Gospel Story Finder

In the early 1990s when I met the missionaries, I was interested by all that they taught me. However, I was particularly fascinated by the teachings about the temple. I used my best efforts to deepen my knowledge of the house of the Lord on earth. I shared with the missionaries my desire to go to the temple, and they taught me how to prepare myself for this goal. At that time, there were no temples yet in the Caribbean Area.
Thus, I began my full-time mission in Haiti without having had the opportunity to receive my endowment in the house of the Lord. I found a picture of the Salt Lake Temple in a Church magazine, and I carried it with me wherever I served in the mission field. I always put it in front of my desk and wrote under it, “I want to get married in the temple.”
I was filled with joy when the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple was dedicated in 2000. I have been given the opportunity to be sealed with my wife in the house of the Lord. Later in the April 2015 general conference, I felt even more blessed when President Thomas S. Monson (1927-2018) announced the Port-au-Prince Haiti Temple. The public open house and the dedication of the Port-au-Prince Haiti Temple has marked my life and deepened my understanding of the importance of the temple on earth. In response to my question “How would you describe your experience in the temple?” a visitor said, “I have no words to describe it, I certainly have been in a celestial location,” and a journalist replied, “I don’t know what to say, but in the celestial room, I had a strange feeling that I have never had before.”

“In the Celestial Room, I felt an assurance that I will be healed,” Domingo Servito who faced a fatal health condition testified.
He miraculously survived an eight-hour, high-risk major operation after the Open House, and a few weeks later he was able to attend the Dedication, and celebrated his 68th birthday the day after the Dedication. He bears witness that, “when you feel the assurance of the Spirit, it will truly happen.”

“The Book of Mormon has been the instrument for my conversion. I really love it,” says Elder Walter F. González.
Born on 18 November 1952, he grew up in Montevideo, Uruguay. At 12, he was studying his English lessons on a bus one day when two missionaries saw him and asked, “Do you speak English?”
From this first contact, young Walter received a copy of the Book of Mormon. Six years later, when he first began to read it, he says, “I knew it was true after just a few pages of 1 Nephi.” His parents, Fermin and Victoria González, had taught him Christian values that helped him recognize and receive the restored gospel.

My parents have taught my little brother and sisters and me about what President Hinckley said about pornography. He said we should avoid it like the plague. On my way home from school one day, two of my friends sat by me on the bus. One boy had his phone, and he got on the Internet to find pictures of girls who were not dressed. I told him I would not look at the pictures. He tried to sneak the phone in front of my face. I said, “No!” and closed my eyes. The rest of the way home I looked out the window. I know I did the right thing that day.
Cade M., age 8, Arizona

President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency: “As our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, ‘What happens to you when you turn 12?’

“… Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, ‘I will be ordained a deacon!’

“The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, ‘Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.’”

On the eve of his martyrdom, the Prophet turned to Dr. Willard Richards and said:
“If we go into the cell, will you go in with us?” The doctor answered, “Brother Joseph you did not ask me to cross the river with you—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for treason, I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.” Joseph said, “You cannot.” The doctor replied, “I will.”
How does one explain the depths of this love and loyalty? Joseph’s friends loved him because they knew the extent of his love for them. Nothing in Joseph’s life was more important than friendship.

Recently I attended a conference of Church humanitarian missionaries in Jordan. As I met with them, I saw two sisters knitting. They told me they were knitting little caps for newborns. In the northern part of the capital city of Amman is a hospital that delivers 50 babies a day. The people there are very poor. After delivery, mothers and babies are sent back to their homes, where there is no heating. Many of these babies suffer from disease and die because of a loss of body heat. I asked for two samples of their knitting.
After I returned home, my wife took the samples to Relief Society. As a result, a miracle began—just as it so often begins in many of our Relief Society meetings around the world. During the Christmas season many sisters from our surrounding wards started to knit and sew baby caps. They did it alone, with friends, at home, or at Church activities.
One day I asked a friend how he was doing. With a twinkle in his eye, he replied, “I am a ‘victim’ of baby caps. We are talking baby caps night and day. We are surrounded by them.” One sister called and asked me, “Isn’t it warm in the Middle East?” When I assured her that the caps were needed, she went to work.
When I returned to Jordan, I had more than 800 baby caps in my suitcases. As we turned them over to the senior consultant of the hospital’s baby station, he thought they were a godsend. Jordan had just experienced the coldest winter in 16 years, with temperatures well below freezing.

