Gospel Story Finder

Approximately 18 months ago, in the fall of 2017, my 64-year-old brother Mike informed me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He also told me that he had received a priesthood blessing from his home teacher and that he had met with his bishop. He later texted me a picture of the Oakland California Temple taken from the hospital where he was receiving treatment, with the caption “Look what I can see from my hospital room.”
I was as surprised by his comments about home teachers, priesthood blessings, bishops, and temples as I was about the cancer. You see, Mike, a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, hadn’t regularly attended church for close to 50 years.
As a family, we were almost as intrigued with his spiritual progress as we were with his progress in fighting the cancer, largely because of his now frequent questions about the Book of Mormon, the sealing power, and life after death. As the months passed and the cancer spread, a need for additional and more specialized treatment eventually brought Mike to Utah and the Huntsman Cancer Institute.
Shortly after his arrival, Mike was visited by John Holbrook, the ward mission leader of the ward that served the care facility where he was now living. John commented that “it was obvious to me that Mike was a son of God” and that they quickly developed a bond and a friendship, which led to John becoming Mike’s de facto ministering brother. There was an immediate invitation to have the missionaries visit, which my brother politely declined, but a month into their friendship, John asked again, explaining to Mike, “I think you’d enjoy hearing the gospel message.” This time the invitation was accepted, leading to meetings with the missionaries, as well as visits with Bishop Jon Sharp, whose conversations eventually led to Mike receiving his patriarchal blessing, 57 years after his baptism.
In early December of last year, following months of procedures, Mike decided to stop the cancer treatments, which were causing severe side effects, and to just let nature take its course. We were informed by his doctor that Mike had approximately three months to live. In the meantime, the gospel questions continued—as did the visits and support of his local priesthood leaders. On our visits with Mike, we often saw an open copy of the Book of Mormon on the bedstand as we discussed the Restoration of the gospel, priesthood keys, temple ordinances, and the eternal nature of man.
By mid-December, with his patriarchal blessing in hand, Mike actually appeared to be gaining strength, and his prognosis of at least another three months seemed likely. We even made plans for him to join us for Christmas, for New Year’s, and beyond. On December 16, I received an unexpected call from Bishop Sharp, who informed me that he and the stake president had interviewed Mike, had found him worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, and asked when I would be available to participate. The ordinance was scheduled for that Friday, December 21.
When the day arrived, my wife, Carol, and I arrived at the care facility and were immediately met in the hallway near his room and informed that Mike had no pulse. We entered the room to find the patriarch, his bishop, and his stake president already waiting—and then Mike opened his eyes. He recognized me and acknowledged that he could hear me and was ready to receive the priesthood. Fifty years after Mike had been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, I had the privilege, assisted by his local leaders, to confer the Melchizedek Priesthood and ordain my brother to the office of elder. Five hours later, Mike passed away, crossing the veil to meet our parents as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood.
In response to that invitation from a prophet of God, remarkable efforts to minister to the one are taking place all over the world, in both coordinated efforts, as members faithfully fulfill their ministering assignments, as well as in what I’ll call “impromptu” ministering, as so many demonstrate Christlike love in response to unexpected opportunities. In our own family, we witnessed, up close, this type of ministering.
John, who was Mike’s friend, ministering brother, and a former mission president, used to tell his missionaries that “if someone is on a list that says ‘not interested,’ don’t give up. People change.” He then told us, “Mike changed mightily.” John was first a friend, providing frequent encouragement and support—but his ministering didn’t stop at friendly visits. John knew that a minister is more than a friend and that friendship is magnified as we minister.
Knowing that he would soon die, my brother Mike commented, “It’s amazing how pancreatic cancer can make you focus on what’s most important.” Thanks to wonderful men and women who saw a need, did not judge, and ministered like the Savior, it wasn’t too late for Mike. For some, change may come sooner; for others, perhaps beyond the veil. However, we must remember that it is never too late and no one has ever wandered so far from the path that he or she is beyond the reach of the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ, which is limitless in its duration and scope.

