Gospel Story Finder

Grace, a widow with short brown hair and shining eyes, was first. Her day hadn’t gone exactly as planned, she told us. She awoke with a terrible head cold—the first time in more than three years she had been ill. In revising her plans for the day, she decided to put together a scrapbook about her mother’s life, something she had been thinking of doing for a long time. Grace asked her sister to help, and they worked together to reconstruct their mother’s life story in pictures and words. It took most of the day, but the end result was a cherished scrapbook.
Grace found that her activities on that day opened up a new avenue to her. Her patriarchal blessing had said that she would work on her family history. “Because I didn’t understand family history, I just couldn’t get really interested in it,” she confessed. “But after doing my mother’s book, I decided to do one about my husband who died recently.”
She has since compiled histories of her husband, her son, and her daughter. “By cleaning out all the boxes of treasures and mementos I had been storing for years, I’ve found enough information to do the temple work for many of my ancestors,” she says. “I can see my work is just beginning. And I’m happy to do it.”

I remember when I was young, I had a stutter and had difficulty reading and writing, but my mother always expressed confidence in my ability to overcome these challenges. Her belief in me led me to enter a speech contest for youth held at church. To my surprise, I came in first place among the boys and second overall out of 14 youth in the contest. To this day, I still remember that speech. I was able to do this because I felt the confidence of my mother and leaders to do what was hard for me. I never would have imagined that I would be where I am today, speaking at conferences or writing articles for Church magazines. Our youth need us to believe in their ability to do difficult things as they turn to God and live in a higher and holier way.

On the Sunday before Christmas, we came home from church and one of the dogs in our neighborhood was ripping up our neighbor’s trash bags and chewing on the trash. My sister Emily and I scared the dog away, and then we cleaned up the trash without being asked. We were glad we cleaned up the trash because it would have been everywhere in the wind! We both felt good inside afterward because we did the right thing and served our neighbors.

I remember helping my eight-year-old son make a gift for his mother. He had determined to make a key holder from a piece of board. Following the guidelines of not purchasing anything, we found an old piece of wood. It took about three times longer than normal to sand it down, as it was not a quality piece of wood.
When it came time to paint it, we realized we didn’t have a paintbrush. So we took some pieces of straw and bamboo from an old basket and made our own. I wondered whether it really would look that nice when finished, but to our surprise, the bamboo and straw together worked as well as any paintbrush I had ever used.
I wanted to buy the hooks needed to hold the keys, but my son reminded me that we couldn’t do that. We ended up using some headless nails that we patiently shaped with great love and dedication. They were shaped into hooks as beautiful as any that we could have purchased at a store. When it was all finished, it was a gift from our hearts to Mom.

Stones of Light for the Future
Last, a brief look at stones of light for the future. There will be both success and challenges. Strive to plan for and learn from both. Please remember to treat everyone like they are dealing with something—because they are. Be kind to others and to yourself. Some problems may be obvious, and others not so. For example, most of you may not realize I am wearing a full cranial prothesis, or wig. My personal visual aid attests stress can trigger conditions which may seem as foreign as the autoimmune disease of alopecia areata was to me.

Let me share one last experience from a late night as I, with my bald head, pondered what scriptures to study next. “Read Matthew chapter 10,” came the prompting. Obediently and curiously, I opened my Bible and started reading. Searching for meaning, my mind pondered each verse. Perhaps you ponder this way. Getting to verse 27 I read:

What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light: and what ye hear in the ear, that preach ye upon the housetops. [14]

There was something here for me to learn, something I was to share.

And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul. [15]

I knew alopecia had killed my hair follicles, but I did not want to allow it to kill my soul—my testimony.

Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. [16]

This verse had always helped me think of how much God knows and cares for all of His creations, but it was the next verse that became most personal and meaningful:

But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows. [17]

Of all the verses of scriptures I could be led to, I was prompted to read one assuring me God was aware of my hair, or lack thereof. With tears of reassurance, I sensed of His love, concern, and understanding. My alopecia demise became a faith-building parable unfolding in my own life. If I had to lose my hair to gain a firm testimony of our individual worth, it is a small price. If God can testify that He is aware of even the hairs of my head, can He not also reveal His hand to you? Look for the goodness of God’s love even in and perhaps especially in future times of trial. As you seek solutions or comfort, make scripture study part of your “sixteen stones.” Through personal revelation, you will be guided to verses filled with meaning.

The missionaries taught her about the Book of Mormon. Anna-Liisa Rinne believed. In fact, she says, “I believed in such a childlike way that the next day I asked my colleagues at work whether they had heard that the origin of the American Indians had been discovered.” When she told them about the Book of Mormon, they all laughed at her. “For the first time I noticed that something exceptional was happening to me,” she recalls.

