Gospel Story Finder

Of course, there were political and social conflicts in the lives of some of our ancestors, but even these become instructional in the ways they dealt with their circumstances. John Davies was a loyalist during the American Revolutionary War. He had been instrumental in the establishment of the Church of England in America, which became known as the First Episcopal Society of Litchfield. These early immigrants had been taught that next to religion, loyalty was the cardinal virtue. They honestly considered that none but the infidel and traitor would venture to speak of revolution from the motherland. Some argued that any attempt to independence was rank ingratitude. They considered the king to be the head not only of their state but also of their religion.
John Davies recounts the challenge of building the first church in Litchfield, Connecticut, only to have it seriously damaged by soldiers of the Revolution. His cattle were run off by revolutionists and much of his property severely damaged because of significant persecution of those who had remained loyal to the king. Listen to this about John Davies:
“After the close of the war a man who had taken an active part in driving off a number of cattle from his farm, and had committed other acts of plunder, having become destitute, applied for relief in his extremity to Mr. Davies, who not only pardoned him for the wrongs he had done, but liberally relieved his wants.”

We are here to make choices and we will make many, many choices throughout our lives. When we are young, our parents help and encourage us, sometimes strongly encourage us, to make good choices. As we get older, though, we must learn to make those choices for ourselves. I recall an experience with my son Jimmy when he was about six years old, an age when you are starting to be more independent and wanting to make your own choices, or at least to have more input on those choices.

Jimmy was in first grade and we were living in Tucson, Arizona at the time. He had a friend in his class at school who had an earring and encouraged him to get one too. Jimmy came home from school and told us that he wanted to get an earring because his friend had one and he thought it would be a pretty cool thing to do. This was nearly twenty years ago, and even though the prophet had not given specific guidance for men not to wear earrings, neither Keri nor I felt that it would be a good thing for Jimmy to do. Not wanting to simply tell him no without an explanation or reason, and not really having a reason other than we did not want him to get an earring, I told him that I would think about it and let him know. After thinking about it for a few days, I sat Jimmy down and told him that we did not want him to get an earring because we needed to follow the example of our prophet and the other general authorities and since they did not have earrings, we should not have them either. I was expecting a little bit of resistance from Jimmy, and I was surprised when he simply accepted the decision and never asked again. A few days later, Keri picked up Jimmy from school and gave one of his friends a ride home. It happened to be the friend with the earring. As they were driving home, Keri overheard the conversation between Jimmy and his friend. His friend asked him when he was going to get an earring and Jimmy told him that he was never going to get one. When his friend asked why, Jimmy replied: “Our prophet does not have an earring and I might be the prophet someday, so I am not going to get an earring.” Though he did not fully understand at that age how one is selected to be the prophet, his heart was in the right place. He desired to follow the prophet and that desire helped him to in his choice to accept mine and Keri’s decision.

Shawn and Melissa Poirier, 16, are twins, born three minutes apart. Like most twins, they tease each other good-naturedly about who’s the most intelligent, who’s the strongest, and who’s the best looking. But there’s one thing they don’t tease about. That’s their testimony of the gospel.
“About two years ago, our parents were wondering what religion they should be,” Melissa says. “But they didn’t really know which Church would be right,” Shawn adds. Their father in particular talked with priests and missionaries from lots of denominations.
“Then the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door,” Shawn continues. “He felt inspired to let them in.” The parents began taking the discussions in earnest. “One night, after I had seen the missionaries come over and over and over, I decided to sit in. Then my sister eventually came in.” As the twins studied, they began to see a spiritual summit worth attaining. Baptism became an important step along the way.
“Our parents have not been baptized yet,” Melissa explains. “But they’re still working on it.” And they encourage Shawn and Melissa to keep climbing as members of the English-speaking Montreal Ward.
“I’m surprised at how easy it’s been,” Shawn says. “I thought it would be really tough to keep the commandments and laws of God and the standards of the Church. But I take it day by day, and I pray and then do what I feel in my heart is right. People seem to respect what I’m doing, and I love being a Latter-day Saint.”

