Gospel Story Finder

Sister Yee with two sisters in Micronesia who are raising children abandoned by parents.
As I’ve been reflecting on the blessings of the covenant bond we have with God, I thought about my assignment to visit the Asia North Area.
I had the privilege of traveling to the small islands of Chuuk in Micronesia, about 1,500 miles (2,400 km) southeast of Japan. Two of the sisters on Weno, Chuuk, have given their lives to raise children who have been abandoned by their parents. These two sisters felt it was important to raise these children in the gospel. One of these sisters is single and working full-time as a school counselor.
I shared with them President Nelson’s message to the sisters of the Church, which is that you sisters are loved, necessary, and precious.
The beautiful single sister who is raising her nieces and nephews broke down in tears and said she had not felt precious lately; she had felt forgotten. But she testified she felt of God’s love and awareness for her in the prophet’s words that she was indeed “precious,” and she knew it was true. She felt God’s healing love; she felt relief.
The Lord has said, “Know ye not that I, the Lord your God, have created all men, and that I remember those who are upon the isles of the sea?” (2 Nephi 29:7).
These sisters are known to their Heavenly Father and Savior. They are not alone. And neither are you and I in our trials and challenges. The Lord sent me roughly 8,500 miles (13,700 km) by plane, train, car, and boat to bring God’s love and relief to “the one” on the isles of the sea. And so He will find you and me on our personal islands where we might feel alone in the concerns and the burdens we carry in our hearts. He is present and prepared to bless, guide, and comfort us.

The center of St. Petersburg, crisscrossed by canals, is full of palaces, monuments, statues, churches, gardens, and museums. For seminary students from the Obukhovskii Branch, it seemed a perfect place to talk about their love of seminary, their love for the scriptures, and their love for their city.
Julia Shaikhulina reminisces about returning from a trip to the Stockholm (Sweden) Temple. “I wondered how I’d feel coming home, since going to the temple is such a wonderful experience. But it was autumn, and as our bus drove across the city, the trees and the buildings were bathed in a golden light. It made all of the buildings look beautiful. And I said to myself, I know that I love my city. It made me feel like I wanted to share the gospel with everyone.”

On my last attempt in 1981, I was with about twenty people, waiting at the Vung-Tau beach at night for a boat. The security guards saw us and gave chase. Two women and I began to climb a hill fearfully. After about an hour, we came to a small deserted enclosure and remained there until morning.
When the sun rose, we could see we were in a cave that had been converted into a shelter complete with doors that were still in good condition. The floor was concrete, and the cave contained some used cooking utensils and pieces of broken furniture. We felt hungry, so we went out to search for food. To our surprise, we found that we were in a large, deserted orchard with trees filled with mangoes, apples, and other fruits. It was a still, quiet place, with a small pagoda nearby.
In the evening, the two women prepared to leave, but I was so weary from the fears of the past years and so despairing that I didn’t want to move anymore. I chose to stay.
The first night alone, I became afraid of my lonely, deserted situation. I left the cave and knelt down on a rock to pray. Through my tears and my loneliness, I asked Father in Heaven to give me the courage and strength to survive this ordeal. A peace and calm came upon me, and I knew that I could remain there.
This is my testimony of prayer. Whenever I have been upset or have struggled with particular challenges, I have prayed. Heavenly Father always hears and answers my prayers. He always listens to his children.
My life as a hermit began. Shaving my head, I disguised myself as an old, poor Buddhist nun. Occasionally, I went to the market down the hill to exchange ripened fruit for things I needed. I learned that the cave was called the Tiger Den—because a tiger used to live there before the villagers drove it out and made the cave into a shelter.
Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
Four years passed by slowly. I pondered and prayed. I wrote songs, poems, and books and tended a garden. No one knew who I was. Two of my children were still in Viet Nam, and I was able to send them letters. But I could not receive any—I didn’t have an address. Besides, I could not visit or receive visits from anyone because I felt I would bring trouble to them.
One morning, after working very hard in the garden, I felt unusually tired and decided to go to the hospital. In the office, I put my identification card on the desk; it was the only document I had with my real name on it. A woman close by saw it and asked, “Are you Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy?”
I backed away and said, “Why do you ask?” She gestured for me to follow her to where she had her bag. From it she took out a letter, removed one page and allowed me to read this paragraph: “My dear Sister Thuy, you should try to find Mrs. Cong Ton Nu Tuong-Vy, who we think is living somewhere near the Vung-Tau seashore. The Church of Jesus Christ at Salt Lake City wants to contact her. Signed Quoc-Phong.”
When I saw the name of the Church, I burst into tears. Through my new-found friend, I was able to contact the remaining members in Saigon. It was 1985, ten years since I had lost contact with the Church.
Christmas that year was a memorable one. I took the bus to Saigon, where the members met together for the first time in ten years in Viet Nam. The meeting was in a park. There were nearly one hundred people there. We had ice cream and cake. Later, at our table, brethren holding the priesthood broke bread and poured water into small glasses for the sacrament. We bowed our heads and prayed silently. Our joy was full.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.
Although I am now in the United States, the memory of my experiences in Viet Nam stays with me. I pray that our Lord will bless all my brothers and sisters who remain in Viet Nam. I know by personal experience that nothing can destroy the gospel our Heavenly Father has given us.