The gospel message seemed familiar to her, and she continued to receive the missionaries when she moved from Helsinki to Kuopio. But when the missionaries told her that they intended to baptize her, she asked them to stop coming. “I was afraid of people’s opinions,” she explains. “In my professional friendships, belonging to a religious group was not considered acceptable. I didn’t want to be different.”

But the matter kept bothering her until she finally went to a Church meeting. Soon the missionaries were coming again. “When I stopped drinking coffee, I received a testimony. I knew that the Church was true, and I had to join it.”

Three of her four children joined the Church with her, and all of them are still active Latter-day Saints. “When I was first being taught, the children would laugh behind the door. After I received my own testimony of the gospel, I got them to promise that they would listen to one discussion. I told the missionaries that they had better be good, because the children had promised to listen just this once. The elders prepared a very fine flannel-board presentation, after which the children promised that they would also join the Church. It is true, though, that the youngest son, Eikki, later said the reason he joined the Church was that his mother told him to,” Sister Rinne says, laughing.

Sister Rinne’s daughter, Kaarina Merenluoto, remembers that joining the Church changed their family life greatly. “Mother seemed much closer to us; we talked together more. She even looked quite a bit younger. Guests began to visit us, whereas before we had lived a fairly isolated life. Often the whole branch would meet at our place, as we had a large apartment, and we made many friends. Arguments between us brothers and sisters decreased. It is difficult to explain just what happened, but the whole atmosphere in the home changed.”

In the Kuopio Branch, Anna-Liisa Rinne soon became a central figure. She was Relief Society president while the branch was building a chapel, and she also served as interpreter and messenger for the construction supervisor. “At that time, I was the only one in the branch with a driver’s license,” she explains. “Therefore I had to take care of business with the hardware supplier. At the same time, I had to oversee the delivery of lunches to the construction workers.” For a while, the hospital’s pediatrician was “on call” at the church construction site.

Sister Anna-Kaarina Roto, a former member of the Kuopio Branch, now a doctor herself, remembers those times. “As the chapel was being built, she did all kinds of work and climbed the highest scaffolds. Later, after the chapel was completed, members took turns cleaning it. Seeing how conscientiously Sister Rinne swept the floors when it was her turn, no one dared to complain about his own turn.”

As a Young Women leader for years, Anna-Liisa Rinne had an enduring influence on the lives of many girls. One of those young women, Raili Jouttenus, now the wife of the bishop of the Tampere Ward, remembers, “Sister Rinne was a legendary teacher. I remember many of her talks and teachings vividly, even now after twenty years. She really cared about us young people. The doors to her house were always open, and she had time to listen to our questions, which were sometimes rather silly. In dealing with youth, she followed Joseph Smith’s concept: teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves. She never forced us into doing anything, but rather she was warm and encouraging. She showed that she believed in the youth, but she never compromised her correct principles. If something was wrong, she said so clearly.”

Sister Rinne also remembers her work with the Young Women fondly. “Many of the youth were the only members of the Church in their families and schools, and they had a very strong faith and testimony. We started to organize youth temple excursions in Kuopio, and the spiritual experiences we had on those trips were the best rewards of those years.”

Missionary work has been an important part of Sister Rinne’s life in many ways, although she did not at first expect that it would be. “When I returned home from the baptismal service, I thought, ‘Well, I have done the right thing in joining this church, but I will never tell anyone.’ But when we arrived home, Heikki changed his clothes and ran to tell all the neighbors that we were Mormons now,” Sister Rinne remembers, smiling.

Sister Rinne received her first missionary assignments after she moved to Jyväskylä, where she served twice as a district missionary. “In those days there were so many baptisms in Jyväskylä you could hear the roar of the water,” she recalls. “The Lord just sent us the people who were ready to hear the gospel.”

One of Anna-Liisa Rinne’s companions as a district missionary was Sister Kerttu Harinen, who has many good memories of that time. “Sister Rinne was my first companion in missionary work. I myself was still a little timid. I grew at her side and received courage enough to serve as a district missionary for many years afterwards. Our first investigator was baptized before we had been companions one month. We had asked that we could practice our missionary discussions with a family whose father did not belong to the Church. So it happened that as the result of our ‘practice’ the father of the family was baptized.”

In 1974, Anna-Liisa Rinne retired from her work as a doctor. In January 1975, she left for an eighteen-month health mission to Samoa. “Up to that point in life I had imagined that I was something of an important person. But a missionary is on one of the lowest steps in society, something like a private in the army,” she explains. Finding her own sense of worth was an important lesson of that experience.