That same day, the Martin company was still 325 miles (523 km) back on the trail, continuing to suffer from cold and inadequate food. A few days earlier, they had crossed the Sweetwater River to reach what is now called Martin’s Cove, where they hoped to find protection from the elements. One of the pioneers said, “It was the worst river crossing of the expedition.” Some of the rescuers—like my great-grandfather David Patten Kimball, who was just 17 years old, along with his young friends “George W. Grant, Allen Huntington, Stephen Taylor, and Ira Nebeker—spent hours in the frigid water,” heroically helping the company make the Sweetwater crossing.

Clara S., 15, Colorado, USA
Multiple times this year, I have had questions or doubts, so before I went to bed I would pray for answers. Often, the next morning my seminary teacher addressed my question without me even having to ask it. Going to seminary can be seen as a sacrifice, but I believe that it can help answer prayers. Heavenly Father knows what we need to hear, and he can provide us with that through seminary.

These words from a sobering, sweet letter written to me by a gallant, but modest, student now at BYU attest to a significant spirituality in one so young—one who rejoices in the many blessings he now has without brooding over those that are temporarily withheld from him.

I have now had leukemia diagnosed for fifteen months, although few people even know about it. My goal has been to lead as normal a life as is possible; hence, the subject rarely gets mentioned because most people I have encountered, doctors, included, tend to treat it as a tragedy rather than as an incentive to get one’s affairs in order promptly.

My parents took the news quite hard, perhaps because my brother died unexpectedly eleven years ago of undiagnosed causes. Most people are pessimistic; however, I have failed to see how pessimism would help me make the best use of my time which is of unknown length, not only for me, but for everyone.

Against medical and parental advice, I have since been married and am at BYU and we’re expecting a baby in July. I feel great and am truly enjoying the blessings that are coming from being married in the temple, studying the scriptures, working hard in school, and living each day rather than simply waiting to die.

Fifteen months ago, my then fiancée and I thought that if I could live long enough for us to be sealed, that would be all we would ask for. Therefore, we consider everything since then as a great gift from the Lord. We still dream and plan for a long family life together, and it gives us a certain comfort to know that our situation is in the Lord’s hands and is not bound by man’s limitations.

Like Job, this remarkable young man has avoided the usual human tendency when under stress to charge God foolishly (see Job 1:22).

As members of the Church today, some of us may find it easy to take these glorious eternal truths for granted. They have become second nature to us. Sometimes it is helpful when we see them through the eyes of those who learn about them for the very first time. This became evident to me through a recent experience.

Last year, just prior to the rededication of the Tokyo Japan Temple, many guests not of our faith toured that temple. One such tour included a thoughtful leader from another religion. We taught our guest about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness, Jesus Christ’s redeeming role in that plan, and the doctrine that families can be united eternally through the sealing ordinance.

At the conclusion of the tour, I invited our friend to share his feelings. In reference to the uniting of families—past, present, and future—this good man asked in all sincerity, “Do the members of your faith truly understand just how profound this doctrine is?” He added, “This may well be one of the only teachings that can unite this world that is so divided.”

For a time he lived in the home of Joseph Smith and relates this incident: “During the winter that I boarded with Brother Joseph … we had a number of prayer meetings, in the Prophet’s chamber. … In one of those meetings the Prophet told us, ‘If we would humble ourselves before God, and exercise strong faith, we should see the face of the Lord.’ And about midday the visions of my mind were opened, and the eyes of my understanding were enlightened, and I saw the form of a man, most lovely, the visage of his face was sound and fair as the sun. His hair a bright silver grey, curled in a most majestic form; His eyes a keen penetrating blue, and the skin of his neck a most beautiful white and he was covered from the neck to the feet with a loose garment, pure white: Whiter than any garment I have ever before seen. His countenance was most penetrating, and yet most lovely. And while I was endeavoring to comprehend the whole personage from head to feet it slipped from me, and the vision was closed up. But it left on my mind the impression of love, for months, that I never before felt to that degree.” (John Murdock, An Abridged Record of the Life of John Murdock, p. 26.)

