Gospel Story Finder

I once found myself late at night on an airplane bulging with passengers going north from Mexico City to Culiacan. The seats in the plane were close together, and every seat was taken, mostly by the gracious people of Mexico.
A young woman came down the aisle with four small children, the oldest of which appeared to be about four, and the youngest a newborn. She was also trying to manage a diaper bag, a stroller, and some bags. The children were tired, crying, and fussing. As she found her seat in the airplane, the passengers around her, both men and women, literally sprang to her aid. Soon the children were being lovingly and tenderly comforted and cared for by the other passengers, who passed them between one another all over the airplane.
Settling down in the caring arms of those who cradled them, the children soon went to sleep. The mother was freed from the care of her children for most of the flight. The only thing that I felt bad about was that no one passed any of the children to me!

My day had been absolutely miserable. I wasn’t prepared for a pop quiz in biology, the teacher put me on the spot in English, and after our class ran laps for the entire period in P.E., I was exhausted.
I was a Mia Maid and my Young Women leaders had planned a service project that night for Sister Simmons, an elderly woman whose husband had passed away a few years ago. Sister Simmons’s health was failing, so it was almost impossible for her to accomplish simple tasks. Tonight the Mia Maids were going to do some deep cleaning in her home.
I had had such a terrible day at school, and I did not want to go and participate in this activity. All I wanted to do was watch TV and relax. While sitting in front of the TV, something kept nagging at my heart: “Would you deny this woman of your service?” As I sat there I pondered the Young Women value; good works. Yes! This was definitely good works. I knew that I must go and serve Sister Simmons.
My mom drove me to the church. I walked in feeling tired and worn out, but I was glad I had made the right decision to come to this activity.
Sister Simmons lived a block away from the church, so after opening exercises the seven of us Mia Maids ran in the rain to her house, carrying cleaning supplies. Sister Stout, our Mia Maid adviser, knocked, and Sister Simmons slowly opened the door, looking a little shocked to see us all. She said “Oh my, I had forgotten that you were coming.”
We all filed inside and were assigned chores. Carlene and I were assigned to scrub down the kitchen. Carlene washed all the dishes and the countertops, while I meticulously cleaned the front of all the oak cabinets and the old, white stove. As we worked, Carlene and I were giggling and talking. I was actually having fun.
An hour and a half later we had finished, and the house was sparkling clean. Time had gone by so fast. As we were all heading towards the door telling Sister Simmons “good night,” and giving her a hug, she stopped us and, with tears in her eyes, thanked us profusely.
I left that night with tears in my own eyes. I had learned so much about service. I had always been taught that when you serve someone else, you forget about your own problems. Now I knew that was true. I fell asleep peacefully that night, not thinking about myself at all.
The next morning Mom came into my room as I was getting ready for school. She sat me down on the side of my bed and explained to me that Sister Simmons had passed away in her sleep that night. I was shocked as I sat on my bed sobbing, thinking to myself how glad I was that I had been prompted to go and serve Sister Simmons. I am so grateful for the promptings of the Holy Ghost, and what I learned that night about serving others.

I remember a woman who constantly nagged her husband (an inactive elder) about not paying his tithing, saying again and again, “When you don’t pay your tithing, you deny me and the children the blessings that are associated with this commandment. … I want those blessings, even if you don’t.” She became so irate and her marriage became so disturbed over this issue that she went to the bishop trying to get his aid in forcing her husband to pay tithing. The bishop’s response was, “Overall your husband is basically a good and righteous man. If you sustain him in righteousness, even in his judgment not to pay tithing at this time, the Lord will sustain you, and you will be obeying God’s commandments and will not miss out on any of the blessings.” When the husband later learned of this bishop’s counsel, he was so moved and impressed that his Church activity increased and the marital relationship was much improved.

On a Friday when our workbook pages were due, a friend of mine asked for the answers on one section. At first I said sure. But after thinking about it, I didn’t want to get a “lunch bench,” one of the consequences at my school. When I told my friend it wasn’t the right thing to do, I felt a strong feeling inside. Later that day my teacher announced that if anyone copied answers they would get a lunch bench, and so would the person who let them copy. I felt so relieved. I realized the strong feeling was the Holy Ghost. I know the Holy Ghost helps us choose right from wrong.

