Gospel Story Finder

“I was in a fast and testimony meeting only last Sunday. A 15- or 16-year-old boy stood before the congregation and said that he had decided to be baptized.

“Then one by one boys of the teachers quorum stepped to the microphone to express their love for him, to tell him that he was doing the right thing, and to assure him that they would stand with him and help him. It was a wonderful experience to hear those young men speak words of appreciation and encouragement to their friend. I am satisfied that all of those boys, including the one who was baptized last week, will go on missions.”7

Elder Russell M. Nelson illustrated this point. He said: “I was serving as a consultant to the United States government at its National Center for Disease Control in Atlanta, Georgia. Once while awaiting a taxi to take me to the airport after our meetings were over, I stretched out on the lawn to soak in a few welcome rays of sunshine before returning to the winter weather of Utah. … Later I received a photograph in the mail taken by a photographer with a telephoto lens, capturing my moment of relaxation on the lawn. Under it was a caption, ‘Governmental consultant at the National Center.’ The picture was true, the caption was true, but the truth was used to promote a false impression.” We do not discard something we know to be true because of something we do not yet understand.

Fifth, whatever the cost of repentance, it is swallowed up in the joy of forgiveness. In a general conference address entitled “The Brilliant Morning of Forgiveness,” President Boyd K. Packer provided this analogy:
“In April of 1847, Brigham Young led the first company of pioneers out of Winter Quarters. At that same time, 1,600 miles [2,575 km] to the west the pathetic survivors of the Donner Party straggled down the slopes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains into the Sacramento Valley.
“They had spent the ferocious winter trapped in the snowdrifts below the summit. That any survived the days and weeks and months of starvation and indescribable suffering is almost beyond belief.
“Among them was fifteen-year-old John Breen. On the night of April 24 he walked into Johnson’s Ranch. Years later John wrote:
“‘It was long after dark when we got to Johnson’s Ranch, so the first time I saw it was early in the morning. The weather was fine, the ground was covered with green grass, the birds were singing from the tops of the trees, and the journey was over. I could scarcely believe that I was alive.
“‘The scene that I saw that morning seems to be photographed on my mind. Most of the incidents are gone from memory, but I can always see the camp near Johnson’s Ranch.’”
Said President Packer: “At first I was very puzzled by his statement that ‘most of the incidents are gone from memory.’ How could long months of incredible suffering and sorrow ever be gone from his mind? How could that brutal dark winter be replaced with one brilliant morning?
“On further reflection I decided it was not puzzling at all. I have seen something similar happen to people I have known. I have seen some who have spent a long winter of guilt and spiritual starvation emerge into the morning of forgiveness. When morning came, they learned this:
“‘Behold, he who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more’ [D&C 58:42].”4

