Gospel Story Finder

Many of Samoa’s early Saints were exiled, persecuted and even executed for their faith. In 1904, prophet and President of the Church, Joseph F. Smith (1838–1918), directed the purchase of 800 fertile acres up in the green hills of rural Upolu. This land would provide a refuge for members of the Church.
The people praised the Lord for His kindness and dedicated the 800 acres with a prayer that it might “become a choice land and a fit place for Saints to gather and become a choice people of the Lord.” They then voted to call this place: “Sauniatu,” which means “prepare to go forth.”
Starting over wasn’t easy but the early villagers moved forward in faith, planting crops, building homes and chapels, and founding a school for their children.

It felt just like any other Sunday morning in Primary. Brother Barrow and Brother Jensen sat at the front of the class.
“Good morning,” said Brother Barrow. “Did everyone have a good week?”
Miles popped up in his seat next to me. “Yeah! I had fun this weekend!” he said. He told about a park he went to.
After everyone had taken a turn to talk, Brother Jensen began marking the roll. “Hmm,” he said, looking up at us. “Samantha isn’t here again. Does anyone know who she is? I’ve never met her before.”
I raised my hand. “I know who she is,” I said. “I’ve seen her at school.”
“Thank you, Grace. Could you tell us more about her?”
I thought about Samantha. It seemed like she always played by herself. “She’s pretty shy,” I said. “I don’t think she has very many friends.”
“I think we should do something special to invite her to Primary,” said Brother Jensen. “How would everyone feel about coming to my house this week to make brownies and a card for her?”
“That’s a great idea!” said Miles.
“I want to come too!” said Haylee.
“Sounds good,” said Brother Jensen. “I’ll call your parents so we can find a time to get together.”
Finally the day came. We met at Brother Jensen’s house, and we were ready to bake!
“Who wants to mix the cocoa and baking soda?” Brother Barrow asked.
“I do!” said Mason.
Soon we all had jobs to do. Before we knew it, the brownies were in the oven.
“OK, everyone, while we wait for the brownies to bake, let’s make the card,” said Brother Jensen.
Our card was actually a big poster. We got out crayons and markers and wrote things like “We miss you!” and “Come to Primary!” By the time we were done writing and drawing pictures, the brownies were done.
We put the brownies on a plate and went together to Samantha’s house. Brother Jensen knocked on the door, and Samantha’s mom answered.
“SURPRISE!” we shouted.
“We just want to invite your daughter to Primary,” said Brother Barrow.
“That is so thoughtful,” she said. “Thank you all so much.” She called to Samantha, and she came to the door. “Look, Samantha. See what they brought you!”
“Thank you,” she said shyly.
I waved to her from the back of the group. “Hi, Samantha! I’m Grace, from school.”
“We hope you can come to our Primary class this week!” said John.
At recess the next day, I was sitting with my friends and saw Samantha. “Hi!” I said. “Do you want to play with us?”
“No,” she said, looking down. “But thanks anyway.”
I smiled at her. Samantha smiled back a little bit. “OK,” I said. “Some other time.”
Later Samantha and her mom started coming to church! Just shows the power of friendship … and brownies!
Samantha didn’t come to Primary that Sunday. I was kind of sad, but I was still glad we invited her. It felt like what Heavenly Father wanted us to do. Samantha wasn’t ready to come to Church, and that was OK. We could ask again another time. And we could definitely keep trying to get to know her. Who knows? Maybe we could all be friends!

During this time, two people from the Church never gave up on me. Our home teachers invited me to church every Sunday, sometimes in person and other times by a phone call. They visited our home at least once and sometimes twice each month. They even knew when we needed something. I especially remember the time I ordered a garden shed that was delivered unassembled during my absence. Upon returning home, I found our home teachers had already assembled the shed.
I particularly admired our senior home teacher, Des Gorman, an Irish Canadian. He was a genuine person who truly cared for people. To me he represented the Church, and I felt the Church must be a good organization, even if I wasn’t attending.
Eventually we were blessed with a baby boy. Our home teachers reminded me that it is a priesthood practice to name and bless a baby at fast and testimony meeting. I did not want to participate, though I finally agreed to allow our baby to be blessed by others.
Brother Gorman stood in my place and was the mouthpiece for a beautiful blessing on our son, Ronan. As I listened I received a powerful witness from the Spirit. I had been proud. I had made some big mistakes. I had nearly lost my testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. I still had my family, but I had almost lost the sweet peace the gospel brings. Many tears flowed while my wife, Brother Gorman, and the bishopric supported me as I repented.
From that time on I have been active in the Church. Our home teachers have continued to support me. Our baby boy is now a returned missionary, married in the temple, and raising a family of his own. I feel his life is a tribute to the man who gave him a name and a blessing.
I shall ever be grateful to two dedicated home teachers who took their assignment seriously. Although Brother Gorman has been deceased for some years, I know I won’t forget him or his patient consistency in inviting me back. He never gave up.
Today I seek to emulate his quiet and loving persistence in my own home teaching and other Church callings.

