Gospel Story Finder

Elder Donald L. Hallstrom (USA): On Christmas Eve in years past we would gather to have a sweet and memorable period of testimony bearing. Each family member was given opportunity to express his or her feelings about the Savior and about our Father in Heaven. Those deep feelings of love would then turn us to one another, and expressions of love for family members would be most heartfelt. My father would then express his vision for the family and give powerful encouragement to each family member to remain true to the faith. Then in unity we would kneel together in a closing family prayer.

David Evans, a Valiant 10 in our Primary, bravely stood as a witness for Jesus Christ and the Church as the prophet Alma said we should. David had been invited to a birthday party for a friend from school. When he got there, he was asked by his friend’s older and bigger cousins if he was a Mormon. It turned out that David was the only Latter-day Saint at the party. The cousins started to harass him. At first it was just verbal, but then they started shoving him around and kicking him. The adults at the party did nothing to stop them. David said a silent prayer. He felt he should confront his tormenters. So he told them they could try to beat him up if they wanted, but they couldn’t trash the Church of Jesus Christ. With that, the bullies quit and left him alone for the rest of the party.

For a number of years it was my opportunity to serve as a member of the Missionary Executive Committee and to profit from the leadership of President Spencer W. Kimball, who was chairman of the committee. On one occasion I remember having read the detail on a particular missionary candidate, and President Kimball indicated that the young man would go, I believe, to London, England. Then he said, “No. That is not correct. Send the young man to the Denmark Copenhagen Mission.”

I looked on the form and noticed that I had overlooked reading a very important statement from the stake president. I said, “President Kimball, have you ever seen this particular form before?”

“No,” he replied.

“Look at what the stake president has written,” I continued. “‘The grandfather of this missionary candidate is an immigrant from the land of Denmark. He is our stake patriarch. The missionary candidate was promised in his patriarchal blessing that if he lived true and faithful he would return to the land of his forebears, that he might preach the gospel in that particular land.’”

President Kimball nodded his approval and said, “The Lord’s will has been made known today.”

With that intricate process in mind, imagine the work that goes into creating a massive stained glass mural depicting Christ’s mortal ministry, because that is exactly what Tom and Gayle Holdman of Provo, Utah, USA, and a team of artists, designers, and models miraculously accomplished in less than a year. The finished product is displayed in the Rome Italy Temple Visitors’ Center and is absolutely breathtaking.
In the beginning, plans for the Rome Temple Visitors’ Center included a video wall, but the idea was canceled, which made an opening for the stained glass window to be placed there. A scene was drafted for the window; then actors in costumes were brought in to pose for it, allowing artists to create concept art for the window.
“We kept feeling more and more impressed to go with a certain concept design,” Brother Holdman says. “We ended up doing an intricate sketch of the whole picture so we could capture the emotion of the actors.” After the final sketch was created, Tom was able to begin working with the glass.
The window depicts the Savior and His Twelve Apostles during His earthly ministry. It is placed strategically at the center of the visitors’ center so it will be the first thing visitors see as they walk in the building. Then as visitors walk around to the other side of the window, they can see the marble statues of the Christus and the original Twelve Apostles.
One of the many beauties this stained glass window contains is that it does not depict just one scene from the Lord’s earthly ministry. In what appears to be a single scene at first glance, Jesus Christ and the Twelve Apostles are in the midst of characters and symbols that represent events and people from the Lord’s earthly ministry as well as each parable He taught. The Holdmans are excited for visitors to see the piece and to find and point out their favorite stories about Christ.
The depiction of the woman by the well is especially intricate. She represents more accounts than just the woman at the well; she is reaching out to the Savior as the woman with the issue of blood did, and the stones next to her symbolize the woman accused of committing adultery who was brought to be stoned.
“The woman at the well is one of my favorite parts of this window because she represents so many different women from the New Testament,” says Sister Holdman. “Each of those women had a different outward need, but ultimately they all just needed to be healed. Their stories and faith truly testify to me, and hopefully to many visitors, of the Savior’s healing power.”
One of the Holdmans’ highest hopes is that their stained glass will be a useful missionary tool at the visitors’ center. “This whole piece was created to be a visual testimony of Christ,” Sister Holdman explains. The artwork includes symbols and elements of Christ’s birth, Crucifixion, Atonement, Resurrection, and many more symbols of Him.
“We included imagery that exists within other Christian religions like the cross and the crown of thorns so it can possibly create a spark of recognition and allow investigators and missionaries to build on common beliefs,” says Brother Holdman. “This whole window shows that what is important to them is important to us. It shows that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is a Christian church. I hope this will help people fully understand that.”
After working tirelessly to complete this miraculous project in less than a year, Brother and Sister Holdman have been humbled and overjoyed in seeing this beautiful piece of artwork come together. “The artwork really allows you to see how all the stories of Christ’s ministry overlay and interweave and also relate to us today,” says Sister Holdman. “We’re not much different from those who lived in Christ’s day because we need Him and His teachings just as much as they did.”
“We specifically crafted and designed this piece so that all of the lines of glass point to the heart of the Savior at the center of the piece,” Brother Holdman explains. “From the buildings to the height of the people, everything in this artwork points back to Him.”