Shelly sat on the front steps with her big pink elephant. “Remember when we went to Mr. Bin’s farm?” she asked. “He let us ride the pony, and you were scared. I was a little bit scared, too, but not really.”
“Hello, Shelly,” called her neighbor Mrs. Lee. “Are you talking to your toy elephant? I remember how I used to talk to my doll when I was your age.”
“I’m talking to Jojo,” Shelly replied.
“Jojo’s a nice name for an elephant.”
“He’s not an elephant! He’s a boy,” Shelly explained.
Mrs. Lee smiled and nodded her head. “Whatever you say, dear.”
Shelly watched Mrs. Lee drive away in her car. She giggled. “She thought you were an elephant.”
The mailman came up the walk. “Are you and your elephant having a nice chat on this beautiful day?” he asked.
“He can’t talk,” Shelly said.
“No, but you can talk to him. I remember talking to a teddy bear when I was little.”
“I was talking to Jojo,” Shelly said. “But he doesn’t talk much to me.”
The mailman looked around. “Jojo, eh?” he chuckled. “No, I’d guess he wouldn’t have much more to say than the elephant does. What’s your elephant’s name?”
“Just elephant,” Shelly replied.
The mailman chuckled again. “Well, have a good day.”
“You have a good day too,” Shelly said.
Shelly set the elephant down on the step. “I’ll be back,” she promised, “after I take the mail to Mom.”
When she returned Shelly sat down beside the pink elephant and flipped its trunk up and down. “Mom baked a chocolate cake. Pretty soon we can have cake and milk. Ummm, I can taste it already.”
She got on her knees and watched an ant crawling along the sidewalk. “Wow, that tiny little ant is dragging something bigger than it is. Ants are fun to watch, you know. Hey, look at that. Wow! There’re millions of them I bet.”
Billy Hale skidded to a stop. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“Looking at some ants,” Shelly answered.
Billy got off his bike and came to look. “You think those ants understand what you’re saying?”
Shelly snorted. “I wasn’t talking to the ants.”
“Yeah? Who were you talking to then?” Billy slung a leg over his bike.
“Jojo,” Shelly replied.
Billy looked all around. “Jojo? Oh, the toy elephant.”
“No, silly. Jojo is a boy.”
Billy laughed and shook his head. “Oh, Shelly! You’re something else.” He rode away laughing.
“What’s the matter with him?” Shelly sputtered.
“Milk and cake!” Mother called.
Shelly’s cousin Jojo, who had come last night for a visit, crawled out from under the porch. His face and hands were covered with dirt. His hair was full of cobwebs.
“Did you find it?” Shelly asked.
The boy raised his left hand, holding a red ball.
“Oh, thank you, Jojo,” Shelly said. “I thought sure it was lost.”
Jojo smiled and said, “Let’s go get that milk and cake!”

A few years ago my rugby team participated in a weeklong tournament. This meant seven days away from home, parents, and Church leaders. Because we attend a Church school, everyone on my team was a member of the Church. Almost every evening that week, the other teams in our hotel would party in their rooms with loud music, dancing, drinking, smoking, and screaming harsh words at each other. Our team gathered in a room for our tradition of scripture study and evening devotionals. It felt good to do the right thing without being instructed by our parents. After the other teams observed us with surprise, we gained their respect. They were silent when they knew we were having evening devotionals. They seemed to be interested in what we were doing, and some even joined with us to read the scriptures and pray together.

We didn’t win the tournament that week, but we won in another way. We were able to shine our light, and through our examples, change hearts and minds.
Elisara E., 20, Samoa

Recently I read of an experience that touched me deeply. It took place at the USA Masters Track and Field National Championship—a competition for seniors.
One of the participants in the 1,500-meter event was 100-year-old Orville Rogers. The author writes:
“When the starter pistol fired, the runners took off, with Orville settling immediately into last place, where he remained alone for the entire race, shuffling along very slowly. [When] the last runner besides Orville finished, Orville still had two and a half laps to go. Nearly 3,000 spectators sat quietly watching him slowly make his way around the track—completely, silently, and uncomfortably alone.
“[But] when he began his final lap, the crowd rose to their feet, cheering and applauding. By the time he hit the homestretch, the crowd was roaring. With the cheering encouragement of thousands of spectators, Orville called on his last reserves of energy. The crowd erupted with delight as he crossed the finish line and was embraced by his competitors. Orville humbly and gratefully waved to the crowd and walked off the track with his new friends.”
This was Orville’s fifth race of the competition, and in each of the other events, he had also taken last place. Some might have been tempted to judge Orville, thinking that he shouldn’t have even competed at his age—that he didn’t belong on the track because he greatly prolonged his events for everyone else.
But even though he always finished last, Orville broke five world records that day. No one watching him race would have believed that possible, but neither the spectators nor his competitors were the judges. Orville didn’t break any rules, and the officials didn’t lower any standards. He ran the same race and fulfilled the same requirements as all the other competitors. But his degree of difficulty—in this case, his age and limited physical capacity—was factored in by placing him in the 100-plus age division. And in that division, he broke five world records.
On the last lap of the race, the crowd overwhelmingly cheered Orville on, giving him the strength to keep going. It didn’t matter that he finished last. For the participants and the crowd, this was about far more than a competition. In many ways, this was a beautiful example of the Savior’s love in action. When Orville finished, they all rejoiced together.