I recently heard some experiences of families of suicide victims that give hope to others who are suffering. I must point out that individual spiritual experiences of Church members do not determine Church doctrine. Still, these experiences are compatible with the ideas we have been discussing. The first experience deals with a young woman whose father took his life when she was five years old. The father was not a member of the Church, nor was the daughter until many years later.
“As I was growing up,” she says, “I had the subtle feeling that there was something my father very much wanted me to do for him. I had been taught in my church that he had murdered himself and was in hell. But it seemed to me that even though he had been wrong to kill himself, he had thought he was doing the family a favor. (He was an alcoholic who couldn’t get rid of the habit.) I began to search the Bible to see what might have happened to him. As time went by, I came to know that he had somehow suffered through his problems—and that now he needed me to do something for him. I kept thinking, ‘But what can you do for someone who is already dead?’ And the answer would come, ‘Someday, if you keep searching, you will know.’
“Eventually I was baptized into the Church. When I first heard of baptism for the dead, I was overwhelmed. Now I knew what my father wanted me to do! I did the necessary work and sent his name to the Idaho Falls Temple, where I had the privilege of seeing a brother baptized by proxy for my father. His endowment work was done the same month. I have a strong feeling that he has accepted both ordinances and is greatly blessed by it.”

President Kimball, President Hinckley, Brethren, and my dear brothers and sisters, this afternoon I feel somewhat like a former Chief Justice who explained his feelings on his ninety-fifth birthday anniversary. In his mind he rationalized, “It’s just another birthday like all the others.” But as he stood to acknowledge the occasion, his words revealed a love of life, a love of his work and of his fellowmen. He said:
“I have warmed both hands before the fire of life. … The rich spoils of memory are mine. … Mine, too, are the precious things of today. … The best of life is always further on. Its real lure is hidden from our eyes somewhere behind the hills of time.” (Lillian Eichler Watson, ed., Lights from Many Lamps, New York: Simon and Schuster, 1951, pp. 267–68.)
Like that grand old man, I love life. I love the work in which I have been engaged for the past nine and one-half years—the demanding, intense, but beautiful work of Relief Society. It has been so sweet to me that it has seemed but a fleeting moment in time.
As I stand at this point of transition, a montage of memories crowd my mind—of family, my good husband supporting and patiently waiting for me, of my children and their mates struggling to arrange their busy schedules to meet mine, and of grandchildren often being my examples; of the women with whom I have worked—a kaleidoscope of images, experiences, and impressions come to me of them.
I see my devoted, talented, loyal counselors, Marian R. Boyer, Janath R. Cannon, Shirley W. Thomas, and Ann S. Reese, and my secretary-treasurer, Mayola R. Miltenberger, all of whom I dearly love. I see the brilliant, gifted women who have served with me on the Relief Society General Board. And there is my personal secretary and the dear women of our staff, the hostesses who serve in the Relief Society Building, our public communications representative, Moana B. Bennett.
I also see the faithful stake and ward Relief Society leaders and the many, many sisters who comprise the membership of the Relief Society throughout the Church whom I have come to know and appreciate.
At this moment, I can only echo President Kimball’s words: “God bless the women—the wonderful, wonderful women!” (“Women, Wonderful Women!” Relief Society Magazine, Jan. 1958, p. 8.)
Certainly I have warmed both my hands at the fires of their lives.
I have seen nobility emerge as I have observed them overcome personal sorrows, disappointments, and tragedies. I have witnessed their compassion and loving ministrations toward their families and toward their neighbors.
I have savored their creativity, rejoiced in their achievements, and shared their joyous moments.
I have felt the strength of our sisterhood as we have met in Sunday Relief Society meetings, in women’s area conference meetings, in socials, and in significant historical events such as the memorable occasion in Nauvoo, the birthplace of our beloved organization, where we memorialized that event with a beautiful garden of monuments to women.
I have read how Relief Society observed its fiftieth year with a great gathering of sisters in this Tabernacle. President Zina D. H. Young addressed the congregation and exclaimed:
“O that my words could be heard by all people, not only by you my brethren and sisters in this Tabernacle but that they might be heard and understood by all the people of this continent, and not only this continent, but the continents of Asia, Africa, Europe and the islands of the sea.” (Minutes of the Relief Society General board, vol. 1, 17 Mar. 1892, p. 225.)
I have come to feel that this may have been more than just a wistful expression of a great former leader. Perhaps it was instead a pleading with the Lord for a time such as this. Let me explain:
When I was a little girl I participated in a program here in the Tabernacle. At that time an impression came to me that I have never forgotten, even though I did not understand it then. I was filled with an awareness that sometime I would stand before a vast congregation of the Church in this building.
I thought this vision of my childhood was realized in the 1974 Relief Society conference when I was sustained as the general president of the Relief Society. But now I feel certain that this is the day I saw. And perhaps because of prayerful people like President Zina Young our voices are heard proclaiming the truths of the gospel to all the world, truths that can be transmitted into the very hearts and minds of people who will listen and try to understand.
In that spirit I am proud to testify today that our prophets and Apostles are men called of God. They will always lead the Church aright by divine direction and by the power of the Holy Ghost.
The women of the Church have an important work to do. That work requires great strength of character, faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and a pure heart that will be a light unto the world and a bulwark of righteousness against the darkness that covers the earth with contention and evil.
In all humility I declare my ever-expanding love for you. I assure you, too, that I deeply love our newly called and sustained general president of the Relief Society. I know Relief Society is in good hands. It will continue to grow and move forward in countless ways to bless the lives of all of the daughters of God.
I know this is true. I feel it with every fiber of my being, just as I know that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, our Savior and our Redeemer.
May we all make the most of every moment of our lives, that somewhere beyond the hills of time we will be with them again, I humbly pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Mariah (as she preferred to be called) is one of the reasons my family is even in the Church. She was baptized in 1840 in England, was endowed in Nauvoo, Illinois, was sealed to her husband in Winter Quarters, Nebraska, and died in Utah. My thoughts about her while I was in the temple were not about her need to have ordinances performed but about how those ordinances bound her and me together across time and space.

