Gospel Story Finder

In 1988, my family relocated to Perth Australia—I had a new job opportunity. The Sydney temple was then 4000 km from our home. We made a family commitment to drive to the Sydney temple every two years. Once there, we would spend a whole week participating in temple ordinances. Our children still have fond memories of the mostly sacred time we had together driving three and a half days each way across Australia.

Nephi stated that he had “been born of goodly parents” (1 Ne. 1:1). I echo his same words, for I too was born of goodly parents—a father who was a faithful Latter-day Saint who honored his priesthood and a loving mother who died when I was a young child, leaving my father with six children. My father remarried a widow with nine children, thus giving me in all five brothers and nine sisters. I am grateful for my second mother, who loved me as one of her own and who was an example to me. I thank my Father in Heaven for all of my brothers and sisters, who have loved and supported me and who also love the gospel and the Lord. It has now been 54 years since the Lunt-Taylor family was joined together, and even though our parents are gone, we feel unity and love for each other. I also have felt the love and support of grandparents, uncles and aunts, and other relatives.

Sometime after our mission, we felt prompted by the Spirit to leave our home in Minnesota and to move to Utah. There, I started a new business with two of my friends. We decided to buy some land to develop into lots for homes that we could sell. It had been an excellent real estate market. We were quite happy with how the business was going. But it was short lived. The great recession came. Land values crashed. We were in debt and I had no good way to resolve the situation except to go back to my old field of consulting. It was not a good time as the whole economy was in deep trouble.
I was not sure what to do. But I had learned in my life that I could turn to my Heavenly Father for guidance, no matter what the situation might be. Not long after, an opportunity came to me to move to Abu Dhabi in the Middle East. I did not want to move there, but it seemed that it was the only way out of my current difficulties. We took the opportunity and left Utah. Just before departing, I was called to be an Area Seventy in the Middle East. Once again, though I did not understand at first, I was grateful to have kept trusting the Lord—to let Him prevail in our lives.

Sister Workman and I were in the country of Ivory Coast on Church assignment when a rebellion broke out in the country. The rebels overran a significant part of the country to the North including the city of Bouake, where we had several branches of the Church and 10 young missionaries. We and the mission president were alarmed because these missionaries were at risk to be involuntarily impressed into the rebel army, if not shot as a combatant. After some anxious days, we learned that the French government was sending in an armed convoy to evacuate the numerous French citizens who lived in Bouake. We arranged with the French consulate to evacuate the missionaries at the same time. They were great about it and agreed to help us.
The missionaries were contacted through a local branch president and told to dress in their missionary attire and meet at the extraction point at the appointed time. The missionaries showed up and were recognized by the French soldiers-all except two of them. Two of these missionaries decided that they did not want to dress in missionary clothes. They wore their "mufti" or preparation day clothes. Maybe they were just stubborn, or maybe they thought they knew more than the mission president or maybe they just acted stupidly, but they knew the rules and they intentionally refused to follow them. "God will justify in committing a little sin," right? The French officer in charge saw them line up and demanded they leave or be shot, accusing them of being rebels and trying to infiltrate the South. He said he knew LDS missionaries by their dress and appearance and he could see these two young men were not missionaries.
Of course the two missionaries dashed to their apartment; changed as they should have in the first place and returned only to discover the French convoy had left. For many weeks they hid in their apartment, never coming out. Food was brought by faithful Church members to keep them alive. At long last, a faithful branch president came in the middle of the night, told them to grab only what they could carry in their backpacks and come with him. He walked them through the jungle for 72 hours without food or clean water until they could cross the battle lines into the South zone and safety.
Happily, the missionaries were safe from the rebels. But are they safe from evil? They had stepped onto that slippery path downward, risking both their physical and spiritual lives.

In 1964, Dr. Daryl Chase, who at the time was the president of the Utah State University, and I were invited by the State Department to go to Bolivia to establish a relationship between the people of Bolivia and the people of Utah. We arrived in La Paz, Bolivia, on 1 March 1964. A C-47 plane was made available to us, piloted by President Paz Estenssoro’s personal pilot. We flew to various cities and were escorted in a van to the nearby villages on the Altiplano. After three weeks we returned home and began wondering what we could do to establish a meaningful program. We had many requests from the people of Bolivia for help. The problem was that they all wanted something for nothing, which we could not support.

