Gospel Story Finder

One of our sons served in the military and was called to serve overseas. He had not been overseas very long when we received a phone call that he'd been seriously wounded.
Nancy and I met our son at Walter Reed Army Medical Hospital a couple of days after we received the phone call—those were long days and nights we waited. When we met him, he was pretty busted up.
Following his fifth surgery in less than 3 days, he was in excruciating pain. The pain would come in great waves and then it would subside for a moment. It was terrible to hear him moan and scream in pain. He held his mom's little hand and I could see her tender fingers turn white when his grip tightened as the pain grew.
It was absolute chaos in his room. Doctors and nurses were running in and out. They gave him various medications and increased dosages, but nothing worked. After about 10 minutes of frantic activity at his bedside, the doctors decided to consult in the hallway. When they left, my son looked at me and said, "Dad, I need a blessing." The time for preparation was past. There was no time to fast or repent or get a snake out of my dining room. There was no time to figure out how to get in tune with the Spirit. I was the person—now was time.
The blessing was among the shortest that has ever crossed my lips. He was told that he would be able to withstand the pain until the doctors determined how to properly treat him.
He instantly relaxed and became calm. His entire facial expression changed. In less than a minute, the doctors came back into the room from the hallway. One doctor asked him, "what is different? Something has changed and everything seems to be better." My son looked at him calmly and said, "I can't explain it to you in a way that you would understand. The pain is just as bad as it was before, but somehow I am able to withstand it now."
The doctors wheeled him out of the room to another surgery room to see if they could figure out what was wrong. As he was being wheeled out, he looked at me and said, "Dad, it was the priesthood." Over the next hour, the doctors determined the shunt they had put in to deliver pain medicine was in the wrong place so it wasn't working and they were able to move it and relieve his pain.

One of the pivotal experiences of his life happened when he was 15 years old. His brother, Joe, wanted to serve a mission, but his father—a good man who had lost interest in Church activity—felt Joe should instead attend medical school. Joe and Quentin respected their father highly, so they sequestered themselves to consider his counsel.
They talked well into the night, balancing the pros and cons of each option. The bottom line, they decided, was this: If the Church is just another good institution, Joe could help people better by going to medical school. However, if the Savior truly lived, if Joseph Smith truly was a prophet, if the Church he organized under God’s direction truly is the Church of Jesus Christ, if the Book of Mormon is true, then Joe’s obligation was clear. The next morning Joe approached his father with that reasoning and bore his testimony. He left for his mission soon after, with his father’s support and his mother’s joyful blessing.
That conversation profoundly affected young Quentin. He had always had a testimony of the Savior. However, Joseph Smith, the Church, the Book of Mormon—these were another matter to a 15-year-old. He believed, but he had yet to receive a spiritual witness that confirmed their certain reality.
After he and Joe parted that night, Quentin went to his room, knelt in prayer, and asked for the same witness his brother had, a witness he desired with all his heart. And it came in a way so powerful that any doubts he had were swept away forever.

Can you remember the last time you wore your old snow boots, the ones that are now a size or two too small? How about those cross-trainers you bought and then decided that you really needed running shoes instead?
Youth in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, knew that there were plenty of perfectly good pairs of shoes in the closets of the members in their stake, shoes that were going to waste. So they requested donations from each ward and were overwhelmed when 1,200 pairs of shoes arrived at the stake center. But after the initial shock wore off, the youth got to work cleaning, polishing, and disinfecting the shoes for people who might otherwise go barefoot.
“The most enjoyable thing was to think that we’re sending these shoes to someone who really needs them,” says Paula Williams, a Laurel from the Lakeland First Ward.
The shoes are now being distributed to orphans in Romania and other countries. Shoes and boots were also donated to local charities in the Coeur d’Alene area.

June 30, 1853 At the Brothers Bagnal’s they were starting out to fish. I said, “Success to you; you must catch a whale,” just in a foolish, joking way, and thought no more about it until I went down to Brother John McGilvery’s. (8) After a while one of the girls came down and said that Brother Millett had promised that Uncle Joseph’s folkswould get a whale and the Gentiles said that now you see he is a false prophet, for any fool would know that they can’t get a whale. I overheard the girls talking about the whale. It then came to my mind what I had said. I then ran to the woods and thought how foolish I was to say such a thing. I prayed the Lord to forgive, that I desired to do right. I felt the position we were in. I couldn’t keep back the tears. I called on the Lord to help me in his cause.

About one o’clock P.M. the people noticed six boats coming in the Bay towing something. Some said it was the hull of a schooner; others said no, that it was the whale that the Mormon promised about.

The brothers Bagnal’s was the first boat going out of the Bay. They heard the report of a cannon and saw the flag and topmast of the packet steamer circling around, [which] fired their third gun as soon as they saw that the fishermen were coming; the steamer went on and Brother Bagnal was the first to the prize.