Today there are two stakes in Arica, the northernmost city in Chile. The story of Gladys and Juan Benavidez, the first converts in Arica, exemplifies the pioneer spirit and the divine influence in establishing the Church throughout Chile.
Brother Benavidez was introduced to the Church in 1961 when the wind blew some papers in his direction: “These turned out to be pages of Reader’s Digest Selections with an extensive article about ‘The Mormons,’ describing their life and beliefs,” he said.
Shortly after, he contracted a serious illness that required medical treatment in Santiago. “While there, I visited my sister and learned that she had become a member of the Church,” he said. “She invited me to a special conference. As I listened to the opening prayer and mentally followed the words, I felt a great joy throughout my entire body and recognized the influence of the Holy Spirit. At the end of the conference, missionaries took me up to shake hands with the visiting authority, Elder Ezra Taft Benson (1899–1994), then of the Quorum of the Twelve.”
Brother Benavidez went back to Arica and shared his experiences with his girlfriend, Gladys Aguilar, who is now his wife. A couple days later, Gladys saw two missionaries pass by her house. “We quickly went in search of them,” Brother Benavidez said. “On July 1, 1961, we were baptized, along with my wife’s family. Today we have children and grandchildren in the Church. I am so grateful to the Lord for that gust of wind that blew the information about the Church into my hands.”8

Winter had set in, and mounds of snow covered the hills and rounded the shapes of the trees. It was the kind of weather one would expect two days before Christmas in Sharon, Vermont.
About midnight the few farmhouses scattered among the hills were dark—except for the Smith’s where a lamp was still burning.
Even though it was Christmastime, a light that late at night was unusual. But something wonderful had happened on that twenty-third of December, 1805. A baby had been born.
The next day, a neighbor came to visit the Smiths. Alvin and Hyrum, the oldest of the children, saw him coming. They ran to meet him, shouting the news as they went, “We have a new baby!”
“It’s a boy! A boy!”
As they plowed through the snowdrifts surrounding the small frame home, they all had to laugh. Little sister Sophronia was watching from the window with her nose flattened against the glass. Father Smith opened the door to let them in and took the neighbor to see the baby, who was sleeping peacefully in his mother’s arms. “Well, what do you know,” he exclaimed, removing his hat, “a baby boy!”
“Yes,” Lucy said. “He’ll be named for his father. We’re going to call him Joseph.”
There weren’t any telephones, just neighbor folk to pass the word along. So when he left, the neighbor must have carried the news to the men and boys clustered around the stove at the village store. “Another boy for the Smiths,” he announced. “They can always use another hand on the farm,” a hand-warmer declared.
However, when Lucy stroked the soft baby hair, she imagined him not as a farmhand but as a leader and a mighty man. Then she smiled at her dreams. He looked like every other baby born to farm folk in the backwoods of Vermont. There was no reason to think he would be known outside the neighborhood.
Even in her wildest dreams Lucy could not have guessed that this small, new Joseph would run into hatred and yet would inspire such admiration that millions would follow him. And it would be said of him, “In all that he did he was manly and almost godlike.”
Yes, a baby had been born, and “the Lord had his eyes upon him.”
The baby grew and was strong and well. But when he was six, the Smith children became ill with typhus fever. Then a swelling in Joseph’s leg caused him so much pain that he could scarcely bear it. One day Joseph thought it was Dr. Stone, who was treating him, at the door until he heard Rebecca Perkins speak to his mother.
“I brought some honey bread, Lucy—new-baked.”
“Thank you, Rebecca.”
“It’ll help some, I reckon.”
Joseph knew it would help. His mother was bone tired from tending him and his brothers and sister, who slept only fitfully because of the fever. Sophronia was sick for ninety days, even came near dying.
“I understand young Joseph is still feeling poorly,” Joseph heard Mrs. Perkins say.
“Yes. He’s been real sick for some weeks. The typhus caused a fever sore in his shoulder. Dr. Stone lanced it, but the pain shot like lightning down his side and into his leg. He cut into it, clear to the bone, trying to relieve the infection. But it’s still so red and swollen.”
“We deemed it wise to call a council of surgeons to consult about the case,” Joseph heard his father explain. “We’re just waiting to hear.”
Waiting. So much waiting, Joseph thought. Everyone had done his best; he knew that. Even his big brother Hyrum had held Joseph’s leg, day and night, to help relieve the pain. But the pain persisted. Once Joseph cried out in desperation, “Oh, Father, how can I bear it?”
Now his father called to him, “The doctors are riding up, Joseph.”
Rebecca spoke a hasty wish-you-well as Lucy invited the doctors into a room apart. “Gentlemen, what can you do to save my boy’s leg?” she asked.
There was no answer for a moment, then one of the surgeons said as kindly as he could, “We can do nothing … his leg is incurable. Amputation is absolutely necessary in order to save his life.”
Lucy covered her mouth with her hands as if to silence the cry that rose in her throat. “No! Not little Joseph!” Then she found herself thinking back to the time when the doctor said Sophronia couldn’t live. How he even stopped coming, death was so close. They prayed for a miracle … and it happened, just like that. With her head in her hands, Joseph’s mother prayed again—for another miracle.
When she raised her head she said quietly, “Dr. Stone, can you not make another trial? You must not take off his leg until you try once more.”
After consultation the doctors decided to try to remove the infected bone. Lucy went for some clean homespun sheets to fold under the infected leg while the doctors told Joseph what they were going to do. And because there were no anesthetics to deaden pain, they called to his mother, “Bring some cords. We can tie him down to the bedstead. And bring a little brandy or wine; the pain will be almost unbearable.”
But Joseph protested. He didn’t want any liquor; neither would he be tied down.
“Mother, I want you to leave the room. Father can stand it, but you have carried me so much and watched over me so long that you are almost worn out.” Tears rimmed his eyes. “I’ll have Father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms. Then I’ll do what’s needed to have the bone taken out.”
One of the doctors objected. “The boy’s so young! He needs some kind of help to get through it!”
Joseph reached out for his father’s hand and pulled the big man down beside him on the bed. “The Lord will help me . … I’ll get through it.”
So the big, weathered farmer wrapped his arms around his little son and hugged him to his heart.
The operation began. It was long and excruciating with no medicine to deaden the pain, just his father to cling to. At one point Joseph’s mother heard his screams and came running back into the house.
“Oh, Mother, go back, go back. I don’t want you to come in. I’ll try to tough it out if you will go away,” he sobbed.
When the crude operation was over, Lucy stood hesitantly at the bedroom door, not daring to ask the question that trembled on her lips. Her husband, tenderly supporting his son’s shoulders, looked up and held out his other hand to her.
In a moment Lucy was across the room, that hand curving around her own as she knelt by young Joseph’s bed. How small and pale he looked. How still.
From the dark depths of his exhaustion, Joseph heard her coming, felt her touch—gentle but hesitant. He opened his eyes and his steady blue gaze swept the anxiety from his mother’s face.
Dr. Stone wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “It’s all right,” he said, nodding.
Young Joseph knew the Lord was with him. Their prayers had been answered. His leg would heal.
(To be continued.)