“Is anyone still awake?” The first time I asked, I had received two whispered responses in the affirmative. Now, hours later, the silence answered that I was the last one in the room who couldn’t get to sleep.
It was my first night in the Missionary Training Center (MTC). That day, I had said good-bye to my parents, met my companion and the other new missionaries going to Italy, and been to the first set of classes. I was exhausted, but my mind was spinning with anxiety. “What have I gotten myself into?” I asked myself over and over. I didn’t know if I could really learn to be a missionary. Would I have the courage to fly to a foreign country and talk to strangers about the gospel? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be here. Tears started to roll down my cheeks.
Then I remembered something my mom had told me about her brother Larry. Uncle Larry served his mission in Uruguay and Paraguay in the 1970s. At first he had spent sleepless nights worrying about his inadequacies. When he felt like he couldn’t bear it anymore, he would get out of his bed, go into the bathroom, and kneel down to plead with Heavenly Father for peace. Somehow, with the Lord’s help, Uncle Larry made it through and served a faithful mission.
I felt some hope at this thought and crept down the hall to the bathroom. In the dim light, I knelt on the cold tile floor and sobbed. I begged Heavenly Father to grant me a feeling of peace so that I could have the courage to move forward.
I waited. Nothing happened. I waited some more, hearing only the sound of my crying. Finally, there was nothing to do but go back to bed.
In the moment before I fell asleep, the answer came. The Spirit filled my mind with a bright, warm impression of a beautiful place. Suddenly I knew that although I might have a hard time with fear in the beginning, if I pressed forward, I would get to where the Lord meant me to be. The thought filled me with peace, and I fell asleep.
The Spirit had hinted of beautiful things ahead. In hard moments during my stay at the MTC, I closed my eyes and remembered what I had felt. With prayer and hard work, I outlasted my fears.
It wasn’t long before I found myself in Genoa, Italy, with my new companion. In the kitchen of our apartment was a glass door that led to a balcony. I stepped out on the balcony and gazed at the city. I already knew and loved this city. This was the place I had seen in my mind’s eye that night at the MTC. I knew the Lord had led me to this moment, and I was right where I belonged.