When Robb Thomas, a 14-year-old teacher in the Bangor Ward, Augusta Maine Stake, decided to start a genealogy club in his school, Garland Street Junior High, he got a lot more than he bargained for. The club rapidly became one of the more popular clubs in the school.
“It was hard at first, because a lot of people didn’t understand the word genealogy, and they wanted to make fun of it,” Robb said. But when the club started bringing in films and guest speakers and taking trips to the state archives, interest grew quickly.
“One of the fellows who made fun of the club to begin with eventually ended up joining,” Robb said.
Other students now share an interest in discovering their ancestry. “It’s something I didn’t have before,” said 15-year-old Mary England, a member of the club. “I discovered my great-aunt had worked on tracing a family tree, but her records were misplaced.”
“I went to my grandmother, and she talked about my great-grandparents—who they were, and where they were born. I used that as a starting point,” said Holly Sands, 15, another member of the club.
Robb worked with the student council to obtain permission for forming the club, which meant finding a supervisor, making a presentation to the student council, and convincing the council to vote in favor of his proposal. “Robbie got the ball rolling, and then we got in and pushed beside him,” Holly said. A bake sale was used to generate finances.
Robb says he’s had a lot of opportunities to explain Church beliefs because of his work with the club. “Some people in the club asked me informally to make a presentation to them about temples and why we have them,” he said. “I showed them pictures of the interior rooms and the outsides of several temples, and we talked about baptism for the dead, endowments, and why genealogy is so important. We talked about temple marriage, too.”
Robb also spends a lot of time at the public library doing research and thinks about a career in genealogy. “I get a lot of help and encouragement from people in the ward, from missionaries, and from my parents,” Robb said. “I have some relatives in Salt Lake City who have helped out, too.”
This fall, Robb starts high school at Bangor High. There’s already a genealogy club there, and you can bet he’s got plans (along with many of his friends) to be active in it.

The Primary children in the Willow Creek First Ward, Sandy Utah Willow Creek Stake, learned about the pioneers when they performed in a play for their ward. They acted out scenes from the building of the Kirtland, Nauvoo, and Salt Lake Temples, and some things that happened in between. It took them all summer to plan and to learn their parts, but on the night of the big pageant, they were ready.
Before the curtain opened, two children dressed as Joseph Smith and Brigham Young stood onstage and talked about building the Kirtland Temple. “The Lord has made it perfectly clear,” Joseph said to the audience. “He has commanded us to build a temple here in Kirtland.”
These early Church members donated their time, talents, and money to follow the Lord’s commandments. “I think they had to sacrifice a lot to build the temple,” says Kyle Esplin, 9, one of the narrators. “I’m paying my tithing now to help build up the Church.” When Kyle pays his tithing, he tries to remember the sacrifices the pioneers made.
The Latter-day Saints lived in Kirtland, Ohio, for eight years before they were forced to leave. They moved soon after they completed and dedicated the Kirtland Temple. When they arrived in Nauvoo, Illinois, they started to build another house of the Lord. Nauvoo became a large, prosperous city, and the people were happy there for some time. But soon they began to be persecuted, so the Nauvoo leaders formed a band of young men called the “whistling and whittling brigade.” The young men in the brigade looked for any suspicious-looking strangers and followed them, whittling sticks and whistling.
Jesse Fackrell, 10, one of the narrators, enjoyed watching the brigade on stage. “I thought it was neat that the boys went around and watched for troublemakers and protected the people,” he says.
Another sacrifice the early Church members in Nauvoo made was donating pennies to the temple fund. “I think they really felt good about giving something up for something else really important. It might have only been a little, but they felt thankful to be able to give their money,” says Mary Garbett, 10. One of Mary’s parts was being a harvester in the fields. In her role, she sold the vegetables she gathered so she could have money to donate to the temple.
Mary and other children in the ward also went to their stake center for the dedication of the new Nauvoo Temple in June 2002. Seeing the dedication helped the children better understand the sacrifices made by the pioneers for the original Nauvoo Temple.
After working hard to build the Nauvoo Temple, the people had to leave it behind after the Prophet Joseph was killed. Mobs forced many of them out of Nauvoo in the dead of winter. Brigham Young led them to a new home in the West.
Though life was very hard for the pioneers, and they really did walk and walk, they also managed to dance and sing during their trek west. The children in the play performed a quilt dance and had a hoedown with real fiddlers to show the audience that the journey was joyful at times. Many of the pioneer children had great adventures on their way to the Salt Lake Valley. They saw buffalo and mountains, and they preferred to walk a lot of the time because riding in the wagon was so bumpy.
Jeffrey Yee, 11, and his younger brother Ryan, 6, performed the parts of James and Joseph Kirkwood. James was one of the young heroes of the pioneer trek. He, his mother, and his three brothers had come from Scotland, and they set out together to cross the plains with their handcart. James took care of his four-year-old brother, Joseph. When Joseph was too tired to walk any farther on Rocky Ridge, James carried him. When they finally got to the camp, James set his little brother down safely by the campfire. James died beside the fire from the cold and exhaustion.
“I think that he was very responsible and brave. His little brother must have been grateful for a brother to look up to,” Jeff says about his character. “Because he was kind to his little brother, he helps me know it’s not nice to make fun of my little brother. He usually needs help because he is so young, so I try to help him.”
Though getting there was difficult, the Saints finally made it to the Salt Lake Valley, where Brigham Young dug his cane into the soil and said, “Here we will build the temple of our God.”
Davis Esplin, 11, learned a lot from performing the part of Brother Brigham. “I have a new respect for Brigham Young because I didn’t know how hard it was to build the temple.”
After dedicating the cornerstone, it took 40 years to complete the Salt Lake Temple. By that time, Wilford Woodruff had become President of the Church. He dedicated the temple on 6 April 1893. There was even a special dedication session for children under eight so that more Primary children could attend.
The Saints spent years building each of the three temples, suffering setbacks along the way. But they never gave up. Why did they do it? Zach Fackrell, 12, says it was because “they had faith and they knew it was important to get it done so they could do what the Lord wanted them to do.” Zach’s brother Jed, 10, says the temple is really important to him because “that’s where you can do baptisms for the dead, and that’s where you can get married so you can live with Heavenly Father again.”
Some children long ago had the right idea. After the Salt Lake Temple was completed, two boys brought their younger brothers to the temple so they could touch the walls. “We want them to know how great the temple is,” one of the older brothers says in the play.
“Yes,” the other boy says, “so they’ll want to go inside when they get big!”
Those children knew the importance of building temples, even though it required so much. They knew that just as they could touch the temple, the Spirit inside the temple could touch them, too. That was why they walked, and walked, and walked. …

