Gospel Story Finder

They started to raise their family from a very humble single attic-room apartment in the heart of Amsterdam. After several years of washing their clothes by hand, they had finally saved up enough money to purchase a washing machine. Just before they would make the purchase, the bishop visited them, asking for a contribution to build the meetinghouse in Amsterdam. They decided to give all they had saved for the washing machine and continued to do the laundry by hand. As a family we went through some hardships, just like any other family. These have only made us stronger and have deepened our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, just like when Alma was sharing his story with his son Helaman, where he told him that he had been “supported under trials and troubles of every kind” because he had put his trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. How did two people who experienced so many trials in their younger years become the very best parents I could ever wish for? The answer is simple: they fully embraced the gospel and live by their covenants to this very day! After more than 65 years of marriage, my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, passed away in February. My father, at the age of 92 and still living at home, visited her as often as he could until she passed away. Some time ago he mentioned to my younger siblings that the dreadful experiences in the camp in Indonesia during World War II had prepared him to patiently care for his wife for so many years as she fell ill and deteriorated from this horrible disease and also for the fateful day he had to entrust her primary care to others and could not be by her side anymore. Their motto has been and still is to “Just carry on,” having a perfect hope in Christ to be raised up at the last day and to dwell with Him in glory forever.

What, then, are some of the decisions couples can make to lead fulfilled lives when the answer is that they will not have children in this life? One night, as my husband and I were seeking an answer to this question, we read from President David O. McKay, “The noblest aim in life is to strive … to make others lives … happier.” (General Conference, April 1961.)

It was like a beacon in the dark. It became a motto, a guiding light. That night, speaking I think by inspiration from the Lord, the patriarch of our family said to me, “You need not possess children to love them. Loving is not synonymous with possessing, and possessing is not necessarily loving. The world is filled with people to be loved, guided, taught, lifted, and inspired.”

My husband and I knew that parents are constantly placed in situations that develop unselfishness and sacrifice. We began to realize that if we were to learn the important lessons that our friends with children were learning, we needed to place ourselves in situations where we could serve and sacrifice. So we began to say yes to everything and to everyone.

It wasn’t long before we had many opportunities to serve and sacrifice. Often, at the end of a long week we would plan for a moment together—just the two of us—and the telephone would ring. We’d postpone our moment together and carry on with a joyful, grateful heart for our opportunities, hoping to qualify even in some small measure for the quality spoken of by Elder Neal A. Maxwell:
“So often our sisters [and I would add brothers] comfort others when their own needs are greater than those being comforted. That quality is like the generosity of Jesus on the cross. Empathy during agony is a portion of divinity! … They do not withhold their blessings simply because some blessings are [for now at least] withheld from them.” (General Conference, April 1978.)

The branch president of the Kingston Branch of the Church wore his own identifying label. Gustav Wacker was from the old country. He spoke English with a thick accent. He never owned or drove a car. He plied the trade of a barber. The highlight of his day would be when he had the privilege of cutting the hair of a missionary. Never would there be a charge. Indeed, he would reach deep into his pockets and give the missionaries all of his tips for the day. If it were raining, as it often does in Kingston, President Wacker would call a taxi and send the missionaries to their apartment by taxi, while he himself, at day’s end, would lock the small shop and walk home—in the driving rain.
I first met Gustav Wacker when I noticed that his tithing paid was far in excess of that expected from his potential income. My efforts to explain that the Lord required no more than ten percent as tithing fell on attentive but unconvinced ears. He simply responded that he loved to pay all he could to the Lord. It amounted to about half his income. His dear wife felt exactly as he did. Their unique manner of tithing payment continued throughout their earning lives.
Gustav and Margarete Wacker established a home that was a heaven. They were not blessed with children but mothered and fathered their many Church visitors. A sophisticated and learned leader from Ottawa told me, “I like to visit President Wacker. I come away refreshed in spirit and determined to ever live close to the Lord.”
Did our Heavenly Father honor such abiding faith? The branch prospered. The membership outgrew the rented Slovakian Hall and moved into a modern and lovely chapel of their own. President and Sister Wacker had their prayers answered by serving a proselyting mission to their native Germany and later a temple mission to the beautiful temple in Washington, D.C. Then, just three months ago, his mission in mortality concluded, Gustav Wacker passed away peacefully while being held in the loving arms of his eternal companion. Only one label appears fitting for such an obedient and faithful servant: “Who honors God, God honors.” (See 1 Sam. 2:30.)