When I opened my report card and saw the “Passed to sixth grade,” I smiled and waited impatiently to be dismissed. Soon everyone was rushing out the door, anxious to enjoy a glorious, carefree summer. When I got home, however, I found out that it was going to be a different kind of summer.
My little sister, Midge, was waiting on the back porch with her chin in her hands. When she saw me coming through the yard, she perked up and smiled. I bounded up the back porch steps and burst into the house. “I passed!” I shouted as I headed for the stairs.
Midge followed me to my room and collapsed across my bed as I pulled my dress over my head. I yanked on a pair of pants and was reaching for a T-shirt, when I heard my younger brother, Art, pounding up the stairs.
“I passed!” he called, zooming into his room. “What are we going to do first?” he shouted eagerly. “Have a circus or build a lean-to or what?”
I opened the door, tugged at my tennis shoe, and called, “Dig an underground!”
Instantly he appeared at the door of my room. “Huh?”
“Dig an underground!” I repeated and reached for a scrap of paper on my nightstand. I laid it on my bed, smoothing it flat, and pointed out the tunnels and rooms, explaining each passageway.
“Wow!” he gasped. “We can have secret meetings there and everything!”
“Right. And we’ll dig an entrance behind Joey and Darlene’s garage”—I pointed—“if they help us dig.”
“They’re coming over as soon as they change their clothes,” Art said with a nod.
“Good. Then we can get started.”
I folded the plans and shoved them into my pocket. With Art and Midge close behind, I rushed downstairs. In the kitchen Mom was waiting. “We’re going to dig an underground in the vacant lot,” I announced, heading for the back door.
“Art and Midge can go,” Mom said, “but I’d like to talk to you, Brea.”
I looked at her questioningly, then handed Art the plans. “You can start digging, I guess.”
They went out on the back porch and looked over their shoulders through the screen door. “Go on,” I told them. “You can start without me.”
Mom sat at the table and shook her head, smiling. “Brea, you’ll soon be eleven. Your older sister has gotten a summer job, so you can’t be spending this summer as you usually do, because I need you to take over some of the things she did.”
Beyond the garage, Joey and Darlene were probably joining Midge and Art, and I squirmed in my chair. “But, Mom …”
“Honey, you’re getting too old to be doing nothing but playing. It’s time you learned some practical things and helped around here a little more.”
I looked at the sunny blue sky and beckoning summer. “I do chores, Mom.”
“Yes, but with Sharlene working, I need you to help more, and I’d appreciate it if you’d start by scrubbing the bathroom floor. Now.”
Mom said it kindly, but firmly. It was a tone I never argue with.
As I sloshed soapy water back and forth over the tiled floor, I could hear the gang outside. I stopped and looked wistfully out the window at them. This isn’t the kind of summer I planned at all, I thought disgustedly. I’m their leader, and here I am, inside working!
The following day I had to help Mom clean out the hall cupboard. At noon Art and Midge came in, looking like happy orphans, and I asked how the underground was coming.
“We’re building a treehouse instead,” Art announced excitedly. “The ground’s too hard to dig.”
They raced upstairs to wash, and it slowly dawned on me: I was no longer their leader. None of them were moping around, wondering what to do, or bugging me for suggestions. They were doing fine without me. Suddenly I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere.
That afternoon I went to the orchard and picked cherries, just as I had every summer. This time, though, Mom said she’d teach me how to make piecrusts. I didn’t care much about learning to make piecrusts, but at dinner, as Dad eased his fork into a wedge of pie, I found myself waiting breathlessly. It seemed to take him forever to get that bite into his mouth. Then a broad smile crossed his face.
“The best pie I’ve ever tasted,” he said grandly.
Mom grinned and patted my hand. “Brea made it all by herself,” Mom announced proudly. “Everything from picking the cherries to taking it out of the oven.”
On Friday Mom sent me to get some things from the store. Walking home along Poplar Street, the fine spray of a hose shocked me out of my daydreaming. I looked up and saw Beverly Tinber hosing down her sidewalk.
“Did I get you wet?” she called. “Sorry.”
I brushed the drops of water from my arm and grinned. “Not very. Is this where you live?”
“Yeah,” she said with disgust in her voice. She turned off the water and came over to talk to me. “I hate doing chores!”
“Me, too,” I agreed. “What do you like to do?”
She pushed out her bottom lip and blew upward, trying to blow her hair out of her eyes. “I wish there were some woods around here. I’d like to go for a cool walk.”
I grinned. “There’s a woods at the end of our road. I’d be glad to take you, if you’d like.”
She smiled eagerly. “Really? How do I get there?”
“Just go to the school, then walk to Murdock’s Lane and turn onto Painter Avenue, then … Oh, that’s too complicated. I could just meet you at the school. How about Saturday? Could you go Saturday morning?” I asked anxiously.
“I think so. Give me your telephone number, and I’ll call you.”
I ripped a tiny scrap of paper from the grocery bag, scribbled my phone number on it, then handed it to her.
“I’ll give you mine, too,” she said as she reached for the pencil.
As I waved and started for home again, I knew I had a smile on my face. This was a different kind of summer, all right. But maybe different wasn’t going to be all bad!