Dr. Chase assigned his responsibility in the program to Dr. B. Austin Haws. Dr. Haws and I sat down one afternoon and established the criteria upon which the program should operate. We adapted the concepts of Church welfare for the Utah-Bolivia Partner’s Program. For example, the program should operate both ways. We would learn from them, and they would learn from us. We would do nothing for them that they could and should do for themselves. We would do nothing that would tend to weaken character; we would not support a program that would develop dependency, but rather we would support those programs that result in self-sufficiency.

Dr. Chase arranged for Dr. Matthews, from the College of Southern Utah at Cedar City, to go to Bolivia under the USAID Program. He found that people were not shearing their sheep. He found that they were using them as status symbols and were making yarn only from the wool caught by barbed wire fences or plucked from the animal’s backs. He taught them how they could shear their sheep and still have their sheep—something they never supposed could be done. He held sheep-shearing contests throughout Bolivia, which resulted in the shearing concept being quickly adopted. We raised $1,500 and sent it to Dr. Matthews. He purchased prize sheep in Peru, brought them to Bolivia, and traded the 4-H Clubs’ prize rams for the poor ones—first one for one, then one for two, until he was trading one prize ram for four poor rams, at which time the trading became a self-sustaining concept.

We organized committees and sent our educational committee chairman to Bolivia to establish a school building program in the villages of Bolivia where the children had never before had the opportunity for an education. The minister of education agreed to furnish a school teacher for every classroom that was constructed under the program. The people of the villages did everything they could for themselves: they dug the foundations, baked adobe brick, poured the concrete foundations, laid the brick, and then stuccoed the walls. School children from Utah furnished funds to purchase the timbers and aluminum for the roofs and the wood for the doors and window frames. When the schools were completed, they contained from one to four rooms. They were attractive and of typical Spanish architecture.

One day I was invited to the McMillan Elementary School on 53rd South and 3rd East in Salt Lake City. I was advised that over a six-month period the students had gathered old newspapers, magazines, pop bottles, and rags to raise funds for the school building program. When I walked into the room there were five hundred students in the auditorium from five to twelve years of age. Every eye was riveted on me. They had worked for six months—and they had a real stake in this program. A short Bolivian skit was presented. Then they invited me to the podium and handed me a check for $1,101.01 to complete a school in Bolivia. As I looked into the faces of those children, I couldn’t hold back the tears, nor could I speak a single word. It was truly an emotional experience.

One day I was invited to the American Fork Junior High School. As Kay Allen and I entered the auditorium, the A Cappella choir began to sing the song, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me. Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.” A short program ensued, and we were invited to the podium. A check for $1,425 was presented to us to complete a high school in a Bolivian village. The students had earned the money by promoting a variety of projects. We thanked them. The student body then arose and with gusto sang again, “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me. Let there be peace on earth, the peace that was meant to be.” I thought I felt the timbers shake as they sang. Instead of those students spending their time creating problems for the community, they were spending their time helping their nation improve its foreign relations.

Last year, Sister Derrick and I visited Bolivia and participated in the dedication of the ninety-ninth school built under this program. This is but one example of the many programs that were instituted, all of which were consistent with the concepts of the Church welfare program. The success that came following these concepts resulted in the Utah program being an example for other states, and today that national program is the most successful self-help program in America.

