Gospel Story Finder

When we “put on Christ,” it becomes possible either to resolve or to lay aside differences, disagreements, and disputes. A rather dramatic example of overcoming division is found in our Church history. Elder Brigham Henry Roberts (commonly known as B. H. Roberts), born in England in 1857, served as a member of the First Council of the Seventy—what we refer to today as the Presidency of the Seventy. Elder Roberts was an able and tireless defender of the restored gospel and of the Church in some of its most difficult times.

In 1895, however, Elder Roberts’s service in the Church was put in jeopardy by contention. B. H. had been appointed as a delegate to the convention that drafted a constitution for Utah when it became a state. Afterward, he decided to become a candidate for the United States Congress but did not notify or seek permission from the First Presidency. President Joseph F. Smith, a counselor in the First Presidency, censured B. H. for that failure in a general priesthood meeting. Elder Roberts lost the election and felt his defeat was due in large part to President Smith’s statements. He was critical of Church leaders in some political speeches and interviews. He withdrew from active Church service. In a lengthy meeting in the Salt Lake Temple with members of the First Presidency and Council of the Twelve, B. H. remained adamant in justifying himself. Later, “President [Wilford] Woodruff gave [Elder Roberts] three weeks to reconsider his position. If he remained unrepentant, they would release him from the Seventy.”

In a subsequent private meeting with Apostles Heber J. Grant and Francis Lyman, B. H. was initially unyielding, but love and the Holy Spirit ultimately prevailed. Tears came to his eyes. The two Apostles were able to respond to certain perceived slights and offenses that troubled B. H., and they left with a heartfelt plea for reconciliation. The next morning, after lengthy prayer, Elder Roberts sent a note to Elders Grant and Lyman that he was prepared to reunite with his brethren.

When he later met with the First Presidency, Elder Roberts said, “I went to the Lord and received light and instruction through His Spirit to submit to the authority of God.” Motivated by his love of God, B. H. Roberts remained a faithful and an able Church leader to the end of his life.

At first it was very hard for the missionaries to preach the gospel in Mexico for the people were controlled by the dominant church. And when the priests told them not to listen to the Mormon missionaries, most of the Mexican people did not dare to disobey.
About the time the Mexico Mission was established, the poor people of Mexico rose up against their rulers to demand their rights as Mexican citizens. A revolutionary war that lasted for many years made it unsafe for missionaries to be in Mexico.
On three different occasions, the missionaries were withdrawn from that mission. Each time they returned to Mexico they found that the members were more faithful than before and that more of the people were prepared to receive the gospel.
Once when the missionaries were withdrawn from Mexico, a man named Rafael Monroy called on the mission president, Rey L. Pratt,* to say goodbye.
“President Pratt,” Brother Monroy asked, “what will we do in San Marcos? All of the branches have leaders except San Marcos. No one there has the Melchizedek Priesthood.”
“Brother Rafael,” the president answered, “we will ordain you an elder and set you apart as president of the San Marcos Branch. There you will be responsible to teach the gospel to every member of your little branch.”
President Monroy not only taught the members of his branch, but he also taught his nonmember neighbors and friends. During the time the missionaries were not allowed in Mexico, the San Marcos Branch doubled in number of members. Rafael Monroy eventually was shot and killed because he would not deny the gospel.
When the mission was reopened, thirty members of the small branch at Cuantla were waiting at the train station to greet the missionaries when they returned. Twelve children and some young adults began singing songs of welcome. Afterward they shouted, “Qué viven los misioneros!” (long live the missionaries), as they showered the elders with confetti.
The missionaries were then taken to a home that had been decorated with beautiful flowers and cedar boughs in honor of this special occasion. Following a delicious dinner, a meeting was held.
President Pratt in his report to the brethren in Salt Lake told of the joy of the people in welcoming the missionaries. Even the children had planned for a program during the evening. President Pratt said, “It was wonderful to note the progress of the children of the branch along lines of study upon which they had been started by the missionaries. Little tots that were babies in arms when the missionaries left got up and recited one or more of the Articles of Faith.”
Nor was this the only group that had been active. The Church members in the little branch of San Pedro were proud to show the missionaries a meetinghouse they had built. President Pratt described it as “a humble house where the Spirit of the Lord can dwell.” He said, “Only those who have experienced it can know the joy of meeting these dear people after so long an absence. Their faithfulness through seven long years, during which time they have passed through untold suffering, is wonderful.”