Jennie shivered and drew the patchwork quilt more tightly around herself. She snuggled close to Susan. Outside the wagon, the wind whipped fiercely across the prairie, snapping the white wagon cover above her. Frightened, she wondered if the big wagon could withstand the raging storm. Papa had said the wagon was to be their home on the long journey to the valley of the Great Salt Lake. But suppose the wind shatters this old wagon, she thought, then how would Susan, Baby Sarah, Mama and Papa, and I get to the valley?
Although the wagon was cold and uncomfortable, it did provide pretty good shelter from storms, and it was large enough to carry the things that Jennie’s family would need to start their new home in Salt Lake. Besides all of Papa’s tools, there was a heavy iron blade for a plow. Mama, too, had packed many things. Her beautiful dishes were carefully wrapped in bedding and linens to protect them from breaking as the wagon creaked and jolted across the land. She had also packed a sewing box of scissors, thread, and needles. Along with the grain and vegetable seeds there were tiny packets of flower seeds. Lovely flowers blooming in the yard would help make their new house a home. There had been no room to carry furniture, so Mama’s beloved carved dressing-table had been sold, as had Papa’s chest of drawers and Susan’s framework for her bed.
Jennie remembered their pleasant home in Nauvoo. It had been hard to leave it, but cruel men had forced them to go. Papa had promised her that someday they would have a new home in the Rocky Mountains where they would all be safe and happy. Now thunder rumbled loudly across the prairie, and the wind moaned through the night. Jennie buried her head in her pillow and wished that the days of happiness and safety would come soon.
“Sister Quigley! Sister Quigley!” It was Brother Olenslager’s urgent voice. The light of his flickering lantern could be seen through the canvas wagon cover. “Are you awake? You must come. My wife is having her baby!”
“Yes, Brother Olenslager, I’m awake and I’ll come at once.”
Jennie heard Mama hastily dressing in the cold darkness of the wagon box. Tonight Papa was gone, for it was his turn to guard the horses and cattle. Jennie suddenly realized that she would be alone in the big dark wagon with four-year-old Susan and Baby Sarah.
“Mama?” she whispered.
“Jennie, I must go to help Sister Olenslager. Please watch after the little ones if they wake up.”
“Yes, Mama.” Jennie’s throat was dry and she could scarcely speak. How she wanted to cry out, “Don’t go, Mama. I’m frightened!”
“If I’m not back before morning, Jennie, you must prepare breakfast and prepare the wagon to start moving at daybreak. The morning bell will signal when it is time to wake up.” Then Mama slipped from the wagon into the wet night and was on her way to Sister Olenslager.
BOOOOM! A frightening clap of thunder directly overhead split the night, jolting Susan from her slumber. “Mama!” she cried.
“She isn’t here, Susan,” Jennie explained, trying to soothe her frightened sister. “She’s gone to help Sister Olenslager with her baby.”
“I want Mama,” Susan began to cry. “I’m scared.”
Jennie hugged her younger sister and said softly, “Don’t be afraid. Everything will be all right. I’m here with you. It’s just that this noisy storm woke you up! Go back to sleep now.”
Jennie held the trembling little girl in her arms, concealing the terror that she herself felt. Uninvited tears rolled down her cheeks and onto Susan’s blonde hair. Oh, if only Papa were here! she wished. He always laughs at storms. Jennie believed that Papa’s booming laugh was louder than thunder and his muscled arms stronger than a fierce wind.
“Shhh …” Jennie whispered. “Be still, Susan.” But the little one, shivering beneath the patchwork quilt, was not easily quieted. Soon her sobs woke Baby Sarah, who began to fuss and whimper.
All the while the storm grew wilder, and the rain beat unceasingly against the canvas. Lightning crackled, brilliant and white, and thunder boomed and echoed across the sky. A cold knot of terror tightened in Jennie’s stomach. She could no longer bring herself to speak to her sisters or to comfort them. Mama had told her to tend the little ones, yet she, herself, was frightened. Oh, what can I do? she wondered pleadingly.
Then Jennie remembered something Papa had told her before they had left their home in Nauvoo. He said that there would be times in her life when she might be lonely or frightened and that during those times she might have to do things that she felt she could not do all by herself. But even though he and Mama might not be close-by, she need never be alone. He explained that Heavenly Father was anxious to help her in times of need. He was eager to comfort her when she was fearful, and happy to be near her when she was lonely. All she needed to do was pray and ask for His help and her prayers would be answered.
Controlling her fear, Jennie sat up and knelt beside her two sisters. Then she prayed with all her heart for Heavenly Father to bless her and Susan and Sarah and be with them during the storm. When she finished praying, she crawled back under the covers.
Soon both Susan and Sarah were sleeping soundly next to her. As she lay beside them, Jennie felt the cold fear go away from her own heart, to be replaced by a warm calm. And weary from listening to the roaring of thunder, she, too, fell into a peaceful sleep.