The first I remember from my BYU freshman English class, where I had an excellent teacher. We wrote essays that were due every Friday, and, at that point, I hoped someday to be a writer. I had enjoyed some success with my writing during my 18 years. I had won a prize here and there, and my parents certainly thought I wrote well. So I welcomed writing that essay every week—at first.
Somehow my teacher was more critical than my parents were. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t seem to please him. Finally, one week I poured everything I had into three pages and handed it in, only to receive it back simply dripping with red ink and caustic comments about choosing something to write about that could be tackled in three pages. “Limit your subject,” he wrote, and “Write about something you understand!” There were exclamation points to help me see the fervor of his comments, and I was stunned to receive what I considered a failing grade. I had hoped to touch his heart with my stirring three-page treatise encompassing all anyone would need to know about democracy.

In the spring of 1844, Parley P. Pratt and most of the other members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles were serving missions in the eastern United States. In June, Elder Pratt felt inspired to return to Nauvoo, Illinois. On the way, he heard that Joseph and Hyrum Smith had been martyred at Carthage, Illinois. “I felt so weighed down with sorrow and the powers of darkness that it was painful for me to converse or speak to any one.”*
Now that great leader was gone. As Parley approached Nauvoo, he was worried. He didn’t know if Brigham Young, the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, or any of the other members of the Quorum were there. What should he tell the people? Should he tell them to flee from Nauvoo? Or should they stay and complete the temple? Parley prayed to know what to do. “On a sudden the Spirit of God came upon me and filled my heart with joy and gladness indescribable. … The Spirit said unto me: ‘Go and say unto my people in Nauvoo, that they shall continue to pursue their daily duties and take care of themselves. … Exhort them that they continue to build the House of the Lord which I have commanded them to build in Nauvoo.’”
At Nauvoo Elder Pratt found that the people had already resumed work on the temple under the direction of John Taylor and Willard Richards, two other members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles who had been in jail with the Prophet when he was killed. The three men worked together to keep the people united and at peace until the return of President Young and the other members of the Quorum.

