Gospel Story Finder

Before their move to Broken Hill, the Kowalski family lived in Ipswich, Queensland, on Australia’s east coast. It’s a nearly tropical area, green and lush and close to some of the finest beaches in the world.
Then Jared’s dad took a job as a dentist for one of the mining companies, and the Kowalskis moved to Broken Hill. In the middle of nowhere. Or at least on the edge of nowhere. And Jared couldn’t be happier.
To some, the red, sandy soil of the outback may be a poor trade for the golden beaches near Ipswich. But to Jared, the snakes and odd lizards and other creatures of the outback are fascinating. In addition to the dogs and fish and other pets that any family might have, Jared has a small backyard menagerie with a bearded dragon lizard, a shingle-back lizard, turtles, finches, and quails—oh, and his carpet python, Monty.
Jared’s interest in animals goes even further. On some Saturdays, he helps the local veterinarian in his surgery, handing him instruments. “I thought it would be interesting,” he says, “so I asked if I could help.”
And if Jared could travel, where would he go? He doesn’t have to think that one over for long. “The Amazon rain forest,” he says. “There’s all those interesting plants and animals. That’s where I’d like to serve my mission, too. I think the people there would be interesting as well.” As much as Jared likes animals, you find when you talk to him that his greatest appreciation is for people.
A good prospector must look beyond the surface of the rocks to see the treasures they might hide. Jared’s that way with people. When you ask him if he feels isolated here in Broken Hill, he says, “I like it. There are some good members here. The best ones are old. They’ve got a lot to tell you. Most of them are really spiritual.”
The branch in Broken Hill is small, and Jared is the oldest Aaronic Priesthood bearer. He’s conscious of the example he has to set for the younger boys, to show his brothers and the other boys “the right things to do.” And the priesthood itself? “It just feels good. You feel special—a lot more confident when you have to do hard things, like tests at school.”
One of those right things to do is home teaching. “I like to home teach,” Jared says. With his senior companion, Lee Robertson, Jared visits five families, offering the prayer when asked. Jared likes people, and home teaching helps him get to know these families better. (It doesn’t hurt that Brother Robertson is also an outdoorsman. He and Jared sometimes talk about hunting wild pigs in the bush, and Jared is looking forward to getting his own compound bow, maybe doing some hunting himself.)
Jared has struck it rich in Broken Hill, all right, but he would also be the first to admit that he brought his greatest treasure with him. The Kowalski home on Cobalt Street is modest, but it’s filled with family and love. As Jared puts it, “We have heaps of fun. We have family home evening, go to the movies. I go camping with my dad.”
The family also reads the Book of Mormon together. Sometimes it makes Jared feel inspired; sometimes it’s hard to understand. But it does help contribute to his growing testimony. “I’ve already got a big testimony of prayer,” he says.
When Jared’s mission call comes a few years from now, it may not be to the jungles of the Amazon. But you know that wherever he goes, he’s going to be happy and successful.
Some people look at a place and think of it as nowhere. Then a guy like Jared comes along and turns it into his own personal somewhere. Like those first prospectors, Jared has found a vein of treasure. He’s rich in the best possible way.

Grandmother also composed poems and hymns and was a great example of obedience to the law of tithing. She grew flowers and sold them at market, and from the proceeds kept the Lord’s portion in a little plastic purse. She was deeply spiritual and taught the gospel to all of her family. Once when my father resisted her, she told him that one day he would bear his testimony from the pulpit.

“That’s something you’ll never see,” he replied. But eventually both he and my mother, as well as we children, served full-time missions in different parts of the world, including El Salvador, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Uruguay, and Spain.

Several months ago I left my country to go to one where I knew only my sister and her boyfriend. At church I felt like an outsider. Two or three months went by, and I felt the same feeling of loneliness until I decided to smile at others and ask, “How are you?” Each Sunday that went by, they were saying more to me than the simple “I’m fine.” It also helped to participate in seminary and Mutual and to work on Personal Progress with other young women. Now I feel comfortable at church, as if I were at home.
Vanessa B., 17, La Vega, Dominican Republic

Mom took Anna shopping for a new dress.
How about this one?
No, thank you.
All right, do you like the yellow one with flowers or the red one with dots?
But you like these colors. What would you like instead?
I want one of these dresses so I can look like the missionaries.
OK. Let’s see if we can find a dress in your size.
Anna loved the two sister missionaries in her ward. They shook her hand at church, they smiled when she waved at them on the street, and they prayed with her family when they came to dinner.
On Sunday, Anna could hardly wait to show the missionaries her new dress. When she saw them at church, she twirled around for them.
I look just like you now!
You do look just like us.
And you don’t just look like a missionary; you are a missionary!
Your mom told me you’ve been praying for us all week like we asked you to. And look! We brought someone to church today. Your prayers have been helping us.
Thank you, missionary Anna.