As I grew older, the world was changing. There was a war, and as a result, the number of missionaries each ward could send was limited. I didn’t think that I could go on a mission at age 19 even though I had always wanted to.
Then one day my mother said to me, “The bishop wants to see you this afternoon.”
When I arrived at the bishop’s office, he said, “David, our ward has been given the blessing of being able to send one more missionary. The bishopric has been praying about who should go, and I want you to know that now is the time that the Lord would have you serve your mission.”
I was stunned. I had no idea that’s what we were going to be talking about. I had always known that President David O. McKay wanted me to serve a mission, that my mom wanted me to serve, and that I wanted to serve. But no one had ever said to me, “The Lord wants you to do something now.”
I asked the bishop if I could think about it for a week. Then I got in my car and drove around for an hour before ending up back at the church. I went to the bishop’s office and knocked on the door. When I opened it, he was still sitting there. Nothing was on his desk. He didn’t seem to be doing anything. “Bishop, what are you still doing here?” I asked.
He said, “I’m waiting for you.”
I told him, “Bishop, if the Lord wants me to go, then I will go.”
I’m grateful I did. Children, do what the Lord asks you to do when He asks you to do it. If the bishop asks you to do something, obey. If your Primary teacher asks you to do something, say yes. The Lord will bless you, even as you face challenges.

We have seen the manifestation of the Savior’s power in a widow who lost her husband while they were on the Lord’s errand in Bolivia. We have seen it in a young woman in Argentina who fell under a train and lost her leg, just because someone wanted to steal her cell phone. And in her single father, who now must pick up the pieces and strengthen his daughter after such an unexplainable act of cruelty. We have seen it in the families that lost their homes and every possession during fires in Chile just two days before Christmas in 2022. We have seen it in those who suffer after a traumatic divorce and in those who are innocent victims of abuse.

This is the kind of faith we saw when we visited the families after the fires in Chile. Their houses had been burned to the ground; they had lost everything. Yet as we were walking in what used to be their homes and they were telling us about their experiences, we felt that we were standing on holy ground. One sister said to my wife, “When I saw that nearby houses were burning, I had the impression that our house was going to be burned, that we were going to lose everything. Instead of desperation, I experienced a sense of indescribable peace. Somehow, I felt everything was going to be OK.” Trusting God and keeping our covenants with Him bring power to our weakness and comfort to our grief.

Several years ago, while I was serving as president of the Fiji Suva Mission, some missionaries had an experience which reinforced in them the converting power of the Book of Mormon. On a hot and humid day, two elders arrived at a home in a small settlement in Labasa.

The knock on the door was answered by a weathered man who listened as the missionaries testified of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. They gave him a copy and invited him to read and to pray to know, like them, that it is the word of God. His reply was brief: “Tomorrow I return to fishing. I will read it while at sea, and when I return, you may visit me again.”

While he was away, transfers were made, and a few weeks later, a new companionship of elders returned to visit the fisherman. By this time he had read the entire Book of Mormon, had received confirmation of its truthfulness, and was eager to learn more.

This man had been converted by the Holy Ghost, who witnessed of the truth of the precious words on every page of events and doctrine taught long ago and preserved for our day in the Book of Mormon. That same blessing is available to each of us.

Serving a mission can be a financial burden to any missionary and his family, but what do you do when you have three sons all wanting to leave at the same time? The Rozsa family has foreseen this, and the boys have been working since the age of 13 toward their missions. In addition to those icy Boston paper routes, they’ve sold avocados, worked in construction, and held other odd jobs. Last summer all three worked at the same taco stand at the same time, guaranteeing considerable confusion among unsuspecting customers. They report their bank accounts are in good shape for the missions to come.