“Sickness can do a lot of good things,” says Michael, who is suffering from kidney failure. Because his illness has increased his gratitude for the gospel, he says, “it is a good trial.”
I was born in Ethiopia in 1942 and went to Poland to study in 1965. In 1991, I met the missionaries and joined the Church. I have served as a branch president for three and a half years. I served as a counselor in the mission presidency for 12 years. I was a branch president again and then a district president. Then I became sick with kidney failure.
Now I can do only a few things in the Church. I try to attend on Sundays.
At first I was angry.
“Why me?” I prayed. “I have served you, Lord.” After a while, I understood. The scriptures say, “He that hath faith in me to be healed, and is not appointed unto death, shall be healed” (D&C 42:48).
This verse says we will be healed if we’re not meant to die.
Church members keep praying for me, but my health is getting worse. They think their prayers are not heard, but they are heard because they become better people and because I feel the love they show to me.
Even if I was healthy, how much time would be left at my age? Still, a lot is before me.
I like to go to the scriptures and find heroes who help me. When I was healthy and serving, I liked to follow Nephi, but now many times I think of Job. He was a good man, and he suffered too. There is always hope in the gospel.
In a city like Bydgoszcz, if I want to visit the mayor, I’ll not have a chance because I am too small for that. But through the gospel, the door is always open to call on God. That is why I love my church.
I have the Church. I have a way of contacting God through prayer, through fasting, through all the things we do. What else do I need?
Sometimes I say to myself, “Maybe that’s why I am sick—so that I could understand what a great thing I am in, what a great cause this is.”
I see my wife, Renata, become sad because I am sick. I wouldn’t like that to happen, but sorrow is a by-product of love. If she didn’t love, she wouldn’t be sorry. Love helps you feel that you are not alone and that there are people who care.
To die is nothing. Everybody will die. It depends on how we approach death. I know that God lives. He loves us all—me too. That’s what I can say.
Michael’s illness has been a difficult trial for his wife, Renata. “I see my wife become sad because I am sick,” he says. “But sorrow is a by-product of love. Love helps you feel that you are not alone and that there are people who care.”
Despite the limitations caused by his illness, Michael still finds ways to serve and uplift those around him.
Michael finds hope and direction in the scriptures. When he was healthy and serving, he admired Nephi. “But now many times I think of Job,” he says. “He was a good man, and he suffered too.”

I was reminded of the transforming power of paying tithing many years ago when I was helping missionaries teach the gospel to a young family. After the missionaries explained the principle of tithing and told the family that once they were baptized, they would give 10 percent of their income to the Church, the husband said resolutely: "It's not fair." I was startled and saddened by his answer. Then he continued. "It's not fair. God gives us everything we have. We give him a meager 10 percent in return, and then what does he do? He blesses us more. We can never pay God back for what he has done for us. It's not fair." Those words were evidence of a giving heart that comes from embracing the blessing of paying tithing.

When I was a young man, I spent summers working on my Uncle Bill’s farm. Each year we would spend weeks getting our old John Deere 95 Hillside Combine in working order to harvest our grain. The 95 Hillside was old even back then; I was pretty sure that the model just before it was pulled by horses. It was a tremendous effort to get the combine ready each season. One year, my uncle was able to purchase a used Massey Ferguson Combine. The Massey Ferguson was still old but newer than the 95 Hillside and it featured a cab, which I was very excited about.

One morning, my uncle asked me to drive up to the field and start cutting grain with the new combine. I was thrilled! As a newly licensed teenager, any excuse to drive, let alone run the combine, was exciting. Upon arriving at the combine, I went through a mental checklist of things my uncle had taught me, and within a few minutes, I was off and running. It was exhilarating until at the top of a hill I heard a loud clang from the engine. I quickly looked around the combine, and gauges and everything seemed to be okay, so I decided to ease the combine off the hill before checking what had happened. By the time I reached the bottom of the hill, however, the combine was overheating. I started to panic. I had once observed my father let an engine run after climbing a hill to help it cool off so I decided not to turn the engine off. While sitting there I realized I was in the middle of a tall growth of grain. My uncle’s warning to never park a hot vehicle in a field pierced my thoughts and escalated my panic. I jumped out of the combine and rolled around on the ground to flatten the grain around the combine. Then I jumped back into the combine praying that the engine had cooled down. It had not. Panicked, I ran back to the pickup and drove to a neighbor’s field to ask for help. When I explained the situation to my neighbor, he just looked at me and said, “Well, did you turn it off?” I didn’t say anything, I just backed away jumped in the pickup, and drove as fast as I could back to the combine. When I arrived, the combine was sputtering and cackling. I quickly turned the engine off. At that moment, I had the thought that I should open the hood and see what had happened to the engine. I opened the hood to discover that the fan pulley had broken. No amount of letting the engine run would have cooled it down. Suddenly the weight of what I had done pressed down on me. For those of you who are unfamiliar with farm economics, losing a combine is a big deal. I was defeated; a wave of emotion hit me as I thought about how I would explain this to my uncle.