Growing up in a faithful, active Latter-day Saint family, I never thought that one day a child of mine would leave the Church.
My husband and I had married in the temple and eventually had seven children. We did everything we could to obey the counsel of the prophets. We taught our children the gospel, shared our testimonies with them, attended Sunday meetings together, held family home evening, prayed daily both morning and night, and read scriptures as a family. None of our actions, however, prevented our son from leaving the Church.
In my sorrow I turned to the Lord for strength and came to understand more clearly the role of agency in our lives. Still I wondered, “What more can I do? Certainly there is something I can do to bring him back to the truth.” I prayed for our son, but I felt I wasn’t doing enough. Certainly, if I had enough faith, wouldn’t he change?
Such thoughts ran through my mind as I went to sleep one night. Heavenly Father saw fit to answer my questions through a dream. It was a simple dream, but for me its meaning was profound.
In my dream I was standing in the middle of my vegetable garden. I had planted and watered the seeds, but the plants had not begun to grow. In my dream I told my plants to grow. I nagged them to grow! Then I began to laugh at myself. The very idea of trying to get my plants to grow by telling them to do so was absurd.
Then I awoke. I immediately understood my dream’s meaning. My son was the seed I was trying to get to grow. But just as I could not make the garden seeds grow, I cannot make my son change. Inherent in each seed of my garden is a God-given ability to grow, and it is God who directs the growth of each seed. Likewise, my son has the ability to grow because he is a spirit son of Heavenly Father. But if growth and change are to occur in his life, they will result from his agency coupled with God’s power.
In my dream garden, I planted the seeds, watered the garden, pulled out offending weeds, and sought in every way to nourish my seeds. Likewise, in my role as a mother I plant seeds in the lives of my children. With Heavenly Father’s help, I teach them, try to be an example for them, share my testimony with them, and love them, doing all in my power to be an instrument for good in their lives. Then I must wait. In due time the Master Gardener will help the seeds to grow.
In the meantime He helps me to wait with patience. He fills my heart with hope. He reminds me that I am doing all that He requires of me. He gives me daily evidence of His love. In every way I need, He supports me.
So I will wait, pray, trust in His promises, and continue to plant seeds. The harvest will come.

I should like to repeat a beautiful experience, which is very touching to me. I hope Bishop Featherstone won’t mind my mentioning him as the one about whom I am going to speak. This happened just after they moved here from their lovely home, where they had many friends and were very popular. He had come home after work and had gotten into his lounging clothes, and his young son, Joe, said, “Dad, I wish you would give me a special blessing so that I can adjust and feel at home and be happy here.”

His father went upstairs and changed his clothes. As he was coming down, his wife said, “Surely you are not going out tonight.” He said, “I am going to give someone a blessing.” And then he said, “Joe has asked for a special blessing, and I wanted to be dressed and ready to honor the priesthood and to show Joe the interest I have in him, and to make it possible for him to enjoy the blessings through the faith he has in me and the priesthood.”

Brethren, that is the spirit to have. And, of course, as he told his wife, you can naturally imagine what happened. She shed tears as she realized she had a husband, the father of her son, who would be an example and be so interested in him that he would be prepared to represent the Lord in the priesthood that he holds.

Among those who were in dire circumstances on the plains was my wife’s great-grandmother. She was part of the Hunt wagon company.
Today, my wife’s gravesite in the Salt Lake City Cemetery looks down at the gravesite of her great-grandmother, Mary Penfold Goble, who died in the arms of her daughter as she was entering this valley on December 11, 1856. She was buried the next day. She had lost three of her children on that long journey. The feet of a surviving daughter were terribly frozen.

When I joined the Church in 1973, the doctrine of the redemption of the dead penetrated deep into my heart. As a new member of the Church, I made a commitment to do the vicarious work for my ancestors who had died without knowledge of the gospel.
At that time I lived in Madrid, Spain, about 500 kilometers from Asturias, the little place where I was born—and where, supposedly, the greater part of my ancestors’ records were located. I used many vacations and weekends looking for these records, traveling hundreds of kilometers. Sometimes I would lock myself up for entire days in the parish offices of Catholic churches, surrounded by old, and often illegible, records.
The love I felt for my ancestors helped me overcome these inconveniences. I brushed off the dirt, mended the torn books and pages, and learned to read the many, many books that came into my hands. With the help of these parish records, as well as civil records, family records, wills, newspapers, and photographs, I began to put together a picture of my ancestors’ lives. I came to know them to some extent and to rejoice in their happiness and mourn with them in their sorrows.
But the time came when it seemed I could do no more. Too many records had been destroyed. Asturias has been one of the most embattled areas in Spain’s history, and many records had been destroyed in its conflicts. I tried to go on using family sources but met with little success.
Sometimes I was discouraged when I thought of how easy it was for some people to do family history research. I read miraculous accounts in the Liahona of others finding needed information. Why couldn’t that happen to me? The records I needed had to be somewhere.
In 1994 I decided that I would vacation in a certain area and visit the parishes there one more time. As usual, after I had finished searching, I was in exactly the same place where I had begun. I felt quite discouraged. I had used up my vacations for 20 years, had traveled thousands of kilometers, had searched through mountains of books, had spoken with hundreds of people, and had spent a great deal of money. But for what?
My wife and I packed our suitcases to return to Madrid. Then at the last moment, I decided to make one more attempt. I returned again to one of the churches I had visited so many times before.
But this time, as I was looking in a certain record, the very names and dates that I needed suddenly appeared right before my eyes! My legs went weak, and a great cry of joy came out of my mouth. Tears rushed to my eyes, blinding me.
I hadn’t found the information on any of my previous attempts because the names were incorrectly registered. But once discovered, this precious record even referred me to other records that had not been destroyed in war—records that I never knew existed. Now the temple work could be done for these ancestors!
I was able to return to Madrid feeling extremely blessed. Like Nephi, I know that our Father in Heaven loves us and that he never gives us a commandment without preparing the way for us to carry it out.