And it was a lucky day for all of them that assisted in getting the prize in. The whale I believe was above 70 feet long, the biggest fish I ever saw. … I never have ceased to thank the Lord for his goodness.

I would like to share with you a personal experience I had with prayer when I was in my youth. The setting was my junior year in high school. I was making plans with my friends to attend the junior prom. We already had in mind what we were going to do before and during the prom, but we had not finalized plans for after the prom. It was common, growing up on the East Coast, to drive down to the New Jersey shore and spend the night on the beach as an after-the-prom activity. We had the location mapped out and the cars and drivers prepared to make the trip. As the date approached I thought it would be a good idea to run these plans by my mother. I explained to her what we had planned to do after the prom. She could see that I was filled with enthusiasm but said with no hesitation, “I don’t think it is a good idea that you go.”

I said, “What? I have waited 17 years for this event to take place in my life. I am going to the New Jersey shore.”

She replied, “I don’t think it is a good idea, but can you do me a favor and pray about it?”

I said, “Pray about it? Why would Heavenly Father care if I go to the beach after the prom?”

My mother asked me once again to pray about it. I said okay, and I thought to myself, “Well, this will be easy. I will go downstairs to my room and listen to my music. I will then go back upstairs and tell my mother that Heavenly Father said it’s okay to go.” So I went downstairs, turned on the music, put on my headphones, and began to relax.

Halfway through the second song, I began to feel a little guilty. I turned off the music and sat there for a moment pondering the conversation I had had with my mother. I dropped to my knees on the side of my bed and began to pray. I did not know exactly why I was praying, only that I had told my mother that I would. I told Heavenly Father about my prom plans. I then asked if He approved of them. I didn’t feel very comfortable with the stupor of thought passing through my mind. I prayed more intently to get the answer I was seeking. I felt like Heavenly Father was saying no. I could not understand what was happening to me and my plans. For some reason this was not turning out as I had wanted.

I began to ask, “Why? Why no? Why not?” The words came to me that I should read Isaiah 55:8–9. Isaiah? What does Isaiah know about the junior prom? I opened up my Bible and read:

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

“Wow,” I thought to myself, “I have just received personal revelation through prayer.” It was not exactly the answer I was looking for, but I had just received an answer. I went upstairs and rehearsed the whole experience to my mother. She smiled and gave me the look only a mother can give. Not one major tragedy happened that night, but several small ones did. Mostly everyone was drinking alcohol and using drugs. Immorality was commonplace amongst my friends. It was not the atmosphere I needed to be in that night. But the most important event was that a 17-year-old boy received an answer to his prayer and gained more faith in his Heavenly Father’s game plan.

When I was young I was overly dependent on my older sister. For example, I was a fussy eater, and when we went to visit our grandparents I was constantly faced with being offered food I didn’t like. To minimize my embarrassment, when the plate was passed to me, I would turn to my sister and ask, “Collene, do I like this?”
If it was familiar and she knew I didn’t like it, she would say, “No, he doesn’t like that.”
I could then say to Grandma, “She’s right; I don’t like it.”
If it was something we hadn’t eaten before, she would say, “Just a minute,” and taste it, and then tell me if I liked it or not. If she said I didn’t like it, no amount of coaxing could get me to eat it.
I know it is past time for me to rely on my own taste buds and stop denying myself healthy food just because my sister told me I didn’t like it.

It helps as we strive to move from one mindset to another to have someone at our side to guide us for a time.

MISSION MEDICALAs I mentioned earlier, it also helps when we get a loving nudge along the way. My wife, Julie, is blessed with a growth mindset. However, this doesn’t mean that learning for her, or anyone else, will always be pleasant or easy. When we were called as a mission president couple, we were told that Julie could be the first point of contact for our missionaries with medical issues OR we could find a member with a medical background to fill that role. Julie doesn't do well at the sight of blood. She has a hard time simply walking down the hallway of a hospital without feeling faint. The thought of taking the role of mission nurse had zero appeal for her. But I thought it would be a great way for her to serve the missionaries and get to know them better. I hesitatingly suggested she try it for three months, and if it didn’t work, we could find a member. She was not happy with my suggestion, but she agreed to give it a try. At the three-month mark, she decided to keep her mission nurse hat on. With the help of an area medical adviser, my wife provided a wonderful service to the 650+ missionaries who served with us in the Texas Dallas Mission. She learned so much and loved so much as she counseled many sick and sore missionaries for three years. She applied this familiar verse of scripture: “... I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).

