Gospel Story Finder

I remember when I was young, there was an older boy who was physically and mentally disabled. He had a speech impediment and walked with difficulty. The boys used to make fun of him. They teased and taunted him until sometimes he would cry.
I can still hear his voice: “You’re not kind to me,” he said. And still they would ridicule him, push him, and make jokes about him.
One day I could bear it no longer. Although I was only seven years old, the Lord gave me the courage to stand up to my friends.
“Don’t touch him,” I said to them. “Stop teasing him. Be kind. He is a child of God!”
My friends stepped back and turned away.
I wondered at the time if my boldness would jeopardize my relationship with them. But the opposite happened. From that day onward, my friends and I became closer. They showed increased compassion for the boy. They became better human beings. To my knowledge, they never taunted him again.

One experience stands out in my mind. We prepared and prayed before going to visit one of our sisters. As we approached her house, we realized we had actually driven to a different sister’s house! We were assigned to visit this sister, a less-active mother of two young children, but had not planned to visit her that day. Because we were there, we knocked, but nobody answered.
We decided to be persistent and wait. The sister, Monica, eventually came and told us she was busy. We noticed she was tired and almost in tears. When we said we were there to help, she allowed us to enter. Her baby was crying, so we told her to take care of her baby and we would wait. When Monica went upstairs with the baby, we got to work, cleaning several rooms and folding all the clothes we could see.
When Monica saw how nice her house looked, she started crying, opened her heart to us, and shared some of her challenges. We promised to help her, and we talked to the Relief Society president about her challenges. The following Sunday, Monica was in church.
Monica became an active, happy sister, and we continued to minister to her with love and care. She still had the same challenges, but she was able to deal with them with more faith and courage because of her activity in the Church.
I’m so grateful for Graça’s example as we served together. We had prayed for guidance, and God had led us to Monica.

Salvation Knoll, another early landmark, was so named by George B. Hobbs when he and three others were on an advance scouting party. They were lost Christmas day in 1879. They were out of provisions and they were traveling in snow and extreme cold. Thinking they might die, Brother Hobbs decided to climb a small knoll which he named Salvation Knoll.
His journal records, “This was surely Salvation Knoll, for on looking to the northeast across a spur of the Elk Mountain I discovered the Blue Mountains, about 10 miles away” (in Hole-in-the-Rock, p. 88).