Christmas has always been a special time for us as a family. Growing up in Brazil, I remember that my family would always get together with our aunts and uncles to exchange presents on Christmas Eve. My siblings and I, as kids, would act out the Nativity, sing some Christmas hymns and then, my father would always share a message about the Savior Jesus Christ.
As we grew older, we kept this tradition. For a long time, my wife and I had our own kids and their cousins acting out the Nativity story.
As I look back, I do not remember the presents I got, but I do remember the sweet spirit of watching the kids acting out and singing Christmas songs together, and either my father or my mother sharing a special message with us. Since my father’s passing, my mother is the one who shares a message with us every Christmas. I look forward to that moment and, even if we cannot be physically present, we connect through technology and enjoy those moments together as a family. I now know that those feelings that I had as a child were the Holy Ghost testifying to me of the divine nature of Jesus Christ. As I ponder about these experiences on Christmas Eve, the scripture that comes to my mind is found in Matthew 6:19–21: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:
“For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.”

When my wife and I were a young married couple, we tried repeatedly to establish a firm habit of reading the scriptures together every day as a family. When our oldest child was about seven years old, we finally made it a daily habit. Reading first thing in the morning, we continued faithfully from that time forward. Once the habit was established with the other children, the younger children were eager to participate as they became old enough. Often we had to read before 6:00 a.m. because of early-morning seminary.

Young married couples are in a position to start their own righteous family traditions—holding daily family scripture study, having family prayer, and preparing their children for missions and temple marriage.

For almost a year, between 2016 and 2017, the people in the Kasai region faced a terrible tragedy. It was a very dark period for the people because of a conflict between a traditional group of warriors and government forces. The violence spread from towns in Kasai-Central Province to the wider Kasai region. Many people fled their homes for safety and hid in the bush. They had no food or water or not anything, really, and among these were some members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Kananga area. Some members of the Church were killed by the militia.
Brother Honoré Mulumba of the Nganza Ward in Kananga and his family were some of the few people who remained hidden in their house, not knowing where to go because all the streets were transformed into firing ranges. One day some neighborhood militiamen had noticed the presence of Brother Mulumba and his family as one evening they went out to try to find some vegetables in the family garden to eat. A group of the militiamen came to their home and then pulled them out and told them to choose to adhere to their militia practices or be killed.
Brother Mulumba courageously told them, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My family and I have accepted Jesus Christ and have faith in Him. We will remain faithful to our covenants and will accept to die.”
They told them, “As you have chosen Jesus Christ, your bodies will be eaten by the dogs,” and they promised to come back. But they never did come back, and the family stayed there for two months and never saw them again. Brother Mulumba and his family kept the torch of their faith alight. They remembered their covenants and were protected.

I had a wise bishop who called me in when I was twelve. He said, “LeGrand, we need some organists in our ward. I’d like you to take an organ class at the McCune School of Music. It costs five dollars for ten lessons. The ward will pay half of it, and you pay half.” I’m sure my mother put him up to it and paid the ward’s half.
I took the class and started to play the organ. When I was fourteen, I became the ward organist. In my high school days, I played the piano in a dance orchestra. That was a lot of fun. I loved the rhythm, and I could usually make five or ten dollars a night. When I was in dental school in Kansas City, Missouri, I played the organ at a Presbyterian church. It was a great experience for me. I played a lot of LDS hymns for them. They especially enjoyed “O My Father” and “Come, Come Ye Saints.” After playing at their service, I would get on the bus and go play a pump organ at our service.