When others see the only known photograph of my grandmother Mariah, they often comment on how grim or unpleasant she appears to them. I immediately defend her because I know her. I know the person that walked along the River Severn as a young girl and as a mother with small children. I know the person who sailed across an ocean, giving birth to her fourth child during the journey. I know the person who sent a husband to war and lost an infant child during his absence. I know the person who walked 1,000 miles (1,609 km) to a new home in the western American desert. I know the person who worked and covenanted and farmed and loved. And in knowing her, I get a taste of our heavenly parents’ love for her and for each of their children.

Enrique was born the year his grandfather Delio was baptized into the Church. Growing up, he frequently spent time with his grandparents next door or with his aunts, all of whom were active in the Church. (He calls Liduvina his second mother.) Though his father and mother were not members in his early years, “my brothers and sisters and I grew up in the Church.”
His father, Vicente, he recalls, wanted nothing to do with the Church—did not even want to talk about it. When Vicente’s children tried to give him a Book of Mormon, he literally tossed it back at them. But, Enrique says, “it was the example of his children that eventually changed my father.” Enrique’s patriarchal blessing promised that his father would join the Church because of the example of his children. Enrique and the rest of the family clung to that promise.
In 1986, while Enrique’s younger brother was serving a mission, their father’s opposition to the Church had softened enough for him to give consent for his wife to be baptized. After 25 years of attending and serving as she could, Lina was finally a member. Her husband, however, was far from ready to take that step. Family life went on for several more years with everyone but Vicente as a member of the Church. Then one Sunday morning in 2002, Vicente got up and dressed in his suit, ready to go to church—ready to be taught. He was baptized shortly afterward, and he and his wife were sealed in the temple in 2003.