The room is charged with competitive energy. Dancers in sparkling dresses and sharp tuxedoes swirl and spin on an open dance floor under brightly colored lights. The Brigham Young University DanceSport Ballroom Competition is in full swing, and the music and tension mount as more and more competitors fill the floor.
Then suddenly the din of the crowd quiets, and the competitive edge of the atmosphere dissipates as a new group of couples takes the floor.
Who are they? Special Olympics athletes and their volunteer partners are competing in their first-ever ballroom dance event. The music begins, and the crowd, with supportive enthusiasm, erupts into cheers as the couples begin to gracefully waltz across the floor.
From the sidelines, college sophomore Allie Edgington watches as her goal to create a Special Olympics dance event unfolds. It was a dream that was sparked, in part, by her love for her sisters. And now it is a reality blessing many lives and helping Allie and others understand how Heavenly Father loves His children.
Support and encouragement are second nature among Allie and her siblings. Their trials bring them closer, and their triumphs take them all higher. Allie’s brother and twin sisters were all diagnosed with Fragile X Syndrome, a genetic condition resulting in mental impairment and autistic behaviors.
Allie, an avid dancer, is a dance education major and a member of BYU’s touring ballroom team. In 2008 she was named Miss Provo, going on to become the first runner-up to Miss Utah 2009. As the title holder, Allie needed a platform or specific cause to promote. She showed her support for her siblings by promoting Special Olympics. For the past seven years Allie’s brother, Tanner, has competed in Special Olympics, a program providing Olympic-style athletic events for disabled children and adults.
However, Allie noticed that her younger sisters, 17-year-old twins Courtney and Cassidy, were reluctant to participate. “Our brother has done well in Special Olympics, and he likes it a lot, but we’re just not so into it,” Courtney explains.
Wanting her sisters to succeed, Allie started looking for ideas. “I got to thinking that maybe there was some way to get them involved, some way to help them be comfortable enough to participate,” Allie says.
When a friend mentioned that the state of Indiana had held the first Special Olympics dance event, Allie knew she had found her solution. Combining her dance education major with her Special Olympics platform and her desire to help her sisters, Allie hatched a plan to create a Special Olympics ballroom dance event in Provo.
The waltz music finishes, and the Special Olympics couples spin out and take deep bows for the enthusiastic crowd. Then they exit the floor and file into a row of chairs on the sidelines or go backstage to wait for their next event, the cha-cha.
Backstage, Courtney sits with her sister Cassidy and cradles a pair of high-heeled ballroom shoes in her lap. They are scuffed and very flexible. “They’re comfortable because Allie wore them out,” Courtney explains, “and now I get to use them.”
While lively music blares from the speakers, Courtney quietly talks about her sister. “I want to be like Allie. She dances a lot, and I want to do a lot of dance at my school.” Cassidy chimes in, “I’ve learned a lot from just watching her.”
More than just learning steps and routines, these sisters know that they’ve learned a lot about life by dancing with their sister. “I can have fun, even though some things are still a little scary. I can be comfortable,” Courtney says. When asked about what advice she would give to other teens, she adds, “Just get involved and do things that you don’t usually do. Get out and have fun!”
Allie’s idea helped her sisters to get out and have fun and, in the end, it was also a great way for the other athletes and volunteers to try something new.
Out by the dance floor, Emily Chai, one of the volunteers, sits with Connor Morris, her cha-cha partner. Like other athletes and volunteers, they’ve become good friends while learning to dance together. “After practices we all would stay and get involved in an impromptu dance party. I think we all just loved the interaction,” Emily says.
Interaction was one of Allie’s biggest goals for the athletes. Over the course of a few months, she taught six weekly workshops where the athletes were matched with a volunteer partner and learned to dance. “I hoped that the experience would give the athletes a chance to interact with people they really look up to and admire,” Allie explains.
For Emily, these workshops were one of the best parts of the experience. “It has been fun to watch the participants get really excited. I think that excitement became the whole reason I wanted to do this.”
The other competitors soon take their final bow, and it’s time for the Special Olympics athletes to perform the cha-cha. While everyone lines up and gets ready to go back onto the floor, Keilani Stolk, another volunteer, excitedly describes the feeling of dancing with the Special Olympics athletes. “It’s not about how good you are; it’s about having fun and being friends.” In Special Olympics, there are no winners and losers, only athletes trying their best and having fun.
Richard, a past member of the BYU ballroom touring team, adds, “It is so rare to have an event where you just care how everyone else is doing. I just want everyone to have fun and to do well.”
Under the bright lights these special dancers spin, twirl, and cha-cha to a chorus of cheers and claps from the crowd. It is clear from the smiles on their faces and the enthusiasm they show in their dance that, for these dancers, having fun and supporting each other is the goal.
“The athletes just have the most wonderful spirit about them,” Allie says, watching from the sidelines as her students perform. “Instead of focusing on those things they can’t do, they come and have so much happiness in the things they can do.”
Looking back on her experience, Allie knows that she has been blessed. Beginning a Special Olympics ballroom event allowed her to help her sisters, helped her move forward on her own goals, and strengthened her understanding of God’s love. Watching her students take their final bow, Allie says, “The athletes’ love for life is such a testimony to me of the purity and goodness that can exist in the world. They give so freely of their own love to everyone. I know that Heavenly Father loves them.”

“Once there was and twice there wasn’t a Turkish sultan who loved to eat. …” And so the story unwinds as you read of the gluttonous sultan who eats soup and rice and yogurt and bread and who daily weighs himself. He finds that he is “finally growing to be a fine figure of a ruler.” Soon the sultan doesn’t fit into his clothing and finally can’t fit into his bathtub. He diets. As the physicians try to cure the sultan of fatness, each fails and is sent to prison. Then the hamal arrives. (A hamal in Turkey, even today, is a public porter who can carry incredible loads.) In this Turkish folk tale it is the hamal who has straightforward answers to the sultan’s problems, and these make the story delightful!