Thomas stood on the banks of the Mississippi River, his bare hands pushed deep inside the pockets of his overcoat. His breath came out in cloudy puffs, and his teeth chattered steadily.
Thomas watched as a chunk of ice bigger than a wagon wheel slowly drifted by. The ferry had been moored for days, and the muddy banks of the river were frozen and hard. The Saints who had hoped to leave Nauvoo ahead of the Canadian storm had been delayed; there was no hope of crossing the icy river before spring.
Thomas had never seen a storm like the one that hit Nauvoo that February 1846. The weather had been mild and warm the first half of the month, and President Brigham Young had exhorted the members of the Church to leave Nauvoo for the camp at Sugar Creek. Many families had followed his admonition. The ferry carried heavy loads of people, animals, and wagons across the river continually until the temperatures dropped. Almost overnight, the storm blew in with a terrible fury. Bitter cold winds pounded Thomas’s wood-frame house from the north, doors and shutters clattering loudly. Great mounds of snow piled up on the streets of Nauvoo. The stinging, harsh blizzard had gone on for days. This morning was the first time Thomas was able to see the ice-choked river.
“Thomas!” called his younger brother, Joseph. “Mama needs those eggs from Sister Patterson right away!”
Thomas looked back across the river one more time. “All right, Joseph. I’m coming.” He pulled his woolen scarf closer around his neck and met his brother halfway up the hill.
Joseph was a year younger than Thomas, but he was already nearly as tall. Named for the Prophet Joseph Smith, he had been born three days before the Prophet’s thirty-first birthday. Joseph’s cheeks and nose were red from the cold, and he was blowing on his hands to keep them warm.
“You run home, Joseph,” Thomas said. “Tell Mama I’m on my way with the eggs for her custard.”
Joseph nodded and loped off. Thomas could see their house up the road and knew that Joseph would soon be sitting in front of the warm hearth.
Mama rarely made her delicious egg custard anymore, especially since they had sold their best laying hens to the Pattersons. Papa said that the hens would never survive the journey west and that the family needed the money to buy more basic supplies. But this morning Mama had declared that they would have custard for dessert and had sent Thomas for the fresh eggs. He knew that his father and mother had been fasting and praying about the weather and that this special dessert was his mother’s way of expressing gratitude for the slivers of sunshine that had broken through the gray clouds today.
As the family gathered around the table to pray over their simple meal, Thomas could see that his father was discouraged. “There was trouble in town again today,” his father said. “Let us pray that the Lord will provide a way for us to leave Nauvoo before anyone is seriously harmed. We are packed and ready to go. There must be a way!”
Thomas bowed his head along with his parents and brothers and sisters, but in his heart he felt a twinge of fear. He did not want to leave Nauvoo.
Although most of their furniture and farming equipment had been sold to purchase a wagon and food supplies, their home was still cozy and warm, and there was always enough to eat. He had been just a little boy when his family was driven from their home in Missouri by an angry mob and forced to settle in the marshy wetlands of Commerce, Illinois. It had been cold then, too, and he remembered how he had cried for a cup of milk. But over the years, he had seen Commerce become the beautiful city of Nauvoo, a place where the Prophet Joseph Smith would stop and play stickball with Thomas and his friends, then invite them to his home for a glass of cool lemonade. Though it had been a year and a half since the Prophet’s death, he ducked his head to hide his tears.
“Thomas?” his Mama asked softly. “Are you well?”
His older sister, Mary Jane, quietly said, “He doesn’t want to go west, Mama.”
Papa put down his fork and folded his arms across his chest. “Is this true, Son?”
Thomas gulped. “Yes, Papa,” he whispered.
He heard his mother sigh, and he felt ashamed. It had already been decided that Mama would leave her piano and her cherished spinning wheel behind. But she reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “We all wish we could stay in Nauvoo. Here we have a lovely home, a prosperous farm, good friends and family, even a beautiful new temple. But the Lord has promised us peace, and we will never find that here.”
Thomas nodded and tried to hold back the tears that still pushed against his eyelids. His father saw him struggling and slowly slid back his chair. “Mama, save us some of your custard. Thomas and I are going to check on the horses.”
Thomas put on his overcoat and scarf and followed his father out to the barn. The sky was clear, and the air was as sharp as a knife in his lungs. Inside the barn, his father lit a lantern and stamped his feet. “Mighty cold out tonight,” he said. “We must pray for our brothers and sisters who are spending this night in a tent or a wagon box.”
Thomas plopped down on a bale of hay. “Papa, if we had crossed the river with the others last week, we would be out there in a tent tonight!”
His father sat beside him, reaching out to stroke the mane of his favorite horse. “I know, Son. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“Then why can’t we wait until spring … or even summer? Why must we leave now?”
“You do not realize the danger that surrounds us. I was a close friend of the Prophet Joseph, and his enemies are my enemies.” Thomas felt his father tremble beside him. He looked up and saw the scar on his father’s cheek that had come from the leather thong of a bullwhip. He still remembered how his mother had cried over the wound, praying that God would forgive her for thinking terrible thoughts about the man who had whipped her husband. “And I think this is a test of our faith, Son. Will we follow the prophet—or not?”
Thomas blinked his eyes hard. Suddenly he remembered a very special occasion in his life.
It was May 1843, and he had just celebrated his eighth birthday. His mother had made a cake with butter icing, and he was eating a thick slice on the front porch when he saw a tall, handsome man coming down the lane. Thomas recognized him immediately—Brother Joseph—and ran to him.
Brother Joseph chuckled, “What’s this I hear about you today? I knew it was a special day when I woke up to a chorus of birds outside my window!”
“It’s my birthday, Brother Joseph!”
“Your birthday?” The Prophet waved to the boy’s mother in the garden and clasped his father in a warm embrace. “But it isn’t just any birthday, is it?”
“It’s my eighth birthday! Now I can be baptized!”
The Prophet sat on the porch steps and drew the boy down next to him. “A very special day indeed. But why do you want to be baptized?”
Thomas tried to stretch his legs out far like Brother Joseph’s. “So I can be a member of the Church like you and Papa and Mama and my older brothers and sisters!”
Brother Joseph nodded and put his arm around Thomas’s shoulders. “That’s good. But I think there’s more to it than that. If your family and I weren’t here, would you still want to be baptized?”
Thomas thought for a moment. “Yes, I would, Brother Joseph. Jesus wants me to be baptized, and I always want to follow Him.”
Tears filled Joseph’s kind eyes. “I want to follow Him, too, Thomas. It may be hard sometimes, but we will always be blessed.”
Thomas’s father cleared his throat. “Brother Joseph, we would be honored if you would baptize Thomas.”
Joseph laughed joyfully and ruffled Thomas’s hair. “I would be delighted,” he said.
Thomas felt his father’s arm around him. “Are you thinking about Brother Joseph, Thomas?”
“Yes,” was all he managed to whisper.
His father hugged him tighter. “When you are a grown man, your children and grandchildren will ask if you remember when you were baptized. Your heart will burst with pride when you tell them that you were baptized by the Prophet Joseph Smith. And then you will tell them how you followed another prophet of God through snow and cold and all sorts of trials so that they could live in a land of peace and enjoy all the blessings of the gospel without being afraid. For many generations, your family will honor you and be grateful for your sacrifices. Your life will be blessed, Thomas, in more ways than you will ever know.”
After Thomas finished his evening prayer, he crawled under the warm quilt. He could hear his mother and father talking downstairs. He was still afraid of what might happen on their journey west, but he felt a calm reassurance in his heart that all would be well.
The next morning, the family was awakened early by a whoop of joy. “It’s a miracle!” their neighbor, Brother Williams, shouted from the front gate. “The Mississippi River is frozen solid! Load up your wagons—we’re crossing over! The Lord has answered our prayers!”
Yes, He has, Thomas thought as he hurriedly dressed in the cold morning air.