Even before leaving Samoa, Sister Rinne received a new mission call to Tonga. An important experience there was getting to know her mission president, Tonga Toutai Paletu‘a, now president of the temple. “He was a man who performed one or two miracles every day. His absolute faith and positive attitude were a great example to everyone,” Anna-Liisa Rinne recalls.

During her time as a missionary in the Pacific area, Sister Rinne experienced many miraculous testimonies of the nearness of Heavenly Father. When she arrived in Tonga, hardly knowing the language at all, she was sent to speak in a certain village. In her pocket she had a ten-minute talk written on paper. But when she arrived, she learned that she was to be the only speaker for an hour-long meeting. “I was horrified in the face of this assignment. As I was sitting there afraid, I heard clearly the words: ‘But I am here.’ All fear vanished, and I spoke for the whole hour.”

In 1978, Anna-Liisa Rinne returned home to Finland, only to receive another mission call. In 1979 she left for Scotland as a proselyting missionary. “I had only young companions, and I was their trainer. We had a rule that the senior companion had to prepare breakfast until the junior companion learned the discussions. I always made Finnish oatmeal for breakfast, so these American girls learned the discussions very fast,” says Sister Rinne, laughing. For health reasons, she had to interrupt the mission after eleven months, but this did not mean a slowdown in her activity—just the opposite.

After twice serving as a volunteer temple worker in the Swiss Temple, she received a 1982 call to a temple mission. “It was valuable to me to work with older people who have had a long experience in life and to try every day to be pure in heart.” Then she was called as a counselor to the temple matron. “After completing my mission I still went back to work in the temple, and I would probably have stayed who knows how long, except that it was difficult to take care of my health there,” Sister Rinne says.

After returning from Switzerland to Finland, Anna-Liisa Rinne became involved with an assignment she had received even before she was called to temple work, writing a history of the Church in Finland. But before the work was finished a call came again—this time to the Stockholm Temple.

If Anna-Liisa Rinne’s work career has been exceptionally varied and broad, her hobbies have not quite been ordinary either. This grandmother of sixteen likes surfing, and last summer she taught almost all her grandchildren to surf. She also owns a small sailboat, and has passed a coast-guard class which finally resulted in an international sailing permit. A diving class and pistol shooting are still in her plans.

Looking back over her life to this point, Sister Rinne says, “I have continually sought my own identity in all phases of my life: who and what am I?” It is the gospel that has provided the answers to Sister Rinne’s quest. “In some ways, I have been a very lonely person, but this has forced me to seek Christ for protection. I have had to depend on him many times, and I have always received help from him,” she says.

In return, Anna-Liisa Rinne has been ready to serve wherever the Lord has needed her. And in so doing, she has verified Christ’s words: “He that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

Somehow, in spite of conflicting feelings, I decided to go on a mission. Once I had made the decision, I was elated, almost euphoric. But when I told my nonmember mother, she found the idea disagreeable. “I have lost you as a son,” she said, with great pain on her face.
In spite of my mother’s reaction, I had many peaceful Sundays and many quiet, confidential talks with Bishop Calvar. “Look,” he said one day. “Here are the keys to the church. Find a little room somewhere and get close to the Lord.”
Day after day after that, I would stop at his house and pick up the keys. I would stay at church for four or five hours, reading the Book of Mormon and other scriptures. I also fasted for the purpose of gaining a testimony of the book.
The bishop knew about the fasting, and he did not miss an opportunity to instruct me about the close relationship between the body and the spirit. He explained the importance of the Word of Wisdom and taught me how to seek personal revelation. I will never forget his teachings.
The hours I spent in that classroom at the church will always be part of my life. I cannot specify any particular hour or day when my testimony came; it was a gradual process. But slowly, each story in the Book of Mormon became my own personal spiritual feast.
Often, I felt as though transported from the cold metal chair on which I sat, or from the floor on which I knelt, to the ancient days of the Nephites and the Lamanites. I did not read King Benjamin’s sermon—I lived it. I imagined that I lay on the grass, surrounded by Nephite tents, watching people who had come to hear their aging leader. His speech answered many of my longstanding questions about the role of government, good leadership, personal worthiness, and the nature of true service.
From the beginning I had believed that the promise of Moroni would be fulfilled. But I had expected it to happen suddenly, as it had for others I knew. But though it came gradually, it came powerfully. I knew! I knew!
I left for the mission field surrounded by the love of Church members, as well as that of some of my family. My family didn’t quite understand what I was doing, but most believed it was something good.
How grateful I am to the Lord for that time of challenge! How grateful I am for the opportunity I had to represent the Lord Jesus Christ! During my mission, I bore my testimony of him and of the Book of Mormon often—a testimony which I had gained slowly, but undeniably, one conversation, one prayer, one page at a time.