On April 3, 2022, faithful Saints all over the world gathered in their homes to watch general conference. In the Republic of the Congo, Brazzaville Stake President Belle-Vie Gayouele and his family were among millions of Saints who reverently followed the proceedings via live broadcast, when President Russell M. Nelson announced that a temple will be built in Brazzaville.
Of this sacred experience, President Belle-vie Gayouele said, “We didn’t really expect the temple to be announced at this recent conference. Nevertheless, saints all over Brazzaville and Pointe-Noire (two cities within the country) followed the prophet’s concluding remarks with a ray of hope. When the prophet unexpectedly announced the construction of the temple in Brazzaville, it had an incredible effect. My wife, for example, cried with joy, there were great celebrations everywhere, endless video and phone calls, and that night we couldn’t sleep! My family and I knelt in humility and offered a prayer of gratitude.”

About two years later, I was praying one night when a thought entered my mind: “What about a mission?” I dismissed the idea as impossible. After all, I had signed a contract and was enlisted to serve in the army for a set amount of time. The next night the same thing happened, and I shrugged it off again. But when the thought came back for the third consecutive night, I decided to ask Heavenly Father about it.
“If I really am supposed to serve a mission, help me know what to do,” I pleaded.
About 10 minutes later I was lying in my bunk when someone knocked on the door. It was my elders quorum president, looking a little uncomfortable.
Somewhat sheepishly he said, “I’m not exactly sure why, but for the past three nights the Spirit has prompted me to tell you that you are supposed to serve a mission. Tonight the prompting was so strong that there was no way I could ever think of sleeping without telling you.”
I knew my answer, and so I started to act on it. I knew it’s extremely hard to get permission to take a two-year break from the army, but after much effort and many small miracles, I was finally granted leave for two years to serve a mission. I received my call to the Alaska Anchorage Mission, where I’m now serving.