One summer at Aspen Grove Family Camp, I observed a mother patiently feeding a teenage daughter injured at birth and totally dependent upon Mother. Mother administered each spoonful of food, each swallow of water, while holding steady the head and neck of her daughter. Silently I thought to myself, For 17 years, Mother has provided this service and all others to her daughter, never thinking of her own comfort, her own pleasure, her own food. May God bless such mothers, such fathers, such children. And He will.

Ushi and his sister, Ta Sao, lived in a small farmhouse in China with their mother, father, and grandmother.
Ushi and Ta Sao were twins, but one would never know it by looking at them. Ta Sao, which means elder sister, was slender. She had thick black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Ushi was plump and loved to eat, especially rice cakes.
On the twins’ birthday they ate a breakfast of hot cereal with extra sugar on it. The family was poor, so the twins did not expect any presents.
However, when they had finished breakfast, Father had a surprise for them. “Come with me,” he said, “I have something to show you.”
They followed him to the barn, where chickens hopped about, squawking loudly. Father picked up two fat young hens and gave one to each of the twins. “These are your very own chickens,” he told them. “They are your birthday presents, and you must take good care of them.”
The twins were excited.
“I will have lots of eggs to sell!” Ushi exclaimed. He patted his chicken. “You must give me the most eggs because I am the boy twin.”
Ta Sao’s brow wrinkled. She didn’t like it when Ushi bragged about being a boy. “It is my chicken that will lay the most eggs,” she said. “She will do so because I am the elder sister.”
Now it was Ushi’s turn to knit his brow. He didn’t say a word as they walked back to the house. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Just because you were born five minutes before I was,” he snapped, “you don’t have to keep reminding me about it!”
“Tsung-la (That will do)!” said Grandmother. “Twins should be friends.”
Ta Sao said, “Grandmother is right. We should not quarrel. Our chickens will soon show us which will lay the most eggs.”
Every day the twins ran out to the barn to see if their chickens had laid any eggs. And every day they came back to the farmhouse empty-handed.
“Are you sure you gave us hens and not roosters?” they asked Father.
Father laughed. “I would be a poor farmer if I didn’t know the difference between a hen and a rooster,” he said. “Farmers must learn to be patient, and so must the children of farmers.”
Then one day Ushi came running into the house. He was holding a precious egg carefully in his hand.
Ta Sao tried not to sound jealous. “What are you going to do with your egg?” she asked.
Ushi said, “I shall take it to the co-op and trade it for a rice cake.” That afternoon Ushi came home nibbling on a rice cake.
“Why didn’t you save a piece for your sister?” scolded Mother.
Ushi swallowed the last bit of his rice cake. “I forgot,” he said. “Next time I will share with Ta Sao.”
But Ushi loved rice cakes too much to share them with anyone. Each time he traded his egg for a rice cake, he finished eating it before he got home. There was not even a crumb left for Ta Sao.
Ta Sao didn’t mind. Her hen was beginning to lay eggs, too, and she had more important things to think about than rice cakes.
As the days went by, Ushi never saw Ta Sao take her eggs to the co-op. Finally his curiosity was too much for him. “What are you buying with your eggs?” Ushi asked his sister.
Ta Sao smiled mysteriously and said, “Come with me, Ushi. I will show you what I did with my eggs.”
“Will you share with me?” Ushi asked eagerly.
“I don’t think so,” Ta Sao answered. “You never shared with me. Remember?”
She took him to the barn. There, playing near her hen, were four tiny chicks. “My eggs are all hatched,” Ta Sao explained. “When they grow up and become laying hens like their mother, I shall have more eggs than you can count.”
Ushi’s eyes widened. “You’re pretty smart!” he exclaimed.
“That was a very nice thing for you to say,” Ta Sao told him. “For that you may have one of my chicks.”
Ushi smiled at his new little chick. “Just think of all the rice cakes my eggs will buy!” he said.
Ta Sao looked indignant, but before she could say anything, Ushi added quickly, “But this time I will save half of my rice cakes for my sister.”