As a side note, after our missionary service, I received a call from our 30-year-old daughter, Laura. She was experiencing a strong pain in her abdomen. I handed the phone to my wife. She asked Laura a few questions and had her do a pain test she learned in the mission field. She then diagnosed her over the phone as suffering from appendicitis and advised her to go immediately to the emergency room. Our daughter had her appendix removed later that night. You never know what blessing might come from having a growth mindset. My wife could have easily said to me, “I can’t do that. I have enough already.” But she didn’t.

At about that same time, I was invited to a lunch for all of the Relief Society sisters in my ward who had read either the Book of Mormon or a short Church history book. I had become casual in my scripture reading, so I qualified to attend the luncheon by reading the short book because it was easier and took less time. As I was eating my lunch, I had a powerful feeling that though the history book was a good one, I should have read the Book of Mormon. The Holy Ghost was prompting me to change my scripture reading habits. That very day I began to read the Book of Mormon, and I have never stopped reading it. Though I do not consider myself to be an expert, I truly love reading all the scriptures, and I am grateful I started the lifetime habit of reading them. It would be impossible to learn the lessons the scriptures contain by reading them only one time through or studying selected verses in a class.

Wouldn’t you get a little nervous if your high school counselor suddenly and unexpectedly called you into the office?
You would especially be nervous if you were Richard Aballay, a senior at a Catholic seminary in New York City. Richard had seen the commercials about the Mormon church on TV, had contacted the missionaries, and was baptized. But he hadn’t yet mentioned his baptism to anyone at the school, where boys prepare to become Catholic priests.
“How are you doing in your subjects?” the counselor began politely on that fateful day in late October.
“Fine,” said Richard, cautiously.
Then the counselor jumped to his real concern. “Are you affiliated with another church?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Why?”
“I have come to know the Savior better in this church. I know this church is doing more for me. It is the church of God.”
As the counselor began to lecture, warning Richard that being a member of a different church was grounds for dismissal, Richard thought how easy it would be to say he had made it all up. Then he could finish his senior year in peace.
“But I couldn’t do that,” Richard said later. “You can’t deny the truth when you have it.”
By the next day it was official: Richard had to leave.
The following week was torment, Richard said. But with much prayer, his family was able to find space for him in another good school.
“From that experience,” Richard says, “I have learned that the Lord will never abandon me.”
In fact, the experience gave Richard the chance to tell more people about the gospel, since his classmates wanted to know why he would leave school for his new beliefs.

