Gospel Story Finder

Heber gave so generously because of his love for his fellowman and because of his faith in the Lord’s promises. As a young man, he had attended a Church meeting and heard an appeal for donations. After the meeting, he handed his bishop $50. The bishop returned $45 to him and said that $5 was his fair share. Heber returned the entire $50 to the bishop, saying, “‘Bishop Woolley, didn’t you preach here today that the Lord would reward fourfold? My mother is a widow and she needs two hundred dollars.’ He said: ‘My boy, do you believe that if I take this other forty-five dollars you will get your two hundred dollars quicker?’ I said: ‘Certainly.’ Well, he took it.” As Heber walked from the meeting, he got an idea. He wired a man he didn’t know and completed a business transaction. Heber’s profit was $218.50. The next day he went to his bishop and said: “I have made two hundred eighteen dollars and fifty cents, after paying that fifty dollars donation the other day, and so I owe twenty-one dollars and eighty-five cents in tithing. I will have to dig up the difference between twenty-one dollars eighty-five cents and eighteen dollars fifty cents. The Lord did not quite give me the tithing in addition to his ‘four to one’ income.”

One day my friend was passing out birthday invitations to kids in our class. Instead of giving me one, she said, “I’m not inviting you to my party.” I was very sad. I decided to get her a present anyway. I know I can be like Jesus when I do nice things even if others don’t include me. Sometimes it is hard to do, but I love my friends even when they don’t include me. I know that’s how Jesus wants us to be.
Lily E., age 6, Arizona, USA

I once counseled a man whose outlook and behavior were so accusing that he frequently swore at his wife and children with the vilest of swear words. I met with him and his wife for a couple of sessions, trying to help him understand and overcome his accusing mentality. But he took offense, called me names, and stormed out of my office. His wife subsequently asked for a separation, and he ended up living with his parents. I never expected to see the couple again.
Needless to say, I was shocked almost beyond belief when he called me on the phone two months later and said he was ready for more counseling! After apologizing for his former behavior, he explained what had been happening to him. Staying with his parents had helped him see himself more clearly. As he watched them continuously put each other down and accuse and strike out at each other, he began to realize that he had been acting just like they had always done. Soon he hated to go home at night because of his parents’ behavior.
He also became more aware of the same accusing behavior in others, especially the people he worked with. He observed that his colleagues spent much of the day gossiping and complaining and putting each other down.
As he began to miss his family, his heart gradually began to soften and he felt remorse for the way he had treated them. Scenes of the times he had physically and verbally abused his wife and children passed through his mind, and he became haunted by the need to make up for his intolerable behavior. His sorrow increased until he began to feel that it was almost more than he could bear.
When he came to me for help, it was obvious that he was experiencing a change of heart. For the first time, he was admitting to himself how awful his behavior had been. Of course, he had really known it all along. But he had deceived himself into believing that his wife, children, and circumstances were to blame for his misery and unhappiness. He had convinced himself that if people only understood him better and were more compassionate he wouldn’t have had the problems he did. Caught in a paralyzing web of misery and self-pity, he had failed to see himself as the architect of that web.
But now he was beginning to see the truth about himself. That self-knowledge took him down into the depths of humility with a broken heart and a contrite spirit; he acknowledged his need to change and sought the Lord’s help in improving. Now he could see that his problems were spiritual and of his own making. He also saw that he was in the best position to do something about them.
He was ready for change. As he responded to the workings of the Spirit within him, his heart continued to soften. It didn’t take many sessions of counseling or much prompting from others for him to make positive and lasting changes.
This man’s turnabout was the most dramatic I have ever seen in a client. I’ll be forever grateful to him for confirming to me what the Lord has said all along through the scriptures and the prophets, but which so many of us fail to understand: The keys to peace and harmonious relationships are to be found within our personal application of the basic principles of the gospel. In other words, in order to have peace and harmony in our relationships, we must first have peace and harmony within ourselves. Such peace comes when we are doing what we know to be right by following the still small voice of the Spirit.