This legacy was passed to me by my father, Merrill M. Oveson, the youngest in the family of 13 children. He and my mother, Mal Berg Oveson, also from a faithful lineage, were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple, boarded a train, and went to Oregon to further my father’s education. They remained for more than 40 years, during many of which they lived in a very small farming community where we were the only members of the Church.
I have often thought how easy it would have been for my parents simply to change their faith and join their many friends in the community’s Christian church. This action would have simplified life for them, especially during the World War II years, when rationing of gasoline and tires made it impossible for them to travel the 40 miles to the nearest organized branch of the LDS Church. Instead, they received authorization to have a home Sunday School, which they faithfully held weekly during all those years. There we shared the sacrament as a family. There my brother and sisters and I learned the principles of the gospel and listened to Bible and Book of Mormon stories literally at the feet of our parents.

Although three of the Knud Edsberg family—Knud, Soren, and Soren’s sister, Birgitte—were members of the Church, their wife and mother, Kirsten Edsberg, remained firmly Lutheran. For years, the family and church leaders had tried to convert her. Finally, Knud Edsberg became discouraged. “One morning my father came to my house. He stood in the doorway crying because he was so sad.”
Soren felt the Spirit come to him. He put his arms around his father and said, “Mother will be a member now. And when I say ‘now,’ I don’t mean in a year or two. I mean now.” After his father had left, Soren went to see his mother. “After I had talked to her for about ten minutes, she said, ‘I would like to be baptized now.’” Father, mother, and son wept together for joy.

Members of the Samabula 1st Ward participated in a service project for the Harland Hostel for the Deaf in Fiji in March 2021.
A group of 20 volunteers spent three hours cleaning the hostel and playing with the children. They raked the yard, cut the grass, planted, and cleaned. They also repaired a washing machine.
“We wanted our members, especially our children, to see firsthand how children as young as five years old leave their homes and loved ones and live at the hostel just so they can have access to quality specialized education,” explained Eileen Swann, one of the participants.
The Harland Hostel for the Deaf has 26 children from ages five to 14. There is also a rented home for older boys and a hostel for older girls.
“The hostel is just five minutes away from our chapel where we meet each Sunday and we as members of the Church need to be aware of others in the community where we live,” said Swann.
“We need to know our community, know what services are available or how we can be of service to our community. When we look beyond our differences, we will find that we have a lot in common with others. In doing so we build resilient and tolerant communities and better citizens.”
Other participants expressed gratitude to see how happy the children were despite having a loss of hearing and being away from their families.

My heart leapt on 7 November 1981 as I received my mission call to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission. When I opened that letter, my world froze in place, and all I could think of was my mission.
I had almost everything ready. Again and again I reviewed the list of things I needed. I made a little mark on the list as I put each item in my suitcase. But even with my careful planning, I completely forgot one essential thing.
It wasn’t until two hours before I was to depart that I realized I needed some money to travel from my home in Quilpué to the Missionary Training Center in Santiago, Chile, which was about two hours away. I had already used all my savings and the funds my parents had given me.
My bishop wasn’t home when I ran to see if he could lend me the money. I didn’t need very much, but at that moment it seemed like a fortune.
I knelt down in my room in anguish and told my Heavenly Father what was happening, although I knew He already knew. When I got up from my knees, I was confident that He was going to help me solve my problem. I was a faithful tithe payer, and I knew the Lord would open the windows of heaven and pour out blessings upon me until there was no room to receive them (see Mal. 3:10).
My mother called to me and asked me to go through my closet and decide which things I wanted to leave there and which my sister could use. While I was sorting my clothes, I found a little purse so small it fit in the palm of my hand. I remembered that I had received it many years ago and that in it I had hidden my first savings.
I opened it and—what a blessing! Tucked neatly inside was some money I had put there many years earlier. It would be enough to pay for two fares to Santiago. I invited my father, who is not a member of the Church, to accompany me to the Missionary Training Center.
The years have passed, but I still remember this answer to my prayer. It has helped me remember how great are the power and mercy of our Father in Heaven.