Sam tiptoed on stocking feet to the front door. Setting her ice skates gently on the floor so as not to make a sound, she reached for her heavy winter boots. She hadn’t bothered to clean them when she came in yesterday, and they were caked with grime.
No matter. Sam had something more important to think about—getting to the rink the moment it opened. That’s when the skating was best—before the crowds arrived and the ice was still like glass. Tugging on her boots over thick wool socks, she pretended to not notice the mess they’d left on the floor.
“Samantha, is that you?” Mom must have heard her, after all.
Sam stood with her hand on the doorknob, debating whether to answer or slip out quietly. She was tempted to pretend she hadn’t heard her mother’s voice. On the other hand, maybe she could persuade her mother to let her help with the housework later in the day. The dirty floor wasn’t going anywhere, was it?
“Coming, Mom,” she called before yanking off her boots and trudging to the kitchen.
Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, her head cradled in her hands. When she glanced up, Sam noticed how pale her mother looked. “Mom,” she blurted before her mother could say a word, “would you mind if I clean the floor later? I promised Judy I’d meet her at the rink first thing this morning.”
Sam thought she detected a flicker of disappointment in her mother’s eyes, but she just smiled. “No, that’s fine, Sam. But would you mind picking up some orange juice and cold medicine at the market? I think I’ve come down with the flu, and I just don’t feel up to going out today.”
“Sure, Mom.” Sam tried to ignore the dark circles etched under her mother’s eyes. “Will it be OK, though, if I pick them up after I’m through skating? Otherwise, I’ll be late getting to the rink.”
“That’ll be fine,” her mother said agreeably.
Sam pocketed the money her mother gave her, then raced to put her boots back on. She’d have to run all the way to the rink if she didn’t want to be late.
Sam arrived at the rink just as it was opening. Judy stood at the door, waiting for her. “Guess what—we’re the only ones here!” she exclaimed gleefully. “We’ll have the whole place to ourselves for a while.”
As they laced up their skates in silence, Sam found herself reliving the moments with her mother in the kitchen. Suddenly it struck her—Mom always worked on Saturdays! Obviously, she wasn’t going in today. Sam knew how hard her mother tried to never miss work. She was paid by the hour, so every day missed, she said, meant a smaller paycheck that week.
“Hey, slowpoke,” Judy teased as she stood up on her skates and clomped over to the ice, “if you don’t hurry up, they’ll be closing this place for the night!”
Sam had grown so absorbed in her own thoughts that she hadn’t finished lacing up her first skate yet. Giving Judy a sheepish grin, she bent over her skates and tried to concentrate.
At last she made it onto the ice. Judy chattered gaily as they glided along. It was a perfect day for skating. The ice was smooth, with barely a nick in it, and there were still only a few other skaters. The subzero temperatures outdoors must have kept the usual crowd at home.
Still, Sam found herself straining to be cheerful. Her enthusiasm for skating seemed to have deserted her this morning. Images of her mother’s pale face kept floating before her eyes.
“Are you OK, Sam?” Judy was tugging at her sleeve.
“Mom’s sick, and I’m worried about her,” Sam confessed.
Judy looked at her in surprise. Sam wasn’t one to worry, and she seldom allowed anything to interfere with having fun. “Do you want to go home?”
“Maybe I’d better. Do you mind?”
“It’s OK with me,” her friend said, smiling at her. “I’m getting cold, anyhow.”
Sam suddenly felt closer to Judy than she’d ever felt before.
When she got home, Sam put the medicine on the table and the juice in the refrigerator. Then she peeked in at her mother, who lay sleeping in her bed, her tired-looking bedspread pulled up under her chin. Sam quietly got the puffy new comforter from her own bed and gently put it over her mother.
She tiptoed from the room, careful not to awaken her mother. If she hurried and worked quietly, maybe she could get the housework done before Mom woke up. Her mother had asked only that Sam tidy up her own room and sweep the floors, but why couldn’t she do all the cleaning today? Glancing at the kitchen clock, she set herself the task of getting as much accomplished as she could in an hour.
The minutes flew by as she dusted, swept, and scrubbed. The pungent scent of lemon oil polish announced the last task being done. Already the kitchen floor glistened and the countertop shone.
Mom walked in just as Sam was putting away the furniture polish. “I thought I heard feet padding down the hall.”
“Look, Mom,” Sam said, taking her mother by the hand and leading her through the apartment. As she showed off her handiwork, she stole a look at her mother’s face. She wasn’t sure which of them was happier.