Just days ago, I learned about a grandmother who rehearsed the Easter story with her four-year-old grandson by using simple replicas of the tomb, the stone that covered the sepulchre, Jesus, Mary, the disciples, and the angel. The little boy watched and listened intently as his grandma shared the burial, closing and opening of the tomb, and the garden scene of the Resurrection. He later carefully repeated the story in surprising detail to his parents as he moved the figures about himself. Following this sweet moment, he was asked if he knew why we have Easter. The boy looked up and with childlike reasoning answered, “Cuz Him’s alive.”

Shortly after I returned from my mission, I received an invitation to go to a dance. At the dance, I misplaced my phone and a young man offered to help me find it. As we talked, we discovered we were both returned missionaries and shared many ideas and goals.
Our relationship continued to develop, and we became engaged. It was our dream to be sealed in the Washington D.C. Temple before it closed for remodeling in March 2018. But after making that decision, we were tested. First, I lost my job and had no way to save money for our trip to the temple. Next, a hurricane was on track to hit Puerto Rico just before our wedding date.
When Hurricane Maria struck, it devastated our beautiful island. Stores closed. We lost electricity; water, food, and other basic items became hard to find. We lost everything we had planned to use for our reception. We had to cancel the reception, and it looked like we would also have to cancel our wedding. Travel in and out of Puerto Rico was limited, and no one knew for how long. I began to feel discouraged, and I was filled with doubt and confusion.
One night, my fiancé and I talked about our situation. Travel was uncertain, and we would have no reception or wedding clothes, but the Spirit confirmed that we needed to trust the Lord. The most important thing was to be sealed in the temple. We prayed to Heavenly Father for help.
Once flights out of Puerto Rico resumed, we had to make new flight plans and reschedule our sealing date. We were without communication for weeks after the hurricane, but a friend’s cell phone worked. She let us use it to contact the temple. We were able to rearrange everything so we could still be sealed! A few weeks before our trip, family members and friends donated shoes and clothing and helped us obtain many things for our wedding.
When we finally entered the temple, we left all our worries behind. We held each other’s hand to enter our future together. I can truly say I felt the Lord’s hand guiding and reassuring us that as long as we trusted Him, everything would be OK. Today, we are blessed with a beautiful son and we are a family sealed for all eternity.

All these experiences were a fulfillment of a blessing I had received before leaving on my mission that said I would bring many people into the Church who would become great leaders. But now I was facing a transfer that I was not excited about, completely unaware of what was in store for me in my new area. The transfer was to Agoura Hills, California. I believed my mission president was an inspired man, but why Agoura Hills? The area was very affluent but very low in baptisms. You could count on one hand the baptisms in that area for the past several years. I had been one of the top baptizers in the mission for several months, but now all that would probably change. Then I remembered the words from a song that was sung at my farewell: “I will go where you want me to go, dear Lord.” So I went.
It is every convert’s dream to find the missionaries who baptized him and let them know about the change they brought to his life with the gospel. I also had that dream, especially because so many members of my family had been baptized after the elders left our area. I was now serving a successful mission. I had a sister attending Ricks College, another sister on a scholarship at BYU, and a brother and a sister both preparing to go on missions. I had lost track of the elders who had converted me. I wanted to find them and let them know how many lives they had touched.
My second Sunday in Agoura Hills, just before sacrament meeting started, a man in the ward came up to me and asked me about myself. I told him I was from Wyoming, and he said they had sent a son on a mission to Wyoming. A sensation of electricity ran through my body, but I knew it was not likely that this was one of the elders that I knew. So I asked, “What mission? The Colorado, Utah, or Montana mission?”
He said his son had served in the Billings Montana Mission, and when I asked him if he had ever been in Lander, Wyoming, where I was converted, the man answered yes again. I asked him a few dates and names and soon discovered that the man I was talking with was the father of one of the elders who had converted me. I said, “Your son is one of the elders responsible for bringing me and my family into the Church.” The man immediately introduced his wife, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was seeing a direct result of the sacrifices she and her family had made to send their son on a mission. Brother Miller introduced me to other members of the ward, and every time he told them who I was he choked up. I sat in sacrament meeting with tears streaming down my face as I thought of the mysterious ways the Lord had worked in my life. Who could have predicted that Elder Miller would come to my home and I would go to his almost nine years later?
I was able to see Elder Miller again, and he looked the same except for the three little daughters clinging to his leg. I finally had the chance to tell him thank you. He too was overcome with emotion as he told me what a feeling of satisfaction he had, seeing someone he had taught having as much success in the gospel as my family and I were.