Although President Benson loved horses and would always admire a good horse more than a good car, he was excited when his father purchased the family’s first automobile. “It was a 1915 Dodge. It was of solid, substantial construction, but the suspension wasn’t very good in those days and it bounced along like a hay wagon. There were very few cars in the community. Uncle John Dunkley was the first one to get a car. The children would all gather around after Sunday School, to see him turn the hand crank to get it started. There were no paved roads anywhere in our part of the country.

“Occasionally Father would let us drive to a distant town for a basketball game, dance, or other entertainment. One Saturday we drove to Logan. There is a slight hill to the south of Logan, and I drove our car to the limit this particular Saturday and got the speed up to about eighty-two kilometers per hour. When I reported this to Father and to the people back in the Whitney Ward, they were shocked to think I had dared to drive at that terrific speed and seemed to question whether the car would actually go that fast or not. I finally had to get evidence from some of the other boys who were with me to confirm my claim, which was the highest record of speed known in the community at that time.”

Some who profess to be followers of Christ insist that members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are not Christians. Indeed, there are those who make their living attacking our church and its doctrines. I wish all of them could have the experience I shared.
A friend who was making his first visit to Salt Lake City called on me in my office. He is a well-educated man and a devout and sincere Christian. Although we have not discussed this with each other, we both know that some leaders of his denomination have taught that members of our church are not Christians.
After a short discussion on a matter of common interest, I told my friend I had something I would like him to see. We walked over to Temple Square and into the North Visitors’ Center. We viewed the pictures of Bible and Book of Mormon Apostles and prophets. Then we turned our steps up the inclined walkway to the second level. Here Thorvaldsen’s great statue of the risen Christ dominates a setting suggestive of the immensity of space and the grandeur of the creations of God.
As we emerged and beheld this majestic likeness of the Christus, arms outstretched and hands showing the wounds of his Crucifixion, my friend drew a sharp breath. We stood quietly for a few minutes, enjoying a reverent communion of worshipful thoughts about our Savior. Then without further conversation, we made our way down to the street level. On the way we walked past the small diorama showing the Prophet Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove.
As we left Temple Square and took our leave of one another, my friend took me by the hand. “Thank you for showing me that,” he said. “Now I understand something about your faith that I have never understood before.” I hope that every person who has ever had doubts about whether we are Christians can achieve that same understanding.

At the same time, many Congolese emigrants found the Church in Europe and the United States. Mbuyi Nkitabungi was baptized in Belgium in 1980, served a full-time mission in England, and then felt prompted to return home in 1985. “One of my righteous objectives is to build … Zion in the heart of Zaïre,” he wrote to Church headquarters. “I know there is quite a few members from my country who are waiting for that opportunity. … Tell me everything I have to do.”
Nkitabungi was put in contact with other members in Kinshasa, who met in the home of Mike and Katie Bowcutt, an American couple. Like Nkitabungi, many members were Congolese Saints who had joined the Church abroad. Because the Church was still not legally recognized, however, the members held no public meetings. Nevertheless, the group quickly outgrew the Bowcutts’ home and moved their meetings to Nkitabungi’s garage.
In February 1986, the president of the country promised during a broadcast on state-run television that he would grant the Church legal recognition, and members soon began preaching the gospel openly. That same month, Ralph and Jean Hutchings, the first missionaries called to Zaïre, arrived and found a growing group in Kinshasa. Recognition was granted officially in April, and by June 1987 the Church was growing so quickly in Zaïre that a mission was organized, with Ralph Hutchings as president.
Missionaries also reached out to the unofficial congregations near Lubumbashi. Although the transition proved difficult for some, a second center of strength soon emerged. Between May and July 1987, 170 people were baptized. Some were traveling as far as 300 kilometers (186 miles) from Pweto, Kolwezi, and Likasi to attend meetings.
When 21-year-old Elie Monga of Kolwezi read the Book of Mormon in 1987, he was impressed. “I strongly felt,” he later said, “that that’s what I need.” Monga traveled the 300 kilometers to Lubumbashi to meet with the missionaries. After only one discussion, he decided to be baptized. After his baptism, with encouragement from missionaries, he held Sunday School meetings in his home. “We started gathering and teaching our friends [and family],” he said, “bringing them the message of hope through the restored gospel.” A large group was soon meeting in Monga’s home. When the first baptismal service in Kolwezi was held the next year, it took more than three and a half hours for Monga to baptize the 82 converts who had accepted the gospel. It was one success among many: in 1990, just four years after the Church received government recognition, branches and districts were thriving in Kinshasa, Lubumbashi, and many other cities throughout the country.