“Dad,” Ashley said to her father as she snuggled up to him on the couch and watched her favorite cartoon show, “Adam says you don’t like cartoons.”
“I like watching cartoons when I’m with you,” Dad told her.
“Then you do like cartoons?” the six-year-old girl asked.
“No, not really,” he confessed. “But sometimes you do things you don’t really like, because it makes someone you love happy.”
Ashley was happy with Dad’s explanation. She snuggled up closer, and they continued to watch cartoons.
Early the next morning, Ashley said to Adam, “Do you know why Dad watches cartoons even though he doesn’t like them? Because he loves me.”
“So does Chester!” joked Adam, holding his pet gerbil in front of Ashley’s face. “Here—give him a kiss!”
Ashley screamed, running to her mother’s arms.
“Stop teasing your sister,” Mom scolded Adam. “You know that she’s afraid of Chester.”
“Aw, he won’t hurt her,” Adam griped. “He’s as tame as a pussycat.”
“Speaking of pussycats,” Mom warned, “you had better watch out that Scratchy doesn’t get him. You left Chester’s cage door open—again.”
“Aw, that old cat couldn’t catch a cold.”
“Just remember to put Chester back into his cage—and make sure the door is closed.”
“OK.”
Later in the day, Adam burst into the living room as Ashley helped Mom dust the furniture.
“Guess what, Ashley? Dad loves me, too. He’s taking me to a soccer game. And he loves soccer, so we’ll really have a great time!”
Ashley kissed her father good-bye and frowned at her brother as they hooted and hollered out the front door on their way to the soccer game.
“That’s enough dusting,” Mom said. “I’m going to the basement to do the laundry. Why don’t you go to your room and play?”
Ashley slowly crept past Adam’s room, hoping she wouldn’t run into Chester on the loose. Her brother was becoming forgetful again. Three times last week he’d left Chester’s cage door open. And three times he had had to rescue his gerbil from Scratchy.
As she peeked into Adam’s room, she saw Scratchy pawing behind Chester’s cage. The old cat’s back was all hunched up. His hair was standing on end.
“What’s the matter, Scratchy?” Ashley asked. But the cat ignored her.
Ashley peeked behind the gerbil’s cage, then jumped back and screamed. It was Chester. He was out of his cage again. She shouted for her mother. But with the washer running, her mother couldn’t hear her cries.
Scratchy’s sharp claws were getting closer and closer to Chester. Chester was shaking and squeaking. Ashley didn’t know what to do.
“Shoo, shoo,” she said, chasing Scratchy out of her brother’s room.
Now she was alone with the gerbil in Adam’s room. Ashley leaned over the cage to look again. Chester was still there. Still shaking. Still squeaking.
Ashley was frightened. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes tightly, and reached behind the cage.
“I can’t do this!” she cried, pulling her hand back. “I just can’t stand the thought of touching Chester.”
Then she remembered her father’s words: “Sometimes you do things you don’t really like, because it makes someone you love happy.”
Adam would be happy if Chester were inside his cage, Ashley thought, and not inside Scratchy.
Once again she took a long, deep breath, closed her eyes tightly, and reached behind the cage. She felt Chester’s warm, soft body. But instead of pulling her hand back, she grasped the frightened gerbil and gently put him into his cage, slamming the door shut behind him.
Shaking a little, she lay on her brother’s bed and gave a big sigh of relief.
Moments, later, she heard her father and brother quarreling. That was a fast soccer game, she thought.
“Why are you in my room?” Adam demanded as he charged into his room.
Without waiting for an answer, Adam turned to Chester’s cage and turned to Dad, who was standing in the doorway. “See, Dad, we missed the soccer game for nothing. I didn’t forget to close the door to Chester’s cage.”
“Yes, you did!” Ashley exclaimed. “I put Chester back in his cage, and I closed the door!”
“But I thought you were afraid of Chester. I thought you didn’t like him.”
“I am afraid of him. And I don’t like him. But”—she looked her brother in the eye and smiled—“I do love you, Adam.”

WELCOME!I’m Sister Simon.Hi! I’m Ramón.Hello. I’m Cathlyn.I’m Mei Lin.Hi! I’m David.And I’m Joshua.
What on earth are you doing, Josh?Archaeology.Sure you are.
This is a very promising dig. I’m unearthing evidence of an early twenty-first century civilization.The early twenty-first century is right now.Exactly. From here I’ll work backward. Soon I’ll be in Book of Mormon times.
Right. So what have you discovered?This!
A CTR ring?Don’t you see? This proves that a young man who wanted to choose the right inhabited this dwelling. I bet with a little more digging, I’ll find a baptismal certificate.
Impressive.Brilliant might be a better word.

I did not appreciate fully memories and self until I, with the help of others, compiled my oral history. I gave my wife a rough copy of my life story and asked her to edit it. My instructions were: “You know me better than I know myself, so please read it carefully and polish the manuscript.” A half hour later, when I returned to see how she was doing, she was crying. I said, “My goodness, is it that bad?” “No,” she answered. “It is that good!” “Have you made any changes?” I asked. “No,” she replied. “It is you speaking, and I don’t want to erase or edit you out of the record.”