LeAnn, 16, is considering a profession in law. During her sophomore year in high school she took typing and secretarial classes. That summer she found a law firm that was willing to hire her as a receptionist. She was paid better than she would have been in traditional summer work. In addition, she was able to observe the workings of a law firm. She was also improving her secretarial skills and developing a legal background. (A good legal secretary can make 50–75 percent more than a general secretary.)

“Dad, will you buy some seeds for Cindy and me?” Randy asked. “We could plant a really neat garden in the backyard.”
It was Saturday morning, and Mr. Ortez had taken the twins with him to the garden store to get some fertilizer for the lawn.
“That’s a good idea,” Dad answered. “What do you want to plant?”
“How about radishes? They grow really quick. And cucumbers too. I love cucumber sandwiches,” Randy said.
“I want some tomato seeds,” Cindy added. “Tomatoes are red and pretty.”
Dad nodded and said, “You two decide what seeds you want while I’m getting the fertilizer. You’ll divide each pack between you, so be sure to choose what pleases both of you. I don’t want any arguing about it when we get home.”
After many exclamations of “I don’t want those,” “That’s yucky,” and “Let’s get those,” Cindy and Randy finally decided on radishes, tomatoes, cucumbers, and green beans.
Each twin hoed, spaded, and raked until there were two garden plots turned and raked smooth. Each plot was six feet wide and ten feet long—just the right size for four rows of vegetables.
Every day after school, they made a beeline to the backyard to see if the seeds had sprouted yet. Finally, on the fourth day, there were cracks in the soil, and small radish plants were pushing their way through.
It wasn’t long before all the rows were green with growing plants. Every day the twins watered the plants. They scattered fertilizer along the edges of the rows. Cindy kept the hoe busy, too, uprooting the weeds around her young plants.
Randy had other things to do. A new boy had just moved in down the street, and they had quickly become pals. Randy watered his garden every afternoon, then hurried to his new friend’s house to play until suppertime.
One evening Cindy came running into the house with a big bunch of radishes. “Take a look at these, Mom. They’re real beauties!”
“Oh, they really are!” Mom exclaimed. “I’ll wash them, and we’ll have them for supper. And tomorrow, Randy, we’ll try some of yours.”
The next evening Randy brought a bunch of radishes to the kitchen. He hung his head as he handed them to Mom. “I don’t know why, but mine didn’t grow as big as Cindy’s.”
“Maybe it’s the soil,” Dad said. “Let’s go out and take a look.”
When they arrived at the garden, it was clear why Randy’s crop was not growing as well as Cindy’s. His rows were choked with weeds, while hers were weed-free. Her plants were green and healthy, reaching up toward the sun. The weeds in his garden were so thick that hardly any sun could reach his plants.
Dad pulled up a weed. “Here’s your problem, Randy. Plants need plenty of food and sunshine to grow.”
“But I gave them fertilizer, and I watered them every day.”
“Yes, you fed them, but you didn’t keep the weeds out. They stole water, nutrients, and sunshine from your plants. They stunted your radishes’ growth just as breaking God’s commandments would stunt your spiritual growth.”
“Well, I’m going to do something about it right now,” Randy said, dropping to his knees and starting to pull up weeds.
“Good for you!” Mr. Ortez said. “It’s never too late to get rid of weeds.”