Photographs by Cody Bell
Michelle was born with VACTERL association with hydrocephalus. “This means she has a lot of health problems,” say her parents. “But when Michelle hears there is something to be done, she will find a way.”
When President Nelson asked the youth to help gather Israel in 2018, Michelle T. of Oregon, USA, paid close attention.1
Then she decided to answer the challenge.
Almost immediately, however, she faced obstacles. Michelle wanted to get started with indexing, yet even with her membership number handy, she couldn’t sign up. Not with her parents’ help, and not with her grandparents’ help (and they are very big family history pros!).
Even after going into the nearby family history center, things still weren’t working. This, by the way, is highly unusual! Normally it’s a fairly straightforward process. When the volunteers at the family history center finally got Michelle up and running, they looked at her and said, “You must be meant for great things in family history, because you’re facing a lot of opposition right from the start!”
She has indeed gone on to great things in family history. In fact, a video she shared during RootsTech 2021 ended up being the #1 watched video from the conference. She has an inspiring story to tell! And it’s only gotten more inspiring since then.
Michelle can’t speak, so she uses text on her phone to communicate.
At first, Michelle decided to do a batch or two of names each Sunday evening. She joined a video call with her grandparents so that they could help teach her the ropes.
“It was hard!” she says. “Cursive is hard!”
However, she was not going to be intimidated. Michelle kept at it. As she started learning more and getting better, she decided to set a goal for indexing 1,000 names in 2019.
After hitting that goal, she set a much more ambitious goal for 2020—especially after the pandemic hit and she had more time available. She was soon indexing as many as 1,000 names each month!
As she kept indexing, bit by bit Michelle began noticing something interesting in her life—things were just simply getting better.
“I started noticing differences in my life,” says Michelle. “I felt healthier. I was kinder to my family. I felt calmer and more peaceful. I was happier! I wanted to do more good things. I felt the Spirit so much stronger! Indexing wasn’t just helping me, it was helping others.”
Michelle enjoys sewing and baking for her family. “It’s so fun to see them enjoy all the things I help create,” she says.
One of the other good things that began happening was an increased ability to focus on her other spiritual goals. “I was reading the scriptures more, especially the Book of Mormon,” Michelle says. “I also started studying my Sunday church lessons each week before class so I could be prepared for the discussions. Learning about my family history has become very important to me along with visiting the temple.”
I began to feel so much peace.
Life can be hectic. Lots of stuff can get in the way! But Michelle has learned the blessings that come from carving out enough time to do family history work. “When I started indexing, I began to feel so much peace,” she explains. “Then my family started noticing the peace I felt and it started flowing into the rest of my family. Our whole home just felt more calm and peaceful, and it is amazing. Jesus Christ is the source of peace. By doing the work that I have been called to do, I received a blessing of peace, the type of peace only the Savior can give. The best part is being able to share that blessing with others.”
Michelle loves teaching others how to do family history.
Clearly, Michelle has felt the blessings firsthand of how indexing blesses her life. She also has a testimony of how her efforts can also bless many other lives on both sides of the veil.
One experience she likes to share to teach this point is that her grandmother had been looking for a specific ancestor for a long time, without any luck. Then a few years back, somebody indexed the name of this family member. That’s all it took for Michelle’s grandmother to be able to find this ancestor at last!
“That story really motivates me,” Michelle says. Small steps connect many dots and bless many lives.
Is it easy to get started and find time for family history? Well, no. At least not usually. Most of us are going to have to shift a few things around in order to make some time. But here, too, Michelle has some tips to get going.
Michelle’s Family History Tips
“Be patient with yourself.”
Sometimes we think we need to learn and know how to do everything from the beginning. It’s not true. We can take our time to figure things out.
“Start small.”
Someone recommended in the beginning that I do a batch or two every Sunday evening. This was a small and easy goal. That made it doable and so much less overwhelming.
“Try multitasking.”
I learned to combine indexing with other things I love. Listening to music and audiobooks or doing video calls with my grandparents are things I do while I index.
“Keep it simple.”
With all the different things that can and need to be done, we can start thinking it is just too hard. That is when I start thinking about focusing on one step at a time, little bit by little bit.
Want to Help Michelle?
Michelle has inspired a lot of people with her story. And they in turn have wanted to help her. You see, sometimes Michelle has medical treatments for her unique health challenges that require her to take a break from indexing for a time.
A few people got together and decided to form an indexing group on FamilySearch so they can help index for Michelle to make up for those times when she’s unable. Anyone can join. If you want to help out, head over to FamilySearch.org and then look up the “Michelle Thornton” indexing group.

I am ever grateful to many of the Brethren for their examples of kindness and thoughtfulness to their wives. I well remember, when I was a stake president, the example set by the late Elder S. Dilworth Young of the First Council of the Seventy. At that time, his first wife, Gladys, was an invalid, having suffered a cruel stroke. She remained that way for many years before her death in 1964. Brother Young made the extra effort to dress her, feed her, and care for her. In all my life I have not seen a greater example of gentleness and solicitude than Brother Young showed to Gladys. He once told me, “It was the worst thing in the world that could have happened to Gladys and the best thing for me. It made me decent. I learned what love really should be.”

Twenty years later as a bishop, I had the opportunity to see the effectiveness of a council not just in the meetinghouse but also in the mountains. During a Saturday activity, a member of our quorum had been lost in the forest overnight. As far as we knew, he was alone and without warm clothes, food, or shelter. We searched for him without success.