As I pulled up to the driveway, my uncle came out to meet me. I took a shaky breath and, with my head down, explained what had happened. I ended with the comment, “I guess you’ll never want me to run your equipment again.” He paused for a moment, looked at me, and said, “Well, you’re a better operator now than you were this morning.” I was taken back. I thought maybe he doesn’t understand how bad it is, but to his credit, he never said anything more about it, even when we had to pull out the old John Deere 95 to finish the harvest.

After that moment my feelings towards my uncle changed. I had always been a good worker; I was obedient and did my duty, but the mercy my uncle had shown to me was beyond my understanding. He could have crushed me in that moment by validating all the negative thoughts I was having about myself—how stupid I had been, how I had known better, how broken I felt inside—but instead he built me up and used this experience to help me grow. After that, I would wake up at 4 AM and get dressed, then lay in bed until I heard his footsteps on the floor above. Then I would race up the stairs to meet him by the door because I never wanted a day to start without him knowing how grateful I was and how much I loved him. My uncle’s mercy had switched my obedience from doing “chores” to working because I loved him.

This experience has helped me contextualize God’s love for me, because if my uncle could forgive me for ruining the combine, then I could start to understand how a loving Heavenly Father could forgive me of my combine big failures. I could start to get a glimpse of His willingness to work with me on the sins that so easily beset me.[3] And while I don’t understand how He could offer up His Only Begotten Son for me,[4] the fact that He did has changed the way I keep His commandments. I pray each day because I never want a day to go by that I don’t express my love for Him. I pour out my heart unto Him in my weakness because I need God in my life. Understanding God’s mercy and love for me, getting a glimpse of what Christ suffered for me, changes my obedience from compliance and duty to love and service. I cleave unto God because I love Him.

Dr. D. Elden Beck stood confidently before his biology students. In one hand he held a live rattlesnake.
He felt fortunate in having a job—a good teaching position—at a time when the effects of a devastating depression were being felt across the country. He was aware that once again the people of the small southern Utah communities were responding as they usually did during hard times, with determination and stubborn endurance.
Dixie Junior College, the pride of St. George, kept her doors open even though some students, to stay in school, paid their tuition with farm produce.
Dr. Beck was not a native of southern Utah, and neither he nor his family had been involved with the seemingly endless task of subduing the arid desert. Perhaps that was why he was able to see the country not merely as a place to overcome and endure but a place of breathtaking beauty. Like the natural coral, turquoise, and silver of a precious piece of Indian jewelry, the vermilion sands and blue sky dazzled him. A part of the world that had resisted discovery now seemed to him an endless frontier for study, an endless source of wonder.
The snake squirmed and struggled. Dr. Beck prepared to demonstrate to his students how a rattler is “milked” of its lethal venom, an act he had performed many times before. As he attempted to move the snake from one hand to the other, it suddenly lurched and slashed its fangs across his thumb. He reeled back in pain and instantly released the snake. It fell to the floor with a dull thud and lay still. The class was stunned. The rattlesnake slowly revived, and by gracefully throwing loops of its body forward, it began to move across the classroom floor. With shouts and screams, students clamored upon desks and chairs. To everyone’s amazement, it was Dr. Beck who tried to calm them. He gently captured the snake and stashed it away in the classroom snake pit. Then he firmly dismissed the students from the room. Supporting his swelling hand, he walked the two blocks from the college to the St. George Hospital only to find no rattlesnake serum was available.
Dr. McGregor eventually located serum in Cedar City, some 50 miles away, and it was agreed that someone would try to deliver it by car as soon as possible.
Hours passed, and the pain and swelling not only increased but began slowly moving up his arm closer to the elbow. Florence, Elden’s wife, kept a nervous vigil.
Late that night an old bootlegger arrived with the serum. Then Dr. McGregor faced the dilemma of how much of the serum to inject, for the vial was very large. After much concern, the doctor inserted the needle in Elden Beck’s arm and administered it all.
My grandfather, Dr. D. Elden Beck, lived!
The following year Dr. McGregor delivered, in the St. George hospital, the Beck’s baby daughter, Janet Ruth, my mother.