As a child, I was influenced by a lot of people, especially by my parents and my uncles and aunts, friends, teachers, stake president, and the prophet. But if I were to pick just one person who influenced me, it would be President Spencer W. Kimball. Living in El Paso, Texas, we belonged to the Mt. Graham Stake, which was centered in Arizona. President Kimball was our stake president at that time. His wife, Camilla, was first cousin to my father, so we were related.
Whenever President Kimball came to El Paso on stake business, he stayed at our house. At that time my father was on the high council. One of the things I remember about President Kimball was how businesslike he was and how fast he worked. He typically, like my dad and many of that generation, had bread and milk for supper.
He was a marvelous man. He took a special interest in me—at least that’s the feeling I had. Later I learned that everybody felt like that. He was the first Church leader to invite me to go on a mission. He wrote to me, telling me about his mission, and that influenced me.
When I received my mission call, I traveled to Salt Lake City to enter the mission home. At that time, missionaries were set apart by General Authorities. I was set apart by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, who was then an Apostle.
He also performed the marriage and sealing of my wife and me. On several occasions when we lived in Salt Lake City and there was illness in our family, he responded to a call for a special blessing. And when we lived in the state of Washington, he took time out to visit with us there.
I remember visiting with him after he had been called as President of the Church. What a humble man he was. Here he had been called to be the prophet, yet he and his wife took the time to have a family home evening with our family and all the children.

Since I’ve been in school, I’ve had friends who haven’t understood the moral standards of our religion. At first it was difficult, but over time my friends have become used to the idea of my being morally clean. I made a goal in my life to be clean and pure, and it’s worked out well, both for me and for those who used to criticize me. Over time, respect, peace, and joy have become a part of our loving circle of friends.