My memory is that we prayed together, the priests quorum and I, and I then asked each to speak. I listened intently, and it seemed to me that they did too, to each other. After a while, a feeling of peace settled on us. I felt that our lost quorum member was safe and dry somewhere.

It became clear to me what the quorum was to do and not to do. When the people who found him described the place in the woods where he had gone for safety, I felt that I recognized it. But the larger miracle for me was to see a united priesthood council’s faith in Jesus Christ bringing revelation to the man with the priesthood keys. We all grew that day in the power of the priesthood.

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.

Natalie laid her head on the back of her seat and looked out the window. She tried to focus on the houses and cars flashing past. But it wasn’t easy. A bunch of older kids at the back of the bus were saying bad words again. Loudly. And it wasn’t just swear words, either. The things they were talking about were not things Natalie wanted to hear.
Natalie wasn’t the only one who felt uneasy. Her friend Katy frowned and stared down at her hands. Thomas looked at Natalie and shrugged his shoulders. The bad language was bothering all of them!
Natalie peeked back at the older kids. Then she hurried and turned around before anyone saw her. She could ask them to stop, but that thought made her stomach flip-flop. It probably wouldn’t do much good anyway.
She decided to pray instead.
Dear Heavenly Father, she silently prayed. Please make them stop.
Natalie finished her prayer and waited. Nothing happened. The older kids kept saying the same bad words. Katy was still staring at her hands. Thomas still looked uncomfortable. Why didn’t Heavenly Father do something? Why didn’t He make them stop saying those bad words?
Please, Heavenly Father, she prayed silently.
Then a thought came into Natalie’s mind: Talk to the bus driver.
She scrunched up her nose. Talk to the bus driver? What if he yelled at her? What if the older kids saw her and made fun of her?
The thought came again. Talk to the bus driver.
Natalie felt a peaceful feeling.
Help me be brave, Heavenly Father, she prayed. As the bus pulled up to her stop, Natalie took a deep breath and walked up to the bus driver.
“Mr. Avery?”
“Yeah?”
“Um … some of the older kids in the back are saying really bad words,” Natalie said quietly. But then she felt a little braver. Her voice was a little stronger. “It makes other kids and me uncomfortable. Is there something you could do about it? Please?”
Mr. Avery glanced at the back of the bus through the rearview mirror. He nodded.
“Thanks for telling me. I’ll talk to them.”
Natalie smiled and walked down the bus steps. She hopped off the last one and skipped home. She was feeling much better.
The next day, Mr. Avery smiled at Natalie as she got on the bus. “I talked to our friends in the back of the bus,” he said. “I reminded them that what they say affects those around them. I told them I didn’t want any bad language on our bus anymore. Let me know if it happens again.”
Natalie grinned. “Thanks, Mr. Avery.”
Natalie had a happy feeling in her heart. Heavenly Father had helped with the swearing. He didn’t make them stop. But He did help Natalie know what to do. He helped her be brave. And next time she needed courage to speak up, she knew she could do it with His help.

My parents, Apparecido and Mercedes, came from different religious backgrounds, but their life experiences prepared them to accept the restored gospel.
My father was raised in a good family but not religious. Nevertheless, as a young man he was interested in religion. He read the Bible, attended Bible classes, and studied the life of Jesus Christ. His studies caused him to have great interest in both the Savior’s gospel and the family, leaving him with a desire to marry someone of like mind.
By contrast, my mother came from a deeply religious family. They embraced gospel principles, attended church services, and faithfully practiced their religion. Growing up in that environment, my mother became the type of person who never missed a church meeting.
And so, after my parents married and my three brothers and I came along, they did their best to raise us within the light of their knowledge of gospel principles. One day my aunt, who was an inactive member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, said to my father, “You have four boys, dear. If you really want to raise a family centered in Christ and have God in your family, you need to go to my church.”
My father heard what she said, but he didn’t take any action until the day the full-time missionaries tracted in our neighborhood, knocked on our door, and began teaching us. He quickly realized that they represented the church my aunt had encouraged him to investigate.
One of the things that initially interested my parents in the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is the importance the Church places on the family and the teaching that “much of God’s work of salvation and exaltation is accomplished through the family.” Before they were baptized, my parents were so impressed with what they were learning that they invited neighbors to join them for the missionary lessons.
As they met with the missionaries, and continued studying the gospel after their baptism, my parents learned of ways “to bring up [their] children in light and truth” and how to spiritually “set in order [their] own house” (Doctrine and Covenants 93:40, 43).
They learned that “the family is central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children” and that “happiness in family life is most likely to be achieved when founded upon the teachings of the Lord Jesus Christ.”
They learned that “successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”
They learned that families can be eternal and that the “same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there, only it will be coupled with eternal glory” (Doctrine and Covenants 130:2).
And they learned that “the ultimate purpose of every teaching, every activity in the Church is that parents and their children are happy at home, sealed in an eternal marriage, and linked to their generations.”
With that knowledge, they desired to be sealed as a forever family.
After my parents were baptized, they practiced what they were learning, moving from the world to the gospel kingdom. They worked to unite our family by having home evening and family scripture study, faithfully attending Church meetings, and doing family history work. With those efforts toward unity, they hoped to create a family centered on the plan of salvation with an eye toward eternity.
In 1965, the year my parents were baptized, the closest temple to São Paulo, Brazil, was in Mesa, Arizona, almost 6,000 miles (9,650 km) away. Travel was too expensive for our family, so my parents had to wait until the dedication of the São Paulo Brazil Temple in 1978 before they could receive their temple ordinances and be sealed. At that time, I was serving a mission in Rio de Janeiro.