My first assignment was the Ashtabula Ward, part of the Kirtland stake. On our way to my first area, my companion, Elder Shawn Patrick Murphy, and I stopped at the Newel K. Whitney store in Kirtland. Today there is a large visitors’ center there, but at the time it was a small place. I remember walking up the stairs to the room above the store where Joseph Smith held the School of the Prophets. I knew little of the history of the place, but I still felt something distinct as we entered that plain room with its simple wooden benches.
The director of the center was a former mission president, President Brewer. As he spoke about this place where the Brethren studied and learned together, I felt the Spirit deeply. I began to see the role Kirtland played as a hinge point in the history of the Church.
In the early 1830s, Independence, Missouri, was identified as the site of the New Jerusalem. The Saints had begun to settle there. But they were then forced out because of differences with other Missouri residents and opposition to the Saints’ beliefs. In 1834, Joseph organized a group of about 230 men, women, and children, later known as Zion’s Camp. They were to travel 900 miles (1,450 km) from Ohio to Missouri to help the Saints regain land they had legally purchased. The journey was not successful in getting the land back, but it created a setting that helped prepare many future leaders of the Church, including Church Presidents Brigham Young and Wilford Woodruff.
It wasn’t just the preparation of leaders that was important. The sanctifying effect of Zion’s Camp prepared a people who were willing to sacrifice to build a temple.
In Kirtland, the Prophet received revelation after revelation about the organization of the Church, all in preparation for what would be the crowning achievement—the building of the temple.1 And sacrifice literally brought forth the blessings of heaven.2 The Saints were so poor they could hardly afford the necessities of life. Yet they consecrated their time, talents, and possessions—the very covenant we make in the temple today—to build the house of the Lord.
Today the Kirtland Temple is owned and maintained by another church—the Community of Christ. When a guide from that church took us through the building, I felt the Spirit as he quoted from journals of those who witnessed marvelous events at the temple’s dedication. These events included seeing angels and the temple seeming to be ablaze with light.3 The Spirit confirmed to me that this had indeed been a house of God.
I served in the Ashtabula Ward for seven months. Almost every preparation day, we took those we were teaching to visit the Newel K. Whitney store and talk about the Kirtland Temple. Many times we recited the inspiring account of Christ’s appearance at the temple:
The Lord Appears in the Kirtland Temple, by Del Parson
“His eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was white like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun; and his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters, even the voice of Jehovah, saying:
“I am the first and the last; I am he who liveth, I am he who was slain; I am your advocate with the Father” (Doctrine and Covenants 110:3–4).
In addition to the Savior, others also visited the temple—Moses, Elias, and Elijah. They committed to Joseph keys for the gathering of Israel, the dispensation of the gospel of Abraham, and temple and family history work. (See Doctrine and Covenants 110:10–16.)
Because these visitations are so significant, I think we sometimes overlook the significance of other things that also occurred. In the dedicatory prayer, Joseph Smith addressed the Lord God of Israel, “who keepest covenant and showest mercy,” and pleaded with the Lord to “accept the dedication of this house unto thee, the work of our hands, which we have built unto thy name” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:1, 78).
By appearing in answer to that prayer, Jesus Christ, as the mouthpiece of God the Father, showed that He accepted His house, the ordinances that would be performed there, and the covenants that would be made there. That acceptance has been granted to every temple that has been dedicated since then, as well as to the covenants made and ordinances performed in those temples.
In the dedicatory prayer, Joseph also specifically asked the Lord to bless those who served in presidencies, as well as their families. Today, those blessings are extended to Relief Society presidents, quorum presidents, Young Women presidents, stake presidents, mission presidents, and so on. (See Doctrine and Covenants 109:71.) Then Joseph asked the Lord to “remember all thy church, O Lord, with all their families … that thy church may come forth out of the wilderness of darkness, and shine forth” (Doctrine and Covenants 109:72–73).
Joseph sought specific blessings for presidencies and their families, for members and their families, and for the Church as a whole. We regularly witness the fulfillment of those blessings as the Church shines forth as a light in the darkness.
The dedication of the Kirtland Temple exemplifies for me three basic truths:
We are blessed when we prepare for the temple. The Saints had to prepare for the Kirtland Temple to be built. They had to sacrifice, purify themselves, and develop willing hearts. We need to do the same to become more ready to receive blessings the Lord has for us.
We can receive revelation in the house of the Lord. The visions given to Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery in the Kirtland Temple provided guidance, direction, and understanding. On a personal level, we can also find inspiration when we go to the temple seeking answers.
We can find refuge in the temple. In a time of persecution and poverty, the Saints in Kirtland found that the house of the Lord was a sanctuary from the worries surrounding them. The same is true for us today.
Over the years, I have found that the things I learned about the temple as a young missionary in Ohio have blessed my family and me. For example, in the temple a year after we were married, my wife, Amy, and I received an impression that it was time to have a child. We were students, and because of tight finances I was tempted to cast the prompting aside. But the Lord was preparing us.
We had three miscarriages over the next two years, and I wondered, “Why the prompting to have children if we’re not able to have them?” Then we moved to California, worked with a fertility specialist, and finally had our first child, Mackenzie.
By following the inspiration we received in the temple, we began a process that took three years. If we had not followed the prompting when we did, it would probably have been at least another three years before we had our first child. We count that experience as a blessing of preparation and revelation.
We had a second child, Emma, but then we had another miscarriage and the loss of our son, Stewart. In subsequent months and years, as we sought peace, we learned that most of the symbols in the temple point us to the Savior and the healing balm only His Atonement can give.
I am grateful for the blessings of the temple. I testify to you that it is a place of preparation, revelation, and peace.