“Ro-sie!” called Mama. “It is time for you and Heman to take Papa his dinner.”
We needed no second call, for this was one errand we delighted in doing. Mama filled a plate with hot food, covered it with a soup dish to keep in the warmth, wrapped it carefully in a large napkin, and placed it in a basket. Then she handed the basket to us with final instructions: “Carry it carefully, don’t play on the way, and hurry home after Papa has eaten.”
It was ten blocks from our home on East Third South to Salt Lake Temple Block where Papa worked as a stonecutter. But it didn’t seem that long to us as we talked of the fun we’d have while Papa ate his dinner. It was interesting to watch the huge granite blocks being brought in from the canyon quarry by ox-drawn wagons. While the wagons were unloaded, the oxen stood patiently switching at flies with their tails. After the rough blocks were cut and smoothed to the required shape and size, they were tilted and placed in rows like dominoes, leaving the sharp edges protruding like saw teeth. We enjoyed running back and forth on top of these stone dominoes in our bare feet. Shoes were saved for Sunday and for school.
Sometimes we would watch as skilled workmen cut sun, moon, and star designs into certain stones. Each held a small iron chisel in his left hand and a hard wooden mallet in his right, tapping gently so as not to chip out too much rock and spoil the pattern.
Today Papa had a special surprise for us. He said, “The men who are making the circular staircase (there was one in each corner of the building) say you may go up as far as it is completed, but you must be very quiet, because this is the Lord’s house.”
I took Heman’s hand, and together we climbed the huge stone steps—up, up, up until we were out of breath. It was easier going down. Then Papa took us into the carpenter shop where wood for the building was sawed. On the floor was a heap of clean sawdust and Papa told us that the foreman said it would be all right for us to take some home so Mama could show us how to make a pincushion. “Someday it will be a fine thing,” Papa said, “to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”
Eagerly we filled the basket with fragrant sawdust and hurried home. But Mama had no time right then to help with a pincushion. She was trying to finish the washing and ironing for Sister Young, who lived next door, and the baby was cross. I rocked the baby to sleep, then helped Mama prepare supper.
In the evening, after the dishes were washed and put away, Mama found a piece of sturdy brown cloth on which she drew a large fig leaf. She showed me how to embroider green lines for veins and outline the edge with a blanket stitch. A matching piece for the back was sewed to the front, leaving a hole near the top to pour in the temple sawdust until the leaf would hold no more. Then we sewed the hole shut so none of the precious sawdust would be lost. When the pincushion was finished I proudly showed it to Papa for his approval, then placed it on top of Mama’s bureau with my other special treasures.