Ouch!” Caroline cried when she pricked her finger with a needle for the third time. Holding the quilt block to the light, she examined her progress. The rose she had been sewing with such tiny stitches bloomed bravely. She had one more block to sew, then she could begin sewing the quilt blocks together.
“Carrie,” her brother called excitedly from outside. The fresh salt breeze stirred her curls as she leaned out the window. The gray blue of Barnegat Bay was a beautiful sight with the wind ruffling the water and swishing the grass.
“Carrie,” Tom shouted again. “Father needs a message about supplies sent to Trenton.”
For three months Tom and Father had been passing information about King George’s soldiers up the coast to the patriots in Trenton, and she thought that Tom was sometimes carried away with the Revolution and their part in it.
Carrie and her family lived some distance from the center of their town with its white clapboard houses and tree-lined streets. As he mended nets or worked on his fishing boat her father was able to see things that others might miss. After he gathered information about ships or troops or supplies, he drove to Trenton in the wagon or sent Tom with a message. Tom thought it was a great adventure to saddle his horse Powder and deliver the latest installment of information.
Carrie worried that someone might discover the real reason for Tom and Father’s frequent trips, even though their messages were always hidden in barrels of salted fish, rolls of netting, or under Powder’s saddle blanket. Turning from the window, she crossed the room and picked up her sewing. She was busily unpicking a row of crooked stitches when Tom and her father came into the room.
“Carrie,” her father spoke quietly and quickly. “I’m afraid that the enemy suspects that Tom and I have been acting as couriers, so I’m asking you to take the message this time. We have a message that must be delivered. It’s a good thing that your mother is visiting Aunt Liza in Trenton so you’ll have a reason for going there.”
Carrie nodded her head in agreement while she repinned the applique pattern onto her sewing.
“Tom, hurry and saddle Powder while Carrie and I think of a place to hide the message,” Father urged.
Carrie listened eagerly as Father continued, “We can’t hide it on the horse or saddle. We’ve done that too many times before. Nor can we hide it in your boots or in the food or—”
Carrie, who was still working with the pattern for the quilt block, interrupted him as an idea came to her. “Father, I’ll finish unpicking the stitches around this rose, then we can slip the message between the rose and the quilt block. I’ll sew it up, pin the applique pattern on the top so the block will have a feel of paper, and it will be as safe as can be.”
Carrie showed her father where there could be a secret pocket between the rose and the quilt block. He took a folded paper from his pocket and slipped it into the hiding place she had made. Then Carrie quickly stitched the rose into place. Smoothing it, she put the block into her sewing basket and fastened the clasp.
“Quick, Carrie, there’s little time,” Father said as he took her dark blue cloak from the hook by the door and settled it on her shoulders.
“You are to ride straight to the Delaware Printing Shop on Front Street. John Grant will be watching for Powder. Give him the message and then ride to Aunt Eliza’s.” He looked into his young daughter’s eyes. “Tom and I will pray for your safe trip, my dear,” he said and gave her a quick hug.
Carrie picked up her sewing basket, gathered the cloak around her, and ran outside where Tom helped her onto the sturdy little horse that would carry her to Trenton. Tom squeezed her hand as he handed her the reins and then safely tucked the sewing basket and a packet of bread and cheese into the saddlebags.
Carrie pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and waved good-bye as Powder settled into a steady gait. Most of the journey would be along the lonely coast road. Powder knew this road so well that Carrie let him find his way while gulls wheeled above the boggy track. Just before Powder took the turn where the sandy path merged into the well-traveled main road, Carrie reined the horse in and offered a silent prayer for the success of the ride.
Powder’s hooves made an even beat on the hard surface of the road as they picked up speed and raced toward Trenton. Carrie was so concerned about her errand that she barely heard the shout of a soldier from somewhere in the gloom.
“Halt, young lady,” he repeated. The soldier was an older man who had a pleasant smile on his face as he stepped out of the shadows and greeted, “Hello, miss. What are you doing alone on this road so late?”
“I’m on my way to my Aunt Eliza’s in Trenton. My mother’s there and I’m to join her,” Carrie explained, shivering with cold and fear.
The soldier’s lantern made curious shadows when he held it up to look into Carrie’s face, then he said, “Well, miss, I’m sorry but I must search your saddlebags. Would you please dismount?”
The frightened girl scrambled down off the horse and stood beside Powder as his saddle was removed and his saddle blanket shaken. Then the soldier took the saddlebags and carefully unpacked them. He grinned when he found the bread and cheese, and handed them to Carrie whose mouth was so dry she knew she could never choke down the food Tom had packed for her. When the man lifted out the sewing basket, his eyes were eager. But his face fell when he opened it and saw only thread, needles, scissors, linen, and the quilt block. “What do you call that,” he asked, “knitting?”
Carrie held her voice steady as she shook her head and answered, “That’s a quilt block, and after I get the pattern right, I’ll sew some other blocks to it and then quilt them.”
“It’s pretty,” he said. “Back home we have a bush with roses as red as this one. I’m sorry that I had to stop you,” he added, putting the handwork back into the basket and repacking her saddlebags. Then he saddled Powder and helped Carrie onto her horse again.
Carrie breathed a prayer of thanks as Powder seemed almost to fly toward Trenton, carrying her and her father’s message safely inside the red rose of the Revolution.