Jonathan sighed as he moved his food around his plate with his fork.
“Paseme la ensalada, por favor,” his sister Jasmine said. Mom passed the salad to Jasmine across the table.
“Muy bien,” said Mom. “You’re getting pretty good at Spanish.”
“I’m sure trying!” Jasmine said. “I’m glad Jonathan is in class with me. I learn a lot by hearing him speak.”
“Thanks,” Jonathan said.
“What? Don’t you mean gracias?” teased Jasmine.
“Sorry, I guess I’m just not in the mood right now,” Jonathan said.
“Is everything OK?” Dad asked.
Jonathan sighed again. “Well, I like Spanish, and our teacher is really nice. But she uses Heavenly Father’s name to swear a lot.”
“Yeah,” Jasmine said. “I’ve noticed that too.”
“It makes me feel sad,” said Jonathan. “I’ve been thinking about talking to her about it.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said. “I know Heavenly Father will help you know what to say.”
Later that night, Jonathan prayed about talking to his teacher. He wanted to talk to her about it, but he felt so nervous! What if she got angry? Jonathan asked Heavenly Father to help him talk to his teacher in a good way.
The next morning, Jonathan and Jasmine hurried off to school. Spanish was the first class of the day and went by quickly. Before Jonathan knew it, it was time to pack up his books. The other students started walking to their next class, but Jonathan hung back. Mrs. Gomez was erasing the board.
“Mrs. Gomez?”
“Oh, Jonathan, I didn’t know you were still here,” Mrs. Gomez said, turning around. “Can I help you with something?”
Jonathan said a silent prayer in his heart. Please help me know what to say.
“I wanted to say thanks for being a great Spanish teacher,” Jonathan said. “Jasmine and I are learning a lot, and we even talk to each other in Spanish at home.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Mrs. Gomez said.
“There’s just one thing,” said Jonathan. His stomach did a flip-flop.
Mrs. Gomez smiled kindly. “What is it?”
“Sometimes in class you swear with Heavenly Father’s name, and it makes me feel sad.”
Everything was quiet for a second. When Mrs. Gomez spoke, she didn’t sound angry at all. “I’m so glad you told me. I didn’t even realize I was doing that. I will work on not saying that anymore.”
Jonathan’s nervousness melted away. He gave Mrs. Gomez a big smile. “Thank you.”
Mrs. Gomez smiled back at him. “Thank you for having the courage to come talk to me. It’s not easy to talk to a teacher about something like this. But you did it in such a respectful and mature way. I’m proud of you.”
Jonathan felt happy as he walked out of the classroom. It hadn’t been easy to talk to Mrs. Gomez, but Heavenly Father had answered his prayer. The Holy Ghost had helped him know what to say. And maybe Mrs. Gomez had felt the Holy Ghost touch her heart too.
Gracias, Heavenly Father. Jonathan said another prayer in his heart. Muchas gracias.

Squeals of delight spread through the Chinyardzano Children’s Home as missionaries of the Zimbabwe Harare Mission delivered toys and books on Christmas morning. Although many of the missionaries were thousands of miles from home, none of them were homesick when they saw the huge smiles of the children, who had lost their own families to AIDS. Young missionaries entertained the children while couple missionaries held and fed tiny babies.

My bishop has helped me by encouraging me and giving me opportunities to strengthen my talents.
Knowing that I played the piano, he asked me one day if I wanted to learn how to play the organ. I had always thought it would be fun to learn, but my bishop was the one who really encouraged me to start. He helped me get in contact with the ward organist so she could help me get started, and it’s been going really well! Every time my bishop sees me practicing, he compliments me and asks about the next time I’ll be playing in sacrament meeting.
I know my bishop sees my potential, and I’m grateful for his constant encouragement. He has helped me learn and grow in ways I would not have been able to on my own.
Aubrey B., California, USA

