered that her mother’s sealing to her parents had not been recorded. Marie immediately felt a strong spiritual prompting—not only did her mother’s sealing need to be done, but also her grandfather Afele’s. His face came to her mind, and she knew that temple work needed to be completed.
Trusting this prompting, the family scheduled a sealing appointment. However, when they arrived at the temple, Marie realized they were not fully prepared with the required documents. They proceeded with other ordinances, but in the sealing room, both Marie and her mother felt a distinct sadness at leaving the ordinance undone.
Determined to finish the work, Marie and her parents scheduled another appointment. On April 6, 2024, they returned to the temple, fully prepared. Marie and her father would stand as proxies for her grandparents.
When the sealer called her mother’s name, a deep feeling of peace washed over them. Marie remembers tears flowing as they completed the ordinance.
Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the sacred work of the temple, Afele Schwenke and his wife, Soala, received the blessings of eternity.
As saviours on Mount Zion, we can offer our ancestors the same gift of exaltation Christ offers to us. Reflecting on the experience of sealing her grandparents, Marie shared, “I testify that the joy that comes from participating through family history brings eternal happiness.”
“I have felt those on the other side of the veil through this great and marvelous work. And I know that they embrace with excitement receiving these sacred ordinances, as I embrace with joy on this side of the veil uniting my eternal family.”
The sealing power reminded her that the blessings of the Atonement extend beyond the veil. As Doctrine and Covenants 128:22 invites, “Shall we not go on in so great a cause?”

Then, recently I visited the Junior Sunday School meeting in connection with the stake conference where I was assigned. As I entered the room I saw a little girl crying and looking very lost and very, very frightened. Her parents had just deposited her and gone on to the meeting with the big people. In a moment a wonderful young teacher reached her, knelt by her, and put her arms around her and comforted her. The sobs turned to sniffles and peace began to enter a little heart. Just then the second act in the drama began. Another youngster appeared and started to cry also, frightened and feeling alone like the other had. The young teacher, still holding the first little one, reached the second child, and knelt by her and enveloped her in her arms. As she did I heard her say to the first little girl, “Ellen, this young lady is frightened and lonesome. Will you help me make her feel welcome?”
The first youngster, her sniffles barely dried, nodded, and the two little children, in the safe haven of the teacher’s arms, supported each other and soon both were quieted. The teacher put three chairs together and sat between the two of them, a hand gently resting on each.
When I left that morning I thought I had seen as clearly as I am capable of seeing how the Lord expects us to treat each other, and how wonderful it is to have someone who has lived a little longer and learned to love, to reach out and help us, and then help us help others.