Later, we gave bound copies of my history to our children. Both of us knew that the thing would probably be placed on a shelf and read only sometime. A few weeks ago, however, one of our daughters said to me: “Dad, I love you so very much.” I wondered what was wrong and I asked: “What brought this on?” She explained, “It was your oral history; I have been reading about your life.” She added: “I did not realize that you had done. … I didn’t know that you had experiences such as. …”

What a pity it would be if your children and grandchildren were denied that part of you that really should be recorded. Make certain that you are transmitting to your posterity, along with other graces of life, your innermost thoughts, your poignant feelings, and your sincere testimonies. You owe the rising generation this blessing and more.

When I was growing up, my parents never took my siblings and me to church. We were not a religious family. For me, Sunday was just a day off from school when we could play. I thought my life was complete. It wasn’t until a friend showed me what I was missing that I realized how empty my life had been.
When I was 11 or 12, my mother was baptized into the Church. She would often ask me if I wanted to go to church with her, and I always said no. When we moved to Texas the summer before my junior year in high school, I still didn’t go to church with her.
At the beginning of the school year I had no friends. After a few weeks, I became friends with Brad. He was in some of my classes. We would talk in class but never did anything outside of school.
One day my mom took me and my four siblings to church with her. I went, hoping to leave as soon as possible. When we sat down, I looked up and saw Brad preparing to bless the sacrament. Brad saw me as well.
The next day at school, Brad came to me and said, “I didn’t know you were a Latter-day Saint.”
I replied, “I’m not.”
Pretty soon Brad was taking me to Mutual, youth conference, and I was even coming to church every Sunday.
Having never read the Bible, I didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. Brad gave me a Book of Mormon, and I started to read it. From that time, there was a visible change in my life for the better. I knew what I was reading was true. The Holy Ghost bore witness of it. It was through the Book of Mormon that I came to know Jesus Christ and all He has done for me. I changed the way I acted. I started living the way the Bible and Book of Mormon told me I should live.
One day Brad finally asked me, “Donny, what do we have to do to get you baptized?” I had never thought about it before, but it felt like the right thing to do. On June 26, 2000, Brad baptized me into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Three months later, I baptized my older brother, Dan. We are both currently serving missions.
Looking back at how I felt about religion before, I have gained so much. Now I know my Savior Jesus Christ. I have the scriptures to guide me. And I have the gift of the Holy Ghost, who bears witness of the truth.

I can’t tell you how much I have learned through the special Young Women issue of the New Era. My family and I have had a lot of problems the past few months. Mom and Dad separated. Then my brother went into the navy. I really miss him. For a long time I didn’t think much of life. I thought it was ruined. Then I thought, why don’t I read my Young Women New Era. It really has helped me a lot. Each time I get down on myself, I start reading, and I feel so much better. I start thinking of how special I really am, even though things at home are not so good.