“Come on, Jodi! It’s only one soccer match! God isn’t going to hate you for playing just this once on Sunday.”
“That’s right,” thought Jodi Allen, a seventeen-year-old from Sandy, Utah, and the best goalkeeper on her championship soccer team. “It is only one soccer match.” But to play in it would break a personal promise she’d made to Heavenly Father years before.
But how could she explain that to the teammates who were pressuring her to play? As a team, they had worked hard all season, winning the Utah state championship and traveling to the regional tournament in San Francisco, California, to compete against other winning teams from throughout the western United States. They had successfully played a couple of tournament matches and now had the opportunity to play a team that had beaten them the previous year. Jodi’s team wanted revenge, and a win for the team would place them in the regional finals.
But the game was scheduled for Sunday.
“Oh Jodi! Who do you think you are? Some of us are members of the Church too, and we’re playing on Sunday. Do you think you’re better than we are?”
So there was never a question about playing on Sunday—not even in this tournament. But making her teammates understand was another story.
“Look,” she tried to explain, “if I don’t play on Sunday, I’ll disappoint my team, and I feel bad about that. But if I do play on Sunday, I’ll disappoint so many more. I’ll disappoint myself, because I’d be breaking a promise. I’d disappoint my parents, who know how important that promise is to me. I’d disappoint my cousins, who don’t play on Sunday because of my example, and I’d disappoint my seminary teachers, who have taught me better. But most important of all, I’d disappoint God. I just can’t do that.”
It was a great explanation, but it didn’t do Jodi much good. All Saturday night the team tried to convince her to play. They made fun of her. They called her every name they could think of. Finally, at about midnight, Jodi telephoned home in tears. It wasn’t that she was tempted to give in. It’s just that she felt so alone.
Her parents listened. Her parents understood. Both her mother and father got on the telephone and had a prayer with her. After they hung up, they called an old friend in the San Francisco area and asked her to give Jodi some support.
The next morning Jodi got up and got dressed—in a dress, which she wore as she stood on the sidelines watching her team play. The final score was one-to-one. After the game, many of her teammates apologized for being so critical of her.
The team took third place overall in the tournament, which was better than they’d ever done before. Jodi thought this would be a highlight on which to end her soccer career.

“After keeping record of my time spent on social media for the first week, I was a little shocked at the amount of time I spent on my phone. It was definitely a good idea for me to use some of that time for the Book of Mormon, especially because diligently reading scriptures is not one of my strengths.
“Ironically, one of the first days I read my scriptures in the morning was a terrible day. However, I knew that reading scriptures would only improve my life, so I kept reading.
“I think the greatest impact from reading every day was that I felt much more in tune with the Spirit. I was able to make decisions much easier. I felt more love for the people around me and an increased desire to serve. When I read my scriptures in the morning, the day went so much better. When I read at night, I slept well. I would strongly recommend that everyone try this. What a difference it makes!”
Bryn C., 18, Utah, USA

The children have learned in the process of growing up what their parents expect. One young man said: “I remember when one of my friends asked if I’d like to go to a movie with him on a Sunday afternoon. I said no, and he wanted to know why—was that one of our rules? he asked. I thought about it and suddenly realized that it was one of our rules, but it had never been stated in those words. It’s just one of the things that our family would never do.”

When I think of righteous individuals, the names of Gustav and Margarete Wacker come readily to mind. Let me describe them. I first met the Wackers when I was called to preside over the Canadian Mission in 1959. They had immigrated to Kingston, Ontario, Canada, from their native Germany.
Brother Wacker earned his living as a barber. His means were limited, but he and Sister Wacker always paid more than a tenth as tithing. As branch president, Brother Wacker started a missionary fund, and for months at a time he was the only contributor. When there were missionaries in the city, the Wackers fed and cared for them, and the missionaries never left the Wacker home without some tangible donation to their work and welfare.
Gustav and Margarete Wacker’s home was a heaven. They were not blessed with children, but they mothered and fathered their many Church visitors. Men and women of learning and sophistication sought out these humble, unlettered servants of God and counted themselves fortunate if they could spend an hour in their presence. The Wackers’ appearance was ordinary, their English halting and somewhat difficult to understand, their home unpretentious. They didn’t own a car or a television, nor did they do any of the things to which the world usually pays attention. Yet the faithful beat a path to their door in order to partake of the spirit that was there.
In March of 1982, Brother and Sister Wacker were called to serve as full-time ordinance workers in the Washington D.C. Temple. On June 29, 1983, while Brother and Sister Wacker were still serving in this temple assignment, Brother Wacker, with his beloved wife at his side, peacefully passed from mortality to his eternal reward. Fitting are the words, “Who honors God, God honors.”