Families and temples just seem to go together, and Sam loves his family even more than he loves temples. His brothers, Willie and John, who are twins serving missions in Uruguay and England respectively, are role models for him. He is especially close to his sister, Lea, a student at BYU. Five years ago Lea suffered a spinal cord injury in a car accident, and she now uses a wheelchair. Sam often paints with her and plays wheelchair basketball with her when she is home on vacation. “Sam’s very sensitive to the feelings of others,” Lea says. “Since I’ve been in the wheelchair, he’s always there to help.”

In December seven years ago, a 33-year-old mechanical engineer who was then maintenance manager of a big industrial enterprise in Manila seriously thought that a bad joke was being played on him. Someone had placed a copy of the Book of Mormon squarely on his desk while he was away for lunch.
Known in his company as a faithful member of a Christian sect with followers next in number only to the Catholic majority, he dismissed the situation with the contemptuous feeling that a slur was being made on his religious beliefs. The blue-covered book, however, looked good as a bookcase decoration, and he took it home only for that purpose.
Two months later, in February 1971, two young American missionaries knocked on the door of his home at 1558 de Pinedo street in San Andres Bukid, Manila. He was more than glad to let them in, not to listen to what they had to say but to debate with them. Counting on many years of Bible study behind him, he felt superior over the pair in terms of Biblical knowledge. He now recalls with a chuckle that, when the two missionaries began unfolding their message to him, he looked like Goliath in the face of two Davids (Elders Ferguson and Mortensen) as his offensive and defensive strategies crumbled away.
On May 15, 1971, barely three months afterwards, Felipe Guerrero Odulio was baptized at the Buendia chapel by Elder Kent Langston and confirmed by Elder Dean Cardoza.