New in school, Janet is an obnoxious, outspoken bully. When Sister Card asks her Merrie Miss class to help fellowship Janet, they’re surprised to learn that she is a member of the Church but reluctantly agree to help. They decide to secretly leave surprises for Janet on her front porch for a week. On Saturday, the class personally delivers a beautifully wrapped gold heart necklace to her. Questioning their motives, she accuses them of trying to bribe her, thanks them for the unopened gift, then shuts the door in their faces.
I felt like someone had just slapped me across the face. “Boy,” I said. “She’s a real creep. We were only trying to do something nice.”
“She didn’t even open our present,” Amy said.
“I knew this wasn’t going to work,” Jill said.
“Now, just a minute,” said Sister Card, as we all got into her van. “Maybe Janet was right. Maybe we were just trying to bribe her.”
We were quiet for a minute. Then Mandi said, “How can we like someone who acts like that?”
“I’m not sure I want her to come if she’s going to treat us that way,” Christina said.
“Girls, I can see that this isn’t going to be as easy as we thought,” Sister Card said. “Perhaps we need to ask ourselves what the Savior would do if Janet were in His Primary class.”
Well, she had us stumped. None of us could think of something that Jesus Christ might do in a situation like this one. We looked at Sister Card expectantly, waiting to hear the answer. Instead, she smiled at us and said, “I challenge each of you to find out, then do it.”
The next day at lunch recess, I saw Janet across the playground. She saw me and yelled, “Hey, there’s Redhead-Wet-the-Bed!”
All the kids around me laughed, and I could feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment. Why does she have to say things like that? I wondered, walking away to find Jill. How can anyone be nice to a girl who acts that way?
I was still thinking about Janet when I found Jill. “I don’t know what Sister Card expects us to do about Janet. She hates me. I don’t like her very much, either,” I said.
“I know what you mean,” Jill answered. “Can you imagine what our Primary class would be like if she did come?”
I hadn’t thought about that, and the visions that ran through my mind as I thought about it were not pleasant. “She’d ruin everything!”
Later that evening, I was still thinking about Janet. I couldn’t get her off my mind. “Mom,” I said, “Sister Card wants us to come up with an idea to get Janet Willard to come to Primary. You know we already tried being pixies to her for a week, and I told you how that didn’t work. She’s so mean to everybody that I’m not sure I really want her to come.”
Mom thought for a few minutes, then said, “Maybe the first thing you should do is pray for the ability to like Janet.”
I was mystified. “But how will that help Janet want to come to Primary?”
“Well, it’s pretty hard to help someone you don’t like. Your efforts won’t be very enthusiastic, and she’ll know that you aren’t sincere. You need to pray for Heavenly Father’s help, then try being nice to Janet even if she isn’t nice to you.”
“That’s going to be hard,” I said.
“I know,” said Mom. “That’s why it’s so important to ask for Heavenly Father’s help.”
On Sunday when Sister Card asked us if we had decided what Jesus would do about Janet, I told everyone what Mom had said to me. Sister Card smiled and said, “You have a very wise mother, Esther. If you’ll all open the New Testament to Matthew 5:44, you’ll see that the Savior said the same thing: ‘But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.’”
We were all very quiet as we thought about what this really meant in our relationship with Janet.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” Christina said, breaking the silence.
“You’re right. It isn’t going to be easy,” Sister Card said. “But then not many things that are really worthwhile are.”
We decided we were going to be so nice to Janet that she wouldn’t know what to think. Sister Card cautioned that we should be very patient and not get discouraged if she didn’t respond positively right away. “Janet has had ten years to learn and practice the behavior she has now, so don’t expect her to change overnight.”
The next day when I went into our classroom, I heard Janet’s familiar greeting before I even saw her. “Hey, there’s Redhead-Wet-the-Bed!”
Instead of ignoring her and walking away, I went over to her and said, “Hi, Janet. Do you want to play kickball with us at lunchtime?”
She was so surprised that she didn’t answer at first. Then she said, “Not me! That’s a sissy game,” and walked off.