In 1899 there was not enough water in southern Utah. For more than two years there had been no rain. The streams and wells around the town of St. George had dried up. There was no water for the crops, so the plants died. The cattle died too. Many people began moving away.
Nell was a little girl living in St. George at that time. Her father told her their family would have to move away soon.
In June, Nell and her mother went to a Church conference in St. George. President Lorenzo Snow, the prophet at that time, was going to speak. Nell’s father stayed home to pack for their move. Nell listened carefully to what the prophet said. After the conference, she hurried home. She told her father that President Snow had promised if the people would pay their tithing and plant crops, it would rain and they would have food for the coming year.
Nell’s father explained that their family couldn’t survive another year if the crops didn’t grow. Nell reminded him that her grandfather had talked about how the people in his day were blessed by doing exactly what President Brigham Young (1801–77) asked them to do. Grandfather had promised Nell that if she followed the living prophet, she would be blessed too. Nell believed her grandfather, and she offered to give her father her own savings to help pay their family’s tithing.
The next morning, Nell saw her father plowing the fields, getting ready to plant. Her family stayed in St. George and did exactly what the prophet asked them to do. During the hot, dry weeks that followed, the people of St. George paid their tithing, planted their fields, prayed, and watched the cloudless sky for rain. They were grateful when two months after the conference, it began to rain. The crops grew in abundance that year!

A member of our ward had to be on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. I had an idea that our family could take care of her son a couple of days a week. My brothers and sister and I helped watch him and make sure he was having fun when he wasn’t with his mom. It was so fun to have him come over and to know that we were helping his family.
Mason, Cooper, Weston, and Ellie T., ages 10, 8, 5, and 3, Georgia

Todd had a hard time sitting still during sacrament meeting. He swung his feet. He wiggled in his seat.
Todd liked to sit on Daddy’s lap at church. But Daddy was out of town today. “Todd,” Mommy whispered. “It’s time to be reverent during the sacrament.” She gave him a copy of the Friend.
Todd looked at the pictures. But soon he got tired of being still. He held his baby sister, Sarah’s, hand. She wrapped her tiny fingers around his. Todd smiled.
Soon the bread tray was passed to him. Todd was hungry. He used both hands to grab lots of bread. Mommy frowned. She said, “Next time, just take one.”
After the meeting, Mommy smiled at Todd. “Thank you for helping Sarah while Daddy is away.”
Todd liked helping Mommy at church. He thought about all the bread he took.
“I’m sorry I took a lot of bread. Why do we only get one piece?” he asked.
Mommy hugged Todd. “We don’t take the bread because we are hungry. We take the bread to remember Jesus. And we take just one piece so that everyone can have a piece to remember Jesus.”
Todd tried extra hard to be reverent during church the next week. He took just one piece of bread. He was happy he could remember Jesus. He wanted to help others remember Jesus too.