“I’m heading up to Brice Lake to do some fishing. How about coming along?” My father was calling to me from out in the garage.
“Sure! Let me get my stuff out.” I had already made plans for the afternoon, but my dad was a busy man and I rarely had a chance to go fishing with him. We loaded the yellow canvas canoe on our battered station wagon, packed a sack lunch, and were on our way.
It was overcast, and in the distance, rain was pouring from the clouds. Our destination was in Chestnutt Canyon, a seldom-frequented mountain valley. Brice Lake was fed by icy streams and could only be reached by an arduous dirt path.
As the car crept along the precarious switchbacks, I attempted to strike up a conversation; however, it soon tapered off. An occasional roar of thunder was all that could be heard over the constant whine of the straining engine. By then, we had passed through four Alpine showers and the monotonous swoosh of the windshield wipers began droning me to sleep.
With a jerk I awoke, dripping with water. A chuckle sounded behind me, and turning, I saw my father holding an empty cup and wiping his hands dry. We unlashed the heavy canoe, tied our equipment inside, and hefted it upon our backs.
Hiking up the slippery mud trail into the dark and dripping forest, we caught the aromatic scents of pine and aspen. The crisp air held the taste of recent storm, and its moisture tickled the back of the throat. At times, I lost my footing and would fall with a crash; but my father, being patient, would ask if I was all right, then help me up. Nothing more was said as we trekked along, taking in the environment and the joy of being together as conversation.
We laid the old canoe in the water and shoved off. There was no need to call strokes since we almost read each other’s thoughts. Slicing through the clear water to an already prearranged spot, we began our day. We sat through two thundershowers, weaving our lines with the lake as we glided along the banks, not speaking often but with perfect communication.
That day we caught no fish and spoke less than 20 words, but we had shared something, something difficult to express in words. I knew my father loved and cared about me, and I loved and cared about him. It was a time when the feelings between us were so clear yet unspoken. I had begun to know my father, a strong and quiet man, one that cared about others and the world around him.
Loading up the gear, we left for home. While coming out of the mountains, we viewed the valley below, pierced with majestic pillars of sunlight. I was glad I’d come.

I will never forget the family home evening lesson we had during a power outage. Without power we could not read anything, and I thought that family home evening was going to be a disaster.
“How will we have family home evening without being able to read a message from the Liahona, or how will we be able to sing from the hymnbooks without light?” I thought to myself.
Fortunately my sister came to the rescue. She had the great idea for us to sing the hymns we knew by heart and then share what we had learned the Sunday before. We all shared a principle and learned from one another. In my opinion, learning together is the purpose of family home evening. I am certain that the Lord was very pleased that we kept the commandment to have family home evening, even without lights.

While going through my e-mails one morning, I noticed a name I could not place: Enrique Jorge Dias. The subject line read, “Saludos [greetings] from a golden contact.”
I had no idea what the message might be about, and I considered hitting the delete key. Curiosity got the best of me, however, and I opened it. It was written in Spanish.
As I read, I learned that when Enrique Dias was 18, he was living in Adrogué, Argentina, where I served as a full-time missionary more than 30 years earlier. One morning as he was walking through the center of town, I stopped him and handed him a pamphlet about the First Vision. My companion and I, in accordance with instructions from our mission president, often spent mornings handing out pamphlets on the sidewalks of Adrogué. We probably spoke with hundreds of people, though we seldom got their names. Most of our conversations lasted no more than 30 seconds.
More than three decades later, there was no way I could remember speaking to a young man, but he remembered me. A few weeks before I received his e-mail, I had posted my name on the Argentine Mission Web page, where Brother Dias had found it.
In his e-mail he explained that he took the pamphlet home and showed it to his mother, who encouraged him to learn more about Joseph Smith. By the time he tried to find the missionaries a few months later, I had been transferred to a new area.
Enrique received the discussions and was baptized and confirmed. I labored in Argentina for another 20 months but never heard anything about his baptism.
The brief conversation we had shared in the street that morning long ago had transformed his life and the lives of many others. Two years after his baptism he was called on a mission to northern Argentina. Afterward he married and continued faithful in the Church, serving in a variety of callings, including bishop, counselor to two stake presidents, and high councilor. He added that his oldest son had served a mission in La Paz, Bolivia.
Words cannot express the joy that came to my heart from reading that e-mail message. My mission was filled with many gratifying moments, but this long-delayed news from Enrique Jorge Dias made all of my memories of serving as a missionary even sweeter.