Marci’s Relief Society experience was positive from day one. Any doubts she had about leaving the secure nest of her Laurel class flew when, on her first day in Relief Society, she was spotlighted. Relief Society President Liz Douglas had contacted Marci’s mother and found out all sorts of fun, interesting things about her. Sister Douglas then presented a rose to Marci and presented Marci to the rest of the sisters in Relief Society. Everyone there welcomed Marci with open arms, and she immediately felt the strong bonds of sisterhood.

When the bishopric handed me a list of young single adults for the ward, I was flabbergasted.
I had graduated from high school a year early, and as soon as I did, I was called as the young single adult Relief Society representative in my ward. Not even 18 years old, I was excited but somewhat daunted.
On Sundays, a handful of young single adults would drift into our Sunday School lesson. Of varying ages and interests, they had very little to do with each other outside of church. My aim, together with the priesthood representative and our YSA advisory couple, was to strengthen and enlarge our group. We wanted the YSAs to become friends who supported and strengthened each other in their efforts to live the gospel.
And then I received the list. Page after page of names stared back at me; the percentage of active YSAs seemed tiny. I realized that this record was made up of real people who were working, studying, and struggling through the decisions inherent to young adulthood. They needed the gospel in their lives. Not only that: we needed them, too.
I set a goal to contact a certain number of people every month and started to work my way down the list. Every name was foreign to me; so, where better to start than at the top? I would report my progress at ward council each month. Phone numbers were incorrect; numbers would ring eternally; people would politely tell me they weren’t interested. My ‘progress’ consisted of informing the clerk that someone had left the ward or that we needed to track down new contact details.
One day, as the bishop listened to my report, he suddenly asked: “Have you contacted Karen?” (Name has been changed.) Surprised, I said no; Karen was quite a way down the list, and I hadn’t got that far. “I think you should call her,” he said. I noted her name along with a few others.
The month flew by, and the Saturday before the next meeting I looked at my notes and realized I hadn’t yet called Karen. No doubt it would be another failed attempt, but the bishop would want to know.
I dialed the number and jumped when she answered. Nervously, I introduced myself.
“Hi!” she said. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you!” Karen explained she had recently looked up the number of the local chapel in the telephone book and tried to phone a few times. Each time she called it just rang. I knew that feeling.
We chatted easily for a few minutes, and then I invited her to church the next day.
“Sure!” she said. “See you then!” I almost leapt with excitement!
The following morning, I was filled with trepidation. A large part of me expected Karen to get cold feet. But a few minutes before church, in walked a beautiful, smiling young woman with sparkling eyes. She greeted me with a hug. I couldn’t stop beaming.
Karen came to church every week after that. She became an active, contributing part of our young single adult group and a good friend. As we grew into a large, united group of friends, she helped to strengthen and lift others with her testimony.
All it took was the influence of the Spirit. And one—just one—phone call.

When I was a bishop, a faithful brother asked me to come to his home. When I arrived there, I found him to be in utter despair. The cause of his anguish was that his car had broken down. Its engine had seized while his family was returning home from stake conference. In hindsight it probably seems petty, but at that moment it was a big deal—the proverbial straw breaking the camel’s back. He could not fathom why this would happen to him when he was trying so hard to do everything right. With a modest income he could not see how he could repair the vehicle or survive without it.
Despairing situations in the scriptures came to my mind. I remembered Joseph Smith’s desperate plea from Liberty Jail:
“O God, where art thou? . . .
“How long shall thy hand be stayed?”1
And the Lord’s reply:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; . . . thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“Thy friends do stand by thee . . .
“Thou art not yet as Job”.2
Job was a righteous man beset with so many afflictions that he had cause to wonder if he should have even been born.
This faithful brother and I talked about Joseph and Job and decided he had not been deserted by his friends. I asked him who his friends were. He named a few and they were all members of his priesthood quorum. I suggested that they could help and resolved to approach them. Of course, his friends were very willing and grateful to assist. They knew where to source a reconditioned engine, how to install the replacement engine, and they quietly contributed the required funds. The problem was solved. Discouragement and despair were replaced by resolve and hope.