Such discipleship was beautifully demonstrated in recent events in Mexico.
It had been a beautiful spring for the fruit-growing communities in northern Mexico. The fruit trees were in full bloom, and expectations were high for a bounteous harvest. Plans were already being made to pay off loans, replace needed equipment and aging orchards, and meet personal commitments such as school tuition for family members. Plans were even being made for family vacations. There was a general air of optimism. Then, on a Monday afternoon in late March, a winter storm moved in, and it began to snow. It snowed until about three o’clock in the morning. Then, as the clouds moved out, the temperature plummeted. Throughout the night and early morning, every effort was made to save at least a part of the fruit crop. It was all to no avail. It simply got too cold, and the crop was totally frozen. There would be no fruit to be harvested and sold this year. Tuesday dawned with the sickening and disheartening loss of all those wonderful plans, expectations, and dreams of just the day before.
I received an email regarding that terrible Tuesday morning from Sandra Hatch, the wife of John Hatch, then-first counselor in the presidency of the Colonia Juárez Chihuahua Temple. I quote portions of that email: “John got up early—about 6:30—to run up to the temple to see if we should cancel the session this morning. He came back saying that the parking lot and road were clear, so we decided to go ahead. We figured that maybe some of the workers who didn’t have orchards would come, and we could put all the workers into the session. … It was so inspiring to see the men come in, one after another. There they were, after no sleep at all, and figuring their crops were lost. … I was watching them during our preparation meeting, and they were having a hard time staying awake. But instead of figuring they had a good excuse to not come, they were there. And there were 38 people in the session (a full session)! It was an uplifting morning for us, and we thanked Heavenly Father for good people who do their duty, no matter what happens. I felt a special spirit there this morning. I am sure He was pleased to know that we love His house and felt that it was a good place to be on such a difficult morning.”

Do you remember the joy that comes from teaching the gospel to someone who has been deprived of these teachings throughout his or her life, the excitement that comes when you teach the law of the Lord, and the blessings that are received from following Him? Could you ever forget the joy of your first baptism in the mission field?

In my day the chapels were not equipped with baptismal fonts. My first baptism was in the Scioto River in the state of Ohio, USA. It was on a cool fall day, and the water seemed even colder than the air. I remember the shock of wading into the cold river while encouraging my investigator to follow me. The coldness of the air and the water, however, soon vanished as I administered the ordinance of baptism. Seeing the radiant face of the individual who came up out of the waters of baptism is an image I will never forget.

For many years, I have loved the story that President Packer has told about William E. Berrett’s boyhood Sunday School teacher. An elderly Danish brother was called to teach a class of rowdy boys. It didn’t seem like much of a fit. He didn’t speak the language very well; he still had a heavy Danish brogue; he was much older, with big farm hands. Yet he was to teach these young, rambunctious 15-year-olds. For all intents and purposes, it would not have seemed like a very good match. But Brother William E. Berrett used to say—and this is the part President Packer quotes—that this man taught them somehow; that across all those barriers, across all those limitations, this man reached into the hearts of those rowdy 15-year-old kids and changed their lives. And Brother Berrett’s testimony was “We could have warmed our hands by the fire of his faith.”

Soon after we left the Indian reservation, Sister Owens in the next wagon became ill, and we camped for several days.
Some of the braves rode over from the reservation to get help with their baskets. Papa didn’t have much straw left to give them, but they had already decided that bear grass would do just as well. Papa showed them how to do a braided edge around the top of their baskets. He took out a pocketknife to trim the ends, and a little Indian boy who had come with his father looked so pleased with the knife that Papa let him keep it. Later that day the boy’s father returned with a strange-looking three-pronged stick that he gave to Papa, explaining how he could use it to find water for digging a well.
“I can probably use this later,” Papa said as he fastened it securely to the wagon.

Captain Simpson, who is also a flight paramedic, saw firsthand how effective the bears can be. Twelve-year-old Nicole Wallace had to be flown by helicopter from one hospital to another. She was bleeding internally from a lacerated kidney and liver suffered in an automobile accident. She refused to give up her bear even when the paramedics needed to transfer her from one gurney to another. She finally gave it up just before undergoing surgery.
Nicole lives in the West Point Sixth Ward but had not yet turned 12 when her friends had made the green spotted bear the paramedics gave her after the accident.
“The paramedics had to take the seat out. Then they took me out of the back window. When they put me in the ambulance, they gave me this cute little bear,” Nicole said. “It kept me from getting scared. I would hold on to it, so I wouldn’t hurt so bad. In the hospital it stayed right by me in my bed.”