Before each game at BYU the captains of the two teams meet at the center circle with the referees and go through a meaningless ritual where nothing of real significance is said. But on the day we played Notre Dame, a referee friend of mine said something during that meeting that really hit home with me. He said, “Men, we referees are going to work hard tonight. We’re going to make some mistakes, but you work hard too.”
I remembered his words, and the game began. During the last few minutes, I went up for a rebound, and a bigger Notre Dame player knocked me to the floor. As I lay there, I looked up, and the referee pointed down and indicated that the foul was on me. Surprised at his decision. I got up off the floor. I smiled at the referee and said, “You know, you were right in what you said before the game.”
He looked at me with a puzzled expression. I continued, “You said you were going to make some mistakes tonight, and you just made a big one.” We looked at each other, and we both had a good laugh and continued to play.

First, an experience that I had as a youth which helped to teach me an important lesson. It occurred when I was quite young—to be more specific, a boy of 10 or 11. I was herding our flock of sheep in the mountains of northern Utah to the east of East Garland. My grandfather had entrusted me with the sheep as we were moving them up the mountain to the summer range. I had just watered them in a small mountain stream and bedded them down for a short rest before going on.
While they were settled, I went about to explore the terrain and check the route ahead. I was a couple of hundred yards up the canyon when I heard a sound that chilled me to the bone. Once you have heard a rattlesnake, a very poisonous reptile, you’ll never forget the sound.
Cautiously I moved toward that sound. To my surprise I observed not one but three rattlers just a few yards away. They were on a rocky knoll that had been warmed by the spring sun. While the sight of three rattlers in a bunch intrigued me, because you seldom see more than one at a time, it also concerned me since the sheep would need to pass this way.
Before long the sheep roused and started moving up the canyon. As they came closer, the snakes seemed to sense the intruders and slithered down the incline toward the creek.
Fearing the danger, I immediately turned my sheep up the hill away from the direction the snakes were moving. I was successful for a time, but then a couple of sheep broke away from the flock. As they did so, the entire flock seemed determined to follow those two errant old ewes, and there was no stopping them. You may have heard the characterization “They all followed like a bunch of sheep.” Well, that’s what happened here. To make matters worse, they were moving directly toward the location of the rattlers.
I had hoped that the natural instinct of the sheep would keep them at a safe distance. But some of the flock were pushed directly into the path of the snakes. And there was no escape for the unfortunate ones that sustained the strikes of those disturbed reptiles.
It was a sad young shepherd who had to report to his grandfather a short time later the loss of two of his prized ewes. The experience of that day provided a very forceful illustration to me of what can happen when the sheep ignore their shepherd.
I was there as the shepherd. I perceived the danger and was trying my best to protect my sheep. But as a few started to go in the wrong direction, others were determined to follow. Though only two of the flock were lost, it was a loss that need not have been.