I first heard of Jose and Juana Yefi and their seven children from President Julio Otay when, as a regional representative, I visited the Puerto Montt Stake. From his accounts of the Yefis and their experiences in the Church, I decided I wanted to meet them. They are members of the Estacion Ward, but to make the journey to the Yefi home is much more complicated than just walking down the street from the meetinghouse located in Puerto Vardas. It’s a three-part adventure by bus, boat, and horse. President Otay and I decided to make the journey September 17 and 18, during a national holiday in Chile.
When we set out from Puerto Varas, it was a beautiful morning announcing the arrival of spring in that part of the world. For the first part of our journey, we traveled ninety minutes by bus to Petrohue on the shore of Todos los Santos Lake. Our bus wended its way around the southern shore of Llanquihue Lake with the cone of the majestic volcano Mount Osorno as a backdrop. We planned to take the regularly-scheduled boat across Todos los Santos Lake, but we were told it had departed early loaded with tourists. So we rented a private boat—which happened to be owned by Brother Yefi’s cousin—for the three-hour trip. For those three hours we enjoyed the natural beauty around us. The lake, also known as “Emerald Lake” for the color of its waters, sparkled in the sunshine, and to our right rose the magnificent Monte Tronador Mountains. It was a wonderful way to celebrate a national holiday, and I thanked my Heavenly Father for my having been born in such a beautiful country.
When we arrived at the point where we were supposed to meet Brother Yefi, he wasn’t there. We discovered that he had been waiting for us at the other end of the lake at a small dock where the tourist boat pulled in. While he crossed the lake in his boat to meet us, we visited with the Miranda family, who lived close to the lake. Jose Miranda, Brother Yefi’s brother-in-law, and his family are members of the Church as a result of the Yefi family’s missionary work. I’ll tell more about them later.
Brother Yefi finally arrived and upon meeting this man of obvious Lamanite descent, with his sincere smile and shining eyes, I felt a definite kinship.
We set out on the last part of our journey to the Yefi home—two hours by horseback around and through thick forests of coigue, laurel, tepu, and ulmo trees. As we rode, we were serenaded by the sound of the Sin Nombre River hurrying downhill to the lake.
Finally we arrived in the El Callao Valley, where the Yefi family lives in complete seclusion. As we got off our horses, the children excitedly greeted us. At first I assumed that they were thrilled to see visitors. But I soon realized that their excitement was for their father, whom they hugged as if they hadn’t seen him for a long time. Sensing a special bond between father and children, I later learned that Brother Yefi himself had delivered five of his seven children into the world.
Springtime had reached this high mountain valley, with a profusion of yellow flowers outside the Yefi’s wood frame home. Inside, a sign in the dining room proclaimed, “Our Goal is to Build an Eternal Family.” As we visited with the Yefis that evening, I learned about the roots of their faith in the gospel.
Brother Yefi told us how he was introduced to the Church.
“Since I was a child,” he said, “I had suffered from nosebleeds. One time, after I was married, I suffered a nosebleed so severe that I fainted and had hallucinations. When I recovered, I thought I had gone on to the next life. But I was glad to see my wife by my side taking care of me.
“I decided to go to see a doctor in Puerto Varas. While I was at a friend’s house, he told me that two young men lived nearby who ‘cured’ people in the name of the Lord. Since I have always been a faithful man, I went to see them and asked them how much they charged for a blessing. The young men, who stood out because of their white shirts, told me, ‘We don’t charge money to bless one of our brothers. If you have faith that you will be healed with the blessing we give you, it will be the Lord who will really cure you.’
“They then invited me to sit down, but I told them, ‘I don’t feel comfortable when I’m sitting down. I would feel better kneeling.’ The missionaries put their hands on my head and gave me a blessing. The experience was marvelous. I felt warm all over my body, and I had no doubt that it was God’s power curing me. Never again did I have a nosebleed.
“After this experience, I asked the missionaries what I had to do to become a member of their Church. They asked me if I was married. I told them yes, and we made an appointment to meet together with my wife the following Sunday. The missionaries presented the first discussion, and then they asked us to return the next week for the second discussion. But I told them that because of the distance involved, I wanted them to baptize us then. So we received all the discussions and were baptized the same day, 28 September 1979.
“It’s a long distance between our home and the church, but we attended Sunday meetings as often as possible. On one of our visits, I was interviewed by the branch president to be ordained to the Aaronic priesthood.”
President Otay, who was Brother Yefi’s branch president at that time, challenged him to pay tithing and prepare himself to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. A few months after the interview, on a rainy, wet day, Brother Yefi appeared and asked to speak with the president about paying his first tithing donation. President Otay invited him to come in, but Brother Yefi said that he had his tithing outside—three sacks of potatoes.
Imagine this brother’s faithfulness in keeping the Lord’s commandments! He had transported three sacks of potatoes by horseback, boat, bus, and then wagon to the church.
Listening to Brother Yefi testify of the law of tithing is a special experience. “Before leaving home to bring our tithing to the bishop,” he said, “I pray to Heavenly Father to bless me that I might be honest. I would not like to have the feeling that I have stolen what really belongs to Him.”
Brother Yefi testified that the Lord has greatly blessed his family for obeying the law of tithing. At the time he was baptized, he said, he had only the minimum of necessities to sustain his family—a team of oxen which he used to plow the earth, a horse, and a few goats and sheep. But, he said with great reverence, since learning the gospel and paying his tithing, “We have been greatly blessed. I have horses, goats, sheep, and nine milking cows that give us enough milk to feed our children and to make cheese to sell. And we sow and harvest our own wheat. We are very blessed!”
As a part of the Yefis’ goal of building an eternal family, they have eagerly shared the gospel with their extended family members. Brother Yefi’s father, Prudencio Yefi Calbucan, was the first relative to listen to the gospel message. Next his brother, Segundo Prudencio Yefi Aguilar, his brother’s wife, Maria Isabel de Yefi, and one of their daughters became interested. Then his brother-in-law, Jose Nolberto Miranda Diaz—who we had met at the lakeshore—his wife, Maria Francisca de Miranda, his oldest son Juan Heriberto Miranda Yefi, and two younger daughters wanted to learn more.
Brother Yefi taught them all the missionary discussions. Then they all made the journey to Puerto Varas to be interviewed by the full-time missionaries. After the interviews, Brother Yefi baptized them. He also challenged them to receive the temple endowments which he and Sister Yefi had already done. (The Mirandas’ oldest son was serving in the Chile Vina del Mar Mission at the time of our visit.)
On the second day of our visit, Sunday, President Otay authorized Brother Yefi to conduct regular church services in his home, except when the family journeys to Puerta Varas to pay tithing to the bishop.
We joined the Yefis, with their relatives, in Sunday School and sacrament service—eighteen members altogether.
Brother Yefi taught a lesson from the book of Moroni. As he read from chapters six and seven about baptisms, fellowshipping and preaching by the power of the Holy Ghost, tears rolled down our checks.
When the lesson was finished, we sang a hymn. Even without a piano or a knowledge of music, the Yefi family sang with a spirit that compensated for any wrong notes. Then Brother Yefi asked the visitors to speak.
When it was my turn to speak, I told them, “I realize that you are eager to learn from anything I might say, but I can assure you that from this visit I have learned more from you than what you can learn from me.”
As I told the Yefi family good-by later that day, I thought about the lessons I had learned from them. I learned about being faithful to the Lord in every circumstance. I learned that although a great distance separated the Yefis from the church meetinghouse, there was no distance between them and the Lord. Many of us who have dozens of neighbors around us do not share the gospel, yet the Yefis have taught, fellowshipped, and baptized their nearest neighbors and relatives.
From the Yefis, I learned about making the temple a priority. Many of us who have relatively easy access to a temple make one excuse after another for not attending. The Yefis have already traveled a great distance to Santiago to be sealed in the temple. And whenever they can make the journey to that city, the temple is their first priority.
I left the beautiful El Callao Valley strengthened in my own testimony of the gospel and in my commitment to obey the Lord. The Yefis’ influence for good has reached beyond the isolation of their mountain home.