A short time later a chapel was built for our branch. At that time Church members could help build the meetinghouses. My job was to pick up nails and screws that had fallen on the ground so they could be used again. It was a simple job, but it was very important to me. It taught me how to serve, and it helped prepare me for future Church service. Remember that even though you are young, the things you do now matter.

Do you know what it means to minister? Think about this question while I tell you about a girl named Chy Johnson.
When Chy started high school last year, she became the victim of cruel and thoughtless bullying. She was mistreated, shoved, and taunted as she walked to class—some students even threw garbage at her. You have probably seen people mistreated like this in your school too.
For too many people, the teenage years are a time of loneliness and fear. It doesn’t have to be this way. Fortunately for Chy, there were young men at her school who understood what it means to minister.
Chy’s mother had asked teachers at the school to help stop the bullying, but it continued. She then contacted Carson Jones, an Aaronic Priesthood holder and the starting quarterback of the football team. She asked him to help her find out who was doing the bullying.
Carson agreed to help, but in his heart he felt that he could do much more than just identify the bullies. The Spirit whispered to him that he needed to help Chy feel loved.
Carson asked some of his teammates to join him in ministering to Chy. They invited her to sit with them during lunch. They walked her to class to make sure she was safe. Not surprisingly, with football players as her close friends, no one bullied Chy anymore.
This was an exciting season for the football team. But even with the thrill of an undefeated season, these young men did not forget about Chy. They invited her to join the team on the field after games. Chy felt loved and appreciated. She felt safe. She was happy.
The football team went on to win the state title. But something more important than a football championship happened at their school. The example of these young men has motivated other students to be more accepting, more friendly. They now treat each other with more kindness and respect.
National news media found out what these young men had done and shared their story across the country. What began as an effort to minister to one is inspiring thousands of others to do the same.
Chy’s mother calls these young men “angels in disguise.” Carson and his friends are quick to say that Chy has blessed their lives much more than they blessed hers. That’s what happens when you lose yourself in serving others—you find yourself.2 You change and grow in ways that would not be possible otherwise. These young men have experienced the joy of ministering and continue to seek opportunities to bless others. They are anxious to extend their ministering in the coming months when they serve as full-time missionaries.3

Sister Mary Robinson shared a heartwarming experience that she had with her family while they served. “It was easy for me to volunteer for this project as I thought it would be a great opportunity to enlist my children in service and to teach them some new skills in the process. We started with a conveyor belt system, which was great to begin with, but it didn’t take too long to descend into something like chaos. Everyone wanted it to be their turn with the sewing machine, as they were thoroughly enjoying how fast they could get it to go.
“I spent most of my efforts re-organising their work, unpicking stitches, re-threading the machine, and so on. My husband, Lee, helped the boys with the machine, and my six-year-old daughter was trimming the threads. My four-year old’s counting efforts consisted of throwing the bags in the air and hoping they’d land in some sort of pile. I was ironing them back into shape and hemming the tops with the help of my 11-year-old daughter, Rosa, and musing to myself that it would be so much quicker and easier for me just to do them myself.
“Just as I’d finished that thought, Rosa quietly whispered to me, ‘Mum, this is great seeing my prayers come true. I’m always praying that the poor will get what they need, and now I’m helping them too.’ My heart melted, and I was so grateful for every tiny hand and for every loving heart that was so willing and happy to help. I didn’t see the mess or chaos after that, just the love they each had for their fellowmen. I was reminded of how richly we are blessed as we reach out and serve, and how willing the Holy Ghost is to teach and mould us into a more Christlike version of ourselves as we do. And more than that, how incalculably valuable it is to teach these lessons to our children.”

Now a second story . . . the August 2006 Ensign provides a touching story of Liz Shropshire, who was a single adult member of the Church living in California. Liz was also a music teacher and composer. She decided to “visit Austria because of its rich musical heritage.” “Shortly after Liz purchased her ticket to Europe, she heard a heartbreaking radio account about the ‘ethnic cleansing’ of minority groups then taking place in Kosovo. Liz says that as she heard of the suffering of these people, her heart became so filled that she felt that she needed to be there”. To make a most touching story short, she did go to Kosovo to share her musical gifts with the suffering. Her music brought a glimmer of joy to hundreds and then thousands of people who had so little joy in their lives. Over time she spread her message of hope through music to other countries—benefiting now over 8,000 people. Liz says, “I knew that what I’d been doing in Kosovo felt more right than anything else I’d done in years. Before I came, I felt I’d just been living for myself. Looking at various experiences I’d had in my life, I felt that this was something I’d been prepared to do. I used to think that being rich simply meant having money. But I have realized that being rich means being able to share whatever it is we’re blessed with. Although I have never had less of the things of the world than I have now, I have never been so rich.”