Peter Burt was born in 1949 in Napier, New Zealand, and grew up in the nearby city of Gisborne. He was only 14—a student at Lytton High School—when his family suffered a devastating loss: Peter’s father died from a fall while painting their family home.
“Losing my dad at such an early age was absolutely tragic,” he recalls. What made the experience more heartbreaking is that, growing up atheist, he had no concept of an afterlife. Years later, Elder Neal A. Maxwell’s (1926–2004) general conference messages helped Peter understand how profound his grief was at the time. “A resurrection-less view of life produces only proximate hope.”1
With no knowledge of God or His plan, Peter remembers, “My philosophy of life was, eat drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die. Thankfully, I now know better—infinitely better!”
Peter studied at Victoria University in Wellington, and to support his education, he worked holidays back home at the Gisborne Refrigerating Company. There he met a fellow employee who was a devout Christian. “He was different from the other workers around us,” Peter says. “He was very firm in his belief in a Supreme Being. It got me interested enough to buy a Bible and begin to read it.”
The words of the Bible affected Peter so much—he just knew that this book was true—but it also raised many unanswered questions. “I was definitely seeking more knowledge,” Peter says. Still, he wasn’t interested in joining any church.
Peter earned his bachelor’s degree and then married Frances Mary Costello in 1970. The couple moved to Auckland so Peter could gain a diploma from Ardmore Teacher’s College. Shortly after that move, he was approached by two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I agreed to meet with them because they seemed like nice people,” Peter remembers, “but I wasn’t interested in their religion.” Still, when the missionaries left copies of the Book of Mormon for him and Frances, they read it. “That same Spirit came upon us as when I read the Bible,” Peter says. “We just knew that it was true.
“When the missionaries came back, we said, ‘Well, we believe the Book [of Mormon] is true. What do we do now?’ That is how we came to be baptised.”
The couple have been active members since they joined the Church in 1972, “and what a wonderful journey it has been!” Peter says. The “patient, kind and loving people” in the Auckland South Stake’s Papakura Ward helped them adjust to their new lives as Latter-day Saints, and when they returned to Gisborne at the end of that year, they joined Gisborne’s 2nd Branch in the Poverty Bay District.
In 1976, Peter, aged 27 became the branch’s president. When the district became a stake, he began a 9-year calling in the stake presidency, then nearly 10 years as the stake president. In that time, he and his wife, Frances, welcomed five sons into their family and were blessed to raise them in the gospel. In 1985, Peter chose a different career path—he spent the next 24 years as a beekeeper until his retirement in 2009.
“One of the highlights of our Church membership was our decision to serve a full-time mission,” Peter says. Called to the Quezon City South Mission in the Philippines, they were sent to the island of Mindoro. “It was a wonderful experience, which we will always remember, especially for the faith and humility of the people there.”
When they returned to New Zealand, the Burts sold their Gisborne property and lived in a caravan for a year before settling in Taup?, because it is a nice town and central to where their sons and families lived. Peter served as the Taup? Ward’s elders quorum president until the Rotorua Stake conference in mid-2023, when he was called as patriarch.
Looking back, Peter recognises the hand of God guiding him towards the gospel of Jesus Christ and a life that he could have never imagined. “I now know that it was the Holy Ghost testifying to me of the truth.”
As a newly called patriarch, he earnestly prays that he’ll be able to help other members find that same divine guidance through special, personalised blessings from our loving Heavenly Father.
“I will do my very best to fulfil [this calling] with the respect and responsibility expected of me by the Lord . . . It is such a huge honour and privilege. I am almost overwhelmed by the responsibility . . . but I have faith to believe that whom the Lord calls, He qualifies.”