I saw him again—the little freckle-faced, redheaded kid in the wheelchair—holding a baseball. He couldn’t be more than eight years old, and he was maneuvering that old chair around just like a car. Boy, can he drive that thing!
I wondered if they had taken some blood from him too. I didn’t like it very much when they took it from me, but I didn’t let on. After all, I’m twelve, and I don’t want to act like a baby. Anyway, they made me sit in a wheelchair, and they pushed me into elevators and down long hallways to my room. Our wheelchairs passed each other, and the freckle-faced kid said, “Hi! My name’s Kenny. Do you like baseball?”
I mumbled a quick hello in return, ignoring the question about baseball. I didn’t want to tell him that I loved baseball but that I couldn’t run very fast. I wanted to show him my autographed baseball that was signed by three superstars. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. Some of the other guys on our baseball team, especially Bill and Kevin, didn’t want me on the team anymore because I couldn’t run the bases. They said it was my fault we’d lost one of the games. So I quit. But I still have the autographed ball, and I still want to be a famous baseball player someday. I’ll show them!
Anyway, I saw the kid in the wheelchair yesterday, sitting in the TV room watching a major league game. He was still holding a baseball. I went in and sat down on the couch in the back of the room. I wanted to watch the game, too, but I didn’t want to answer any of that little kid’s questions! As soon as I sat down, though, he wheeled that monster of a chair over and started in on me.
“Hi!” he said again. “What’s your name?”
“Luke,” I replied quietly, trying to ignore him. He kept staring at me, and I finally said, “You can call me Lucky. That’s my nickname.”
“That’s neat,” Kenny said. A big grin spread across his face, making his freckles seem to pop out. “Are you really a lucky person? I wish my name was Lucky. Why are you in the hospital? You’re not in a wheelchair, and you can walk.”
Boy, could this kid talk! But he was so friendly that I felt I had to answer.
“It’s something to do with my heart,” I told him. “They had to operate about three weeks ago. They left a big scar straight down my chest.”
I turned away from him, and he started to get excited about the home run scored on TV. I thought about waking up after the operation with the tubes stuck in me. They’d put them everywhere, and they hurt. I didn’t want to tell Kenny about it. After all, he was just a kid and wouldn’t understand. The doctors said that my heart was the reason I couldn’t run fast. Only they said everything would be OK now. But I didn’t believe them. I felt even worse than before. When Bill and Kevin came to see me and told me I could be on the team again when I’m stronger, I told them I didn’t want to be on their old baseball team anymore. I didn’t want them to feel sorry for me.
Kenny suddenly turned toward me and asked, “Do you play baseball?”
I tugged at the back of my hair, my eyes looking down. “A little,” I answered, then added, “I want to be a real baseball player someday, like the guys you’re watching on TV.” I don’t know why I said that. It must’ve just slipped out. Kenny’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he pushed his baseball at me.
“Can I have your autograph, please? You’re the only real baseball player I know. Please.”
He seemed almost to plead with me. He thought I was a star. Hesitantly I took his baseball. Kenny grabbed a pen out of his pocket and gave it to me. I looked at the ball, signed it “Lucky Wilson,” and handed it back to him.
“Thanks a lot!” Kenny actually glowed. “Now I have a real autographed baseball!”
I smiled weakly, turned, and walked slowly back to my room. I didn’t want to watch TV anymore. I felt a little mixed-up. In the hall I met the nurse who worked on that floor. “Why is that boy in a wheelchair?” I asked.
“Kenny?” she said. “Oh. His legs are paralyzed. He’s here for more tests and therapy.”
“Will he ever be able to walk?” I asked.
She gave me a long look before she said, “Kenny’s been in that wheelchair for a long time.” Then she added quickly, “He’s a very nice kid, though, don’t you think?”
“He sure is!” I answered and went on to my room.
Today I went back to the TV room. Kenny was there again, sitting all alone. I walked over to him, put my autographed baseball in his lap, and said, “This is for you.” His face sparkled.
“Are you sure you don’t want it?” he asked eagerly.
“I don’t need it,” I answered. “My name’s Lucky, remember?” I don’t think he understood—but I did. I knew someday I would hit a home run. I would hit it for Kenny.

My girl friend used to be very in tune with and enthusiastic about the gospel. But recently she’s been going out with people who have different standards than the Church teaches, and as a result she’s doing things that aren’t good for her. She isn’t attending Mutual and has started drinking and dating boys with bad reputations. I wrote her a letter, telling her how much I love her and the gospel, and I asked her if there is anything I can do. She wrote back saying she knows that what she is doing is wrong. Yet, she keeps doing it. Her family is really strong in the Church. They are trying to help her, but it’s not working. This problem is tearing her apart, and it’s hurting me as well. What should I do?