After school one day Yuriya Kitahara’s friends wanted to show her a new comic book. It took only a moment for Yuriya, a Laurel, to realize that there was nothing funny about these comics—the book was pornographic.
Around the same time, Junko Saijo, a Mia Maid, was with her friends when one of them lit a cigarette and offered it to Junko.
Not long after, a group of students at Sho Watanabe’s school was arrested for selling drugs to other students.
Fortunately, Yuriya dropped the comic book. Junko refused the cigarette. And Sho, a priest, has tried to be careful in choosing his friends.
Though the Church is growing in Japan, these teens still have to face the temptations of the world every day. That’s part of the test we came to earth to take. The question is: are we up to the challenge? And if we aren’t, how can we be?
Breaking the Word of Wisdom is a common temptation in Tokyo, according to a group of young members from different stakes who have gotten together to talk about the challenges they face.
Several of the youth were faced with the temptation of tobacco as soon as they were teenagers. Others are lucky enough to have avoided it altogether so far. Not everyone faces the same temptations. But tobacco is a common trap for Tokyo teens.
“It’s so easy to buy tobacco here; it’s difficult for some not to buy it,” says Hikaru Watanabe, a deacon and Sho’s younger brother.
Alcohol is another problem presented early on to many youth.
“After a school activity ends, all the students usually go somewhere to have a party,” says Yuriya. “Sometimes my friends ask me to go. They don’t say they’re going to drink, but to many teens, going to a party means going to drink. They don’t think that’s bad.” The other youth all nod in agreement—they’ve been in similar situations.
The teens also agree that pornography and immorality are running rampant among their peers.
“Music is getting bad too,” says Keiko Saijo, a Laurel and Junko’s older sister. “The lyrics are just awful.”
These are temptations and challenges Latter-day Saint teens are facing all around the world. What are they doing about it? They are learning that through the gospel, they can find the strength they need to overcome all their challenges.
The youth agree that to overcome the temptations thrown at them every day, they need the guidance of the Holy Ghost.
“It’s not just my own strength, but relying on the Lord that gets me through,” says priest Yuuya Kitahara, Yuriya’s younger brother. “Coming closer to the Lord helps us avoid the temptations and overcome them.”
That is a valuable lesson. “If we don’t do things to be closer to the Spirit, we would probably end up just like many youth outside of the Church, smoking, watching pornography, and worse,” says Yuriya.
It’s a lesson taught several times in the Book of Mormon. Without the Spirit of the Lord, the Nephites became “weak, like unto their brethren, the Lamanites” (Helaman 4:24; see also Mosiah 1:13; Mormon 2:26).
“When I feel the Spirit, I feel like the temptations just go away,” says Hikaru. “That strength comes from the Spirit.”
Yuuya says praying morning and night helps bring the Spirit. Yuriya feels closer to the Holy Ghost by studying the scriptures every day. Yuuya’s twin brother, Yuuki, mentions youth activities and seminary. And Junko says going to church and family home evening have not only helped her feel the Spirit but have taught her ways to overcome temptations. And each says attending the temple has made a big difference. “I feel a special power when I come to the temple of the Lord,” says Sho. He says he can resist temptations better when he goes to the temple regularly.
For the past few years, Sho and Hikaru have tried to go to the temple every Thursday to perform baptisms for the dead. Keiko and Junko, and Yuriya and her brothers try to attend every Friday.
“Coming to the temple strengthens me,” Keiko says.

Leoncio Cauzon Alegre (the Spanish word “alegre” means happy or merry) has plenty of reasons to be a happy man, the foremost of which is that nine years ago, the truth was unfolded to him in, of all places, a grocery store located about 200 meters away from the former site of the Manila Distribution Center and Seminaries & Institutes offices of the Church.
The year was 1968. Bro. Alegre decided on buying some refreshment items from the grocery store after wasting the whole morning looking for an acquaintance in the Reposo area of Makati from whom he was to receive a reference book.
Two young missionaries were also in the store and in a few moments, he found himself conversing with the pair. One of them asked two golden questions. And the day, far from being wasted, suddenly turned into an eventful one that led this elderly man into greater and more enlightening doorways to the truth than he ever thought of in six decades of his life. The 7th of July that year, at the age of 61, he was baptized.

But then my husband died, and my world changed. In my grief, I began to hope that maybe we would not be separated forever, that somehow we would meet again in our heavenly life.

Although my husband had not believed in God, he was well educated and intelligent. He had read the Bible and knew it very well. He was a good person and gave what he had to others. I had sometimes caught myself thinking that he was better than I.

Several months passed after my husband’s death, and I still could not find comfort. I was advised to go to church to lessen the heaviness in my heart. At a local church, I met a young minister. After telling him a little about myself, I asked him to pray for my husband. But he told me that because my husband had not believed in God and had not been baptized, he could not pray for him. I would not see my husband again, he said. I did not want to believe that, but I could not completely disbelieve it either. The minister took from me my last hope. Instead of getting better, I felt worse.

Hermann Mössner was nervous as he walked into the chapel. He and his friends from camp were still in their uniforms, marked with the letters “P.O.W.” Everyone knew those letters stood for “prisoner of war.” What would the members of the branch think? Would they see him as their enemy?
The chapel was near Leeds, England. But Hermann wasn’t from England. He was from Germany. After being forced to fight in World War II, Hermann had been captured by British soldiers and sent to an English prison camp. This was his first time at church in a long time.
Hermann took a deep breath as he sat down on one of the benches. He could see the branch president, George Camm, sitting at the front. President Camm was Hermann’s friend. Seeing him smile made Hermann feel better.
After that, President Camm visited Hermann every Saturday. During the rest of the week, Hermann did his best to live the gospel. He shared his testimony with the other prisoners while they worked in the fields. He answered their questions while they carved wood after a long day’s work. Sometimes he prayed with them.
“Hey, Hermann,” one of the prisoners had said one night. “Could I join in with you and Mr. Camm on Saturday?”
Hermann looked up from the block of wood he was carving. He smiled. “Of course!”
“May I too?” another prisoner asked.
Hermann and President Camm were very excited to teach more of the prisoners. Soon some of them even wanted to be baptized!
And now, as Hermann looked around the chapel at the families waiting for church to start, he felt peace. Some members were nervous around Hermann at first. But soon everyone came to trust him. The other prisoners who wanted to learn about the gospel got permission to leave camp to go to church with Hermann on Sundays. Later, Hermann was even called to be the branch Sunday School president.