There’s one in every school. You know the type. The girl who seems to live a charmed life. Everything she touches—schoolwork, friendships, extracurricular activities—turns to gold. You wonder what her secret is and hope that maybe a little of whatever it is will rub off on you. But deep down inside you wonder if you can ever really be like her, because people like that seem to only come one at a time.
The Laurels in St. John, New Brunswick, Canada, however, seem to have misunderstood that “rule.” Instead of only one shining star in their school, all the Latter-day Saint girls are recognized on campus.
Take Sacha Koumbias, for example. She is student council president and works on a committee to build school spirit. Melissa Spragg loves to be in school musicals and plays. Virginia Clark—Ginnie to her friends—stands alongside Melissa in two of the school’s choirs and is a great dancer. Finally, Erin Robichaud was recently selected as the high school’s student of the year.
You might expect that in a group like this, there would be fierce competition, maybe even a little jealousy. But instead of jealousy there is support; instead of competition, encouragement. The girls say that when there are only four of you in a school of 1,000 students, there’s just no room for anything but good feelings and a lot of help from each other.
Being a member of the Church is what life is all about for these girls. When they talk about what excites them the most, it’s not an upcoming school dance or game; it’s the dedication of the Halifax Nova Scotia Temple. So, if it’s not what defines them, why spend time on all that extracurricular stuff?
“People at school know who we are,” says Melissa. “I think all of us feel a little bit responsible to stand out so that people will know Church members are good people.”
The high-profile activities these girls are involved in also afford them many opportunities to share the gospel.
“My friends always want to know why I don’t drink,” says Sacha. “I think that sometimes they think it’s a little weird, but they seem to respect us.”
That respect comes in handy when the girls are defending what they believe in at school. Like the time Sacha and Erin talked in one of their classes about how important marriage is, despite the fact that the rest of the class seemed to think that “a piece of paper” wasn’t necessary for people in love. Or the countless times Ginnie has told classmates that she does not now, nor will she ever, smoke cigarettes.
“When you face a bunch of people telling you that what you believe is silly or strange,” says Erin, “it’s nice to know that you’re not the only one who thinks a certain way. It helps you stay strong.”
Life isn’t always smooth sailing, even for these girls. Of all the problems this group has faced, they agree that Erin’s was the most dramatic. During a youth conference trip to the Toronto Ontario Temple a few years ago, Erin noticed that she was suddenly covered with what looked like huge bruises from head to toe. But she hadn’t been injured, or even jostled, in any way. It was only a matter of hours after she discovered these bruises that Erin was in a hospital in Ottawa—a day-long drive from St. John. She had acute lymphoblastic leukemia.
“Since I was so far away, I lost touch with friends from school, but Melissa and Sacha both came to see me,” she says. The years following weren’t always easy. Erin’s treatment was aggressive and tiring.
“Your perspective really changes after something like this,” she says. “Having good friends, good family, and the gospel is really what’s important.”
That support group comes through for less dramatic problems, too. Melissa dated a nonmember for a while. Melissa says they were too serious, and she felt that it wasn’t leading her toward the temple marriage she has as a goal.
“I knew I needed to end it,” says Melissa. “It was really tough, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I knew it was the right decision, though, and the girls really helped me through it.”
Ginnie and Sacha have struggled with the stress that comes with the busy lives they lead. When things get too stressful, they know they can turn to their friends for understanding.
“It helps me to know that my friends are worried about the same things I am, especially getting good marks in school,” says Ginnie. “It doesn’t seem so bad when I know that they worry too.”
Soon the girls will be graduating from high school and receiving all the honors and accolades that girls like them typically get when they graduate. But that’s not what these girls will remember most about their years together. They’ll remember fun and good times, things like slumber parties, youth conferences, and stake dances. They’ll remember girls’ camp and testimony meetings. They’ll remember that they are daughters of Heavenly Father and that they had sisters in the gospel to help them stay strong.
No one ever told these girls that in order to win, everyone else would have to lose. Instead, they help each other, pushing and pulling until everybody reaches the top. And, not surprisingly, they not only make room for the four of them, but they always leave a little extra space, just in case someone else would like to join them.
Not long ago, there was a new addition to the Laurel class in St. John. Nathanielle Pître, who speaks French as her first language, doesn’t attend the same school as the rest of the Laurels. Instead, she attends a French-immersion school (her family is from French-speaking Quebec). Nathanielle, the only member of the Church in her school class, says she relies on the strength she draws each day at seminary.
“Sometimes it’s hard to be the only member at school,” she says. “But going to seminary, being with the other kids my age, really helps me feel good all day.”