As a small child in Midwolda, in the Netherlands, I walked every Sunday to a little evangelical church in our village. My parents didn’t go to church or even speak of religion, but I loved to hear the minister’s beautiful stories about Jesus Christ. How I loved God! But I couldn’t understand the minister’s description of God—so great that he could be in all places at once, yet so small that he could live in my heart.
It wasn’t until I was seventeen that I heard a song that helped me understand the true nature of our Heavenly Father. I had just met the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and my future husband and I had gone to our first cottage meeting in Amersfoort, where we then lived. There I heard the hymn “O My Father,” whose words would change my life:
O my Father, thou that dwellest in the high and glorious place,
When shall I regain thy presence, and again behold thy face?
In thy holy habitation, did my spirit once reside?
In my first primeval childhood, Was I nurtured near thy side?”
(Hymns, number 139.)
I would never forget that song and the loving Father that it described. However, my future husband’s father asked us to stop seeing the missionaries, and we were not baptized.
But three years later, married and living in Rotterdam, we found the missionaries at a street meeting and asked them to teach us in our home. In September of 1928, my husband and I were baptized. On our way home after the baptism, I felt like the happiest person in the world.
In the years to come, we had our share of hardships. But all our experiences showed us the goodness of our Heavenly Father and taught us of his personal care for us.
When our first child was about a year old, she became so ill that the doctors gave us little hope that she would survive. Through that agonizing time of watching her suffer, I felt so close to God that I could almost feel him. We had great faith in the priesthood, and our daughter recovered after she had received a priesthood blessing.
Even during the horror of World War II in the Netherlands—with my husband in hiding, bombs exploding, cold and hunger—the Spirit of our loving Father kept us close to God and close to the Saints. One day when I was serving as Relief Society president, I went with my ten-year-old daughter to visit an older sister who lived alone. When we arrived at Sister Smit’s small home she was reading. She told us she was so hungry that she had decided to read the Bible, because spiritual food could fill her, too.
In those days food was rationed, and in my pocket was a coupon for a loaf of bread for our children. I felt so concerned for this hungry sister that I gave my daughter the coupon and sent her to buy bread for Sister Smit. On the way home, I wondered how I would tell my children that I had given away the bread. I knew I had done the right thing, but now what was I going to feed them.
Upon arriving home, I found the answer. Some family friends in Zwolle had arranged for a letter to be hand-carried to us by their nephew. With the letter were three bread coupons.
Over the years, our Heavenly Father has continued to bless us in miraculous ways. In 1947 our daughter was called to serve a mission. Although we had very little money, and our family would greatly miss the income from her job, we agreed to support her. Never was our family so blessed as during our daughter’s mission. Occasionally someone would tell me that they wished their child could serve a mission, but that they didn’t have the money. I always told them that we didn’t have the money either, but that the Lord blessed us so that somehow we were able to support her each month.
As I look back over my eighty years, I feel that among my greatest privileges in life has been to know that I am a child of God, and that he will guide me through mortality if I will stay close to him. And if I am worthy, he will be waiting to greet me in his “holy courts on high.”