Colonel Thomas L. Kane, a nonmember of the Church, spoke to the Historical Society of Philadelphia, as recorded in the memoirs of John R. Young. He told them that during his travels a few years before, he had passed through a very unusual city named Nauvoo, a community established on the banks of the Mississippi. He explained that after traveling up the river for some time, he left the steamer and began to travel on land because of the rapids in the river.
While on the road, he had seen only unimproved country where idlers and outlaws had settled. Then he saw Nauvoo. Quoting him:
“I was descending the last hillside upon my journey, when a landscape in delightful contrast broke upon my view. Half encircled by a bend of the river, a beautiful city lay glittering in the fresh morning sun. Its bright new dwellings [were] set in cool green gardens ranging up around a stately dome-shaped hill, which was crowned by a noble marble edifice, whose high tapering spire was radiant with white and gold. The city appeared to cover several miles, and beyond it, in the backgrounds, there rolled off a fair country chequered by the careful lines of fruitful husbandry. The unmistakable marks of industry, enterprise and educated wealth everywhere, made the scene one of singular and most striking beauty. … No one met me there. I looked and saw no one. I could hear no one move, though the quiet everywhere was such that I heard the flies buzz and the water ripples break against the shallow beach. I walked through the solitary streets. The town lay as in a dream, under some deadening spell of loneliness, from which I almost feared to wake it, for plainly it had not slept long. There was no grass growing up in the paved ways, rains had not entirely washed away the prints of dusty footsteps, yet I went about unchecked. I went into empty workshops, rope walks and smithies. The spinner’s wheel was idle, the carpenter had gone from his work bench and shavings, his unfinished sash and casings, fresh bark was in the tanner’s vat, and fresh chopped light wood stood piled against the baker’s oven. The blacksmith’s shop was cold; but his coal heap and ladling pool and crooked water horn were all there, as if he had just gone for a holiday. …
“Fields upon fields of heavy headed yellow grain lay rotting. … No one was at hand to take in their rich harvest.” (Memoirs of John R. Young, Utah Pioneer 1847, Salt Lake City: Deseret News, 1920, pp. 31–33.)
Colonel Kane could not understand why such a beautiful city had been abandoned. He was unaware that the Saints had been driven from their city by the mobs. His curiosity caused him to search for the people who had left the city. When he found them, he observed that even though they were suffering and dying from hunger and exposure, they were peaceful and wholesome. Why had such a harmless people been so persecuted?

After a get-acquainted dinner with all of the mission presidents and their wives, Lee and I, with our wives, went to my hotel room for a visit. Our conversation, of course, centered on missionary work. Lee explained what had happened to his missionaries since President Hinckley asked us to raise the bar on qualifications for missionary service. He reported a decided improvement in the preparation of the missionaries arriving in the mission field. The conversation led us to recall an experience Lee and I had while he was attending high school.
Lee was a member of his high school track team—he both sprinted and high-jumped. During the 1968 Summer Olympic Games held in Mexico City, the world became enamored with a little-known high jumper named Dick Fosbury. He had experimented with a new high-jumping technique that involved sprinting diagonally toward the bar, then curving and leaping backward over the bar. It came to be called the Fosbury flop.
Like many others, Lee was intrigued by this new technique, but until the new school year started, he didn’t have a place to practice it. I came home one evening to find him practicing the Fosbury flop in our basement. He had set up two makeshift standards by stacking chairs, and he was jumping over a broomstick set on the chairs, using a sofa to cushion his landing. It was very clear to me that the sofa would not hold up under such treatment, so I called a halt to his indoor high-jumping. Instead, I invited him to go with me to a sporting goods store, where we purchased some foam padding to use for landing and high-jumping standards so he could move the activity out of doors.
After experimenting with the Fosbury flop, Lee decided to return to the western-roll technique that he had used previously. Still, through the end of the summer into the fall, he practiced high-jumping for many hours in our backyard.
One evening as I returned home from work, I found Lee practicing his jumping. I asked, “How high is the bar?”
He said, “Five feet, eight inches.”
“Why that height?”
He answered, “You must clear that height to qualify for the state track meet.”
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I can clear it every time. I haven’t missed.”
My reply: “Let’s raise the bar and see how well you do then.”
He replied, “Then I might miss.”
I queried, “If you don’t raise the bar, how will you ever know your potential?”
So we started moving the bar up to five feet, ten inches; then to six feet; and so on, as he sought to improve. Lee became a better high jumper because he was not content with just clearing the minimum standard. He learned that even if it meant missing, he wanted to keep raising the bar to become the best high jumper he was capable of becoming.