Paying lobola is meant to demonstrate how valued the bride is by both her family and the man she intends to marry. It symbolizes a union between families. So, throughout our lives, we had always strived to be respectful, successful, intelligent women. We wanted to make our family proud and pay them back for raising us well.
But in 2014, when we were both in early young adulthood, President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, then serving as Second Counselor in the First Presidency, came to speak to the members in Africa. We felt the pure love that God has for each of us as he spoke. However, during his talk, he taught that the tradition of lobola was no longer in line with the gospel. He discouraged the practice, saying: “The consequences of [bride price] are manifold and lead to behavior that is unbecoming for a member of the Church of Jesus Christ. … The Lord’s way is the real path to bring families together forever.”3
Our entire culture takes part in this custom, and we always expected to as well, so we were puzzled after his message.
Our first thoughts were humorous: “We did not work this hard to not get any cows!”
But truly, we were confused. If Heavenly Father didn’t want us to practice this tradition anymore, when most people in our culture refuse marriage without lobola, how could we follow Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and respect our culture and family? The gospel already seemed peculiar to our family members who weren’t part of the Church, but now it was going to become even more difficult for them to understand.
How could we follow Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and respect our culture and family?
When we saw some members leaving the Church because they couldn’t understand this teaching from a living prophet, we realized we needed to take our questions to Heavenly Father.
When we joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as teenagers, we promised each other to always help each other stay close to the Lord, no matter what. We decided that wherever life took us, we would always hold on to our faith because we had seen how living the gospel leads to true joy.
So, when we were struggling to understand Elder Uchtdorf’s message, we remembered that promise. We were reminded of the importance of prioritizing a relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and trusting in Their promised blessings. We both focused on deepening our faith in Them to rebuild that trust.
When I (Phindi) was praying to Heavenly Father for guidance about dating and marriage, I had a thought come to mind. An Apostle of the Lord was inspired to come to my country and talk about a tradition specific to our culture because Heavenly Father knows us individually. He knows what may be limiting us, and He has our best interests at heart when it comes to the covenant path.
Photograph of Durban South Africa Temple by Matt Reier
I sincerely pondered this truth and realized that Heavenly Father truly doesn’t want our eternal marriages and families to be limited by worldly traditions. Thinking about this helped me see how lobola is often being corrupted, especially when the steep price prevents some couples from getting married at all. I started to realize I could trust Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ more than my own knowledge, even if it was hard.
I (Samu) turned to the scriptures to find answers for my anxieties about the future. I have always believed that this gospel has room for questions and encourages us to gain knowledge and seek personal revelation. So I studied the Book of Mormon more than ever before. Over time, I felt the truths in that book confirming that I could trust the words of today’s prophets. I felt my heart changing and my relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ deepening.
As I continued to worry about what my future would look like in regard to dating and marriage, I remembered the truth given from Nephi that “the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7). And with that, I know I can trust Him and have hope in His promises.
As President Russell M. Nelson has taught, life is about learning to “let God prevail”4 and to “overcome the world.”5 Knowing this helped us to gradually deepen our trust in Heavenly Father. Even if we don’t know how marriage will work out for us, we know that as we keep our covenants and focus on our relationship with Him and Jesus Christ, we will be blessed with miracles as we let go of this tradition.
Relationships and dating can be hard and uncertain for anyone seeking temple marriage anywhere in the world. When we are left longing for an eternal companion, the future can sometimes feel daunting. Trust us—we personally face so many unknowns about how life will work out when most of our culture won’t consider marriage without paying lobola.
But despite the odds against us (and whatever odds, cultural barriers, or challenges you may be facing regarding dating and marriage), we truly believe Heavenly Father will continue to help all of us navigate and fulfill our righteous desires as we put our trust in Him. When we focus on our relationship with Him and Jesus Christ, everything else about the future is less daunting and more full of hope.
Sometimes we feel like we are missing out, and we wonder if it would be easier to simply give in to the customs, expectations, and standards of the world. But when we ponder the blessings and the joy that the Lord has in store for us as disciples of Christ, we realize that we are not missing out at all. We are in the hands of a loving Father in Heaven, who will guide us to unimaginable blessings.
In the meantime, we continue to do our best to progress spiritually and temporally. We build beautiful relationships with friends, family, and each other. The relationships we have with our loved ones—and especially with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ—will always help us feel connection and love and give us the strength to continue on the covenant path.
Some righteous desires may seem impossible as we navigate the ups and downs of young adulthood. But as we continue to keep our covenants and seek the Lord, we hold on to hope for temple marriages. Until then, as President Nelson taught, we can always seek and expect miracles.6 We really do experience the joy, blessings, and, yes, the miracles of living the gospel of Jesus Christ.
We hope you know that miracles and blessings are in store for you too.
The authors live in Gauteng, South Africa.
The Mkhize sisters are originally from KwaZulu Natal, South Africa. Samukelisiwe is a UX copywriter who loves singing with her family, blogging, and watching Korean dramas. She loves her Heavenly Father and her Savior Jesus Christ and believes that having a relationship with Them has made her a better daughter, sister, and friend. Phindile is a software engineer and enjoys serving in the Relief Society presidency, watching movies and Korean dramas, and hanging out with friends and family. She loves the meaning, purpose, and eternal perspective that the gospel brings to her life.
Notes

I had made the commitment to serve a mission, but there is also mandatory military service in South Korea. After high school, many young men entered the military, fulfilled their mandatory service, and immediately pursued an education and found jobs. It was difficult to give another two years to missionary service. There were only a few Korean elders then.
When I turned 19, I kept my commitment and prepared and sent in my mission papers. I was called to serve in the Korea Busan Mission. One year later, I was drafted into the military. I was so sad that I had to stop my mission.
When I completed my military service three years later, I felt that I had not yet completed my mission. Everyone told me, “You already served a mission. The Lord understands your situation, so serving for only one year is OK.”
I asked my good friend from seminary what I should do. She said that she knew I would serve another year of my mission. Her trust gave me confidence and confirmation to serve more. I served the second year of my mission in the Korea Seoul Mission. By the time I finished, I was 25 years old. I later married that same friend and we were sealed in the Laie Hawaii Temple.
This experience taught me that you will be all right even when things do not happen the way you had designed. When your plans and vision fit with the Lord’s will for you, He will help you in your life decisions.