You begin with a stage, any stage, add a few lively and talented young people who are active in the Church and interested in people, throw in a drum roll and bright lights, and “Ladies and gentlemen, we give you Genesis: the Beginning!” “Beginning” is a musical troupe of youth from Las Vegas, Nevada. The group’s music ranges from religious selections, such as “I Am a Child of God,” to popular and patriotic tunes. Interspersed with the group’s numbers are solo selections from any one of the 18 high school singers and dancers. This group even has its own 12-member band.
“Beginning” began in the spring of 1974 and was under the sponsorship of the Las Vegas East Stake Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women. At first, they only performed for ward dinners and stake functions, but invitations from other groups came quickly as word spread of their talent. The youth have been able to capitalize on this interest to use their music as a missionary tool and to demonstrate the range of activities and service projects for youth in the Church.
They were scheduled for a short performance in the summer of 1976 at the Jaycee State Fair in the Las Vegas Convention Center when they so impressed Fair officials that they added a special concert and dance featuring the group. But not being content with just sharing their musical talent, “Beginning” has also concentrated on service. They involve themselves in a special project regularly for three different convalescent homes in the Las Vegas area. At least one afternoon a month, the members gather to bring their music to the older residents of these homes. The residents of the center feel a special kinship and love for the youth—they asked them to participate in the Convalescent Benefit Carnival that is sponsored by members of the homes to raise money for special patient needs.
Another imaginative service project that is now being prepared is the making of a fantasy film based on the popular Wizard of Oz tale. “Beginning” members created their own costumes, including a gnome king, scarecrow, tin woodsman, and Jack the Pumpkinhead, as well as the script. The fantasy is being filmed by one of the group’s advisers. Upon completion, the film will be used for a benefit and then donated to the Las Vegas East Stake Relief Society for use in their nursery classes.
Many of the members of “Beginning” are officers in their ward Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women programs. As ambassadors of the Church and their stake they abide by Church standards in behavior and dress. Three of the members are recent converts and “that’s the biggest thrill of them all.”

My grandparents have had a great influence on my life. Even though they have been dead for many years, I still feel their confirming love. One grandfather, James Akerley Faust, died before I was born. I knew him only through the stories my grandmother and my parents told about him. However, I feel a strong kinship with him because I am in part what he was. Among other things, he was a cowboy, a rancher, and a postmaster in a small town in central Utah. On one occasion Grandfather took a trip in the winter to Idaho, where he met an acquaintance who had fallen on hard times. It was cold, and Grandfather’s friend had no coat. Grandfather took off his coat and gave it to him.