“You win.”
I had just come out of the hotel’s elevator with my date. It was my high school senior prom—the day I had been looking forward to for months. The dinner and accompanying dance were held on the top floor of a local hotel in my hometown in upstate New York. Balloon arches and a long, red carpet led the way into the ballroom where the dance was being held.
“Excuse me?” I asked, looking around for the source of the voice. It was my science teacher, Mr. Keenan.
“You win,” he repeated.
Laughing, I asked him what it was I had won.
“You have the most beautiful dress I have ever seen,” he responded. “I want that dress for my daughters when they go to prom.”
“Oh, I’m sure he tells every girl that,” I thought, smiling.
Continuing, he said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but not many of the dresses I’ve seen so far tonight cover very much.”
I was a little taken aback by his comment. It was obvious that my dress was modest, but I didn’t think that others would care. I thanked him and continued into the dance.
Later in the evening, my date and I went to the photographer for pictures. When it was our turn to pose, the photographer looked at me and said, “Wow, what a gorgeous dress.”
“I’m sure you tell every girl that her dress is gorgeous,” I said, voicing my earlier thoughts.
“Oh no,” his voice was serious. “I rarely tell a girl her dress is gorgeous.”
Rewind eight months to the previous fall. I knew my senior prom was going to be at the end of that school year, and in my excitement I started searching for a prom dress in September.
My friends and I spent several Saturdays shopping at local stores and trying on their selection of formal dresses. But in my hometown, finding a formal dress that went to at least the knees, wasn’t cut too low in the front or back, had sleeves, and was cute was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
I could have rationalized wearing an immodest dress—it was just one night, only immodest dresses were available, and all of my friends would be wearing them. But I felt uncomfortable just trying them on, and I knew I would be uncomfortable the whole night of prom if I did wear one.
I started looking harder. I knew it would be difficult to find something in local stores, so I turned to the Internet. It took a bit of searching, but after a while, I found the dress of my dreams.
It was a little more expensive than the immodest dresses I had tried on, and I had to get a job to pay for it. But when I received it in the mail and tried it on, it fit perfectly and I felt comfortable. I knew I had made the right decision.
When I walked into prom that night, I never once felt uncomfortable. And I was grateful that I had chosen to stay modest. As my teacher said, I had won.

George Albert also learned a great lesson at the knee of Brigham Young. When he was only five years old, his mother dressed him in his black velvet suit and sent him to see Brigham Young. He carried a letter asking for help in buying some railroad tickets to go to Ogden. George Albert’s father was serving a mission in Great Britain, and his mother needed some assistance.
George Albert walked the two blocks to President Young’s office and pushed open the huge timber gate in the wall that then surrounded the headquarters of the Church. He found himself face to face with a large security guard named John Smith, who demanded of the boy, “What do you want?” Frightened, George answered, “I want to see President Young,” to which the man bellowed back, “President Young has no time for the likes of you.” According to President Smith’s own account, he was by now nearly ready to faint, but just then the door of the office opened and President Young walked out and asked: “‘What’s wanted, John?’
“John replied, ‘Here is a little fellow wants to see President Young,’ and then he roared with laughter. He thought it was a good joke. But with all the dignity in the world, President Young said to him, ‘John, show him in.’
“There was nothing else the guard could do then but to let me in and he took me up to the porch where President Young was standing. …
“President Young took me by the hand and led me into his office, sat down at his desk and lifted me up on his knee and put his arm around me. In the kindest way one could imagine, he said, ‘What do you want of President Young?’
“Just think of it! He was President of a great Church and Governor of a Territory, and with all the duties he had to perform, yet I as a little boy was received with as much dignity, and kindness as if I had come as a governor from an adjoining state.”
George Albert never forgot that lesson in courtesy, and he always tried to be sensitive to other people’s feelings, regardless of their station in life.

It was a beautiful day, so I decided to ride my bike to the ward barbecue. I wouldn’t be able to stay long because I had cross-country practice. As I was getting ready to go, the idea of taking some peanut butter crackers crossed my mind. How silly, I thought, I’m going to a ward barbecue. I don’t need to take any food.
As I pedaled to the barbecue, I again thought I should’ve packed some peanut butter crackers. Too late now. Soon I was at the park waiting for the food to be ready. I waited and waited and waited. By now my stomach was growling, and I was getting hungrier by the minute. But I couldn’t wait any longer; it was time for practice, and I had to leave. I wished I had those crackers.
When practice was over, I pedaled back to the barbecue, wanting desperately to eat. I made it to the park just as people were driving off. Please let there be food left! I scrambled trying to find leftovers. Hamburgers! Yes, there were some left! I slapped some meat on a bun and devoured my cold burger.
As I took another a bite, I had a new thought: Heavenly Father cares about me. He was trying to send a message that would have helped me. It’s miraculous, really, all the ways we are watched over. To have the Spirit’s guidance is an amazing blessing, even if it’s a simple thought like taking peanut butter crackers.
Angela T., Washington, USA