“One of our favorite family activities,” Sister Cannon recalled, “was to go for a ride in our car. We would drive through the countryside and enjoy its beauty together.
“My family really enjoyed holidays. We could hardly wait for a holiday because it meant that we would go somewhere special. We would travel to the canyons, to the lakes, or to a resort such as Como Springs. These places were usually quiet and not very busy.
“Christmas was extremely special too. We weren’t allowed to go into the living room to see what Santa Claus had brought until Dad had gone in and made a fire and got things ready. Then we’d all go in together. It was a Christmas Day tradition in our neighborhood to go from one house to another to visit each other after family gifts had been opened. We spent most of the day visiting.
“Music has been important to us as a family. My father’s father was Ebenezer Beesley, who composed the music for ‘High on the Mountain Top,’ ‘Let Us Oft Speak Kind Words,’ ‘Sing We Now at Parting,’ ‘Tis Sweet to Sing the Matchless Love’ and other hymns in the Church hymnal. Although Grandfather Beesley died before I was born, I have always been very proud of him.
My mother’s parents lived about two blocks down the hill from us, and we visited often. I felt close to them. They were both musicians and sang in the Tabernacle Choir. My grandmother was a soloist. My mother was also a fine singer; she sang for performances in the Salt Lake Theater.
“I took piano lessons for many years. It has always been a blessing in my life to be able to play the hymns and Primary songs.”
Sister Cannon, who has served as a counselor in the General Primary Presidency for the past four years, previously served on the general board for many years. She remembers very well attending Primary as a child. “Of course, Primary was on a weekday then,” she said, “and I remember being a Zion’s Girl, a Lark, a Bluebird, and a Seagull. I had loving teachers, and I enjoyed going to Primary.
“I remember a teacher telling us about the Book of Mormon. She wanted us to understand it thoroughly, so she had us act out the time when Nephi and his brothers went back to Jerusalem for the brass plates. We learned a lot by reenacting such events. Of course, music always stands out—I will remember those Primary songs forever.
“My father was the greatest influence on me. He was such an example of one who quietly serves! He would sit back and listen to everybody’s opinion and then make a wise judgment. One day I decided I didn’t want go to sacrament meeting. My father wasn’t alarmed. He only said, ‘Just remember that when you don’t go once, it’s easier not to go the next time. That’s how we can fall into bad habits. I would suggest that you go every time, and then you won’t have to keep remaking that choice.’ That’s all it took. I didn’t argue with him, and I didn’t feel unhappy about going to church that day—or any other day. And l’ve always remembered that advice when I’ve been tempted.
“My message to children is to see the great blessings that come from service in the Church. If you try to obey your parents, it will be easier to answer the calls that come from Church leaders when you are older. By doing so, you will receive opportunities for growth that you can’t get any other way. I know how many times I have felt that the things I’ve been asked to do were way beyond my ability, and yet, when I tried to do them, l’ve succeeded. The Lord teaches us and helps us to grow. As we serve, we are blessed.”

Brother Stoneman from up in the north area had been a member of the United Church of Canada. He’d been employed by the United Church of Canada. He was their printer. He lost his job. He found another, better one. He and his wife would go to the investigator who has been a member of the United Church of Canada and bear their testimony. He said, “I lost my job. I lost many of my friends, but I found a wealth of new friends, and I found the truth. You will not regret it.”