I want to share a story with you about a time when I witnessed a similar transformation. This time, however, instead of fence posts it was a child of God. During my time as a head resident on campus, I made acquaintance with a young female student who struggled with shyness and self-confidence. She was extremely shy to the point of always keeping her head down when she walked. If she was on the same sidewalk as you were, she would cross to a different sidewalk, just so she could avoid any interaction. When people said hi to her in passing, she would give a little nod with her head still down and would quickly move out of the way. I tried to help her but to no avail. However, six months after meeting her, I began noticing little changes in her. Instead of nodding and keeping her head down when someone said hi to her, she began to lift her head up and give a quick nod. And, instead of crossing the sidewalk to avoid conversation with those she recognized, she would now stay on the same sidewalk. She then went from keeping her head down and nodding to giving a quick smile when someone would say hi to her. These improvements of confidence continued on for a few more months until finally she no longer lowered her head, stayed on the same sidewalk, would smile and say hi to others, and would even stop to interact with them. Her transformation was quite the sight to behold, and her countenance was filled with joy and the most beautiful smile.

One day as we were conversing with each other, I asked her, “How did this transformation take place?” She responded by saying she had been blessed with good roommates who cared for her, loved her, and never gave up on her. They included her, though it took some time for her to gather the courage to join them. Gradually, she accepted their invitations to participate, whether it was hanging out, having dinner with them, or watching movies with them. She knew that they were genuine in their kindness and love for her which helped her take a leap of faith and act on their invitations.

Due in part to the kindness of these roommates, this young woman ended up serving a mission. I bumped into her a year after she got home, and to be honest, I did not recognize her. The transformation that had started here at college had continued while on her mission. She now exhumed confidence and the light in her eyes was so bright. The acts of kindness, love, and inclusiveness shown by these roommates literally changed the direction of her life!

So, what does the story of the old wooden fence posts and this girl have in common? Each had someone who saw the potential that was within them. The fence posts were transformed into a beautiful cedar chest and this girl who lacked confidence was transformed into a vibrant and confident daughter of God with infinite potential.

Another hurdle the Committee Coordinators faced was regarding the chairs for the dedication.
“Where are we going to rent nice chairs?” Elder Gregorio Karganilla said. “But then in February, the Tabernacle Choir came to the country.”
The choir’s visit to the Philippines two months before the dedication was a miracle. The chairs they used were brought in for the dedication.
Truly, the Lord works in mysterious ways.

Thinking about health reminded me of an experience last year when I had to get a CT scan for the first time. When they shot dye into my vein to help get good pictures of my brain, in an instant I became keenly aware of my circulatory system. I felt the dye move with each heartbeat from my arm into my heart, and then down my leg and up into my head, then to the other side of my body, and back again. Something that happens every second of every day of my life I had taken for granted. This led me to think of the wonder of the human body, and how delicate life is. Then I thought of the whole universe, from the tiniest veins on a baby leaf to the spidery filaments of planetary nurseries in the middle of galaxies.
When I think of God, and how He watches over each heartbeat, my attitude of gratitude increases exponentially.

Following the concert in Prague, Czechoslovakia, a choir member went outside Smetana Hall and walked up to greet a father and mother and their teenager, but they were unable to communicate. Very shortly a young man stepped up to translate. As he talked, he said that the couple were his parents, that he had gone to the United States as an exchange student, had found the Church, and had been baptized. But he said that his parents were very much against his decision and that he had practically forced them to come to the concert that evening. He explained, however, that during the concert, “they come on fire.” “We talked for a few more minutes, then I turned to the parents and said to the English-speaking son, ‘Tell your parents that if they want to be truly happy, they will join the Church. Tell them the gospel is true. Tell them that I love them.’ The Spirit was overpowering! They hugged me. They kissed me. They held my hand. And they said they would see the missionaries.”