And then there’s Natalia Yereskovska. As a 15-year-old exchange student, she left Cherkassy, Ukraine (south of Kiev), for Sleepy Hollow, Illinois (northwest of Chicago). She gave her LDS hosts quite a shock when, on the way home from the airport, she said, “I know God sent me to you.”
She had been praying to be placed with a religious family, “so I could find my spiritual life.” When she read the profile sheet of the Bruce B. and Jean Bingham family, she saw that they didn’t smoke and that they attended church regularly. But she also felt something, a witness that she should listen to the Binghams and follow their example. Natalia spent the next year participating in family prayer, home evening, Young Women, sacrament meetings, and Sunday School.
Her sensitivity to the Spirit grew. She found answers she’d been seeking for years. She took the missionary discussions. She fasted and prayed and received an answer that she should join the Church. Fearful that her parents would never approve, she gathered her courage, made her request, and received permission. She was baptized on January 7, 1996. But soon she faced concern of another kind. She must return to Cherkassy, a town of 350,000, where she would be the only Latter-day Saint.
“I was scared,” she says. “I couldn’t imagine going where there is no church, where I wouldn’t be able to go to meetings or take the sacrament. But on the flight home I remembered what Brother Bingham told me: ‘No matter where you are, you can be a light.’ That gave me some comfort.”
After spending two Sundays studying scriptures, praying, and singing hymns by herself, Natalia heard of an LDS youth conference in Kiev. She went, and there she met President Wilfried M. Voge of the Ukraine Kiev Mission. Together they mapped out the required steps for the Church to be recognized in Cherkassy. The process started with getting signatures on a petition inviting missionaries to come. But the request had to come from adults.
Natalia made friends with a university professor who once stayed with an LDS family in Wisconsin. He agreed to help, prepared an official letter of invitation, got a group of business students to agree to listen to the missionaries, and even arranged a meeting with the mayor of a small town nearby. After Natalia explained about Church standards, the head counselor of her school also signed the petition and requested that missionaries speak to the entire school!
In September 1996, the first missionaries came. In October, Church meetings were held. In January, the first convert was baptized. Then another in February. Then families. Additional missionaries were assigned. Young Women, Relief Society, Sunday School, and Primary were organized. Picnics and service projects were held. Men were ordained to the priesthood. A branch president was called. Natalia led one of her lifelong friends to the Church, and even the professor’s wife was baptized! In short, the branch kept growing and growing. Today, if you visit the Cherkassy Branch and ask for Natalia, five members will turn and say, “Yes?”
When Natalia first thought about establishing the gospel in her hometown, she was nervous. But President Voge said, “Heavenly Father will support you.” That kind of faith has paved the way for others.

It was one of those rare Sunday mornings when, for a very special reason, I happened to be at home in my own ward. We sat on the last row, and our only son, a tall, fine young man, walked up the aisle at the invitation of the bishop and stood by the pulpit. The bishop spoke about my son and presented him to the congregation for their sustaining vote to his advancement in the Aaronic Priesthood. We all voted, and I later had the great privilege, at the invitation of the bishop, to ordain my son.
Later that day, during lunch, he told his sisters about the events of that morning. He said it was kind of scary walking up the aisle and standing up before the congregation with the bishop. But he said, “When they voted, I looked down and saw Dad’s hand higher than all the rest, and I felt all right.” And he was right. I had lifted my hand just as high as I could get it. He is my son, and that is how I feel about him. The relationship between fathers and sons is a very special one.

Later in the book he presents a “condensed novel,” A Mormon Romance—Reginald Gloverson, in four chapters and eight pages. Reginald Gloverson, who has twenty wives, delivers a farewell speech to his family as he departs on a trip across the plains. In the speech he assures them that he will dream of his wives, of “you, Emily, with your mild blue eyes; and you, Henrietta, with your splendid black hair; and you, Nelly, with your hair so brightly, beautifully golden,” and on and on, concluding, less confidently, with Susan, “with your—with your—that is to say, Susan, with your—and the other thirteen of you, each so good and beautiful.” Of course, the wives answer in chorus. Reginald dies and the wives argue about who was his favorite and about which place each will have in the funeral procession. A decent two years later another elder comes to the home and, speaking to all collectively, proposes marriage to the twenty widows, who he will add to his present twenty-five wives. Ward becomes confused with the problem of tenses at the end and concludes that “writing Mormon romances is confusing to the intellect.”

Some years ago, as Sister Gong and I met a lovely family, their young daughter, Ivy, shyly brought out her violin case. She lifted out the violin bow, tightened and put rosin on it. Then she put the bow back in the case, curtsied, and sat down. A new beginner, she had just shared all she knew about the violin. Now, years later, Ivy plays the violin beautifully.

Like little Ivy and her violin, we are in some ways still beginning. Truly, “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him.” In these times, we can learn much of God’s goodness and our divine potential for God’s love to grow in us as we seek Him and reach out to each other. In new ways and new places, we can do and become, line upon line, kindness upon kindness, individually and together.