“Oh no,” Michael moaned to himself. “Not another errand!” He knew that he shouldn’t feel this way. He loved his father. But ever since his father’s accident, it seemed like all he ever did was ask Michael to run errands for him.
“I’m coming.” Michael could hear the irritation in his words and guiltily hoped that his father would hear it, too, and respond with a “Never mind.” But there was no reply, so Michael slowly made his way to his parents’ bedroom.
Even though it had been over four months since the car accident, it still seemed strange to see his father in bed during the daytime hours. Michael knew that it was difficult for his father to lie there day after day, but it was difficult for him, too. He had been eager to run errands for his father during the first few weeks. But lately it was getting harder to give up what he wanted to do. Again today he had had to tell his best friend, Brad, that he couldn’t come over after school because he was needed at home.
It didn’t help that in a few days Michael would turn twelve. There would be few presents and no party with his friends. His mother and father had said that they were sorry—they didn’t have the time or the money this year for a friend party. It would have to be a family-only party.
Life before the accident seemed like a distant dream. Money had not been a real problem then. Now Michael worried more and more about what would happen to him and his family. His mother had taken a part-time job at a bakery to help make ends meet. Michael knew that as the oldest child in his family, he had a responsibility to help as much as he could. Lately, though, that responsibility seemed to weigh more and more, even though he did the same things: caring for his younger siblings, mowing the lawn, vacuuming the carpet, washing clothes and dishes, helping prepare meals when Mom worked late, and running errands for Dad.
As Michael went into his parents’ bedroom, the afternoon sun spilled through the window and across the multicolored quilt tucked around his father. His father turned the quilt back and slowly pushed himself up against the pillows behind him. “Michael, come here a minute, please.” Even though his face showed the strain of sitting up, he smiled at Michael. “I have an errand for you.”
Michael could feel the irritation building again. He didn’t want to run any more errands.
“Please get my scriptures for me. They’re on top of the dresser.” Michael’s father pointed toward the far end of the room.
Michael had always liked the smell and feel of the leather cover of his father’s worn scriptures. He handed them to his father and was about to leave, when his father said, “Hold on a minute. I want to say something to you. I know that these past four months have not been easy for you. You’ve given up a lot to help take care of me and the rest of the family. I want you to know how much I appreciate what you have done and how much I love you.” As Michael felt his irritation begin to seep away, his father continued. “There’s something else I want you to know. Even though you’ve given up many things, I’ve noticed that you’ve acquired others that are more important.”
“Huh?” Michael could think of several things that he’d given up, but nothing that he had gained during the past four months. “What things?”
“Well, every time you run an errand for me, you come back with something for both of us.”
None of what his father was saying made any sense to Michael. Maybe the accident caused some brain damage, he thought with concern.
Michael’s father saw his look of bewilderment and laughed softly. “Let me explain. I’ve seen you grow more these past four months than at any other time in your life. Every time you went on an errand, you came back with more maturity, more talents, and more skills.” He held up the scriptures. “The Savior taught that He only did the things His Father sent Him to do. His whole life was an errand for His Father. He willingly gave up His will to do the will of His Father. Because of that, He received everything His Father has.* In a few days, you’ll receive the Aaronic Priesthood and will be ordained a deacon. Do you know what that means?”
“I’ll be able to pass the sacrament, and I’ll go to priesthood meeting instead of Primary.”
“That’s right. But it means much more than that. It also means that you will be on the Lord’s errand. If you always do what He asks of you, even if it means giving up everything you have, what you receive in return will be far more valuable than any earthly possession or entertainment.”
Michael left the room with a completely different feeling than he’d had when he had entered. Pondering what his father had said, he realized that not all the changes in his life had been too hard—not if they made him a better person.
From downstairs, he heard his mother call, “Michael, can you run an errand for me?”
This time, he responded quickly and with joy.

Let me share another story of a Church member who tried hard to magnify his calling and was blessed with an amazing spiritual gift. Brother John Macfarlane was called to be a choir director in St. George, Utah, in the 1860s. One year, he decided the choir needed a new carol for their Christmas program. He had little experience at writing hymns, but he was not afraid to pray for help, for the gift to compose.

"One night it came, suddenly, in a dream. John was awake instantly. He shook his wife, Ann, into wakefulness, crying out: 'Ann, Ann, I have the words for a song, and I think I have the music too!'" (Lloyd Wayland Macfarlane, Yours Sincerely, John M. Macfarlane).

The song that John was given in his dream has become a beloved Christmas hymn played and sung all over the world. We know it as "Far, Far Away on Judea's Plains." The music and the lyrics were inspired of God, given in the form of a spiritual gift to a dedicated choir director.

I recall an experience I had on one occasion as a young man in the military service. I thought about it a few years ago when we had the repatriation of some of our military men from overseas. I’d been away from home about four years. We were given points. You got a point for every month you’d been overseas, a point for the number of battles you had been in, and so on, and high-point man went back to the States first.
Of course, there were millions of men to be brought back, and shipping was taxed, so there was nothing more important than to look at the bulletin board and see the points come down. At once you were earning more, and someday you got to the point where you knew the next ship in would be the one that would take you home. I saw that on the bulletin board and thanked the Lord that I could go home finally.
It was that day that my commanding officer called me in and told me we were opening a new flight at Osaka and that I was to be the operations officer. Well, I expressed myself to him. I might have been court-martialed for what I said: I think I’ll even admit I used a few scriptural terms out of context. He listened very patiently, and when it was all over with he said, “Well, that’s all right, Packer; you’re still going.” And so it was.
That afternoon, on a C-47, with all my gear and the others who’d been assigned, I sat bitterly grumbling over the fact that it would take months again, that it wouldn’t be just an assignment of a week or two. Then I challenged the Lord, saying, “Why is it?” I had never wanted anything so much as I wanted to be home. I’d prayed for it, I’d tried to earn it, I’d tried to deserve it, I’d tried to behave myself, and then, when it was within my grasp, the very thing I wanted most was denied me.
Somehow, I don’t remember how, I took hold of myself; but looking back now, I can say the Lord was answering my prayers then. There came from that experience, from things that happened in those few months, lessons essential to the preparation for the calling that is now mine. I couldn’t see that far ahead, but by those tests or trials that we receive, ofttimes the Lord will prepare for us what He has in mind.