I first began to appreciate how the Lord’s hand guides all types of academic pursuits through a story that one of my professors shared. He related how his life’s work for the past twenty years had centered on finding a new proof for a well-established theorem. This quest had begun in graduate school, when he had stumbled across a new technique that he believed could prove the theorem in a simpler, more efficient way. He came very close to finishing the proof but could never complete a certain step, despite years of work. The professor became somewhat emotional as he described how, after all his efforts, he finally admitted defeat and prepared to move on. Then the next morning, when he woke up, he could clearly see the solution in his mind. It was so simple and so beautiful that he thought it impossible no one else had seen it before. Needless to say, he was able to rigorously demonstrate that the proof technique was correct and that its correctness made it highly valuable.

In my growing-up years in Germany, I attended church in many different locations and circumstances—in humble back rooms, in impressive villas, and in very functional modern chapels. All of these buildings had one important factor in common: the Spirit of God was present. The love of the Savior could be felt as we assembled as a branch or ward family.
The Zwickau chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever operating the bellows to make the organ work. Even before I was an Aaronic Priesthood bearer, I sometimes had the great privilege to assist in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns of the Restoration, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. The eyes of the organist unmistakably indicated whether I was doing fine or needed to increase my efforts quickly. I always felt honored by the importance of this duty and the trust that the organist had placed in me. It was a wonderful feeling of accomplishment to have a responsibility and to be part of this great work.
There was an additional benefit that came from this assignment: the bellows operator sat in a seat that offered a view of a stained-glass window that beautified the front part of the chapel. The stained glass portrayed the First Vision, with Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove, looking up toward heaven and into a pillar of light.
During the hymns of the congregation and even during talks and testimonies given by our members, I often looked at this depiction of a most sacred moment in world history. In my mind’s eye I saw Joseph receiving knowledge, witness, and divine instructions as he became a blessed instrument in the hand of our Heavenly Father.
I felt a special spirit while looking at the beautiful scene in this window picture of a believing young boy in a sacred grove who made a courageous decision to earnestly pray to our Heavenly Father—a Father who listened and responded lovingly to him.
Here I was, a young boy in post–World War II Germany, living in a city in ruins, thousands of miles away from Palmyra, New York, in North America and more than a hundred years after the event actually took place. By the universal power of the Holy Ghost, I felt in my heart and in my mind that it was true, that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices. The Spirit of God comforted my soul at this young age with an assurance of the reality of this sacred moment which resulted in the beginning of a worldwide movement destined to “roll forth, until it has filled the whole earth” (D&C 65:2). I believed Joseph Smith’s testimony of that glorious experience in the Sacred Grove then, and I know it now. God has spoken to mankind again!