This evening I encourage you young men to begin to unlock the knowledge of who you really are by learning more about your forebears. Alex Haley, the author of the book Roots, said: “In all of us there is a hunger, marrow-deep, to know our heritage—to know who we are and where we have come from. Without this enriching knowledge, there is a hollow yearning. No matter what our attainments in life, there is still a vacuum, an emptiness, and the most disquieting loneliness.” We can have exciting experiences as we learn about our vibrant, dynamic ancestors. They were very real, living people with problems, hopes, and dreams like we have today.
In many ways each of us is the sum total of what our ancestors were. The virtues they had may be our virtues, their strengths our strengths, and in a way their challenges could be our challenges. Some of their traits may be our traits. I noticed a while ago that one of my great-grandsons, a toddler, seemed to have an interesting kind of a walk. My wife said, “He walks just like you do!” Now I wonder from whom I inherited this characteristic.
It is a joy to become acquainted with our forebears who died long ago. Each of us has a fascinating family history. Finding your ancestors can be one of the most interesting puzzles you young men can work on.
Each of us has to begin this work somewhere, and it can be done by young or old. This summer 170 children of the Accra Ghana Lartebiokorshie Stake worked on their four-generation family trees during a two-hour program, with more than 74 completing and displaying their trees.
As President Boyd K. Packer has said, “If you don’t know where to start, start with yourself. If you don’t know what records to get, and how to get them, start with what you have.” You will learn about the phenomenon that is you. It can be more fascinating than any movie you might see or any computer game you might play. You will need to find out who your grandparents and great-grandparents were and what temple work has been done for them. If you don’t know how to get this information, ask people in your ward who do know how.
Ask living members of your family what they know about your extended family. Look at records close at hand, such as family Bibles, to find more details about your forebears. Then you can reach out to other sources such as vital records, church records, census records, and military records. If you have access to a computer, you can put your computer skills to work and log on to the Church’s FamilySearch.org Web site. Family history has become a sophisticated activity where computers provide immense resources for your search. You can easily access a vast collection of family history records using the Internet on your home computer or at your nearest family history center.
Family history centers are now available in 88 countries. They are part of an unequaled record-keeping system that helps preserve the heritage of families all over the world. In the Family History Library in Salt Lake City, patrons are constantly corresponding and submitting information about their family histories. One person wrote, “We are sending you five children in a separate envelope.”
The great work of providing the saving ordinances for our kindred dead is a vital part of the threefold mission of the Church. We do this work for a purpose, which is to redeem our dead ancestors. Temple work is essential for both us and our kindred dead who are waiting for these saving ordinances to be done for them. It is essential because “we without them cannot be made perfect; neither can they without us be made perfect.” They need the saving ordinances, and we need to be sealed to them. For this reason it is important that we trace our family lines so that no one is left out.
Searching for our kindred dead isn’t just a hobby. It is a fundamental responsibility for all members of the Church. We believe that life continues after death and that all will be resurrected. We believe that families may continue in the next life if they have kept the special covenants made in one of the sacred temples under the authority of God. We believe that our deceased ancestors can also be eternally united with their families when we make covenants in their behalf in the temples. Our deceased forebears may accept these covenants, if they choose to do so, in the spirit world.
The great vicarious work for our kindred dead in our temples demonstrates both the justice and the fairness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Prophet Joseph Smith explained the terrible dilemma which would face God’s children without temple work for our dead. Said he: “One dies and is buried, having never heard the Gospel of reconciliation; to the other the message of salvation is sent, he hears and embraces it, and is made the heir of eternal life. Shall the one become the partaker of glory and the other be consigned to hopeless perdition? Is there no chance for his escape?” Fortunately our ancestors will have the opportunity to receive and accept the saving ordinances as we identify them and complete these sacred ordinances for them by proxy. We do for them what they cannot do for themselves. It is a very satisfying experience.
In the great vision in the Kirtland Temple, Elijah the prophet appeared to the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery and committed the keys of temple work and the sealing power into Joseph Smith’s hands. This fulfilled Malachi’s prophecy that Elijah would be sent “to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the children to the fathers, lest the whole earth be smitten with a curse.”
So what does this mean? To turn our hearts to our fathers is to search out the names of our deceased ancestors and to perform the saving ordinances in the temple for them. This will forge a continuous chain between us and our forefathers eventually all the way back to Father Adam and Mother Eve.
The heart of an 11-year-old boy was turned to his fathers during a family home evening when the children assembled personal books of remembrance. Young Jeff wanted to accompany his mother to the National Archives. She was afraid he might disturb the other researchers there. But he persisted, and she relented and took him with her. Four hours into their research, he exclaimed, “Mama, I’ve found Grandpa!” Indeed, he had found his great-great-great-grandfather. However, it doesn’t always work that way. In a letter to the Family History Department, someone wrote: “We lost our grandmother. Will you please send us a copy?”