December 13th was the day I was to become a Christmas “secret pal.”
Every year the seminary students at Mingus Union High School in Cottonwood, Arizona pick people in need of love to become a part of their lives. Each night for 12 days before Christmas, the students share a gift, a treat, or a thought with someone. I picked my quiet, friendly neighbors Mr. and Mrs. Boyle to be the object of my secret attentions.
The first night I went to their back door to knock and run, leaving a little gift. I had to run to the door about four times before they heard me knocking. Each time, I ran quickly out the gate to hide behind their little blue car and wait to see if they would find my gift.
The next day I realized that their mean dog, who I thought at one time was going to take off half of my face, suddenly began to like me. He even licked me one night, and to think I had been afraid of him!
One night I knocked on the back door, and the Boyles answered lightning fast. They found the small present I’d left and came out with flashlights looking for me. I ran again to the back of their car. They both flashed the bright lights into my eyes and I didn’t dare breathe. I felt like I was part of the bumper. I almost stood up thinking I was caught, when suddenly they turned around and went back inside. I was so excited I hadn’t been caught.
One night I was walking home, and I overheard them say that they were going to be waiting for their secret admirer. So I put that night’s goodie in the mailbox. I called them on the phone and sang, “I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you a Merry Christmas, I wish you would go look in your mailbox, Merry Christmas, I truly love you.”
Three days before Christmas, I sneaked into the yard after dark as usual and glanced in the window. I saw Mr. Boyle sitting near Mrs. Boyle’s chair. I said to myself, “Now is the time to do it.” I was on my way to the back door when suddenly a hand grabbed me, and Mr. Boyle yelled, “Gotcha!” I was caught. Mr. Boyle took me inside to talk to his wife. When Mrs. Boyle saw who I was, she got tears in her eyes and they thanked me. When I was in their house I noticed that they didn’t have a tree or any kind of Christmas decorations up.
Even though I had been found out, I decided I wasn’t through yet. On Christmas I bought them a small decorated Christmas tree. This time I didn’t try to hide. When I took it over, they invited me in, and Mrs. Boyle, with tears streaming down her cheeks, told me about their son.
The Boyle’s son fought in Viet Nam. Mrs. Boyle promised him that she would never celebrate another Christmas without him. He was killed in the fighting. My efforts to bring a little Christmas into their lives was the first time since their son left to fight that they had felt the love of Christ and the Christmas spirit. Together, all hugging each other, we cried.

Joseph Albiston, John’s son, was born in 1820. He married Mary Ann Clayton in 1846, and they had six children. Joseph and his brother, John Albiston, Jr., had been baptised in April 1840 by Henry Royle, a British convert and the first official missionary to Wales. Joseph was later rebaptized at Ashton-under-Lyne on 16 June 1848 by his brother, John Jr. Mary Ann, Joseph’s wife, was baptised the same day. In 1879, Joseph left for America. Then Mary Ann and two of her sons, Joseph and Thomas, members of the Oldham Branch up to 29 August 1883, emigrated to Utah.

William Albiston, son of Joseph and Mary Ann, was born in 1857. Will, as he was known, his wife, Elizabeth, and daughter, Eda, were baptised in Oldham in 1897. The Albistons were members of the Oldham Branch that was meeting, during this time, in a rented hall at the House & Mill Company offices, 127 Union Street.3
According to Will’s descendants, he was converted to the gospel by an Elder Abraham Wilde, who mentioned the Albiston family a few times in his missionary journal:
“20 January 1897. […] We spent the [evening] at Mr Albiston’s who was to [be] baptised the next evening.
“21st January 1897. The weather is still cold therefore we did not get out; in the evening Bro Broadbent baptised twelve persons, [...] Mr Albiston and wife and daughter [...]. They were baptised in the font of the Baptist Chapel in Oldham.” 4
Like so many other members of the Oldham Branch, Will and his family left England for Utah, but Will wanted to be in the British Empire, so the family moved to Alberta, Canada, settling on a homestead in Cardston County. Will farmed there until his death.
At the end of the 19th century, the Oldham Branch of the Church was coming up to its 60th anniversary. The branch had seen many of its members emigrate to Utah but those who remained were strong and dedicated to their faith.