Everyone in the family loved the house we lived in on East Franklin Street, everyone that is except me. My father called it “the Castle,” and from a distance (it was on a hill) it did look a little like a castle. The Castle was a dream come true for my parents. They’d had it built after nearly ten years of careful saving and planning, and even though it’s been years since we lived there my father still tells of my mother supervising the construction.
“Mama,” he says grinning. “She put her nose into everything. She made sure all of the carpenters put their nails in right and of course she knew more about bricklaying than any mason we hired. Everything had to be just so for her. If anyone did something she didn’t like, boy, did he hear about it.”
He tells that part of the story when my mother is listening. When she isn’t, he tells of how all the workers threatened to quit if she didn’t leave them alone and of how he saved the day by sending her to buy carpets and furniture.
When it was finished it was one of the most elegant homes in town. It was Victorian style complete with spires and a cupola. My mother was especially proud of the windows. Several in the front of the house were made of cut and frosted glass, and another on the south side had the design of a unicorn made with stained glass.
Everyone liked the house but me. The place just took too much work. If my mother and father were the king and queen of the Castle, I knew exactly where I stood—serf.
Painting the house was the biggest job. It was a project that lasted two months, two of the best months of summer, and involved everyone in the family. When we—I had six brothers and sisters—became old enough and careful enough we would be given the honor of doing the actual painting. This honor was bestowed with great ceremony. The night before the painting started, a large bonfire was built and then with the entire family watching my father would tap the shoulders of the honored person with a paintbrush.
“I knight you into the royal order of the paintbrush of the Madison family,” he said in his deepest and most ceremonious voice.
Afterward we celebrated with a banquet of fried chicken, potato salad, homemade root beer, and cake. A feast, of course, fit for a king. Toasts were made with the root beer and songs were sung, all directed to the new knight. It was great fun. The knights being initiated into King Arthur’s round table probably felt no more honored than we did when we became knighted into the royal order of the paintbrush.
Unfortunately for me, the year I became old enough to paint was the summer I became interested in baseball. The day painting started was also the day my team had its first practice game.
My mother wouldn’t let me get out of painting to go to the game.
“The house and the family are more important than anything else,” she said.
I knew my team wouldn’t have a chance without me, so while everyone was busy working, I painted my way to a far corner of the house and made a run for it. I reached a row of trees growing on the edge of our property and waited. I watched for a few minutes. No one was following me, so I hurried to the game.
It was the second inning. The other team, the North Side Wolves, had scored four runs. No problem. My team didn’t have anything to worry about. It was my turn to bat.
I stepped up to the plate, ready to hit the first home run of what was going to be an illustrious career of home runs. The pitcher hunkered down, spit, fleered his lips back, and gave me his fiercest scowl.
I just scowled back at him, swung my bat a couple of times for practice, and then to strike terror into the hearts of the outfielders, I casually pointed my bat at the church which was more than half a mile away. Several of them backed up. The pitcher, his face stone hard, swung his arms over his head, beginning the windup.
Just then a dark shadow came over me.
“Must be a cloud passing in front of the sun,” I thought, concentrating on the pitcher. Then I noticed the pitcher had stopped his windup and was backing up.
It was George, my oldest brother. George is big, six foot four, and he has this mean look on his face, the kind of look you see on a mad zoo gorilla. George makes most guys my age a little edgy, but not me. I knew what my mother would do to him if he hurt me.
“Let’s go,” George said. George never says more than he has to.
“After I hit a couple of homers,” I replied casually. I knew everyone there would be impressed with my bravery.
“Hey, let’s play ball!” the pitcher yelled.
George looked at him again and then tightened a hand into a fist. The pitcher dropped the ball and backed up several steps. His face was pale, just like he’d looked death in the face.
George looked at me, shook his head, and then reached for me. I sat down on home plate.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
George shook his head again.
“Dumb.”
He reached down, grabbed my leg, and started for home, dragging me behind him.
He let me walk part of the way after I promised to go along peacefully.
My mother was waiting at the house with my paintbrush and a bucket of paint.
“You do your work here,” she said, “before you do anything else.”
I thought then my mother cared more for that house than for anything else, including me. I was wrong, and it didn’t take me long to find out what was really important to her. That winter we lost the house.
Early in March my father called from work and told my mother he wanted to hold a family council that night.
My mother had built a fire in the fireplace and made us hot chocolate. When my father got home, he walked quietly into the living room and looked at us for awhile. Something was wrong. He sank down into his chair and covered his face with his hands. They were shaking. The room was dead silent except for the cracking sounds of burning wood. The room glowed with the flickering orange light.
“Papa, what’s wrong?” my mother asked.
He looked up slowly. His eyes were red. It was a shock to us to see him that way. He’d always been unmovably strong before. I’d thought there was nothing he was afraid of or couldn’t handle. The light from the fire that only a second before had seemed so warm was now dark and ominous.
“I’ve failed you,” he said.
He ran his finger through his hair slowly leaving his hand on his forehead.
“The business—I’ve lost everything.” He took a deep breath and looked directly at my mother. He looked old and defeated.
“Mama, we’re going to lose the house.”
“No,” she said. “It isn’t true.”
He looked at her for a long time and then nodded his head.
“It’s true.” He stood and walked from the room.
The next day my mother sent me and my brothers down to see if we could help my father at work. We found out his business owed a large amount of money that would take him years to pay off. My father told us it would be hard just to make ends meet, and he didn’t know if we would make it, even with the money we’d get from the house. He seemed very depressed.
When we walked into the house that night, it was filled with incredibly delicious smells. We went into the dining room. The table was spread with a banquet. There was a roast goose, my father’s favorite, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, fresh baked bread, rolls, all of it steaming hot.
My father stood in the doorway. His face went red.
“Mama,” he shouted. “What is this? Have you gone crazy? Do you think Thanksgiving comes in March now?”
She smiled calmly.
“It’s a celebration.”
“What’s to celebrate? The world is going crazy, and we’ve lost everything.”
Mama smiled again.
“Papa, we’ve lost nothing.”
My father shook his head.
“Mama, we’re going to lose the house. I found a buyer. He wants to move in next week! I don’t know where we’re going to go or how we’re going to live.”
Mama wasn’t smiling now. She had the determined look she gets on her face when she wants someone to know she means business.
“We’ve lost nothing,” she said. She was glaring at my father. “Nothing that matters. This celebration is to remind us what is most important to us. The food’s getting cold, so shut up and eat.”
For the first time in weeks my father relaxed. The pain he felt faded. He looked around the table at us and then back to my mother. He smiled.
“I married a hard, crazy woman,” he said. “And since Thanksgiving comes in March this year, I think we should give thanks for it.”
He sat at the head of the table and took my mother’s hands.
“Even if the food does get a little cold,” he said and then started a Thanksgiving prayer more eloquent and longer than any we’d ever heard on Thanksgiving Day.
A week later when my mother first saw the run-down house we rented she said, “I think it needs a little paint.” A week later when my mother first saw the run-down house we rented she said, “I think it needs a little paint.” That summer the royal order of the paintbrush went to work again.