Doing what comes naturally brought top honors to Tracey Keogh, 17, and Brenda Richmond, 18, of Dublin, Ireland. Their school year was spent working to improve themselves and the community, and they received the country’s prestigious President’s Award.
Requirements for the award said they had to spend a certain number of hours each week working on community projects, a personal skill, and a special project. Tracey visited an elderly lady, recycled, and learned to use a personal computer. Brenda volunteered at a hospital, acted in a school play, and ran a small company.
Their projects went hand-in-hand with the Young Women Personal Progress program. Brenda said she couldn’t have done all she did that year without the Church in her life. “The Church, its principles, and its leaders have taught me a lot,” she said.

I was soon to leave for my military service. Nevertheless, my desire to be around the missionaries and members grew powerfully. As soon as I learned a new principle of the gospel, I put it into practice. Just before I left, one of the elders said, “You know, you live like a Mormon, but you’re trying to become perfect before you will join the Church. That’s the wrong way. It’s the Church that will help you achieve perfection.” They told me I had a testimony, but I still wasn’t sure.
In the military I had time to let my feelings grow and develop. There was lots of time to think, and I reflected deeply on my impressions of the Church. I was stationed with the mountain troops in Briançon, with no LDS branch nearby. But I guarded the things I had learned in my heart and let the seed of faith grow.
When I was released from the service, I faced a critical decision. My best friend from Normandy and I had planned for a long time to visit the United States, and I had saved my money so I could go. But his plans fell through. I had to decide whether or not to go by myself. I returned to Normandy, to walk the beaches and to think.
Anyone who could have eavesdropped on my mental conversation at that time would have known I already had a testimony. “I am well off here—I have my family and friends, I feel sure of myself, and this is the most beautiful spot on earth,” I told myself. “But what if I don’t go? I could miss an opportunity to learn even more about the gospel, to really gain a testimony of it. I could give up the trip, the dream of my young years. But to give up a chance to know more about the Lord’s church?”
In the U.S. I had the opportunity to develop many close relationships with Church members. I finally began to believe I did have a testimony—I can’t forget the wonderful feelings when, each time I’d ask myself a question, I would feel the Holy Ghost enlightening my soul, clearing away the doubt. I had had difficulty understanding why polygamy had been practiced. On a bus somewhere between Colorado and Utah, I glimpsed the vision, not a visual sight, but a spiritual insight, of the men who practiced it. And I saw how it was possible for such a thing to be pure, that it had come from God. That sort of clarification continued throughout my trip in the States.
I eventually ended up visiting some islands near Seattle, Washington. There, in a small apartment, I studied the Book of Mormon for ten days. My testimony continued to grow. The time had come to return to France, and in my heart I knew I would be baptized.
Several days after I returned home, the missionaries asked me to help them teach a lesson. The investigator was a science student, and he was struggling with some of the same questions I had confronted when I was studying the same subjects. I explained to him how I had found answers to the questions, and when we left he seemed satisfied and happy.
A few days later, the missionaries called to tell me he was joining the Church. “How about that,” I told myself. “Here I am, able to help someone else accept baptism, and not myself. This has lasted long enough!” I felt I had a testimony, but I fasted and prayed. I stayed up the whole night pleading with the Lord to seal this testimony in me. Finally, early in the morning, a sweet, peaceful calm filled my soul. I knew I had to tell the elders I was ready to be baptized.
As I rounded the last corner on my way to see the missionaries, I felt a strong force trying to keep me from going. It was like walking against a 70-mile-per-hour wind, which I had done before, only it was stronger. But this was spiritual. I was just about to give up and turn around. I knew this force wanted me to doubt everything, but I finally said, “No, no. I know there’s a God.” I felt that truth deep in the roots of my soul. I knew He would battle this force for me.
I reached the chapel door, just a normal chapel door, but I had to pull with all my might to force it open. When I entered I saw some members and felt their spirit, and the opposing force was gone, broken. I felt the sweet peace in my heart again, and felt it even more strongly several days later as I was baptized and confirmed. I still feel it to this day.