The gospel of Jesus Christ teaches us that the celestial family organization will be “one that is complete,” that is, “an organization linked from father and mother and children of one generation, to the father and mother and children of the next generation, thus expanding and spreading out down to the end of time.”
In tracing our family names, we often find them spelled differently, depending on the source. This was the case of a university student in Provo, Utah, who caught the vision of this linking of generations. He was walking through the library one evening and remembered hearing someone in the Searing family tell about a town in New York State that had been named after an ancestor. So he decided to look up the town. He stumbled across a very old copy of a gazetteer of New York and read about a man named Simon Searing who helped settle Long Island in the mid-1600s. Could Simon be his ancestor? He had to know. He began research in earnest and traced his line back several generations. But still he needed to bridge the gap between the 1800s and the 1600s. Then a miracle occurred. He unexpectedly located a history of a Syring family. The families in the Syring book ended in the same generation he had reached in his own research. Not only was he able to connect many generations, but he also linked himself to the early settler Simon Searing.
Some who are interested in family history try to enhance their own image by linking up with prominent people. In my own experience it has been quite different. I have been fascinated by learning of some of the unknown, ordinary people whose records tell of heroic lives. Arthur R. Bassett once said: “Who among us wants to throw stones at their own ancestors? I, for one, am intrigued by their battles—their victories as well as their defeats. … I am fascinated by what may seem the most commonplace of lives, because I have come to realize the excitement that is concealed in the commonplace.”
It is not likely that you will find any horse thieves in your ancestral line. But if you do, it is important that their temple work be done, because we believe in repentance for the dead also:
“The dead who repent will be redeemed, through obedience to the ordinances of the house of God,
“And after they have paid the penalty of their transgressions, and are washed clean, shall receive a reward according to their works, for they are heirs of salvation.”
The process of finding our ancestors one by one can be challenging but also exciting and rewarding. We often feel spiritual guidance as we go to the sources which identify them. Because this is a very spiritual work, we can expect help from the other side of the veil. We feel a pull from our relatives who are waiting for us to find them so their ordinance work can be done. This is a Christlike service because we are doing something for them that they cannot do for themselves.
Many of you young men have already had a taste of temple work as you have participated in baptisms for the dead. When we go early to the temple, we often see young people dressed in white, ready to take part in this satisfying experience before going to school. You are to be commended for your dedication in performing this vital work. In so doing you have already felt the peace and serenity found within the walls of our temples.
I testify that God is a just God, and He will not give privileges to us and withhold them from our forebears. But we will need to do the baptisms, the endowments, and the sealings for them by proxy here on earth in order for us and them to be linked together for eternity “and have part in the first resurrection.”
I further testify that the Lord directs and inspires President Hinckley as he leads us in this important work. May the peace that comes from faithful discharge of our priesthood duties ever be with us, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I first met Uanci Kivalu, she was smiling broadly. But as she sat down and her tone turned serious, I wondered what this friendly 16-year-old would share. “My story is about the temple,” she said.
Uanci is from Tonga, an island nation filled with towering coconut trees, majestic banana trees, and broad taro plants. Most of the youth I had seen on the island seemed content with life, with smiles as broad as Uanci’s had been only moments before. Tongan youth her age like to dance, sing, play netball, and spend time with their families. They are generally a happy bunch. But Uanci’s seriousness was mixed with a deeper emotion I could not identify, and it surprised me.
“I want to talk about the temple,” she repeated.
“When I was growing up,” Uanci began, “my brothers and sister and I were members of the Church. We would attend church every Sunday with my mom. I loved the temple, and I loved going with the youth to do baptisms for the dead. I would feel the Spirit when we went there. But my dad wouldn’t come to church.”
Uanci’s voice began to quaver. I glanced up from my notepad and saw tears in her eyes.
“One day my little brother ’Alekisio had an injury in his hips that got infected,” she continued. “He got better for a while. And my dad came back to church. But then my dad fell away again.”
The tears were now streaming down Uanci’s face, and the tissue I handed her was immediately soaked, as were her sleeves, as she tried unsuccessfully to dry the tears.
“My little brother got worse, and then he died. He was only 12 years old.”
Uanci paused for a moment, overcome by her feelings, and I began to understand why she had been so serious. This young woman had already felt great tragedy in her life. But there was also a glimmer of hope shining through her eyes.
“Then,” she began again, “my dad finally decided to come back to church. At first, it was hard for him. Our bishop, leaders, relatives, and family encouraged him that the only way our family would be together again—to see my brother again—would be to be sealed in the temple.
“We struggled after my brother died,” Uanci continued. “But my parents worked hard and received their ordinances. Finally, we were sealed in the temple as a family on October 10, 2008, exactly one year after ’Alekisio died. My bishop stood in place of my little brother. It was the most indescribable feeling I ever felt.”
Uanci’s tears were not tears of sorrow but of joy. She and her family had been to the house of the Lord and sealed in the temple, and she knew what that meant. If her family lives worthy of their covenants, they will be together forever.
As I think about Uanci, I imagine her walking across the Liahona campus, the Church-owned high school in Tonga that sits adjacent to the temple. As she walks, Uanci gazes over at the spire of the angel Moroni, its golden form glistening in the sun. There are tears in her eyes again, but she is also smiling, for she knows she will see ’Alekisio again.