In still another case, a young woman from Hamburg, Germany, was struggling to find spiritual meaning to her life. She began to pray and ask God what she should do. One morning, after three days of some fasting and much prayer, she walked from her home to the bus stop. As she arrived, she realized she had left some keys at home that she needed that day. She returned home, picked up the keys, and walked again to the bus stop. She was quite distraught as she realized she had missed the bus she would have normally taken.
Meanwhile, two missionaries were traveling on a bus near the city of Hamburg. As they were traveling, they suddenly had an impression that they should talk to the first person they met after exiting the bus. The two elders got out of the bus and instantly saw this young woman. They spoke to her briefly about the Church and set up an appointment to teach her. She had an immediate feeling that somehow the elders were sent to her as an answer to her prayers. The good members of the Church joined with the missionaries in teaching her and helping her feel a special part of their ward. She accepted the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and was baptized. Now she is working in the ward Young Women program.

Another one said, “I was always camping with my friends, and they were always putting in big chaws. Me and my cousin swore up and down that we’d never try it because it smelled sick and looked sick. One day I was with my buddies up in the hills. They whipped out their cans of snooze and offered me one. I just kept on telling them no. I finally took one. I figured these guys were my good friends, and they had done it so it must be good.”

All of the young men we talked to were underage to buy chewing tobacco. Even though the laws against selling tobacco to minors are strict in most states, this did not cause them a moment of concern. “We have friends with older friends or older brothers who will buy it for us. Sometimes we buy it ourselves when the clerk does not ask for identification. Or we’ll stop a stranger in the street, give him the money, and ask if he’ll buy it for us.”

None of those we talked to would admit ever being addicted to tobacco. In fact, several pointed out that they had quit for weeks or months at a time. They seemed reluctant to admit that it has any power over them. They started giving a list of excuses for using chewing tobacco such as how they like to have something in their mouths or how it keeps them alert or how it’s something to do when they’re bored. But it started to sound like they were fooling themselves. If it isn’t a problem, why can’t they leave it alone permanently?

They all talked about how bad the tobacco smells and how it burns the tender places of their mouths and how sick it made them at first when they swallowed the juice. Most of them couldn’t honestly say they liked it. The best they can say about it is they don’t mind it now. They see themselves as the exceptions, the ones who can give it up with no ill effects.

But one young man we interviewed is making a real effort to quit. He wants to get his life in order, so he can be in a position to serve a mission and stay active in the Church. He talked about how difficult the past months have been, how hard it is to give up a bad habit. He’s deep in the struggle to shake free.

These young men are members of the Church and know it’s against the Word of Wisdom to use chewing tobacco, but they took the bait when they were very young. One said, “Just last year in seminary, we were studying the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Word of Wisdom is in there. When we started studying that, it started eating at me. It bothered me quite a lot.”

Just like the trophy fish with a hook planted deeply in its lip, now they are fighting hard to get free even as they are being pulled more firmly into addiction.

What would help them quit? In one way the answer they give is not surprising because it’s the answer to so many other problems: a firm commitment to the Church. One of them said, “The Church has influenced me a lot towards quitting. When I’m with my Church friends, I don’t even think about it. But when I get around people who chew, or when I’m by myself, it drives me crazy.”

All of these young men agree that having their parents get angry about their habit makes them feel rebellious and want to get away so they can have a chew and calm down. What works much better is having their parents know about their habit and express disappointment or hurt by it. “Guilt is much more effective than anger in stopping me from taking a dip.”

And as they have taken seminary, where they read and study the scriptures, the desire to live a good life, free from tobacco, is starting to bloom in them. Their belief in the Church is a powerful element in turning them away from tobacco.

Here’s a tidbit we didn’t include in the article: Nicotine is so addicting that for many people the only way to quit chewing is to take up smoking. That’s like a fish shaking the hook and trying to hide in the frying pan.

Tobacco companies in the United States are not allowed to advertise on television or radio, so they have begun other promotions to make teens notice their brands. They are the major sponsors of sporting events. Jackets, hats, T-shirts, and sporting equipment are becoming available with tobacco brands imprinted on them. Dave Stoddard, vice-principal at Bingham High School in Salt Lake City, says, “We don’t allow kids to wear clothing that advertises tobacco products or alcohol. We ask them to change or send them home if they persist.”