Part of Cody’s goal to become an astronaut included a goal to become an Air Force Academy cadet. As he progressed through high school, he counseled with his father and mother and prayed about each step along the way. He had three great goals in life.
The first was to keep all the commandments of his Father in Heaven. The second was to serve a full-time mission. “All my life we have talked about a mission and the things pertaining to a mission. It was never ‘if you go on a mission’ but always ‘when you go.’” The third great goal was temple marriage.
“Every night before we went to sleep, mom or dad would come around to our beds and ask each of us in turn, ‘What do you want out of life? What do you want to do? What do you want to be?’ Those goal-setting sessions really helped me keep my head on straight. Every night I said those three things and sometimes others—like the astronaut plans—but always those three. We would talk about what I needed to do to achieve those goals, and then we would talk about any problems or questions I had.”
But two of Cody’s goals conflicted with each other. In order to go on a mission, he would have to resign from the academy after his first year—there was no such thing as a leave of absence for a mission. If he left, he was probably out of the program. To get back in, he would have to be renominated, and the mere fact of his resignation might work against him. What were the odds?
The preparations continued. Cody ran four or five miles each night to condition himself. As a junior, he spent one whole day taking college entrance exams, including the ACT (American College Test), SAT (Scholastic Aptitude Test), an Air Force engineering aptitude examination, and a physical fitness test. He was also interviewed and appraised for leadership potential.
The first year at the academy wasn’t spent just waiting for a mission call. “It was hard,” he remembers. “After the first four months I started asking, ‘Is this what I want to do in life?’ But then I would think back to the confirmations I had received through the Holy Ghost. I knew I was doing things, as President Kimball says, in their proper season and order, and I prayed, and the plan was reconfirmed. I knew I was right where I should be, and that really helped me.”
As the first year drew to a close, Cody had to reaffirm in his own mind his decision to go on a mission. To survive the toughest year in the academy and then give it all up took a lot of courage. And it might also mean abandoning his lifelong dream of becoming an astronaut. “But I had already made the decision to resign eight years earlier. I had no doubt what I was going to do even though I agonized over it.”
In March, during spring break, Cody had his mission interviews with his bishop and stake president. At the end of the summer, following SERE training (survival, evasion, resistance, and escape), he resigned. As with any cadet who asks to leave the academy, he was sent to interviews with several different counselors and officers.
“All of them would grill me at first,” Cody said, “but as soon as I told them my reasons for resigning, their attitude changed. They all expressed their respect for the LDS people they knew, and when I told them I was going to try to come back, which was something of a shock in itself, they said fine.” His written statement included a full explanation of what a mission is and why he wanted to serve.
The officer who had to sign the paper as a witness commented, “I’ve never read anything like that before in my life. Is that really what you believe?”
“I sure do,” Cody replied.
“A lot of them didn’t understand,” Cody explains, “but they accepted. They were feeling something they’d rarely felt before.”
In May Cody received his call to the Switzerland Zurich Mission. He entered the MTC in August. Concentrating on studies was second nature, and obedience was ingrained. “I wanted to use my time wisely because I knew I was paying a price for my mission,” he said.
At first the thought of not being readmitted hung over him, but the time finally came when he stopped worrying and left it in the hands of the Lord. Besides, missionary work presented its own challenges. “For the first six or seven months, I found myself going through the motions. I knew the Church was true and that the work was important, but I didn’t love it as I should. My academy experience came to my aid. I was used to doing difficult things. I worked hard and prayed every day that the work would become a joy instead of a burden. In the course of about a week, the whole thing turned around. Suddenly I was happier; I was working out of desire, not just duty. I knew my mission would be worth it even if I never got accepted back into the academy.”
Then a letter from home told Cody that Ted Parsons, another cadet who had resigned from the academy to serve a mission, had been readmitted! Maybe there was a chance after all!
Cody took the necessary exams at a U.S. military installation. “My mission president gave me a blessing. He told me I had served an honorable mission and that the Lord would help me accomplish what I needed to.”
Shortly after the blessing, Cody had a head-on bicycle collision, shattering his nose on the handlebar. “Qualifications at the academy are stringent. With an impact like that you would normally lose pilot qualification. If I had hit my eye or forehead or even my teeth, it would probably have disqualified me.” Cody is convinced he was protected.
When the test results arrived, they showed a score higher than the first time Cody applied for admission, which was advantageous because the competition was tougher.
“I had done everything I could. I made sure my end of things was in order. I wasn’t expecting the Lord to meet me more than halfway. Then I left it up to him,” Cody said.
Cody was renominated by his senator. His faith had paid off. Two weeks after returning from Switzerland and two years after leaving Colorado Springs, Cody Carr entered the academy once more. His dream of being an astronaut was fully intact, along with his other goals of keeping the commandments, marrying in the temple, and being a lifelong missionary.

As their faith in Jesus Christ sustains Tamton and his family in times of need, it also comforts them in times of sorrow. Several years ago one of their sons died while fishing for octopus. He was only 22, but he suffered a heart attack alone out in the ocean.
Tamton’s eyes get moist as he speaks of his son. “The news broke our hearts,” he says. But then his eyes brighten. “We want him sealed to us.” When Tune was their district president, he taught Tamton and Taake about the priesthood and its power to seal families together forever in the temple. They are eager to go.
But with few resources, they have yet to see a temple let alone visit one. Still, Tamton and Taake are trying to find a way. Tune says that if they die before they go to the temple, he will make sure their work is done for them. He encourages them to fill out the necessary family records. Perhaps their children will be able to do the temple work they cannot.

To begin with they were all in the same ward, but then the wards were split. Melissa ended up in one of the new wards, and Marny and Nancy were in the other.
“After they split the wards, and we figured out who wasn’t going to be where, we all started crying,” Nancy remembered.
But there were still chances to get together. There are plenty of excuses in this beautiful land, whether on river, bayou, lake, land, marsh, swamp, or sea.
And if none of those places work out, there is one even better spot. Sometimes on a Sunday morning when they get a little lonely for one another, the three friends get together at church. “Sometimes I just stay and go to their ward’s meetings after mine are over,” Melissa says. “And sometimes they’ll come early and go to mine before going to their own.”

Maria had been less active for more than 20 years. A few months ago, we spent a couple of hours with her in our home, exploring her family through census and other records. At one point she burst into tears exclaiming, “I’ve learned more about my family in two hours than I’ve known in my whole life!”
At the end of our time together, we introduced to her the Relatives Around Me feature of the FamilyTree app. It turned out that my husband and I both are distantly related to Maria. She burst into tears again, saying she had thought she was alone. She never knew she had family in the area. A few weeks later Maria met with our bishop. She is now working on preparing for the temple, and she has met many “new” cousins in our ward!
Carol Riner Everett, North Carolina, USA

Every year in Nauvoo there’s a fun event called the pumpkin walk. There are carved pumpkins along the streets and tasty treats to eat.
My family and I were walking along the pumpkin walk when, all of a sudden, I couldn’t see my family! I was scared. I walked up and down the street looking for them. I decided to say a prayer. I prayed that I could find my parents. I felt like I should talk to the first missionaries I saw. I also felt that I should walk to the car.
Elder Perry was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles from 1974 until he died in 2015.
As I walked toward our car, I saw two missionaries. When I got to them, I realized they weren’t missionaries—it was Elder L. Tom Perry and his wife! They helped me find my family.
I am grateful I found help when I was lost. I learned that God answers my prayers.