Acknowledging that their family has gone through some difficult times, Elder Gose and Sister Arouma Mata’utia recently shared why they are serving a second senior mission with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“We love the Lord, we want to obey our covenants of consecration, and we want our children and grandchildren to be blessed,” Arouma said.
When applying to serve as senior missionaries in Apia, Samoa, Arouma answered one of the questions, explaining, “I can walk about 15 minutes, and my husband can walk about 30 minutes before having to stop and rest, but we don’t need a wheelchair.”
Gose corrected her by stating, “I can walk an hour. Whatever the mission requires us to walk, we’ll walk. It doesn’t matter how far.”
Spend a little time with the Mata’utias and you will quickly learn that this is how they approach life. One step, one day at a time.
Gose and Arouma Mata’utia grew up in Samoa, married, and then raised their seven children, and three other children they call their own, in Australia. They also have 10 grandchildren. They say with big smiles, “Our children complete our joy.”
In 1993, they were involved in a severe car accident with six of their children. It took many months to recover from serious injuries, including brain injury, broken bones, and the loss of one of their children’s arms. They could not understand how something so terrible could happen to them, but they came to realise that they were “very blessed to survive.”
While still recovering, Gose accepted the request by Church leaders to be president of a Samoan branch in Canberra, Australia. He did that from his hospital bed for about a month, and then continued to serve as the branch president for 10 years.
After that life-changing accident, they both believed their lives were spared, and it strengthened their commitment to live the gospel. Arouma said, “We felt the need to give back to the Lord.”
They encountered more challenges when Gose suffered a stroke in 2015. After an extensive time recovering from that, their oldest daughter became sick and died three years later at the age of 38. At the time of her death, Arouma recalls, “Words came to me that Heavenly Father was telling me, ‘She is my daughter, too.’” They were comforted.
When contemplating whether to serve a senior mission, they describe their love of a scripture, Matthew 19:29, “And every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, or lands, for my name’s sake, shall receive an hundredfold, and shall inherit everlasting life.”
Gose and Arouma decided to serve a senior mission for the Church of Jesus Christ after President Russell M. Nelson visited Australia and spoke about missionary service. They were called to serve in 2020 as welfare and self-reliance missionaries in the Australia Sydney Mission.
Although COVID affected the world during that time, they were able to continue their mission in Sydney. They learned to teach via video calls and taught English Connect as a pilot program.
Another daughter died from cancer in 2023, also at the age of 38. The Mata’utias remember her as especially faithful. Arouma said, “She desired and continually encouraged us to serve a second mission.”
They expressed gratitude to be returning to their homeland of Samoa to serve their second senior mission. Gose said, “We will leave it to the Lord, and He will bless us and our family.”