As a youth I loved to play basketball. One of my biggest disappointments was when I didn’t make the school team. I stopped growing early, and I probably just was not good enough, anyway. Seeing other boys my age go on to become really outstanding basketball players was difficult—not because they achieved in the sport, but because I hadn’t.
However, that disappointment helped push me in the direction of the world of words, which, over the years, has been a blessing to me. At the time, it seemed a poor substitute for basketball, but as I look back on my life, the pushing in that direction meant that I was to have many opportunities I could not otherwise have had.
When I served in the army during World War II, I was asked to write letters of comfort to the wives and parents of those who had been killed. I was also asked to write letters recognizing men for their bravery in battle. So I became more involved in the world of words.
Later, that led quite naturally to the mission field. In those days there was no churchwide plan for the missionaries to follow, and I came up with one that my mission used.
So our talents can develop in a meaningful way, even though we can’t see it at the time. While I would rather, in my youth, have played basketball, it would end up being more important for me to develop a talent with words. We need to trust in God in the midst of our disappointments. Experiences that seem hard when we are in the middle of them may well be part of God’s tutoring and training.

When Robert L. Backman was 12 years old, his father was called to be president of the South African Mission. Young Robert soon found himself living in Capetown and attending Rondebosch High School, a very strict English prep school. “The first weeks of school were a difficult time for me. I was strictly a minority and felt like a curiosity. I cried myself to sleep at night more than once, particularly when missionaries I had come to love went home. I wanted to go home with them.”
At school, Robert was indeed something of a curiosity. “Everybody wanted to hear me speak, so at recess they’d gather around me and try to provoke me into conversation, and then they’d try to mimic my accent.” Appalled at his student’s barbarous American twang, one cultured British teacher undertook to reform Robert’s speech. “Martha came down the garden path carrying a large basket of tomatoes,” he would intone in his most cultured diction, each vowel floating heavenward like a balloon. Then the young American would deliberately repeat the phrase with a Yankee accent so heavy that the good professor would shake with anguish. “He’d slam his ruler down on the desk he was so angry. We had a contest. I was just as stubborn as he was and bound and determined he wasn’t going to break me of my accent. He never did.”
To make matters worse, many of the parents of students didn’t want their children becoming too friendly with this young foreigner who might not only corrupt their speech but, since he was a Mormon, might undermine their morals as well. To a boy that age, belonging is very important, and so all this was difficult to accept.
There was another problem. After the easygoing pace of schoolwork in the United States, Rondebosch was academically tough. Robert studied English, French, Latin, math, chemistry, physics, and a couple of history courses all in the same term, attending school from 8:00 till 4:00 five days a week and till 1:00 on Saturday. And every night there was a crushing load of homework.
Discipline was also strict. Once a young school fellow made a remark that Robert took exception to, and a fight ensued. The two antagonists were ushered into the office of the headmaster, who politely asked them to please touch their toes. “He then pulled out a bamboo rod with a little steel tube right up the middle of it and gave us six good ones across our bottoms to teach us not to fight.”
But while the first weeks went badly at school, Robert turned more to the Lord and his religious faith for support, performing his duties as a deacon with great pride. His young faith grew strong. “I don’t think I’ve ever doubted. I’ve questioned. I’ve been exposed to a lot of other philosophies in my schooling, but I’ve never really had any doubt. I have always believed that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I’ve never had any question about the Savior and his mission, his death and resurrection. I suppose that part of that is due to my exposure to the missionaries quite early in my life. They buttressed me during those traumatic years when one ordinarily might be having some of those real doubts.”
And so, gradually, an unhappy situation became a happy one. “I got used to it and won my way, as youngsters usually do, and I ended up playing some rugby on the junior squads and made friends at the school and began enjoying myself.” Even the heavy academic demands turned out to be a blessing. “It was really a good discipline to my life and set me in some study patterns that have been of great benefit to me ever since.” And though it must have seemed merely a question of survival to young Robert at the time, it was a battle won, and his spiritual strength increased.

It was a beautiful day. Toklat, the grizzly bear cub, stretched. When he stretched, his jaws opened wide in a great yawn. His pink tongue curled back, but straightened quickly when his jaws snapped shut again.
Testing the wind with his ever inquisitive nose, Toklat smelled something strange. He was four months old now and had smelled many things. He knew the spicy scent of spruce trees on the hill across the creek. He had sniffed the pungent odor of new pussy willows, and he was familiar with the sharp odor of wild grass. But this scent was different. It was warm and animal. Some strange creature lurked nearby, and Toklat’s curiosity set him on the trail.
Leaving his two brothers dozing next to their mama, Toklat followed his nose through some trees into an open field. A hungry hawk whirled in the blue sky above the field. Its yellow eyes were searching the land below for food.
Toklat hesitated at the edge of the field. His nose told him that what he smelled was just on the other side in a thicket of willows. He had learned from experience that crossing open fields could be dangerous. Enemies like the lynx and wolf could see him. They would gladly have taken him home for supper as the main course.
Toklat sniffed carefully. His eyes were not good, as is the way with bears, but his nose told him much. There were no dangerous odors, so off he trotted toward the new and interesting scent.
He arrived at the willows and stopped, sniffing cautiously. Then, quite suddenly, he saw a creature. It was a rabbit, crouched into a small bundle. Its brown eyes were on Toklat. The rabbit’s pink nose twitched, and its long ears wiggled as Toklat stared. He had never seen anything like the rabbit before.
From high in the sky, a hawk also saw the rabbit. The bird’s keen eyes had no trouble picking it out in the willows. What a nice supper! he must have been thinking. Swiftly, the hawk began a long, slanting dive. Its yellow eyes did not leave the rabbit for an instant. They saw Toklat, too, but the cub was too small to be a threat, and the hawk came down quickly. The bird’s sharp talons were set to make a grab.
Toklat didn’t hear or see the hawk. He had no idea of the danger overhead, and he ambled playfully toward the rabbit. Does that creature with the long ears want to play? he wondered. When the little bear stuck out a tentative paw, the rabbit burst into a fury of action. It leaped into the air and when it landed again, its hind legs were still pumping. The rabbit wanted nothing to do with Toklat, who was much larger. Off it went, hopping with great speed. In seconds, the rabbit was out of sight, leaving Toklat puzzled. The creature obviously didn’t want to play.
At the instant the rabbit sped off, the hawk dove straight down, but its talons clutched empty air. The bird’s supper was gone. With a screech, the hawk zoomed into the sky again and circled over Toklat, still screeching, its yellow eyes blazing. Then it dove at the cub.
Toklat saw the furious bird coming, and uttering a frantic Youwp, he dove into the willows. Once again the hawk clutched empty air. Then it shot straight up into the sky, where it circled while searching for the cub.
But Toklat knew better than to show himself. He remained hidden until the hawk finally flew away in search of other food.
When he was certain that his enemy had gone, Toklat returned to his mother. His brothers were still dozing next to her large, comfortable body. With a sigh of contentment, Toklat settled down between them. He’d had enough excitement for a while. And besides, it was nap time.