My scripture study would have to wait. All three of our sons had awakened—and much earlier than usual. The youngest, Caden, then 18 months old, was screaming in his crib. I went into his room and saw instantly that he was sick.
Thus began a Monday of one challenge after another. At one point, shortly after I had changed Caden’s clothes and tried to feed him, he flung a large jar onto the floor, spilling applesauce everywhere and sending shattered glass across the kitchen. As I was cleaning up the mess, I thought about all the things I wasn’t getting done: family history, service, home storage, missionary work.
“How in the world can I do everything I know I should be doing when I am barely managing the basic tasks of my day?” I wondered. By early evening I was exhausted, but I set aside discouraging thoughts during dinner, family home evening, and the boys’ bath and bedtime routine.
Finally, with the children in bed, I sat down to do what I had not had time for earlier. I picked up the May 2006 Ensign, which was open to a talk by President Henry B. Eyring titled “As a Child.” My eyes fell on a passage I had previously marked: “To keep the blessing of [changed natures] in our hearts will require determination, effort, and faith. King Benjamin taught at least some of what that will require. He said that to retain a remission of our sins from day to day we must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and help people spiritually and temporally” (Liahona and Ensign, May 2006, 17).
Immediately, I again felt that I wasn’t living the gospel fully. I wondered, “How can I feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick, and help people spiritually and temporally when I can scarcely take care of my own family?”
That’s when I experienced an overwhelming feeling of divine approval. It was so clear, precise, and tangible that I knew I had to write it down so I wouldn’t forget. I could see my day replay in my mind—full of feeding the hungry, doing laundry to clothe the naked (I changed Caden’s outfit multiple times), gently caring for our sick baby, helping our five-year-old prepare a family home evening lesson on missionary work, and then discussing the power of example with my family—in other words, helping people spiritually and temporally.
The impression flowed with such an overpowering feeling of peace that I knew the Lord was telling me He had accepted my offering. In caring for my family, I was fulfilling the admonitions of King Benjamin and President Eyring.

In 1980, the Saints were blessed with the announcement that a temple would be built in Santiago, Chile.
When President Spencer W. Kimball dedicated the temple lot, he was very weak; but his presence there demonstrated his love for the Saints of South America, with whom he had worked since 1959. Sister Adriana Guerra de Sepúlveda, who was interpreting for Sister Kimball at the event, said, “When I saw the prophet, a tiny person with an angelic face, I began to weep and could not find words to speak to him. It was the first time for me to be at the side of a living prophet. Seeing the Lord’s mouthpiece here upon the earth and in my country was something marvelous.”10
The temple was dedicated in 1983, becoming the second in South America and the first in a Spanish-speaking country.

Karl Bielefeldt, 14, of the Aqua Fria Ward, West Maricopa Stake, Arizona, doesn’t just study history—he lives it. He and a few friends spent half a year studying the Holocaust, then wrote and produced a ten-minute play about an individual in Italy who was responsible for saving many lives during that time.
The play won a number of competitions, giving Karl and his team a chance to compete in National History Day in Washington, D.C., where they placed eighth out of seventy-three entrants in their category.
Karl has also won awards for spelling and knowledge of science. He plays trombone in a jazz and an all-state band, and loves to work with computers. He still finds plenty of time to serve as a leader in his Scout troop and priesthood quorum.

Emalyn, a 16-year-old young woman, described a favorite tradition she’s been doing since she was 7. “I participate in a live Nativity from Thanksgiving to Christmas,” she says. This is no simple gathering of siblings wearing bathrobes either, mind you! It’s a free community offering that’s been going on for many years.
Emalyn performs as the narrator in a live nativity that blesses thousands each Christmas.
Here’s a typical performance day: Emalyn starts at 9 a.m. with her mother and the main organizer. They spend six hours making 500 donuts for that evening’s guests, and then Emalyn dresses in costume to be the narrator. The live Nativity offers scenery, lights, animals for the manger, a cast of 20–30, and a 15-minute performance that is seen by thousands each year.
“The Spirit is so strong when we perform,” she says. “Last year a little boy I’d never met came up and gave me a hug and said, ‘This is exactly what I needed!’”

While waiting for our clients to arrive for the river trip, I spent several days lumberjacking in the jungle. We worked beside a beautiful river, and the scenery was breathtaking. Each evening the silhouette of the jungle treescape against the purple and orange sunset was reflected in the calmness of the river. After a rainstorm the river was rainbow-colored, and on a clear day it was the green of the jungle, reflecting splashes of white from the orchids that grew everywhere. The wildlife was incredibly plentiful and varied. Red howler monkeys boomed in the distance. Rainbow clouds of brilliant-hued toucans flew overhead. Yard-wide turtles sunned themselves on logs, and otters played in the river.
Of course, there were also piranha in the river, and as I worked felling trees I had to keep one eye out for killer bees, giant ants, bush flies, and deadly fer-de-lance snakes. One day while I was doing all that, a huge tree (about 100 feet tall) fell right on top of me, knocking me out. The last thing I remember was looking up at the blue sky and seeing a large shadow coming down at me, turning the day into night. Everything around me was smashed, but I was hit only by one of the smaller limbs and hardly touched otherwise. Everyone thought I was dead for sure. The Indian workers hacked their way to me and pulled me out semiconscious. When I fully awoke, I thanked the Lord for watching over me. Then I went back to watching for killer bees and venomous snakes.