My husband’s graduate school had been expensive, so we looked forward to a job that would help us pay off our debts. We were offered several positions but felt best about a professorship in Hawaii. However, when our contract arrived, the salary was lower than we had discussed. We were informed that there was a new policy and negotiation was not an option. We had felt sure about the new job, so we signed the contract anyway.
We loved Hawaii, my husband loved his job, and we were blessed as a family. Things seemed to be going well with our student-debt payments until the credit card company informed us that our new interest rate would be 14 percent instead of our current 3 percent. We argued that we always made our payments on time and that had paid down a lot of the debt already. But the company was adamant.
First, we did some creative financing, transferring our balance to different credit cards with short-term zero percent interest rates. Then we started cutting costs. We drastically reduced our food, clothing, and diapers budget for our seven-person family. We lived on our food storage. Every morning we ate oatmeal; every afternoon we ate homemade bread; and every evening we ate rice and beans. There were no luxuries such as butter, fresh milk, or juice. After we paid tithing and basic expenses, all of our income went to paying off our credit cards.
Six months later, we had paid off 90 percent of our debt! The Lord had multiplied our income in miraculous ways. We were able to quickly pay off the remaining debt, and we are very thankful. My daughter still complains about when she had to eat oatmeal every morning, but I know that by paying our tithing and obeying the prophet, we were blessed financially and temporally.

In 1970, a few days after Barbara, our children, and I had arrived in Mexico City where I was to serve as mission president, Presidents Joseph Fielding Smith, Nathan Eldon Tanner, and Spencer W. Kimball and their wives visited us at our first missionary conference. Afterwards, as I drove President and Sister Kimball to their downtown hotel, we stopped at a service station for gasoline. While the car was being serviced, a barefoot Indian lady with her baby in her “reboso,” or blue shawl, came up to our car offering for sale some small packs of chewing gum. I purchased some, she expressed appreciation, then went to the car behind us. At that point, President Kimball taught me a powerful lesson in his quiet, kind way. “President,” he said, “might it not be well to let that sister know who we are?”

Well, with that encouragement I did think it “might be well” to let her know that we were representatives of Jesus Christ. So I rolled down my window and invited the woman back. I bought some more gum from her and then introduced her to President and Sister Kimball, explaining that he was one of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I asked her if she had ever heard of the “Mormon” church; she said she had. She lived in a suburb of Mexico City and had seen the missionaries—the “young men dressed in white shirts.” I invited her to be sure to listen at the next opportunity to the message they had to share with her. She said she would.

Although I am not sure she has ever taken the opportunity to learn more about the gospel, I learned that we who are Latter-day Saints should let other people know who we are—and especially whom we represent.

Members of BYU’s The Dancers Company, Living Legends, Young Ambassadors, and the International Folk Dance Ensemble had the privilege of performing in the Church’s production of Light of the World during the recent Salt Lake City 2002 Winter Olympic Games. One evening at the conclusion of a special preview for a majority of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, members of the cast awaited with anticipation as the apostles approached the stage. No one instructed even the youngest members of the cast as to how they should act in the presence of these holy men. No one had to. Everyone quickly and quietly sat down. Not a word was spoken. The feelings of the Spirit were very strong and unmistakable. Love, admiration, and respect for these special witnesses of Christ filled the air. All attention was focused on Elder Packer as he addressed us. There was total concentration. No one wanted it to come to an end. When these Brethren finally did leave, the Spirit remained with us. Our behavior had changed in their presence.

I learned the power personal agency can play in the lives of others when I served in a stake young men's presidency. We gave everything we had to the youth of that stake: knowing their names, investing in their lives, and serving them in every way we knew how. This is a picture of that young men's presidency taken at 2:00 in the morning as we prepared on the eve of a youth event. But there is one thing that is wrong with this picture (besides the fact that it is 2:00 in the morning). There are no youth in the room. In our desire to serve, we had excluded the youth from the very activities that would have lead to their greatest growth. Fortunately, we soon ran into an experience that would change our service forever. In planning for a youth conference, we wanted to explore how perceptions of "what is cool" can be shaped by media and popular culture. Well, try as we might, four married men working at desk jobs were not going to tell the youth "what was cool." We were forced to involve the youth in developing the themes, writing the content, and leading the discussions. Our responsibility to direct and sharpen the experience did not diminish. But the youth were engaged in a role we had never experienced. By doing less, we had allowed our youth to do more. For me this story had implications not only for my service in the stake, but as a parent, a leader, and a teacher. Preach my Gospelexplains, "While learning from a good teacher is very important, it is more important for you to have meaningful learning experiences on your own."[18]