Tauna May of the Groveland First Ward, Blackfoot Idaho Stake, has won the Ruth Sayer Phoenix Young Artist Competition Award. She performed as a piano soloist with the Idaho State Civic Symphony.
Tauna commented about her performance with the symphony. “I auditioned for four years before being chosen as a soloist and, believe me, the wait was worth it. I love being an LDS youth because it sets us apart, makes us special. There are so many, many temptations in the way of our eternal goal. The Church is there; the plan is all laid out. All we have to do is follow it like we follow the notes and markings on sheet music; and our life, like our piece, will turn out beautifully.”

And I remember hearing in New Zealand many years ago the testimony of a man from the far side of Australia who, having been previously sealed by civil authority and then joined the Church with his wife and children, had traveled all the way across that wide continent, then across the Tasman Sea to Auckland, and down to the temple in the beautiful valley of the Waikato. As I remember his words, he said, “We could not afford to come. Our worldly possessions consisted of an old car, our furniture, and our dishes. I said to my family, ‘We cannot afford to go.’ Then I looked into the faces of my beautiful wife and our beautiful children, and I said, ‘We cannot afford not to go. If the Lord will give me strength, I can work and earn enough for another car and furniture and dishes, but if I should lose these my loved ones, I would be poor indeed in both life and in eternity.’”