One of the greatest challenges I faced growing up as a child in Guatemala was poverty—spiritual poverty because we didn’t know the gospel and temporal poverty because of the lack of money. My mother died when I was five years old, which left my father to raise four young children by himself. Because my father wanted to keep us all together, he had to delegate some of the household responsibilities to us children.
I was the oldest child and was assigned the task of preparing lunch and dinner for the family every day. It was hard at first, but I learned a few ways to cook. Each day my dad would leave me 25 cents to buy the food. I would buy a pound of beans for 6 cents and a pound of rice for 7 cents. Then I would buy 5 cents of charcoal that I used to cook everything, 2 cents of kindling, and 5 cents of tortillas. I did this every day, and every day we ate rice and beans with tortillas. Even back then 25 cents wasn’t much, but this was how we got by.

I was greatly impressed as I listened to the BYU alumni president, Ernest L. Wilkinson, M.D., tell of an emergency call that took him to the Intensive Coronary Care Unit of the LDS Hospital [in Salt Lake City], where a close personal friend of his of several years’ duration was in critical condition with a massive coronary thrombosis. He said: “As I approached his bedside he grasped my hand and through an oxygen mask, though gripped with pain and breathing in a labored manner, he muttered, ‘Oh, Doctor, can you save me? I have so many things I have been putting off and wanting to do.’
“As we labored into the hours of the morning, utilizing all of the modern electronic gadgetry that medical science can provide, and as it became increasingly evident that my friend would not survive, I was haunted by his comment and its inference. Are we thinkers or are we doers? How many of us procrastinate the really important decisions in life? Will we be found wanting when we too are at the crossroads of life and death?”

It sounded like a typical service project: round up a group of Relief Society sisters to put on a short choir program at a local hospital’s respite care center, though no one from our ward was a patient there.
We found ourselves crammed into a small room with nine elderly patients facing us in their wheelchairs. Their faces seemed blank, empty of expression. It was hot and stuffy, and I thought, “Let’s get this over with.”
I was to lead the music, so I turned my back to the patients and concentrated on the program. As we began, I heard one patient calling, “Mama, Mama,” while another clapped and made noises. I felt uncomfortable, but in a few minutes we would finish and go home.
As we prepared to sing our last hymn, “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), we invited the patients and medical personnel to join with us. I turned around to lead everyone in the singing, and that’s when I saw her—a tiny, wrinkled, white-haired lady with a lap full of tissues wet with her tears.
She motioned for me to come to her. I did so, and when I bent my head to listen, she took my hand. Her whole body trembled as she whispered, “I’m a Latter-day Saint. It’s so wonderful to have my sisters come.”
The Spirit filled my soul, and I knelt beside her, tears streaming from my eyes. She put a frail arm around me and patted me as if she understood my emotions. Everyone began singing the hymn, but I couldn’t get the first verse out.
As the patients and staff sang of God’s greatness, the Spirit filled the room, and all were touched. I finally gained control of my feelings and joined the others, singing:
When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,
And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart!
Then I shall bow in humble adoration
And there proclaim, “My God, how great thou art!”
After the program the Relief Society sisters mingled with the patients and staff. The white-haired sister told us she had been lonely and had felt surrounded by strangers until we came. We didn’t know she would be there, but Heavenly Father did.
I was reminded that all of these people were our brothers and sisters, that they needed love and comfort, and that someday I could be in their place. I was touched that we could be instruments of a loving Father, and I was grateful that our service project had taught me a powerful lesson about love.

But Te Oranoa M., age 17, from New Zealand has a different take on things. “What inspires me about this scripture,” she says, “is that it doesn’t say they are lost forever.”

What an incredible insight! And it’s one that comes from personal experience. “I, myself, fell away from the Church,” she says, “but I have been able to come back.”

Te Oranoa grew up in the Church and talks about gaining her own testimony and even setting spiritual goals. “But that testimony grew cold,” she says.

In some ways, she found common ground with Amulek, particularly in the way he described himself to the people of Ammonihah: “I did harden my heart, for I was called many times and I would not hear; therefore I knew concerning these things, yet I would not know” (Alma 10:6).