In October 1976, directors of the Church Educational System offered Inosi a job as coordinator of the seminary program in Fiji. He hesitated to accept the position until Joseph Sokia, director of the Church Educational System in Fiji, told him, “If you accept the seminary job, you will have the chance to change the lives of our young people.”
That touched Inosi. He remembered that his district president had asked him once in an interview whether he would be willing to work full-time for the Church if he was needed. Inosi had said he would. Now was the time to keep that commitment.
Leaving government employment after twelve years was hard; Inosi lost his pension, his government benefits, and his opportunities for overseas travel. “But I knew I needed to go,” he says. Some of Inosi’s extended family and some people of his village were frustrated with his decision. They were proud of Inosi’s government position and told him he was making a mistake. But Maryann supported him, telling him, “Wherever you take us, we will follow.”
When Inosi resigned from his job, he asked to be paid for the leave that was due to him rather than taking the days off. Because her husband would have to travel frequently in his new assignment, Maryann also resigned from her job and asked to be paid for the leave that she had earned. When the couple added that money to what they had already saved, they found it was enough to take them and their daughters to the temple.
“When we got on the plane,” Brother Naga says, “I had 102 New Zealand dollars in my pocket. That was all our money. We didn’t know how we were going to pay our living expenses for the two weeks we would be in New Zealand.”
But Church members met the Nagas at the airport, arranged for lodging in a member’s home, and provided food and transportation.
“After we came back from the temple, the Lord blessed us,” Brother Naga says. “Not only were we able to buy furniture, we were able to extend our house.”
On 12 June 1983, Elder Howard W. Hunter created the Suva Fiji Stake and called Inosi as its first president. “I didn’t know what to say, because I think there were men who were more capable of fulfilling the calling,” he remembers. “But I am grateful to have been able to serve my brothers and sisters on this island. It has been a great privilege and opportunity.”
Shortly afterward, President Naga was interviewed to be associate area director of the Church Educational System. When he declined because he did not feel he had the proper education or qualifications to serve well in that position, his supervisor, Robert Perrington, disagreed. “I’ve been sitting up all night thinking about this,” he said. “At four o’clock this morning your name came clearly to me.”
President Naga went home to consult his wife. After the couple prayed for some time, Maryann said, “You go back and tell Brother Perrington that if the Brethren want you to do it, you will do it.”
President Naga has been blessed as he carries out his responsibilities. “When the Lord calls you to a position,” he says, “he provides a way for you to fulfill it.”
Now, nine years later, Inosi Naga oversees the Church Educational System in Fiji, New Caledonia, Vanuatu, and Tuvalu. He was recently released as stake president, and now serves as the Church’s Fiji Public Affairs director. Maryann is ward Primary president, and the six Naga children—Ana, twenty-two; Emily, twenty; Keresi, eighteen; Vilimaina, fifteen; Leua, thirteen; and Inosi, nine—are growing up knowing the strength that the gospel can bring to a family.
In the few short years since Inosi Naga received that book from the missionaries, his life and those of his family have been changed eternally. The elders were right—the book was golden.

Mía was excited. It was her first time at church! The missionaries told her family about this church. They decided to come.
Mía looked around. She saw a white cloth on a table. Something was under it.
“What’s under that cloth?” Mía asked one of the missionaries.
Sister Hanson smiled. “It’s the sacrament.”
Sacrament. That was a big word. Mía had heard the missionaries telling Mommy and Daddy about it. But she wasn’t sure what it was.
Everyone sang a song. Two men lifted the white cloth. Trays of bread were under it! Mía watched them break the bread into pieces.
After the song a man said a prayer. Other men passed the bread to everyone.
“The bread helps us remember Jesus’s body,” Sister García whispered.
Mía took a piece of bread. She pictured Jesus standing in front of her.
Then there was another prayer. The men passed trays with tiny cups of water.
“The water helps us remember Jesus’s blood,” Sister García whispered. “He died for us because He loves us.”
Mía took a cup of water. She thought about how much Jesus loved her. She felt like He was giving her a big hug.
Later Sister Hanson gave Mía a little picture of Jesus. “We eat the bread and drink the water to remember Jesus and promise to follow Him.” She smiled. “What did you think of the sacrament?”
Mía looked at the picture of Jesus. She remembered the warm feeling she had. She smiled. “It was great! I love Jesus.”