Members of the Church often say, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” During my mission, I learned how true that statement is to missionary success.
In their home countries, many of the refugee families we taught had seen awful things in conflict and war that are hard to imagine. They truly had witnessed hate and what bad things human beings are capable of doing to others. Many had lost hope in humanity and had to flee their homes.
When we missionaries began to teach them, it was not necessarily how much we knew about the gospel that helped them come unto Christ. It was more how much we and the ward members showed them Christlike love. When we showed them love and cared for them, they felt hope again. They saw that there were still good people in the world and that the good people they had come to know in the ward were linked to the gospel of Jesus Christ. They wanted to feel that love, to be part of it, so they would come to church and return to church.
“Your church is full of love,” one man we were teaching told me.
Before we could even ask for help with fellowshipping, members of the Lincoln Heights Ward, overseeing the Swahili group, would ask what they could do. The refugee families would often tell us, “This person helped us with this and this person helped us with that.” The ward even started a Sunday School in Swahili.
It was wonderful to see the ward members loving the Africans into the Church. Love was the biggest thing that led to our success among the Swahilis. Some members would give rides to church, some would host families, some would visit families, and some would do things for families behind the scenes. And the ward bishop, Philip Huber, who worked hard to learn Swahili, was always there showing his love and support too. I couldn’t have asked for a better ward to work with.

In conclusion let me share with you some of the feelings of a prospective elder who has recently come into full Church activity. He writes: “Returning to church activity after years of absence would have been impossible without a lot of help. I’ll always be grateful for that evening when my elders quorum president came to my home and said, ‘Roger, starting next Sunday evening we are having two other couples over to our home once a week to talk about some important gospel principles. We would be pleased if you and Pat would join us.’

“I know it took courage for him to invite us, but that was an important beginning. That was the first time anyone had ever asked me to get back into Church activity. In those fireside meetings my wife and I learned things about the gospel that we had never understood before. When testimonies were expressed, we felt feelings that had been dulled by many years of inactivity.

“As we started having family prayers together, we felt a special spirit enter into our home. Before long I became so anxious to learn about the gospel that I found myself reading the scriptures on the bus going to and from work and even during my noon hour.”

His letter then tells of the great joy he and his wife felt when they went to the temple, where they and their children were sealed together for time and for all eternity. And now they are helping prepare their three sons for missionary service.

In 1849, Elder Lorenzo Snow (1814–1901) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was called to establish a mission in Italy. As he was contemplating where to commence, he learned about the Waldensians, a religious community in the Piedmont mountains of northwestern Italy.
“A flood of light seemed to burst upon my mind when I thought upon [the Waldensians],” recorded Elder Snow. In a letter home he wrote, “I believe that the Lord has there hidden up a people amid the Alpine mountains.”2
In other regions of Italy, laws were not favorable for missionary activity. But two years before Elder Snow arrived, the Waldensians in the Piedmont region had been granted religious freedom after centuries of persecution.3 Not only that, but several among them had received remarkable dreams and visions preparing them to receive the missionaries’ message.4
Elder Snow, accompanied by two missionary companions, dedicated Italy for the preaching of the gospel on September 19, 1850. Elder Snow recorded, “From that day opportunities began to occur for proclaiming our message.”5

Will wanted a picture of the temple. He wanted to put it in his room. He had heard the prophet say it would be a fine thing for everyone to have one.
“Mom, did you get me a picture of the temple yet?” Will asked.
“Not yet,” Mom said. She was busy taking care of the new baby.
“OK,” Will said.
Will loved the temple. He knew it is a special place where families are sealed together.
Will felt a little bit sad. Mom was too busy. How could he get a picture of the temple?
Then Will had a great idea. He didn’t need to wait for Mom!
Will ran to find his crayons and some paper. Then he sat down at the desk and started to draw.
After a long time, Will put down his crayons. He ran into the kitchen and held his picture up to show Mom.
“What a beautiful picture of the temple,” Mom said.
“Let’s go hang it in my bedroom,” Will said.
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea!”