Despite the company’s progress, Brigham was often frustrated when he saw the actions of some members of the company. Most of them had been in the Church for years, served missions, and received the ordinances of the temple. Yet many ignored his counsel on hunting or idled away their free time with gambling, wrestling, and dancing late into the night. Sometimes Brigham woke in the morning to the sound of men arguing over something that had happened during the night. He worried that their quarrels would soon lead to fistfights or worse.
“Do we suppose,” he asked the men on the morning of May 29, “that we are going to look out a home for the Saints, a resting place, a place of peace, where they can build up the kingdom and bid the nations welcome, with a low, mean, dirty, trifling, covetous, wicked spirit?”8 Each of them, he declared, ought to be men of faith and sober minds, given to prayer and meditation.
“Here is an opportunity,” he said, “for every man to prove himself, to know whether he will pray and remember his God, without being asked to do it every day.” He urged them to serve the Lord, remember their temple covenants, and repent of their sins.
Afterward, the men grouped themselves together in priesthood quorums and covenanted, by uplifted hand, to do right and walk humbly before God.9 The next day, when the men partook of the sacrament, a new spirit prevailed.
“I have never seen the brethren so still and sober on a Sunday,” Heber Kimball noted in his journal, “since we started on the journey.”10

Mommy stopped at Austin’s bedroom door. She looked around the messy room. There were books, trucks, puzzles, blocks, and stuffed animals scattered all over. Mommy stepped over the clutter and into the room. “Austin, did you make this mess?”
Austin looked up from his stack of blocks. “Not me, Mommy.”
“Then who made this mess?” Mommy asked. She knelt down next to a large dump truck. “Dump truck, did you make this mess?”
“Mommy!” Austin giggled. “Dump trucks can’t make a mess. Trucks can’t even talk. But I can.” He snatched up his truck. “Brrrm. Brrrm.” Austin drove the truck into the toy box.
“Who made this mess?” Mommy asked. She scooped up a handful of puzzle pieces. “Puzzle, did you make this mess?”
Austin said, “Puzzles can’t make a mess. Puzzles don’t have fingers to use. But I do. I can pick the pieces up like this.” Austin dumped all the puzzle pieces into their box on the shelf.
“Who made this mess?” Mommy asked. She stood up and leaned over the bookcase. “Books, did you make this mess?”
Austin rolled his eyes. “Books can’t make a mess. Books can’t even jump from high places. But I can.” Austin climbed onto a chair and jumped into Mommy’s arms. She put him down. Austin bent over and picked up some books. He climbed back onto the chair and set the books on the shelf.
“Who made this mess?” Mommy asked. She gathered together three teddy bears. “Teddy bears, did you make this mess?”
“Teddy bears can’t make a mess,” Austin said. “Teddy bears can’t even turn somersaults. But I can.” Austin crouched low, tucked his head under, and flipped over. He stood up, gathered the bears in his arms, and laid them on the windowsill.
“Who made this mess?” Mommy asked. She picked up a stuffed lion. “Lion, did you make this mess?”
Austin said, “The lion can’t make a mess. The lion can’t even give hugs. But I can.” Austin gave Mommy a hug. He took the lion and gently placed it on the bed.
“Know what, Mommy?” Austin said. “Toys can’t make a mess, but I can. I made this mess.”
Mommy leaned over and gave Austin another hug. “Austin, you made this mess. But you cleaned it up, too. You are my big helper.”
Mommy’s face grew serious. “You did something besides making a mess, Austin. You told Mommy a lie. But you cleaned that up, too, by telling the truth. Toys can’t tell the truth. But you can.”
Austin smiled. Being a big helper felt good. Being a truth-teller felt even better.