When I was 14, I lived with my family on a small island off the coast of Malaysia. Weather on the island was always warm, so my family enjoyed an occasional escape to the cool highlands on the mainland. During one such escape, we decided to visit a small mountain village accessible only by a narrow road. For safety reasons, this road was closed after dark. During the day, it operated on an alternating hourly schedule with one-way traffic flow directed either up or down the mountain.
After spending the afternoon on the mountain, we decided to return to our hotel. We waited patiently for the traffic direction to change and began our descent. When we were about halfway down the mountain, the engine of our car stopped. With great effort, my father steered the stalled car into a clearing along the side of the road. He inspected the engine but couldn’t find the cause of our problem. Everything appeared to be fine, but the engine would not start.
We quickly realized how difficult our situation was. Even if we could find the cause of our engine trouble, we did not have the tools needed to make major repairs. We could not walk to find help because the only towns with services were miles away. We had little hope for help from other motorists because traffic was light and the road would soon be closed for the night.
Knowing that we could not solve the problem ourselves, my father called us together and led us in a family prayer. He explained the situation to Heavenly Father and asked for guidance and help in getting the engine started. As we said amen at the end of the prayer, the clearing was filled with a strong breeze that moved the surrounding trees and bushes. The air had been unusually still up to that point, and we all felt that the breeze was Heavenly Father’s way of telling us not to worry, that our prayers had been heard.
About a half hour after our family prayer, we heard the sound of a vehicle making its way up the mountain. When it came into view, we could see from the telephones painted on the doors that it was a government telecommunications vehicle. As it rounded the corner, it came to a halt, and three men walked over to our car. My father explained the trouble we were having, and the leader of the group assured us they would fix our car.
The men unloaded an array of specialized tools and began a systematic check of the engine. It was clear that the men were highly skilled and, after 30 minutes of work, they found and repaired a problem in the car’s electrical system.
As they packed up their tools, my father thanked them for their help and asked what had brought them up the mountain. The leader of the group explained that a television transmission tower on the mountaintop had gone dead. They had been sent to repair the tower but had felt compelled to help our family, even before restoring television service to a large part of the country. When we inquired further, we learned that the television transmissions had ended about the same time our engine had failed.
As we started down the mountain again, my heart was filled with gratitude for an earthly father who could call down the blessings of heaven and for a Heavenly Father who sent people to help us.

One beautiful spring day, I heard a knock at my front door—then another and another. It sounded like the knocks came from little hands.
Dropping a basket of clean laundry on the couch, I opened the door. There stood Wade, Savannah, Mace, and Zane. At once they began showering me with questions: “Is it OK if we pull the weeds in your garden?” “May Mom and Dad trim your bushes?” “What color are your favorite flowers?”
For a moment I stood there speechless. Then I asked, “Would you like to come in to visit?”
The children smiled up at me. “Oh, no,” they said. “We’re not here to visit. We’re here to help you!”
The children showed me the tools they had brought. “May we get started?” they asked. “We will be careful of your purple flowers.”
Soon eight little helping hands were busy at work as four happy voices filled the air. All day long they worked, pulling weeds and planting flowers.
What a beautiful example of love and service those children set for me. I will always remember their kindness—and the gorgeous marigolds they planted in my garden with their little helping hands.