Okay, here’s the scene. You’re the wide receiver for your high school football team. The team’s only been in existence for two years, and thanks largely to you, your team made it to the state finals. One more win, and you’re state champions.
Problem is, the final game is against a team that has won three state championships in the last six years. Their record this season is almost perfect. They’re known as one of the best teams in the state.
The game is close, and the fourth quarter ends in a tie, 14–14. The game goes into overtime. Each team will start on the ten-yard line and have four downs to score. Ball possession will go back and forth until someone doesn’t score.
The other team gets the ball first. They score a touchdown, plus the extra point. It’s 21–14. Now it’s your team’s turn. On the fourth down, your team scores. It’s 21–20. Everyone expects a kick for the extra point and another tie. But you have a plan. You talk to the quarterback, another receiver, and the coach. Together you decide to try for a two-point conversion. That will give your team 22 points, the win, and the state championship.
The ball is hiked. The quarterback looks for an opening. You’re in the end zone. The quarterback throws the ball. It’s an easy pass. If you catch it, the state championship is yours. If you drop it, you score nothing, and the other team wins.
You drop it!
Can’t you just taste the agony? But it really happened to Jake Brian. Jake was an 18-year-old senior at Fremont High School in Weber County, Utah. His team, the Silverwolves, made it to the state championship play-offs in only their second year but wound up losing to Salt Lake City’s Skyline Eagles after Jake’s dropped pass.
Was Jake devastated? Did it ruin his life? Does he sit in his room all the time and watch video of the game over and over, beating himself up for dropping that pass? No, he does not.
Jake is an accomplished athlete. Football wasn’t his first sport. It wasn’t even his second. Basketball and baseball occupied those two spots. But in his second year of playing football, he caught 73 passes for 1,155 yards and scored 16 touchdowns, besides leading his team to the state finals. Of course, Jake doesn’t take all the credit himself. He describes Olin Hannum as “probably the best quarterback in the state, and we had a really good offensive line.”
Still, some folks think Jake was one of the most important factors in the success of the team. Moments after Jake dropped the pass and was agonizing over the play, Coach Blaine Monkres told Jake, “You didn’t cost us the state championship. You’re the one that got us to the state finals!” Teammates made similar comments.
And so did the many cards and letters he got. Members of the community wrote to console him, and they focused on the great season he had, telling him one dropped pass didn’t cancel out everything he had already done. One letter writer said he had dropped a pass in a similar situation back in 1932, so he understood. People sent cookies and pies. Jake was flattered by all the attention, but he admits, “I was surprised so many people were thinking about me.”
So when all is said and done, is winning everything? “At times it seems like it is,” Jake says. “You always want to win, but it isn’t everything.” Jake has moved on. He is attending Snow College in Ephraim, Utah, where he has a partial scholarship to play football. After football season, he’ll be serving a mission.

As I thought about all the gifts and cards we would be giving during another Christmas season, suddenly a question came to my mind. Of all the gifts I had received during Christmastime in the past, had any of them significantly affected my life? Then I remembered December 1963.
I was home alone because my parents had gone out. I was a young teacher at the time. Classes had ended, I was on vacation, and Christmas was fast approaching. I looked around for something to read, but I had already read everything in our home library. I decided to go see a neighbor who had a good book collection and had often loaned books to me. This time she offered a book that two young men—foreigners—had left with her.
“I’d like to know your opinion of it,” she said. “The content seems interesting.”
She then added that the young men were missionaries. Missionaries? My interest in the book immediately died. At the time I was not interested in anything having to do with religion, but I took the book anyway.
As I said good-bye, my neighbor added, “Inside the book you’ll find a little note they wrote, suggesting that before reading the book, a person needs to say a prayer to God.”
Not having any plans that rainy Saturday, I decided to read the “interesting” book. I opened it and found the note written by the missionaries. I put the book on my bed, knelt down, and for the first time in my life, offered up a prayer to God in my own words.
As I started to read, the story captivated me. How was young Nephi able to exercise such unshakable faith? I wondered if I would ever be capable of doing something like that. As I read the book of Mosiah, I drew strength from the words of King Benjamin. At the time I had no idea I was reading a book that would become my favorite for more than 40 years.
During those years the book’s pages have provided me with much support, comfort, and strength, and I have discovered many important insights that I shared in talks and lessons at the little Tucumán Branch in Argentina, where I was baptized and confirmed. Two years later, while serving a full-time mission, I also wrote little notes on pieces of paper, suggesting to investigators that they pray before reading the copy of the Book of Mormon my companion and I left in their hands.
So many years have passed since then. But how could I have forgotten the most precious Christmas gift I ever received and the neighbor who gave it to me? I can hardly remember her face, and I struggle to remember her name—Marina. Thank you, neighbor. You have my eternal gratitude.

Once I got home, I took up weight lifting again, but with a considerably different attitude. I’d never looked on my weight lifting talent as a gift before. I hadn’t thought that training was a way of magnifying that talent. I began training with a new intensity. Also, I figured that as I continued to work hard, I would have more opportunities to meet people who didn’t have the gospel in their lives, and I could share it with them. And maybe my example could help someone.
It wasn’t easy to jump right back into lifting, but within seven months I won the National Collegiate Power Lifting Championship in the 198-pound weight class. The following year I won it again, and even managed to set two national records. It dawned on me that I hadn’t lost anything, but I’d gained a great deal. I’d learned about true happiness, determination, self-worth, and the belief in a divine purpose—and oh, yes—I’d learned what true power lifting really is.