As a bishop of a student ward adjacent to the University of Utah campus about 18 years ago, I tried vainly to hold a young marriage together. The wife had been unfaithful, and as I sought to help and to understand, I learned that as a child this woman had an adulterous father. Though unjustified, she acted out her feelings about men. What she then did was not love. Several years after my release as bishop, I saw a story in the local paper about her having been arrested for prostitution. I know not where she is today, but I cannot put out of my mind the words of Jacob, who decried unfaithful fathers who had lost the confidence of their children because of their bad examples (see Jacob 2:35).

When I moved to Mexico with my family, I made friends with a group of kids who played together but left some people out. One day I decided to go play with a girl named Eli, who was sitting by herself in a corner. We started sitting together at lunchtime, and we played basketball and soccer and made things together.
At first my group of friends said, “If you want to be her friend, then we can’t be your friend.” But I kept spending time with Eli. Eventually my group of friends joined us, and we all became friends.
I told Eli about the Church and what I liked about it. She decided to come to my baptism and started coming to church with us quite often. Now we live in different cities, but we still keep in touch through video chat and email. She is still in my heart.

As one of many examples, a translator was needed for the translation and recording of Church materials in Mam (pronounced “mum,” a descendant of the Mayan language, spoken in Guatemala). Among the first missionaries called to Guatemala was an elder whose grandfather had spoken Mam. The missionary had been raised in a city and spoke only Spanish. But every night his grandfather would come to him in dreams and teach him the Mam language. This young elder became the primary translator of Mam in the Church.

It was while he was studying medicine at the University of Utah that he met his wife-to-be, Dantzel White.
He vividly remembers the feeling that came over him. “I thought she was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen and sensed that she was the one I would marry,” he said. Dantzel felt the same way. When she went home to Perry, Utah, she announced to her parents that she had met the man she wanted to marry. Three years later they were married in the Salt Lake Temple.

Work was also progressing on a model Samoan village to commemorate President McKay’s 1921 visit and his apostolic blessing on Sauniatu. A special chief’s house was built and named the McKay house. After it was built, it seemed bare, and so the young people went to the forests and cut teak logs. Getting each log was a big project. After finding a good tree in the forest, they had to cut it. Then each one had to be trimmed and winched onto a trailer and taken to a sawmill. After the log was sawn, a native craftsman began carving a Samoan folk legend on it. It took many months to get the log and make the carvings. The money to pay for the first few carvings had been donated by Sauniatu missionaries or others who were impressed with the vitality of the people at Sauniatu, but the young people earned the money to pay for most of the 20 carvings. They transplanted a special river grass to the swampy areas of land. By hand, they put starts of this pasture grass in acre after acre of the swampy land, and in return they were paid in cattle, which they sold to pay for the carvings.
When the carvings were completed, Brother Kamauoha asked the carver to do a bust of President McKay. The pictures that he gave the carver to work from were all of President McKay in his later years. When Brother Kamauoha went back to pick up the bust, the carver was frustrated and related the following story.
“Ed, I am going to tell you something. This is the first time in my life that I haven’t been able to carve what I wanted to carve. Normally, I can do anything, but somehow when I worked on this man, I couldn’t control my hands. As you can see, the carving is not like your finished pictures.”
Brother Kamauoha took the carving back to Sauniatu that evening. “The sun was just setting, and I hurried into the McKay house and put the carving on the pedestal we had prepared for it,” he said. “An old Samoan who had lived most of his life at Sauniatu was there, and I asked him how he liked the bust of President McKay. I stood back and looked at it, and this old man didn’t answer me. And so I turned around and asked him, ‘What is wrong? Don’t you like the carving?’ Then as I looked at him, I could see the tears running down his face. And he said to me, ‘You know, I was here when [President] McKay left his blessing. That is how he looked when he came here in 1921!’
“On another occasion, the carver told me, and remember he was not a Mormon, ‘Ed,’ he said, ‘with all sincerity I am telling you, this carving is not my work, it is not your work, but it is the Lord’s work’.”