Augustina Constantie Doorson was born on July 1, 1863, on the Sarah Plantation in the district of Coronie, west of Paramaribo, in the country currently known as Suriname. She was born the day slavery was officially abolished in the country that was then known as Dutch Guiana, located in the northeast part of South America. Augustina’s mother, Molly Doorson, and Molly’s sister, Eva Doorson, were slaves on that plantation. Life for the slaves was hard and did not change for 10 years after slavery was abolished because the government had to repay each plantation owner for each person freed. The family eventually moved to Paramaribo, a larger town in Dutch Guiana, to find work.
Augustina, Molly, and Eva were ancestors of Imro Wehl, who lives in Suriname. Imro, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, is an enthusiast of family history and spends hours finding names to add to his family tree. He started to have dreams of his great-grandmother, Augustina, who appeared to be asking for help. He remembered that his mother, Sieglien Wehl-Biezen, had also dreamed of her mother, Augustina, years before requesting her to free her but didn’t understand what the dream meant. Imro realized he was the answer to his great-grandmother’s plea for help. As a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, through the sealing power of the temple covenants for the dead, he could help her find the peace she had been waiting to receive.
Imro worked for years, gathering names of family members to add to his family tree. He strongly felt he was receiving help from ancestors on the other side of the veil. He received impressions that helped him eventually find over 90 individuals. Imro said it felt like miracles were happening repeatedly as he continued to find additional family members. Surprisingly, he even felt impressed to include the names of Augustina, Sieglien, Molly, and Eva’s former slave master, Edmund Desse, and his family. Imro said this showed him how deeply Augustina had forgiven him despite the suffering her family endured.
In September 2024, Imro and the Paramaribo Suriname District planned a 10-day temple trip to the Belém Brazil Temple. Over 20 members flew from their home country to Brazil with the names of family members ready to have their temple work done. They worked in the temple every day, all day long, except Sunday and Monday, to complete their work. They started with baptisms for the dead and finished by invoking the power of the sealing of couples to one another and the sealing of the sons and daughters to their parents. Imro enlisted the help of his fellow district members to complete the temple work for his family. Even the temple workers stayed late, after 10:00 p.m. at night, to help Imro and the group complete his work.
Sister Lusanne Libretto, a member of the group traveling to Brazil, had an unforgettable experience at the temple. She recalls, “This was my most profound moment since I joined the Church.”
Early in the morning on September 13, 2024, the group attended the temple to do baptisms for their ancestors. Lusanne was given five names to be baptized for. She sat quietly in the chapel, waiting for her husband to change his clothes while the rest of the group entered the baptistry. As she waited, she felt strangely restless, as if she was being urged to go inside and start the baptisms immediately. She said, “I literally felt that I was being pushed forward. I passed the entire group, and to the surprise of my fellow brothers and sisters, I was helped first. They wondered why I was in such a rush to pass them to the first row, and rightly so. Once I started the baptisms, the first name I was given was that of Eva Doorson [Imro Wehl’s great-aunt].”
Later that evening, when Lusanne returned for another ordinance session, she received Eva Doorson’s name again. She was amazed and felt a strong bond with the deceased woman as if Eva had chosen Lusanne to help her.
At the end of another ordinance session, Lusanne said, “I was tired, but a temple worker handed me one more name to complete in addition to the five I had already done. To my surprise, it was Eva Doorson again. With tears in my eyes, I knew with certainty that she wanted and had chosen me to do all her work at the temple. I never asked for her name, but I kept getting it pressed into my hands. Even though I was exhausted, I felt grateful that I had listened to the gentle promptings of the Spirit.”
On September 21, 2024, Imro, Lusanne, and others from the Paramaribo Suriname District returned home with gratitude for the opportunity to attend the temple and for their shared memories. Imro witnessed ordinances completed for over 90 family members, including his great-grandmother, Augustina, his grandmother, Molly, his mother, Sieglien, and his great-aunt, Eva, as well as his father, brother, and son. It was a deeply emotional experience that strengthened his bond with his family, both past and present. In his testimony, Imro said, “The best time we can spend here on earth is in the temple with our Heavenly Father.”

Marie Purcell, of the Massey Park Ward in the Auckland New Zealand Papatoetoe Stake, experienced the joy of this work when she and her parents sealed her beloved grandfather, Afele Schwenke, to his family—a blessing he did not receive in his lifetime despite his faithfulness and service to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Years later, while reviewing family history records, Marie and her parents discovered that her mother’s sealing to her parents had not been recorded. Marie immediately felt a strong spiritual prompting—not only did her mother’s sealing need to be done, but also her grandfather Afele’s. His face came to her mind, and she knew that temple work needed to be completed.

Trusting this prompting, the family scheduled a sealing appointment. However, when they arrived at the temple, Marie realized they were not fully prepared with the required documents. They proceeded with other ordinances, but in the sealing room, both Marie and her mother felt a distinct sadness at leaving the ordinance undone.

Determined to finish the work, Marie and her parents scheduled another appointment. On April 6, 2024, they returned to the temple, fully prepared. Marie and her father would stand as proxies for her grandparents.

When the sealer called her mother’s name, a deep feeling of peace washed over them. Marie remembers tears flowing as they completed the ordinance.

Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the sacred work of the temple, Afele Schwenke and his wife, Soala, received the blessings of eternity.

As saviours on Mount Zion, we can offer our ancestors the same gift of exaltation Christ offers to us. Reflecting on the experience of sealing her grandparents, Marie shared, “I testify that the joy that comes from participating through family history brings eternal happiness.”

“I have felt those on the other side of the veil through this great and marvelous work. And I know that they embrace with excitement receiving these sacred ordinances, as I embrace with joy on this side of the veil uniting my eternal family.”

The sealing power reminded her that the blessings of the Atonement extend beyond the veil. As Doctrine and Covenants 128:22 invites, “Shall we not go on in so great a cause?”