“Come on,” Benjamin said to the other man on guard duty. “We can’t stop.” Benjamin Platt’s throat felt tight. Swallowing was difficult. He talked between clenched teeth to keep his throat from hurting. If he had felt this sick back in England, he would have gone to bed. As a member of the Martin handcart company, however, he couldn’t stop and wait to get well.
Blowing snow blocked the two men’s vision. The frozen ground was uneven, and they often stumbled.
“We have to keep moving.” Benjamin spoke with as much force as he could. “We need to check the other side of the camp.”
“Why?” his friend asked. “What are we guarding?”
“The camp’s provisions.”
The other man laughed quietly. “We have no provisions. We have nothing.”
Benjamin knew the man was right. The camp had very little. His stomach hurt with the pain of no food. His breath was shallow, his fatigue great. All he wanted to do was lie down on the frozen ground and sleep, but he knew that doing so meant sure death. So he urged himself and his companion on. They shuffled around the borders of the camp, waiting for light to ease the cold blackness.
Yesterday the handcart company had made little progress from the Platte River. Much of the snow had melted during the day, turning the trail to mud. Mud caked onto the travelers’ clothes. When the sun set behind the gloomy clouds, the heavy mud had frozen. No one was clean. Benjamin recognized most of the handcart company by their eyes and voices rather than their faces. What was not covered with rags was covered with mud and dirt.
“I can’t go anymore,” his partner said now. “I’ve done my best, and it isn’t enough.”
Benjamin looked at his tired companion. Dirt caked his face and was frozen into his hair. His hands were wrapped with rags. His pants were ripped and showed skin purple from the cold. Tears slid down his face as he grieved over not being strong enough.
Benjamin put his hand on the other man’s shoulder and helped him around the camp. “It’s OK, Brother. Just remember a poem my father used to tell me:
“For great and low,
There’s but one test.
’Tis that each man
Shall do his best.”
After one more painful tour of the camp, Benjamin’s companion crawled into a tent to rest. Benjamin began his rounds again. He heard the wind blow, and the branches of a few scattered cedar trees creaked with the weight of the snow and force of the wind. As the wind heaved one hearty blow, Benjamin saw that the large tent the man had just crawled into had collapsed.
Benjamin started forward. His wife, Mary, and at least 20 other people had been sleeping in that tent too. They were all now trapped beneath tent poles, tent fabric, and heavy snow. With numb hands, Benjamin struggled to pull up the icy fabric. The snow weighed the canvas down, smothering those underneath. The tent stakes had been pounded into muddy ground. Now the ground was frozen. Those on the inside of the tent could not pull the stakes out.
Straining every muscle, Benjamin pulled harder. A small girl was screaming under the tent. A woman started sobbing as she tried to free herself from the icy canvas that was suffocating her. Unseen hands punched upward at the tent. The group was trapped.
Scrambling frantically around the outside of the tent, Benjamin found the opening. Quickly scraping off snow, he forced himself into the opening and under the wet material. Slowly, a little at a time, he stood up with the tent on his shoulders.
Benjamin yelled, “This way. Crawl this way.” Few people heard the soft voice coming through his sore throat. Benjamin shouted louder. This time, two men understood and crawled toward his voice. When they got to where Benjamin had lifted the tent, they stood up and helped him support more of the wet material. Gradually all the people in the tent crawled out into the snowy night.
With frying pans and cooking pots, the awakened Saints scooped the snow off the downed tent. Dawn streaked the sky with soft light, so they rolled the tent up and prepared for a long day’s trek in the snow.
When the first three rescuers arrived from Salt Lake City seven days later, the Saints cheered. Benjamin didn’t join in the cheering. His throat was raw and tight. But he had yelled his best when it had mattered most.

To further demonstrate the blessings we are enjoying as members, let’s go on a journey, beginning in 1979. President David W. Eka and his wife, Ekaete, were called as president and matron to the Aba Nigeria Temple in 2019. They have a beautiful family.

President Eka joined the Church in 1979 in Port Harcourt, Nigeria. Following the baptism of Sister Eka, two years after his baptism, they looked forward to the day when they could be endowed and sealed in the temple. This took place in the faraway London England Temple—an eleven-hour international flight from their home, with little chance of returning there to attend again. The dedication of the Johannesburg South Africa Temple by President Hinckley in 1985 was a great blessing, as it created the first discrete temple district on the African continent. However, from Port Harcourt—driving nearly 4,000 miles one way through eight countries and taking more than one week to get to Johannesburg—it was an almost impossible journey for them.

Over the next twenty years, President and Sister Eka were able to attend the Johannesburg South Africa Temple only twice. You can imagine the joy they felt when the first temple in West Africa was dedicated in 2004! President and Sister Eka were now in the Accra Ghana Temple district. They felt like this temple was almost next door, yet it was still a two-day drive of eighteen hours one way—just over 650 miles away from their home.