When she paused between arithmetic problems to look out the schoolhouse window, Julia thought about how Billy Johnson would have sweet rolls in his lunch again. Resting her pencil eraser on the unfinished problem, she pictured the package of rolls as he always produced it from his jacket pocket at noon. He would lay it on his desk and look around at everyone else to make sure he had their full attention before unwrapping the wax paper and revealing two rolls in all their splendor, filled with apricot jam and crowned with white frosting.
Julia’s stomach rumbled. Although her family had not really been wanting for food since they’d moved five months ago, she seemed always to be hungry. Most of it was a hunger that the boiled navy beans in her pail wouldn’t satisfy.
Her brother flashed her a grin when she looked his way. “I’m hungry,” he mouthed.
She raised her eyebrows and looked toward the clock. Twenty more minutes.
The teacher was hearing third graders recite the multiplication tables: “Four times five is twenty.” “Four times six is twenty-four.” “Four times seven is twenty-eight. …”
Julia bit the end of her eraser and stared at her own problem: What is the simple interest on a loan for eighty-five dollars for eighteen months with an annual rate of eleven percent?
There’s no sense thinking about rolls, she told herself. But she couldn’t get the thought of them out of her mind. Had she ever eaten sweet rolls? She wondered. She couldn’t remember the taste—only the smell, buttery rich and fruity rising out of Billy’s wax paper every day.
Get back to the problem, she scolded herself. Multiply first. What next? She worked out the first part of the problem:
$85 x .11 ——– 85 850 ——– $9.35
Loans! That’s why they had had to move and didn’t have much money for food. When the drought had come, there had been loans against the farm to buy seed. Loans against the cattle and then the horses, until they had had to be sold. Loans for more seed and for a hospital bill. Everything had finally been forfeited to the bank—as had almost all the other farms in the area. What would a bank do with all those farms and all those thin cattle and hungry horses?
Next, eighteen months is a year and a half, so multiply nine dollars and thirty-five cents by one-point-five.
Seven years of crop failures and loans. The last time Dad made a wheat crop, I was five years old, Julia thought. No wonder I can’t remember the taste of sweet rolls.
The schoolhouse door and the windows were open to the filtered light that made the month of April so hopeful. Snow still filled the ditches beside the road, but at recess Julia had heard water running under the snow and had seen it through holes her brother made by poking a stick through the crusty snow. Perhaps this year there wouldn’t be a drought. Last year they had lived on wheat that Dad had scraped out of the granary of an abandoned farm. This year there were navy beans. Maybe next year her mother could make her sweet rolls to bring to school.
Julia’s stomach rumbled again as she pictured Billy Johnson licking the frosting from his fingers the way he did every day.
Two more arithmetic problems.
Julia touched the eraser to her lips, considering. A merchant makes fifteen percent profit on clothing he sells in his store. He sells $5,082 in clothing one year and $4,237 the next. What are his total profits for the two years?
Who makes profits? Billy Johnson’s dad. He must be a rich merchant to buy all those sweet rolls.
And all she had were beans. Cold beans. All cooked from the huge sacks of beans brought with them last November when Uncle Fred had moved them the six hundred sleety, wind-whipped miles to his home in Michigan.
Uncle Fred had been cutting and hauling cedar fence posts, expecting to trade them for wild horses to sell at a profit. But none of the ranchers were building fences. Why put up fences for dying cattle? None of them had horses to trade, either. If he had gotten horses, Julia and her family would still be in Dakota.
A Crookston garage owner had let them stay all night in his shop. It had a wood fire, so Uncle Fred stoked it with some fence posts and said that if he couldn’t use them for barter, he might as well burn them.
Since November Dad and Uncle Fred had been cutting more fence posts in the cedar swamp. Their whole family was cramped into one room at Uncle Fred’s—along with their three beat-up mattresses and Mom’s cookstove. Every day Mom cooked up a pot of beans and sent it and three bowls and three spoons to school with the children.
Julia was writing down the merchant’s two-year profit, $1397.85, when the teacher announced the lunch hour.
Julia stood in line with the other girls to wash her hands in the wash pan in the entryway. She watched Billy Johnson pull the package of sweet rolls from his jacket pocket and head back to the classroom. Her mouth watered as she saw the sweet jam oozing from the coils of golden bread. “Those look good,” she said to the girl next to her.
“They’re stale,” the girl said. “His dad buys them by the bushel to feed his hogs. He gets them really cheap from a bakery in Grand Rapids.”
Julia thought a bushel of sweet rolls, even stale ones, sounded pretty good. “How do you know?”
“My mother got a bushel there once,” the girl replied, rocking on her heels. “Some of them were moldy. Most of them were just powder-dry. But it’s easier for Billy to grab up a package of rolls than to make a sandwich. Besides, I doubt if they even have stuff for sandwiches. They’re having a hard time getting by.”
“If Mom only had the things to make some rolls, …” Julia began.
“It wouldn’t matter if Billy’s family did have the stuff to make rolls,” the other girl said. “His ma’s dead.”
Julia thought about that. She thought, too, about her mom, who loved her and who cooked beans for them. Today the beans would taste better than ever. Even better than a sweet roll.