My name is Michele Blackburn, and I am a senior missionary serving with my husband in the Caribbean Area as technology specialists. We have had a busy two years as we have provided, set up, and supported the members of the Church with technology in their buildings. Early in our mission, I knew that I would be my husband’s technology assistant, but my true passion is for music. Elder Ronald A. Rasband shared, “We need to engage in the activities, service, and lifestyle that will help to strengthen and protect our talents to be used righteously.”1
It wasn’t long into our mission until I realized I should follow this advice. I began teaching piano lessons in our stake once a week with a group of nine students. The class quickly grew to nearly forty students and needed to be divided, so I prayed for guidance and was inspired to realize that talents are gifts that lead us to conversion and to understand the importance of increasing those talents. Elder David A. Bednar suggested this conversion occurs in three parts, “Conversion is an offering of self, of love, and of loyalty we give to God in gratitude for the gift of testimony.”2
I began to see changes occurring in my students as they demonstrated a belief in themselves, completing Elder Bednar’s first step, offering yourself. Their regular attendance created a support system among each other which demonstrated their love for each other. I witnessed the third step, loyalty, from sister Isabel Morel who came every week to support her niece and a friend. Although sister Morel had never played piano during our class, I somehow felt that she knew how to play.
The following week, Sister Morel explained that she knew how to play the piano and she felt prompted to offer her assistance and would be interested in assisting with the class if I needed her. She was another answer to my prayers. Her willingness to act, by offering to share her talent, selflessly serve and love her niece and her friend, were all steps taken towards being more fully converted to our Father in Heaven and His Son, Jesus Christ.
It is my testimony that our Heavenly Father loves all His children. He has a plan for each of us in this life. He prepares experiences for us that enrich our lives and help our testimonies to grow and our personal conversion to Him to deepen. He provides the assistance we need to accomplish the things He asks us to do. It is my testimony that if we embrace the opportunities He offers, the blessings of heaven will be showered down upon us as our talents are increased, our prayers are answered, and our trust in Heavenly Father grows. How grateful I am for a loving Father in Heaven.

I thought the morning after my ninth-grade graduation would usher in long delicious summer months. I had planned early-morning bike rides to the river, sleep-over parties with my girlfriends, and lazy afternoons reading in the apple tree. That morning began the start of a nightmare instead.
I had felt feverish the night before but brushed it off as nervousness before giving the graduation speech. But the next morning I still felt feverish. When I looked in the mirror, I noticed small clear blisters forming on my neck.
I immediately knew what it meant. Chicken pox had been going around my school for months, finding any unlucky student that had escaped the disease in childhood. I thought I’d been one of the lucky ones who hadn’t caught it. My mother quickly confined me to my bedroom hoping I wouldn’t spread the disease to my younger brothers and sisters.
The first day wasn’t too bad. My mother brought in my meals. My younger brothers and sisters would write me love notes and slip them under my bedroom door. I wasn’t feeling too bad—yet.
From my bed, I could see the plum tree outside my window. It was early June and hundreds of small green plums were slowly growing a little each day. Looking at them, I could almost taste their red tartness bursting in my mouth at harvest. They would be worth waiting for.
The next day wasn’t as easy as the first. Huge pox blisters started to form all over my face and scalp. As the days wore on, the blisters slowly moved down my body until even the tips of my fingers and toes were covered.
My mother lovingly fixed me baking soda baths, applied calomine lotion, and spooned medication into my mouth. A trip to the doctor offered little help.
“She has the worst case I’ve ever seen,” the doctor said after seeing me in a dark back room closet so I wouldn’t infect his other patients. “Sometimes it seems to hit the older ones harder.”
The blisters down my throat made eating and even swallowing difficult. The pain, itching, and worry of facial scars all reached a peak one day. I felt that I had reached a point where I couldn’t stand it any longer. I cried out to my mother.
“I don’t know what else to do,” she said.
I prayed.
That night there was a huge wind storm. I heard the wind howling and twisting and wailing all night long while I lay in bed unable to sleep. When the morning came, I didn’t feel any relief as I had prayed for. I felt worse. The pain had reached a point on every inch of my body, inside and out, to where I knew I couldn’t bear it any longer.
That morning, in desperation, I slowly walked to the bedroom window. The blisters on the bottom of my feet made it difficult and painful. I opened the curtains and looked out at the plum tree in tears. I felt alone. I felt my prayers had not been answered.
Through the tears, I noticed that on the ground beneath the plum tree were piles of tiny green plums blown off the tree the night before in the wind storm. Every one of them represented one less ripe plum I’d have to eat later that summer. But as I looked closely at the tree, there were still a few lone plums clinging tightly to the tree branches. They would be able to draw strength from the tree throughout the growing season. They would continue to grow and ripen and live to see the harvest.
I suddenly realized that sometimes, all we can do for the present is hold on. It was that ability that had made the difference between the fallen fruit and the fruit that remained alive and growing. They had survived the storm.
I began to search for new words to pray. Previously I had prayed hourly to my Father in Heaven to make me well, to take away the pain. Suddenly the plums gave me a new perspective. I now prayed for strength to hold on. I realized that I could draw on strength beyond myself, beyond my parents, beyond the doctors, beyond this world. I didn’t have to suffer alone. The pain was not removed. My ability to bear the pain was increased.
That day was possibly one of the longest, most painful days of my life, and the days that followed brought little relief. But gradually the blisters began to scab over and fall off. I was, in time, able to return to the company of my family and friends with only a few large craterlike scars on my face.
Weeks later, when the healing was nearing completion, I walked outside the house to the plum tree. The gentle evening breeze made the green leaves tremble in the sun’s last light. I noticed that the tiny plums that the wind storm had blown off the tree a few weeks ago were yellow, hard, and wrinkled, almost disappearing in the grass. The plums still clinging to the tree had grown. Their firm, shiny green skins were starting to glow from the inside with the same soft light of the setting sun.
Now, when other storms make the dark nights in my life hard to bear, I remember the pain and the tree, the fruit and harvest. Then I remember the words of that prayer that I uttered alone in my bedroom long ago, “Dear Father, help me to hold on.”