Twenty months later, the Aba Nigeria Temple was dedicated. The Eka family felt this temple was so close that it was nearly in their own backyard! President Eka was set apart by President Hinckley as a sealer on the day the temple was dedicated in 2005. With a temple so close—just under a two-hour drive away—President and Sister Eka have attended there twice a week since its dedication, except for the three years they presided over the Nigeria Lagos Mission. From their mission office in Lagos, the drive to the Aba Nigeria Temple was just over ten hours. When the Lagos Nigeria Temple announced by President Nelson in October 2018 is completed, a miracle will take place once again, this time for all the members in Lagos as it did for President and Sister Eka.

“Fam’lies can be together forever through Heav’nly Father’s plan” (“Families Can Be Together Forever,” Hymns, no. 300). I love this Primary song, which teaches that families can be sealed for eternity. I prayed that this could be true for my family, especially after my father passed away.
Recently the Lord answered my prayer. My mother, my two brothers, and I were able to travel to the Manila Philippines Temple to be sealed together and to my father. It was our first time in the temple together, and I can still remember the happiness I saw in my mother’s and brothers’ eyes. There was a great feeling of joy there.
I know the temple is the house of the Lord and that those in the temple have the proper authority to perform sacred ordinances. I’m so grateful that through these ordinances, my family can be with my father again. Since going to the temple, we try to be a stronger family and do all we can to keep our covenants so that we can be together forever.
Crisanto Coloma, Philippines

Gracie felt like she had been waiting in line at the fabric store forever! She was ready to go home and play with her toys. Then she saw a girl in line in front of her. The girl looked a little older than Gracie. She had braces on her legs and used crutches to help her stand. She turned and smiled. Gracie smiled back.
As they were leaving, Gracie was surprised when Mom reached out to stop the other mom.
“Excuse me,” Mom said, “Could I ask why your daughter is using crutches?”
Spina bifida is a problem with the way a baby’s spinal cord grows before birth. It can cause problems with legs, feet, or hips.
The other mom smiled. “This is Saylor, and she has spina bifida.”
Gracie’s eyes opened wide as she looked at Saylor. “This is Gracie, and she has spina bifida too,” Mom said.
Saylor’s mom smiled at Gracie. “Do you have an owie on your back?”
Gracie nodded. She had a long scar on her back from a surgery she’d had right after she was born.
The two moms started talking. Gracie heard words like surgery and treatments. Gracie grinned at Saylor and said hi. Gracie liked Saylor right away. She learned that Saylor was nine, and she was nice. Gracie knew they would be great friends.
Finally they all said goodbye to each other. Gracie heard their moms make plans to meet again soon. She could hardly wait!
Back in the car, Mom said, “You know the surgery you’re going to have soon? Well, Saylor had that surgery, and she’s doing great! I felt the Holy Ghost tell me I should talk to her mom, and I’m glad I did.”
“Me too!” Gracie said.
Gracie loved playing with Saylor. Even though Gracie was five, she and Saylor had lots to talk about. And Mom and Dad talked with Saylor’s parents a lot too—mostly about the big surgery.
Thinking about the surgery made Gracie feel scared. She thought about the long scar on her back. She couldn’t remember that surgery, but she would remember this one. She hoped it would make her better. Saylor had told her that everything would be OK.
A few weeks later, Gracie went to the hospital to get ready for the surgery. The halls of the hospital were bright and happy. There were paintings of blue whales and other fun pictures on the walls. Gracie met with doctors and nurses who explained the surgery to her. She practiced moving the bed up and down and played with the remote for her little TV. They told her she could order chocolate milk every day! Maybe the surgery wouldn’t be so bad.
When Gracie got home, she made a little hospital bed with her pillow and a laundry basket. She got a tray of snacks and pretended she was at the hospital. It would be fun. She tried not to think about the surgery.
A few days before surgery, Gracie got a card from Saylor. She had drawn a picture of Gracie with Saylor and Heavenly Father and Jesus. It said, “Remember that Heavenly Father will make you brave.”
Gracie hugged her card tight. Saylor helped her be brave. Gracie knew Heavenly Father could help her be brave for the surgery too.