My senior year in high school was beginning, and I was full of anticipation as the first few weeks of September rolled by. Everything seemed to be pointing to a great year ahead.
For the first time, I was really interested in my classes, which included calculus and a college-prep psychology class. I was determined to get my first-ever 4.0 grade point average.
I had also just been put in as president of my seminary class and as first assistant in the priests quorum. In addition, I was developing a new photography hobby and was working toward making it into the Iron Man bench press bracket in the school weight room. I was also fellowshipping a good friend from work. Even the weather seemed exciting and refreshing.
But perhaps the most important thing to happen at the beginning of that school year was a decision I made to read the scriptures for half an hour each day.
I chose to read the New Testament, and I immediately became attached to it. Every day after school I would put away my school books, sit down at my desk in my room, and pull out my scriptures. I must have gone through three red pencils in just the first few chapters. Reading about the life of Christ every day put me on a real spiritual high. But after the first week of this, trouble hit.
It was a normal afternoon. I came home from school, opened my Bible to Matthew and started reading. But something was different. I didn’t feel that spiritual high, and I wasn’t getting any insight. I was just skimming meaninglessly and couldn’t seem to get involved in the passage. I stopped reading and looked up from the pages of the book.
“Wait a minute,” I thought. “Why can’t I seem to grab hold of anything? What am I doing wrong?” I sat for a minute and then, suddenly, a small episode from the long day at school entered my mind.
Some nonmember friends and I had been sitting around talking about whatever came to mind. Soon what was coming to mind were funny stories and jokes. And then some not-so-funny stories. In fact, they got downright shameful, and I had been a part of it. I had laughed and even made some off-color comments of my own.
The life of Christ hadn’t affected my actions, not then. I hung my head over my scriptures and silently apologized to my Heavenly Father. As I refocused my eyes on the page, they fell across these words, found in Matthew:
“But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.
“For by thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy words thou shalt be condemned” (Matt. 12:36–37).
Never before had I felt the ever-watching presence of Heavenly Father so strongly. I turned from my Bible and offered up a prayer of repentance.
I had known many uses for the scriptures before. I had read them for gospel instruction, for increasing scriptural knowledge, for spiritual comfort, for seminary scripture chases, and probably most often for finding answers to a Sunday School teacher’s elusive questions. However, this was the first time I had ever used the scriptures to receive personal revelation.
I knew that the Spirit had directed me to these words at this time. The answer to my question, “What am I doing wrong?” was simple. I was reading the scriptures, marking the scriptures, and even really enjoying the scriptures; but I was not living the scriptures, which in some degree made me a little like the hypocritical Pharisees whom the Savior so often rebuked.
Although my answer was not accompanied by a booming voice or violent earthquake, its power was sufficiently intense to make me reevaluate myself.
Each time I came across some new point of Jesus’ life in my reading, I would check myself in the same area. While there were a few areas that I didn’t have any trouble with, many others required changes in my personality, attitudes, and actions. As I did this, I began to like myself more.
With these new standards came blessings. It was funny how taking a half hour from each day seemed to lengthen it so much. Since I began reading the scriptures and trying to live by Christ’s example, I noticed how different areas of my life began to blossom.
I was able to accomplish many of the goals I had set for myself and, to my surprise, I even got that 4.0.

I heard from a mother of five small children in South Carolina. She had injured her back and was totally bedfast. She wrote to me of the “little mercy squads” in her ward who had cared for her night and day: “They fed me, conquered my mending pile, cleared the tears from my eyes, and administered therapy in the night. All the time they assured me it was no bother; they just wanted to learn more charity and just needed someone to practice on.”

While the whole Bennion family is special, each of the children stands out with his or her own unique talents and personality. One time when Kiera was three years old, her parents took her to see her cousins perform in a band in which they played violins. That night at home, Kiera walked in with her mother’s high heel shoe tucked under her chin and a screwdriver in her hand, pretending to play the shoe like a violin. Now she takes lessons on a real violin and on a piano, but it’s easy to see that her love for music started long ago.