When it was time for them to leave, Brigham was so sick he couldn’t stand up. His wife, with a newborn child, was also sick, as were his children. Determined to fulfill his promise to the Lord and go on a mission, Brigham crawled out of the house and staggered to a wagon. After a painful ride to the river’s edge, and then across the river, he lay on the ground for a long time. A horseman came along and gave him a ride to the Kimball home where he found Heber also sick. The two men lay bed-ridden for a week or two, but finally determined that they had to be about the Lord’s business. They got up, arranged for a wagon to take them out of town, and said good bye to their wives (Mary Ann had come across the river to help nurse Brigham). Weakened by their illness, the two men climbed into the wagon and lay down. Brother Kimball said to Brigham, “Let’s not leave them this way.” They staggered to their feet, waved their hats and shouted, “Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah for Zion!” and collapsed to the floor of the wagon.

Profile number three also relates to a missionary of unfaltering faith, Elder Mark Skidmore. When he received his call to Norway, he knew not one word of Norwegian—yet he realized that to teach and to testify he would need proficiency in the language of the Norwegian people. To himself he made a private vow: “I will not speak English until I have brought into the waters of baptism my first Norwegian family.” He plodded. He prayed. He pleaded. He worked. After the trial of his faith came the desired blessing. He taught and baptized a choice family. He then spoke English for the first time in six months. I met with him that same week. His expression was one of thanksgiving and gratitude. I thought of the words of Moroni, that courageous captain: “I seek not for power. … I seek not for honor of the world, but for the glory of my God” (Alma 60:36).

Young Latter-day Saints from Sweden, Denmark, Finland, and Norway traveled all day by boat, train, and bus to the small city of Skien, Norway, for a five-day, multi-nation LDS youth conference, the biannual “Festinord.” Flags of the various countries waving above the Skienshallen (a sports hall and convention center) identified conference headquarters, and as weary travelers deboarded buses that had brought them the final 30 miles from Oslo, they soon forgot their fatigue.

Old friends greeted each other, new friends got acquainted, and all of them realized that their Church membership fostered an instant kinship. Imagine 750 young Latter-day Saints in the same town! Small wonder that Festinord is a special word to LDS youth of Scandinavia.

Participants attended workshops and sports events, a mammoth missionary project, morning devotionals, evening dances and entertainment, a community-improvement service project, and tours to a porcelain factory, an industrial complex, a famous playwright’s home, and scenic points along a nearby river.

One of the spiritual highlights occurred on Thursday night. Thirty people stood in line at the end of a testimony meeting longing to share their feelings but conscious that time had run out. One of the leaders stood and asked all those still waiting if they would come forward in a spontaneous choir to sing the closing hymn.

By Saturday it was time for return trips. It was a sobering moment for many who would return to places where they were the only LDS youth in a city of thousands. Yet somehow, each person knew he had been in a place where he belonged—among his fellow Saints—and that he would carry a part of it with him to his home. Perhaps in two years he would be able to bring new friends and members with him to witness the strength of Zion’s youth in Scandinavia.

It is hardly necessary to comment on Paul’s sketch of celestial love in 1 Corinthians 13, or his fatherly concern for cooperating and rebellious converts alike. Joseph Smith’s life exhibits the same mature concern for others. For example, he could have escaped from custody at the beginning of the winter of Liberty Jail, but he would not for fear of reprisals on the Latter-day Saints. After their safety was assured by the dissipation of mobs and beginning migration, he tried three jailbreaks, all of them creative, but only the last successful. And at the end Joseph returned from the far bank of the Mississippi, observing that if his life was of no value to his people, it was of no value to himself. The historical documents surrounding this decision prove that he consciously placed himself in the danger of assassination in jail to keep angry troops from coming to Nauvoo to look for him and endanger his people. Time and again Joseph placed his safety second and the welfare of his family and Latter-day Saints first.