My father had a unique experience when he was the age of a priest. There were no high schools where he lived, and he wanted an education. He received permission from his father to leave the farm and seek his education elsewhere, but he had to make it on his own. Arriving in Salt Lake City, he heard of an employment position being offered in the home of President Joseph F. Smith. He was hired to care for the prophet’s two cows. In our family home evenings we would want Dad to relate experiences about his early life of living in the home of the prophet. We would hear him make reports like this:
Sister Smith instructed my father in his duties, explaining that the cows “were aristocrats, and you must treat them well. You are to keep them so clean and train them so well that if I should ever at any time conclude to move them into the parlor, they would be clean enough to enter.” Dad said he understood milking but not laundering cows.
Before milking each morning and night, the cows were thoroughly washed and dried with hot water, soap, and towels prepared for that purpose. They were fed the best of hay and milked at exactly the same hour twice a day.
In addition to his duties with the Smith family and their “aristocratic” cows, my father was asked on occasion to do some housework. He would tell us stories like this: “One frosty morning I washed the steps leading to the official residence of the President of the Church. It nearly led to his downfall, for I let the water freeze before drying. Then I had to take boiling water and thaw the ice and take towels to dry the stones. The steps were nearly clean, but my classmates were passing on their way to school before the job was completed. It was a humbling experience.”
By telling these stories, I don’t want to leave you with the impression that my father was a male twin to Cinderella. The Smith family took this poor farm boy from Idaho into their home while he finished high school and attended the University of Utah. They included him in their family activities, around the dinner table, and at family prayer. My father shared with us his witness that the prophet Joseph F. Smith was truly a man of God: “When I kneeled with the prophet, in family prayer, and listened to his earnest supplications for the blessings of the Lord upon his family and their flocks and their herds, I realized that those same humiliating cows were the subject of his blessings, [and] my feet were brought solidly to earth. … Most great men I have known have been deflated by intimate contact. Not so with the prophet Joseph F. Smith. Every common everyday act added inches to his greatness. To me he was prophet even while washing his hands or untying his shoes.”
The lessons learned taught us a great appreciation and love for a prophet of God.

Many years later, in 1873, Kitty, the wife of this great man, Jonathon Napela, contracted leprosy. She was a beautiful and noble woman in the early days of the Church in Hawaii. Today modern medical knowledge has advanced so that this disease is no longer fatal, but at that time, there was no cure for this dreadful disease. In order to prevent the spreading of this disease, once you contracted it you were forced to live on one of the seashores in the leper colony on Molokai. The lepers were taken there by boat. The sailors were so afraid of this disease that they pushed the patients into the sea, forcing them to swim to shore.

Because his wife had to go to Kalaupapa, the leper colony, Jonathon, too, wanted to go. He took her hand and they went there together. Why would he do this? Because he loved her so much! He knew that life is eternal and love is eternal, even through days of “sickness and health.”

History records that this valiant and giant man of God worked in the leper colony and fought to obtain government assistance for the lepers to have a more comfortable place to live. He was a giant in the pure love of Christ for his own people. Oh, I can almost hear the words of Paul to the Corinthians when he said, “Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal” (1 Cor. 13:1).

This good brother later contracted that same disease and died even before his wife passed away. She followed him two years later.

Our Heavenly Father is infinitely kind. When we keep his commandments, he “doth immediately bless” us (Mosiah 2:24). As we remember his kindnesses, we are again blessed, and our confidence in him grows stronger. Another sister, assigned to help the young women in her ward prepare for a sacrament meeting program, felt a spirit of peace, even though their final practice had concluded in confusion. She reflected, “We had practiced diligently. We had been called by God through his servants to this assignment. I had seen his blessings in similar situations in the past, and I knew that we could trust in him. We felt his Spirit during the program.”