Friday, August 20. Voices mix and mingle with the smoke as it drifts slowly across the camp, filtering the first rays of the early morning sun. The pace is brisk in the camp as families prepare the morning meal.
An unknown musician lends a feeling of peacefulness to the camp’s early activities as he breathes inspiring hymns into a well-trained harmonica.
Knowing that we have reached and set up our permanent base camp is reason enough for rejoicing as I reflect back on the toils and exertions ofthe past two days of pushing and pulling handcarts a total of 20 miles over the mountains.
An excerpt from a newly discovered pioneer journal? A fictional account by someone who has never gone near a handcart?
Actually it is neither. This is from my journal, and the handcarts were very real to myself and the 64 young people who had left the comforts of civilization to come on this five-day trek over Boulder Mountain in southern Utah.
It has been over 120 years since the first hardy troop of migrating Saints made their way across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley. It took that group nearly four months to make the trip from Iowa City. Now, a five-day trip had been organized under the cooperative efforts of the Brigham Young University Special Courses and Conferences and the Department of Youth Leadership to give jet-age youth a taste of the hardships—and the joys—encountered by those early Saints.
True to Mormon tradition, our group was first organized into “families” of 15 each, complete with fathers, mothers, and children. Handmade cotton dresses replaced slacks and cool summer tops, and rugged wool pants with suspenders were donned to simulate clothing that might have been worn by the forebears we hoped to emulate during this brief but arduous experience.
Thursday morning, armed with sunbonnets, hiking boots, and cod-liver oil, we started up the mountain road, leaving civilization behind us. There was no lunch or supper that day as our long caravan of travelers made their way through the wilderness. The crossing of each stream called for rejoicing as they provided the only means of nourishment with which we could feed our tired and aching bodies. I developed sore muscles in places I never even knew I had muscles.
We pushed on, and as night came we had only the stars to light our way. Those of us who could, drew on our extra strength to help those who were weaker.
Only the sounds of shuffling feet and the creaking of wheels broke the silence of the night. But soon the weary silence was broken by happy shouts as we pulled into camp, and many of our number collapsed into lifeless bundles of slumber on the grass-covered meadow floor.
Those of us who were able to stay awake were rewarded with two sourdough biscuits and a piece of beef jerky each.
I awoke the next morning with crumbs on my chest and a half-eaten biscuit in my hand. I had fallen asleep before I could finish my meal.
Saturday was a day for feasting. We caught enough wild turkeys for every group to have at least one. It was truly a sight to behold! Turkey feathers were flying as hungry “pioneers” chased down those plump birds and caught them with their bare hands. By the time the chase was over, the participants needed first aid more than the birds.
While the wounded veterans were being bandaged, the turkeys were roasted in a rock-lined pit. The meal was a delicious change from the cornmeal mush and sourdough biscuits of the previous two days.
The day’s activities concluded with a square dance. It’s amazing how much better pioneers can sing and dance on a full stomach. I can’t say it did all that much for our tune-carrying ability, but it definitely strengthened our vocal cords!
Sunday brought a more serious and contemplative mood to the camp as meetings were held and we reflected on our experiences, Moist eyes and wet cheeks glistened in the clear mountain air as testimonies were borne in that evening’s five-hour testimony meeting. Never have I felt the Spirit of the Lord as strongly as I did then. All of us realized this was to be our last gathering, for in the morning our journey would be at an end and we would return to the 20th century.
How grateful I am for the knowledge that God lives, and for those true pioneers who gave all they had—even their lives—for the building up of the the kingdom of God! Because of this experience I now have a better understanding and deeper appreciation of their sacrifices.

A few summers ago, Rebekah and her dad undertook their biggest art project ever. Rebekah’s mom had always wanted a picture of the Salt Lake Temple in their home. That temple is especially important to Rebekah’s family because that is where her parents were married. Rebekah and her dad decided that they could design a tile mosaic of the temple that would be even more special because they made it themselves.
At first, the project seemed impossible. Rebekah wondered how it could be done. What materials could she use? But as they made sketches and started to gather materials, the project became very exciting to her. She and her dad visited many tile stores, going through piles of cast-off tiles and samples to find pieces with just the right colors and textures. They cut pieces off an old red brick to make the flower bed wall in the foreground, and Rebekah searched through small stones she had polished to find pieces for the angel Moroni on the top of the temple.
The original plan was to make the temple itself out of a piece of granite they had. This granite came from the same quarry where the early Saints got the rock for the Salt Lake Temple. But the granite was too coarse. Luckily, one of the ceramic tiles they had found was colored and textured to look like granite. They still used some of the granite from the temple quarry—it is included in the stones in the mosaic’s foreground.
The project was a lot of work and took a lot of time. They worked for two months, breaking tiles with a hammer and fitting the pieces together. When they needed straight cuts or defined shapes, they used a tile saw. Rebekah got very good at cutting tiles to the shapes she needed. Finally, after all of the tile pieces were in place, they applied the grout and finished the sides of the mosaic with some special granite paint.
Now this beautiful mosaic is hanging in the Nielsen home. It is a good reminder of how important the temple is. Rebekah especially likes the way the mountains turned out. Her dad pointed out verses in the Bible that show how even the mountains can help us think of the temple:
“And it shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it.
“And many people shall go and say, Come ye, and let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the house of the God of Jacob; and he will teach us of his ways, and we will walk in his paths” (Isa. 2:2–3).
The mountains also help Rebekah remember the pioneers who came to the Salt Lake Valley with Brigham Young and built the Salt Lake Temple.
Rebekah loves thinking about the temple. She knows it’s a wonderful place where people can feel the Holy Spirit. She wants to be good and make good choices so that she can go inside the temple someday. Now the beautiful temple mosaic belongs to the Nielsen family, but Rebekah’s dad has promised her that one day it will be hers to hang in her own home—when she gets married in one of Heavenly Father’s temples.