In April 1986, a little over a month before Kirill was born, a terrible nuclear accident occurred at Chernobyl, 96 kilometers from Kiev. Many children were taken in buses from town to camps to protect them from radiation. Kirill’s mother went to the country, too. She was afraid he would be born with serious problems. When he was born a month early, his mother asked the doctor, “Does he have hands and legs?” She was relieved to learn that he did. Tanya has trouble with her eyes and has had three operations on them. Her mother doesn’t know if this was caused by the Chernobyl accident or not.

Gladys Guerrero, 16, was the only Latter-day Saint attending a military high school in Maracaibo. During the first week of school, she was forced to stand in front of all 500 students and explain why she wouldn’t drink coffee. Although many students ridiculed Gladys for her lifestyle, others started watching her closely. “When they saw that I didn’t do certain things, such as drink alcohol or go to some parties, some of them became interested in the gospel,” she says. “The missionaries passed by the school one day, and I called to them. I introduced them to some of the students, and they got many referrals.” Ten of Gladys’s classmates were baptized during the next several months.

That is why things like visiting teaching are so important. Just before Mallory left for college, her mom asked her if she wanted to go visiting teaching. Mallory brushed off the offer by rolling her eyes and asking, “How hard could it be?” She admits that she didn’t take it very seriously, but now she understands what a wonderful support system it is. “It is so important for women to check up on each other and to support each other,” she says.