After two weeks of constructing carnival booths, baking cookies, and wrapping candy and prizes, the youth, of the Ventura California Stake were ready for their “Getting to Know You” session with retarded young people.
Nestled against low hills and surrounded by lush landscaping, the Camarillo State Hospital is home to over 200 severely retarded youths. These young people were greeted on a one-to-one basis by their “friends for a day” and led from booth to booth where they earned rewards for achievement, stopping now and then to sway and dance a little to a youth band.
In the afternoon, 150 more young Latter-day Saints joined the group, and it was not uncommon to see a patient, hand-in-hand with an LDS youth, being led around the crowd and personally introduced.
Randy Jabbs, in charge of one of the booths, commented, “This was a good project, a big learning process. It has let us know some of the problems to be coped with.”
Steve Moore, a young patient, said that the fish pond was his favorite booth and then summed it up for many others when he said, “Best of all, I found a friend!”

One South American stake president, for example, had spent a painful year looking for a job before finally enrolling in the Career Workshop. As a result of what he learned, he made some changes in the way he dressed, rewrote his résumé, prepared a 30-second introduction, and practiced interviewing. Armed with the skills he learned, he found a position as chief financial officer in a large business.

Visibility is generally low in Lake Mead in Nevada, and since we were diving shortly after a storm, we knew it would be very difficult to see. The weather, however, was beautiful. So we loaded our equipment on the boat and headed out. We beached the boat on a small island about 150 yards east of where we knew a large boat had sunk years before. After putting on our diving gear, we swam the distance on the surface of the water to the buoy that marked the location of the wreck.
Once we reached the buoy, we descended below the surface along the rope that held the buoy to the boat far below. Visibility was even poorer than we had expected. We held tightly to the rope as we continued our descent, trying in vain to see through the murky darkness which surrounded us. We could not see the wreck until we were within ten feet of it. For the next 40 minutes, we explored in and around the large boat.
When we decided it was time to return to the island, I indicated to my friend that we should return underwater rather than surface swim. Swimming underwater is far less strenuous, and I had no desire to repeat the exhausting surface swim which we endured before the dive began. Suspended a few feet above the lake floor, I looked at my compass and decided to head directly east. I had unwisely not taken a compass bearing before descending, but I had noticed that our boat was generally east.
My friend and I swam for about 20 yards before the lake bed dropped out of sight below us. We needed to maintain our current depth rather than descending with the lake bottom, so we continued east for another 50 yards. At that point my friend and I conferred. As we looked around, we could see no more than ten feet in any direction. The murky darkness around us was eerie, and we knew if our original compass bearing was off by a few degrees, we would miss the island entirely. We decided it would be safest to ascend to the surface and complete our swim to the island from there.
I checked my depth gauge. It said 55 feet. We began our ascent. Looking around, we could see nothing but dark green, murky water around us and our bubbles rising to the surface. We were being careful not to go up too quickly. A good rule is to not rise faster than your smallest bubbles. Our small bubbles were creeping past us, so we felt safe. After about a minute, I knew something was wrong. The light was the same, the temperature had not changed, and there was no easing of the pressure on our bodies. It did not feel like we were rising. I checked the depth gauge again. It said 58 feet.
What?
All that time I thought I was making positive progress, I was, in fact, sinking deeper into the depths below. I began kicking faster toward the surface and kept a close eye on my depth gauge because I now needed to rely on the instrument to guide me to the surface. The needle began to creep slowly upward.
My friend had adopted a similar strategy, and we moved together toward the surface. The murky darkness around us lightened. The water temperature began to rise, and the pressure on our bodies began to ease as we continued our ascent. When we broke the water’s surface, I felt an incredible surge of relief. Looking quickly at my compass, I realized we might have missed the island had we not decided to surface when we did.
As we broke the water’s surface, one thought struck me. I thought of Lehi’s vision of the tree of life where he sees many people pressing forward along the straight and narrow path toward the tree which represents the love of God. As the people progress, a mist of darkness arises to blind the eyes and harden the hearts of the people. Never before had this story hit me with as much force as it did that day at the lake. When I was below the surface, I was blind as to which direction to go and I had difficulty getting my bearings.
My compass and depth gauge helped me that day, but it would have been much easier to follow the same rope to the surface which we had held onto as we had descended to the wreck. I felt what a desperate state we can find ourselves in if we do not hold fast to the iron rod—the word of God—to keep us on the path toward eternal life.