Seemingly innocent products are produced that imitate the habit of chewing tobacco such as finely shredded beef jerky packaged in round cans, or shredded bubble gum, also in cans the same size and shape as chewing tobacco. When children learn to imitate, it isn’t such a big leap to participate in the real thing.

Chewing tobacco is easier to hide than smoking. In many cases even family members don’t really know how involved in tobacco some teens are. The young men we interviewed were very careful never to chew tobacco in school. They say it seems like anyone who tries gets caught. They also say they never ever chew at home, “unless it’s after 10:30 P.M. and you know for sure everyone is asleep.” When they feel a need for tobacco, they say they leave to go for a walk or hide out in the bathroom. They chew mostly around their friends. So far they think their parents don’t know about their habit.

They pointed out a few telltale signs of a chewer: flakes of tobacco caught in their teeth; habits like moving their tongue under their lips and spitting; chewing toothpicks or sunflower seeds when they can’t chew tobacco.

Involvement with tobacco often doesn’t end with one bad habit. It usually leads to others, including alcohol or drugs. Dr. Van Komen says that studies show people who use tobacco are more likely to use alcohol. It’s known as cross-addiction.

We asked these young men what advice they could give that would help others keep from getting involved with tobacco. The question was hard for them to answer. After all, knowing better didn’t keep them from starting. One thing they do know, they probably wouldn’t have started if they hadn’t been around friends or relatives who were chewing tobacco.

When we asked Dr. Van Komen if there was anything we could say to persuade people to avoid chewing tobacco, he said, “I don’t know if there is anything other than telling them the truth about the addiction, the nicotine, and the very repulsiveness of chewing.”

Yes, chewing tobacco is a disgusting habit.
Yes, it can make you sick.
Yes, it can cause cancer.
Yes, it is against the Word of Wisdom.
Yes, it is highly addicting.
Yes, it can take away your choices.
Yes, it can ruin your life.
And if anyone offers it to you, say no.

Silverio was standing in the toy aisle when his Mom called him. “Sí, mamá?” He walked over to her.
“Could you please take this eye shadow to the cashier and ask how much it costs? And ask if it comes in green, please,” she said in Spanish.
“Oh, sure.” Silverio picked up the eye shadow, looked at it for a second, and then hid it in his hand. He didn’t want to be seen carrying makeup around the store.
Even though his family had been in the United States for most of Silverio’s life, Mom still had a hard time with English. She tried to learn, but sometimes the words wouldn’t come out. Sometimes Silverio wished he didn’t have to help her.
When Silverio reached the cashier, he held out the eye shadow. “Excuse me, ma’am, how much is this?” he mumbled.
The cashier stared down at him. “You want to buy eye shadow?”
Silverio pointed to his mom standing a few feet away and said quickly, “It’s for my mom.”
The cashier scanned the price. “Six dollars,” she said.
“Thanks. And … does it come in green?” Silverio felt his face turn red.
While the cashier typed into her computer, Silverio looked to check if anyone was watching him. The coast was clear. “Nope, only blue and purple.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Silverio hurried back to Mom and dropped the eye shadow in the cart without looking at her. “Séis dólares, y no la tienen en verde.”
“Gracias, Silverio. Is everything OK?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. No pasa nada. I’m fine.”
When they got home, Silverio went right to his room and sat on his bed. Interpreting for Mom was so embarrassing! Maybe he should tell Mom he wouldn’t do it anymore. He slumped down on his bed and sighed. No, he couldn’t do that to her. She worked so hard, and he didn’t want to let her down.
“Silverio, ven aquí por favor,” Mom called.
“Coming,” he called back.
Mom was at the table looking at old pictures of her family. “I just wanted to tell you thank you,” she said in Spanish. “I’m really grateful you interpret for me. I know it’s not easy, and might be embarrassing, but it means a lot to me.”
Silverio stared at the pattern on the rug. “Well … you do a lot for me, and I’m grateful too. You’re my mom, and I love you.” He gave a small smile.
Mom smiled back. “I love you too,” she said. “Let me share with you a scripture I like to read when I’m worried about what other people are thinking of me.”
She pulled their Santa Biblia from the shelf, turned to Colossians 3:23–24, and read from it. “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.”
Silverio looked at the Bible and reread the words. “So whenever I help people, I’m serving Christ?”
Mom smiled. “Exacto!”