Gratefully, I recently had the chance to teach my fearful daughter that we can repent and move on in our lives rather than let our past scar and cripple us. As my father and I finished work on a playhouse for my kids this past fall, I came across the name of my daughter’s friend scribbled on the side of the door. Though my nervous daughter wasn’t the one who had ­written it, her anxiety kicked into high gear.

“Don’t tell Grandpa,” was her first plea, ­followed shortly thereafter by the question “Was that before or after I was baptized?” Her logical child’s thought was, “Am I accountable for my friend’s graffiti on the playhouse?” Her follow-up question to me was, “Can I be forgiven?” A past mistake—in this case not even one of her own doing—threatened to cloud her happiness in both the present and the future.

We then discussed her fears from being sent to the principal’s office in first grade and how it was still affecting her life. We talked about the importance of repentance and how once we have repented, we need to believe in the power of the Atonement in our lives. Standing on the porch of that playhouse, I pulled up the following words on my phone from the final general conference address of President Boyd K. Packer:

Nowhere is the generosity and mercy of God more manifest than in repentance.
Our physical bodies, when harmed, are able to repair themselves, sometimes with the help of a physician. If the damage is extensive, however, often a scar will remain as a reminder of the injury.
With our spiritual bodies it is another matter. Our spirits are damaged when we make mistakes and commit sins. But unlike the case of our mortal bodies, when the repentance process is complete, no scars remain because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
President Packer then added his testimony:

The Atonement, which can reclaim each one of us, bears no scars. That means that no matter what we have done or where we have been or how something happened, if we truly repent, He has promised that He would atone. And when He atoned, that settled that. There are so many of us who are thrashing around, as it were, with feelings of guilt, not knowing quite how to escape. You escape by accepting the Atonement of Christ, and all that was heartache can turn to beauty and love and eternity. . . .
. . . If you have something that is bothering you—sometimes so long ago you can hardly remember it—put the Atonement to work. It will clean it up, and you, as does He, will remember your sins no more.26

Handing her my paintbrush, we repeated the words “no scars” as she painted over her friend’s name.

I express gratitude for a living prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley. Last November he visited many South American countries, including Chile. That same week Chile hosted an important summit meeting for all nations of Latin America. There were presidents and dignitaries from 16 different countries. Streets in the areas where they stayed and met were barricaded. Day and night, sirens wailed and red lights flashed to make way for those men as they traveled back and forth from their meetings. In the midst of all the commotion, President Hinckley arrived. There was no fanfare and no special welcome, recognition, or privilege extended to him. Two vans left the airport and maneuvered through the streets of Santiago, one carrying the Lord’s living prophet. At the hotel there were police and guards to protect the summit visitors, while President Hinckley, with his family and others, entered unnoticed.

The next day, as President Hinckley spoke to over 50,000 Saints and testified of Christ and of His Church, one could feel his conviction. He told all present that he wanted them to remember that they had heard Gordon B. Hinckley say that God lives and Jesus is the Christ. He counseled the Saints to put their lives in order, to teach their children the ways of the Lord, and to form eternal families by being sealed in the temple. At the conclusion of the conference, with tears in their eyes and a testimony in their hearts that here, truly, was a prophet of God on earth, the vast congregation stood and waved white handkerchiefs in farewell. President Hinckley took his handkerchief from his pocket and with love returned their farewell. I know, as those many Saints in Chile and throughout the world know, that President Gordon B. Hinckley is the living prophet of God on earth. I am grateful for him and for his example.