My husband’s sister Lilly, her husband, Robert, and their two children had come from the United States to visit us in Sweden, and I wanted to do something special. We decided to spend an afternoon at a water park. I felt it would be a safe activity since there would be four adults to watch the children.
But there must have been some misunderstanding about who was to look after Leonard, my five-year-old son. When we realized he was missing, we frantically began looking for him. Suddenly my husband, Henri, screamed, “Leonard has drowned!” Lilly, who is a trained lifeguard, dived into the pool, pulled him from the bottom, and immediately began resuscitation efforts.
I couldn’t believe this was happening. I wondered if my son was to be taken back to Heavenly Father. I prayed intensely for the Lord’s will to be done. In the middle of the chaos, Henri put his hands on Leonard’s head and gave him a blessing. During the short blessing, a burning feeling came over me. I have no words to explain it, but I know it was the Lord comforting me. I somehow knew that if I exercised faith, things would be all right. Just as Henri finished the blessing, Leonard took one breath.
The ambulance came and took Leonard to the hospital. He was still unconscious, and the doctors warned us that if he awoke from his coma, there would likely be brain damage. But I believed he could be healed if that was the Lord’s will. I concentrated on the task of having faith.
Two days later Leonard awoke—scared but well. Feelings of relief, happiness, and gratitude flooded over us. We had been blessed with a miracle through the power of the priesthood and through exercising our faith.

I chose to arrange the next two family home evenings, focusing on faith. I started off by preparing the lessons and trying to learn the chords on the guitar for the songs we would sing.
The first lesson was on faith. I asked what we as a family could change to grow our faith. They replied, “Praying, studying scriptures, fasting, going to church,” and so on. We agreed that there are many things you can do to grow your faith, but the most important thing is to actually do them. It’s important that you act in order to strengthen your faith.
The second lesson was on spiritual gifts. We talked about what faith and spiritual gifts had to do with each other.
Our faith-themed family home evenings went really well. We improved some things in our family; we had fun and tried not to just get it over with. We felt the Spirit together as a family.
Riza S., 16, Roskilde, Denmark

A new animal was coming to live in the zoo, and the other animals were excited. One morning a big truck backed up to an empty cage, and out stepped the new animal.
The other animals stared in amazement. The new animal did not look like any animal that they had ever seen before. He had a long neck and a long tail, and when he opened his mouth, he barked. One by one the other animals turned away from the cage. Because the new animal was so different, they were not sure how to treat him.
The new animal was very lonely. The other animals ignored him, so he had no one to talk to. He was so sad that he could not eat. The zookeeper began to worry. People stopped visiting the zoo because the new animal was sad and the other animals hid in the backs of their cages.
One day the elephant heard the new animal barking to himself. “The new animal does have a good trunk,” he told the giraffe. “It’s not as long as mine but is really quite nice.”
The giraffe stretched her neck to take a closer look. “Look at his strong neck. He can reach as high as I can.”
The lion was looking quietly at the new animal’s mane. “My goodness! He has an excellent mane—almost as thick as mine.”
Just then the zebra trotted by the cage. “His coat has a very nice pattern,” she said.
“And his horns are curved just right,” the mountain goat said, “just like mine.”
When the monkey came swinging from the trees, he said, “Look at that handsome tail. I wonder if the new animal would like to play tag?”
Finally the duck waddled by the cage.
“What fine feet you have. You probably can swim faster than I can,” she said.
The new animal stopped crying and thanked the duck for the compliment. Soon all the animals were talking together. They felt much happier. Even though the new animal looked different, the other animals had all found something about the new animal that they liked.