For Te Oranoa, that scripture hits close to home. “Just like Amulek, I knew all these spiritual things, and the Spirit was telling me to do certain things, but because I was being a bit stubborn and a bit prideful, I wouldn’t do them. Afterward, my testimony kind of faded away.”

In the end, Amulek’s story would become more than merely familiar to Te Oranoa. It would also become a turning point on the road back.

Even during the time when her faith had grown cold, she could still remember sweet experiences from before. Te Oranoa never forgot how she’d felt when attending the temple with her youth group or going to a youth conference.

“There was a pattern,” she says. “I’d feel really good when I came to church, but I didn’t feel good when I missed church.”

There finally came a day when Te Oranoa decided to see if she could connect with those good feelings again. The first thing she did was to read through recent general conference addresses.

An October 2016 general conference address, “Learn from Alma and Amulek,” by President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, woke something in Te Oranoa’s soul. She recognized a lot of her own life and feelings as President Uchtdorf described how Amulek’s faith had faded. She also remembered more strongly than ever the happiness she had enjoyed when her faith was stronger. Instantly, she wanted to make some changes.

“I was hoping to find something to reignite that fire of my testimony,” she explains, “so I read President Uchtdorf’s talk, and yes, I felt on fire!”

Te Oranoa’s path back to faith hasn’t always been easy, but there is a particular light at the end of the tunnel that keeps her going: the hope of an eternal family.

“Families can be together forever,” she says. “That’s my biggest dream, my biggest hope in life. Whenever I want to learn about something, or I find a doctrine hard to understand, I try and relate it back to eternal families. For example, why is Jesus Christ’s Atonement important to me? For one thing, I need His Atonement in my life so I can be worthy to enter the temple and be sealed to my family for all eternity.”

It’s perhaps worth remembering that the people in Lehi’s vision who fell away after tasting the fruit did, in fact, still taste it. They must have known of its goodness, even if only briefly. And they can discover it again. That’s the hope Te Oranoa clings to, for herself and for others.

“You don’t have to keep going down those forbidden paths for the rest of your life,” she says. “You can turn back to the Lord whenever you want.”