I have felt deeply about the Atonement of Jesus Christ since I was quite young, but the reality of the Savior’s Atonement came home to me when I was 25. I had just graduated from Stanford Law School and was studying for the California bar exam. My mother called and said that my grandfather Crozier Kimball, who lived in Utah, was dying. She said if I wanted to see him, I had better come home. My grandfather was 86 and very ill. I had a wonderful visit. He was so pleased to see me and share his testimony with me.
When Crozier was just three years old, his father, David Patten Kimball, died at age 44. Crozier hoped that his father and his grandfather Heber C. Kimball would approve of his life and feel he had been true to his heritage.
My grandfather’s primary counsel to me was to avoid any sense of entitlement or privilege because of these faithful ancestors. He told me my focus should be on the Savior and the Savior’s Atonement. He said we are all children of a loving Heavenly Father. Regardless of who our earthly ancestors are, each of us will report to the Savior on how well we kept His commandments.
Grandpa referred to the Savior as the “Keeper of the Gate,” a reference to 2 Nephi 9:41. He told me he hoped he had been sufficiently repentant to qualify for the Savior’s mercy.
I was deeply touched. I knew he had been a righteous man. He was a patriarch and served several missions. He taught me that no one can return to God by good works alone without the benefit of the Savior’s Atonement. I can remember to this day the great love and appreciation Grandpa had for the Savior and His Atonement.

I had to do a school project about how I can make the world a better and more beautiful place. I couldn’t come up with an idea, but then I felt the Spirit and thought of an idea. Sharing the gospel would make the world a better place. I drew a poster showing a family being taught by the missionaries. Jesus wants us to share the gospel with everyone before He comes again. When we share the gospel, we prepare the world for Jesus to come.

As president of the Barquisimeto (Venezuela) District, I constantly encouraged the members to get involved in genealogical research. I was busy in the work myself, but I was frustrated because some of the records of my parents and grandparents were in my native country of Peru. I tried hard to get information from my relatives there, but because they were not members of the Church, they weren’t too motivated to help me. The greatest problem was that my ancestors originally came from Europe. Not only did I not have the money to travel to Europe, I wasn’t even sure of the region my ancestors came from.
Time passed, and my work called for me to travel to the city of Valencia. It was during a time when I was being strongly tested, not only with respect to my testimony of the Church but also by other trials. In Valencia I learned of an author, Kepa De Derteano y Basterra, who shared my family name. One of the local members, Bob Steelheart, offered to help me locate the author which we did through checking the many books Derteano had published. On our first visit to Derteano’s home, we were unlucky. He and his wife were out. However, his daughter suggested I return later that night.
When we returned, Derteano was home and we had a very special meeting. We soon began to talk of our ancestors. Although we shared the same name, he was a Basque from Spain, and I a Peruvian. He showed me his genealogical records, and I was amazed to see that they went back to the 1500s. Then he really astounded me by telling me what had caused him to gather the records.
I said that I could provide the answer for him. I told him about the Church and the purposes of the vicarious work for the dead in the temples. I read to him 1 Peter 3:18–20 [1 Pet. 3:18–20], which tells of the Savior preaching the gospel in the spirit world. Then I shared with him parts of Doctrine and Covenants 138 [D&C 138], emphasizing the joy the spirits feel when they receive the gospel and their hope that their descendents would remember them since they cannot progress without us.
Derteano was overjoyed at hearing the reason behind his search. Now, sixty-three years old, he finally felt free of his obligation to his granduncle.
He gave me copies of all the birth and marriage records he had and also the names and addresses of other Derteanos in other parts of the world. My joy and feelings overflowed when together we found a common ancestor in the records, and thus I was able to connect my family tree to his.
Derteano gave me one of his books in which he wrote, “To Luis Roberto Derteano and Rosa Liliana, relatives I had been seeking throughout my life. Without a doubt something brought us together. Kepa De Derteano y Basterra.”

During his early youth, however, ill health and ill fortune seemed to pursue the family. When young Joseph was seven years old, he and his brothers and sisters were stricken with typhus fever. The others recovered readily, but Joseph was left with a painful sore on his leg. The doctors, doing the best they could under the conditions of the time, treated him—and yet the sore persisted. Finally the doctors were afraid they were going to have to amputate his leg.
Thankfully, however, one day the doctors came unexpectedly to the home and told the family they were going to try a new operation to remove a piece of the bone, hoping this would permit the sore to heal. They had brought with them some cord and planned to tie Joseph to the bed because they had no anesthetic, nothing to dull the pain, when they cut into his leg to remove the piece of bone.
Young Joseph, however, responded, “I will not be bound, for I can bear the operation much better if I have my liberty.”
The doctors then said, “Will you take some wine? … You must take something, or you can never endure the severe operation.”
Again the boy prophet said, “No, … but I will tell you what I will do—I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms, and then I will do whatever is necessary in order to have the bone taken out.”
So Joseph Smith Sr. held the boy in his arms, and the doctors opened the leg and removed the diseased piece of bone. Although he was lame for some time afterward, Joseph was healed.2 At seven years of age, the Prophet Joseph Smith taught us courage—by example.