At one time the Lord said that He was “well pleased” with Joseph Wakefield. He was stalwart and faithful and taught hundreds about the prophetic work of Joseph Smith. But from 1833 to 1834 he was influenced by some dissidents in Kirtland. He was once in the home of Joseph Smith. Joseph came out of the room where he had been translating the word of God and immediately began to play with some children. “This convinced [Brother Wakefield] that [Joseph] was not a man of God and that [therefore] the work was false.” In due course Joseph Wakefield apostatized, was excommunicated, and became a persecutor of the Church and of the Saints.

We have created a tradition for our family of six children that they like very much. Each year at Christmastime, we prepare carols, bake cookies, make rag dolls, and gather some of the children’s own toys and clothing in preparation for our activity. Then, with one of the children dressed as Santa Claus and the others as his helpers, we visit the old and sick in our ward, people in a nearby hospital, and less fortunate people in the streets. This activity has helped us feel the true meaning of Christmas and learn to be more like Jesus Christ.
Fajardo Romero Family,Casas Grandes Ward, Colonia Juárez Mexico Stake

A while back a young woman from another state in the United States came to live with some of her relatives for a few weeks. On her first Sunday she came to church dressed in a simple, nice blouse and knee-length skirt set off with a light, button-up sweater. She wore hose and dress shoes, and her hair was combed simply but with care. Her overall appearance created an impression of youthful grace.
Unfortunately, she immediately felt out of place. It seemed like all the other young women her age or near her age were dressed in casual skirts, some rather distant from the knee; tight T-shirt–like tops that barely met the top of their skirts at the waist; no socks or stockings; and clunky sneakers or flip-flops.
One would have hoped that seeing the new girl, the other girls would have realized how inappropriate their manner of dress was for a chapel and for the Sabbath day and immediately changed for the better. Sad to say, however, they did not, and it was the visitor who, in order to fit in, adopted the fashion of her host ward.

One day, my mom needed to take me to urgent care because the blisters had an infection. I was so scared. I didn’t want to get in the car. My mom knew I was scared. She told me about when Joseph Smith was my age. When Joseph Smith was seven years old, he had an illness that required the doctor to do surgery on his leg. He was scared too, but he knew that Heavenly Father was with him and would help him. The doctor took nine pieces of bone out of his leg! I was so surprised. He was brave. If he could do that, I knew that I could get in the car and go to the doctor. I would be brave, and Heavenly Father would help me with the pain I was feeling.

Nee-a-ma-ah and his grandparents returned home to Wyoming. Years later, Nee-a-ma-ah longed to return to the Holy Hill where he was healed. He traveled to Utah and found that things in Baa-da-see were very different. Log cabins and houses splayed across the land, and men with long beards had preached to and baptized many Shoshone people.
The sacred Holy Hill was now home to the Logan Utah Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Through Church missionaries, Nee-a-ma-ah learned many teachings that aligned with his own people’s beliefs. He found that they believed in the same God—a God of healing and peace.
On August 1, 1897, Nee-a-ma-ah was baptized in the Bear River. His name was changed to Moses Neaman. He met and married Rebecca Widgagee, and they were sealed in the Logan Utah Temple.
Moses’s journey of faith has greatly blessed six generations of his posterity. His great-granddaughter Odessa, from Toppenish, Washington, still shares his story today. “Little did Moses know that he would change the lives of his family,” she says. “I am so thankful for my ancestors, my pioneers. They laid the path for me to enjoy all the blessings of the restored gospel.”