Harold Connolly had broken his left arm several times. It was only two-thirds the size of his right. To exercise and build up the smaller arm, he began throwing the hammer back to Boston College’s regular throwers. Soon he was tossing it back farther than they were throwing it, so he entered the event. He later broke the world record and won a gold medal. He made himself strongest where he was weakest.

Dr. Salesi Havili’s answer to a fervent prayer occurred in the operating room of the Vava‘u Hospital. Dr. Havili and his wife, Selu, had joined the Church one year previously, in 1977, and were preparing to go to the temple. But he found that an experience during surgery was a test of faith that he needed to pass before taking that step.
Within the limitations of an island hospital, two surgeons and Dr. Havili, the anesthesiologist, began operating on Mafi Vakaloa, an elderly gentleman. When the nurse whispered to Dr. Havili that she could no longer feel Mafi’s pulse, Dr. Havili discovered that the patient had died on the operating table. Panicking, he checked and rechecked everything, trying to discover what went wrong. Finally, he began to pray:
It was a desperate but shallow prayer at first. After all, I knew scientifically that Mafi was dead. And given the limitations of my knowledge and environment, I had exhausted my personal resources in trying to revive him.
I continued to pray, a second and third time. Guilt and doubt dominated my feelings. Although I begged Heavenly Father to restore Mafi’s heartbeat, I was too aware medically that he was dead, and too fearful that I had caused his death. But as I prayed again and again, I had the sensation that Mafi’s life depended on the genuine sincerity of my prayer and the quality of my belief—that this crisis was to test my faith, almost on the eve of my going to the temple.
Eighteen minutes had passed since Mafi’s heart had stopped beating. I asked more fervently, reasoning with the Lord and promising a total concentration of my life to him if he would revive this man.
Finally I bowed my head again and prayed with a fervor and intimacy unmatched in previous prayers. As I spoke to the Lord, I suppressed every fragment of doubt and prayed until I knew that when I opened my eyes, Mafi’s heart would begin beating.
Miraculously, it was so. Mafi’s heart resumed beating after twenty-five minutes of not beating at all. I was overwhelmed with joy and awe. The next morning, I told the doctors and the nurse what had happened. As I made my rounds to the different wards, I was touched to see Mafi’s wife sitting on the edge of her husband’s bed. Mafi was very much alert, articulate—and alive.

To become consistently charitable is a lifelong quest, but each act of love changes us and those who offer it. Let me tell you the story of a young woman I met recently. Alicia, as a teenager, had drifted far from the Church, but later she felt stirrings to return. She often visited her grandfather in a retirement home on Sundays. On one of those days she decided to attend the Latter-day Saint meetings there. She opened the door and found a Relief Society meeting, but no empty seats. As she was about to leave, a woman motioned to her and scooted over to make room for her on her chair. Alicia said: “I wondered what the woman would think of me. I was covered with body piercings, and I smelled of smoke. But she didn’t seem to mind; she simply made a place for me at her side.”
Alicia, heartened by this woman’s charity, returned to activity. She has served a mission and is now sharing that same kind of love with other women. The elderly sister who shared her chair understood that there is a place for every woman in Relief Society. Sisters, we gather for strength, but we bring with us all our weaknesses and imperfections.
Alicia told me something I will never forget. She said: “I only do one thing for myself when I go to church: I take the sacrament for me. The rest of the time I watch for others who need me, and I try to help and nurture them.”

When my mama had an operation on her back, I prayed hard that the operation would go well. When she came home from the hospital, I saw her crying, and I asked her why she was crying. She said she was in pain. I asked her if she wanted me to say a prayer and she said yes. I quickly knelt down and asked Heavenly Father for her pain to pass so she could stop crying. When I ended the prayer my mother was no longer crying. She was smiling and she hugged me and kissed me.