Auckland, New Zealand, seminary students decided to develop their “talents” and lend a helping hand to others at the same time.

Following the principle in the parable of the talents (Matt. 25:14–30), each student was given $1 and one month in which to invest in any undertaking.

One motivation factor was a previous “Project Concern” activity that involved youths in picking tomatoes and netted a profit of $186. This money was sent to the Philippines to purchase library books for Church students.

After discussing suitable investments for their “talents,” students were each given $1 to invest. A special newsletter was also sent out informing others about “Project Talents.” The students voted that all money earned should be sent to the Church to be used in Mexico or South America.

What can one person do with $1 and one month?

One student bought wool and knitted a poncho. This was sold and the money used to purchase enough wool for two more ponchos that were also sold. The net profit was $8.

Another bought several flashlights from a teacher who works as a sales representative and sold them to ward members at a profit since the country was going through a power shortage and power cuts were threatening. Candles were also sold, and, together with the flashlights, resulted in a $15 profit.

Cakes were sold, babysitting services established, car washes organized, lawn mowing operations set up, and a mini-restaurant made its debut. All proved successful. All together the students made a 137 percent profit from the $165 investment. One interesting factor was that the few losses that occurred were the result of cooperative efforts rather than individuals’ projects.

One morning while getting dressed, I realized that my silver bracelet was missing. This bracelet was given to me as a birthday present while I was visiting France, so it has special meaning to me. I began searching for it in the most likely places, but I couldn’t find it. I then told myself that if I just prayed, I would be able to find my bracelet quickly.
After I prayed, I looked everywhere. For two days I prayed intently and searched intensely. I pled with Heavenly Father to help me find it, but I still couldn’t find it. My heart was heavy because this bracelet was precious to me.
One evening my son prayed with me at my bedside. After our prayer, he picked something up and handed it to me. It was my bracelet! He had found it under the bed. I somehow must have missed it in my search. I cried for joy to have it back again.
Suddenly, an impression came to me: “Do you pray just as earnestly for your sisters in the Church? Are they as precious to you as your bracelet? What about your sisters outside the Church? Do you also pray for them?”
When I shared my experience with my missing bracelet in Relief Society, we had a beautiful discussion. I told the sisters that I had learned that when the Savior asks us to feed His sheep, we must remember that “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (Doctrine and Covenants 18:10). He wants us to be mindful of those around us and to love, care, and pray with all our energy for them. As we do so, we will find that everyone is far more precious than a silver bracelet.

Beehive Marianne Miner, of the Salt Lake Valley View Sixth Ward, along with others in her Young Women program, joined in to help make a slide and sound presentation on record keeping. Before this she was unaware that her ward Young Women president, Annette Brantzeg, had a special testimony of keeping records. The presentation explained that when Annette was only nine weeks old her mother died. Annette was raised by her grandparents and was never told much about her mother. Because of unusual circumstances Annette did not see her father for many years. Then when she was 17, he visited her and brought with him a journal that her mother had kept for one year of her life. That journal made it possible for a daughter to come to know her mother. In that record Annette was able to share a part of her mother’s life—her courtship, the discovery of a heart condition, her experiences as a school teacher in Wyoming.
Hearing the story made Marianne think about the importance of keeping records and the many kinds of records we can keep. “I was really moved by Annette’s story. I immediately started my book of remembrance. I’m going to keep things from school and church to put in it. I’m also going to start my life story.”