Towering temples rise majestically from the jungle floor, reaching heavenward. Hushed whispers of ancient peoples seem to permeate chambers, corridors, courtyards, and steep stone steps. Wonder and mystery live here.
This is Tikal, once a thriving Mayan city. When Mayan civilization died, Tikal died with it and was buried beneath the encroaching vegetation of Guatemala’s relentless rain forests. Some of Tikal’s pyramids and palaces—along with a few of her other mysteries—have now been uncovered to our view and to our questions.
Ancient peoples worshiped here at Tikal. Today, Latter-day Saint youth who live nearby find that Tikal is an ideal place to role-play Samuel the Lamanite’s prophecy to the Nephites from the top of a city wall. Or King Benjamin’s address from the pinnacle of a tower. Or Abinadi’s testimony before wicked King Noah. It’s an inspiring place to talk about prophets—ancient and modern. About temples—past and present. About truths—buried and living. About prophetic voices speaking from the dust.
In a secluded spot, away from the notice of other visitors, 11 Latter-day Saint young women gather. Seminary and institute students from nearby San Benito, they have spent the morning together, exploring the secrets of Tikal.
It has been a rich, full day. Now, shaded from the burning sun by the protecting shadow of an ancient palace, the young women pause in a stone courtyard to rest and to share their feelings and testimonies. They softly sing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” and then someone offers a prayer.
“We are fortunate to live so close to this place,” one of the group says reverently. “It was a special place for our ancestors.” Others agree, expressing respect and gratitude for the legacy and the lessons of Tikal.
Surrounded by these ancient temples and immersed in the aura of the place, these Latter-day Saint young women seem to be naturally drawn to reflect upon another temple in their homeland—one many kilometers away in Guatemala City.
“Our family had an experience not long ago that was the dream of our whole lives,” says 18-year-old Yeszenia Delvalle. “We were sealed in the temple. Now that our family is sealed, we hope to live as a family forever.”
Without exception, every young woman in this group has entered that temple in Guatemala City to be sealed to her parents or to be baptized for the dead. A couple of years ago, the youth in the branch made the 15-hour bus trip to Guatemala City to do baptisms. “By being baptized for the dead, we give others the chance to repent and prepare for the Resurrection,” says Zoila Delvalle, 17. “Then it is up to them to accept it or not. In the temple, you feel the Spirit. You feel calm. You almost don’t want to leave. It makes you feel special. It’s beautiful.”
Says 17-year-old Cleily Valdez, “I’m grateful to my Heavenly Father that I belong to his church and that I have been sealed to my parents in the temple. Having the gospel is the greatest thing on earth that can take us to eternal life.”
Rubi Monzon, who recently returned from her mission, is the seminary teacher. “When I was 14, my mother died,” she says. “It was very hard on my family. Often I would be home alone, feeling lonely. One time, I was crying, and I heard a voice telling me that I wasn’t alone and that the Lord was with me and would help me. It was a soothing voice, and it made me feel good. Since then, I have felt at peace, knowing that the Lord loves me and will always be with me.”
Three years after her mother died, Rubi and her family were sealed in the Guatemala City Temple. “I feel grateful for the opportunity Heavenly Father has given us to become an eternal family. I know that through obedience I will always be with my mother, father, and brothers and sisters. Many times I think about my mother, and I know that in just a short while we can all be together again.”
Except for its unique setting, this meeting at Tikal is like many similar meetings around the world wherever Latter-day Saints gather to express gratitude and bear testimony.
“I know Heavenly Father sent us to earth for a purpose,” says Karla Monzon, 17. “I’m grateful that he sent his Son to atone for our sins. He has given us the gospel and the Church so we can progress and return to his presence.”
“I was happy when my parents, my brother, and I were sealed in the temple,” says Juanita Leon, 12. She explains that her father used to own a restaurant and would drink a lot. “Then one day, a boy came by and talked to my father about the Church. We received all the discussions and were baptized two weeks later. A month after our baptism, my father was called as the president of the San Benito Branch. A year later, we were sealed in the temple. My father doesn’t drink anymore.”
“When I was ill, I prayed and prayed, and the Lord comforted me. I know that he is the true God, and I pray that I will be faithful,” says Juanita, who is also grateful for prayer.
As these Latter-day Saint youth sing, pray, and bear testimony, the Spirit of the Lord fills this quiet corner of Tikal’s ancient domain. It’s a temple-like feeling.
As the group prepares to return home, a quiet, sobering spirit returns. Many haunting questions remain behind at Tikal: Who lived and worshiped here anciently? What did they know about God, the universe, the meaning of life? What happened to the fathers and mothers, the husbands and wives, the sons and daughters? Tikal’s magnificent temples are empty—and there’s a certain sadness here, a feeling that once-great peoples met an unhappy destiny.
But faith and hope, rather than sadness, accompany this group of young women. They know the temple in Guatemala City and the other Latter-day Saint temples throughout the world—are filled with voices of living Saints. Places of light, truth, and answers, these modern-day temples are alive with the Spirit of the Lord. Within their walls, latter-day fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters joyfully worship the living God, learn about the meaning of life, and are sealed together as families for eternity.

As an elder in Boise, one evening I was working on the stake farm with Brother Olsen from the bishopric. As I recollect, only the two of us were there. Brother Olsen worked for the Idaho Power Company. Again, he was a few years older than I, and he was directing the work. One of the jobs we had to do was to repair some power lines. Ever since my childhood I have feared electricity. Even now I turn off all the power in the house if I am going to repair some electrical equipment. That evening the last thing we had to do before it got dark was to climb a telephone pole and splice two wires together that furnished power for part of the farm.

Brother Olsen offered to go up the pole. But though I feared what had to be done, I was younger and knew that I should do it. I asked him what to do. He gave me clear and complete instructions. I was to climb up the pole, take one wire and strip off the insulation about six inches, then take the other wire and strip off the insulation about six inches, join the wires together, and then reinsulate.

I asked him if the power was off. He assured me it was. I climbed the pole and followed his instructions. No one will know how difficult it was for me to take a large, high-powered line in my hand, strip off the insulation, then hold that wire and the connecting wire in my hand, splice them together, and then reinsulate them. Merlin was right. There was no power in the lines. I was absolutely safe.

The thing that I remember about that experience is that I had some doubt as to whether the power was off or not. I was fearful that someone else on the farm might throw a breaker and turn on the electricity. Nevertheless, my faith in Merlin and the fact that I was doing what the Lord wanted me to do was enough to overcome my fear.

“For a long time,” says Jhon Tobar, 17, of Quito, “I let myself be carried along by my friends, and I didn’t have a good relationship with my parents. But I have learned that if you lose the trust of your parents and brothers and sisters, it’s like being alone. I just had an interview with my bishop this morning—my bishop is my dad. I can say now that I have no better friend than my own father. I love him a lot. He is my best example.”