Many years ago, on a waiting shed along EDSA, 11-year-old Cynthia Timario and her siblings helped their father earn a living selling candies and newspapers. “We were very poor,” she ecalls, “and we all had to help for us to survive and support our daily school expenses.”
During her elementary school graduation, instead of celebrating, Cynthia’s father announced very sad news: “He told me that he could not afford to send me to high school anymore, because there was no money and if ever he would have some, I would not be a priority because I had brothers that he also had to send to school.”
Instead of resigning herself to her lot, the young girl resolved to find ways to achieve her goal to continue her schooling. “I did not know how to do it,” Cynthia remembers, “but I promised myself that I would send myself to school no matter what it takes.”
Cynthia enrolled in high school and found ways to support herself. Opportunities arose even as a student, and she found employment as a factory worker, which helped her enter Far Eastern University (FEU) in Manila. Although she found a better-paying job as an office worker, high tuition fees forced Cynthia to transfer to Polytechnic University of the Philippines (PUP) where she was able to graduate.
After graduation, Cynthia embarked on another goal along her personal EDSA: she had discovered the gospel of Jesus Christ and chose to follow the road to eternal life by being baptized. From a little girl on a waiting shed, this woman pursued the highway to happiness—and it all started by setting goals.
“Heavenly Father wants us to progress because He wants us to succeed,” Cynthia Timario- Pelobello shares. “He gives you guidance from the Holy Ghost, the scriptures, and living prophets…You will learn from your experiences, especially when you rely on Jesus Christ and His Atonement. We are on earth to progress, to be tested, to grow, and to rely on the Savior.”
The gospel of Jesus Christ provided the further guidance and direction Cynthia needed in her life. For Filipino Latter-day Saints today, the Philippines Area Presidency recently launched the 2021 Area Plan which aims to provide guidance and direction to Church units, families, and individuals in setting worthwhile goals.
As we start a new year, what goals have you set along the EDSA of your life?

The mission president and two elders met us at the airport, and after a short meeting, we were whisked off to our various assignments. I guess I was lucky because I was one of the first of the new elders to go.
The apartment where my companion and I were to live was several miles from the mission office, just outside the center of town. Elder Parks was from Houston, Texas, and talked with a slight drawl. He was tall, about six feet six inches, with dark black hair.
We went tracting and were having very little success our first night together. Elder Parks was surprised at how well I spoke Portuguese. I told him my family had lived in Brazil for a year while dad was assigned there on business.
As I opened a gate and Elder Parks and I started up the path to a small, green, wooden home, he whispered, “This one is yours.” I felt a heavy lump in my throat as I knocked on my first door.
An old man let us in. We had to keep repeating ourselves because he didn’t hear very well. We were both yelling by the end of the visit.
“How did I do?” I asked on our way to the bus after the visit.
“Not bad for the first time,” Elder Parks answered. “Too bad the guy’s so old. He must be in his 80s.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Well, he’s what we call a ‘banana peel case,’” he explained. “When a person gets that old and feeble, he could ‘slip off’ at any time. We like to teach younger men who can later become leaders. Besides, he’ll probably get the gospel in the spirit world anyway.”
“Why not give it to him now?”
“Look, the man is old. I should have stopped you at the door and taken over. He’s obviously not what we’re looking for in new members.”
In other words, case closed. I didn’t argue.
As we went out tracting the next day, we were in an area fairly close to where the old man lived, so I suggested we go back.
Elder Parks was dumbfounded. “I thought we talked about it last night.”
“I know, but I just have a feeling about this guy.”
“I think we’re wasting our time, but okay, have it your way. But consider this his last visit from us.”
We trudged up to the door, and I rang the bell. We waited for what seemed like half an hour. Finally the old man answered.
“You boys have to understand that I’m not as young as I used to be, so I take a little longer,” he said after greeting us and asking us in.
We sat down. I had Elder Parks say the prayer, and we started right into the discussion on the plan of salvation. It seemed to go well. This time the old man asked a lot of questions. He beamed with pride as he told us he had read part of the Book of Mormon and all of the Joseph Smith pamphlet we had left before. He’d even been praying, and he promised to come to church Sunday if we’d help him get there. I was really excited as I scheduled another visit.
“Now didn’t that go well?”
Elder Parks wrinkled his brow. “I guess it wasn’t bad.”
“Now, wasn’t it worth it?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
The following Tuesday I dragged Elder Parks back for a third visit. The old man seemed unusually excited. He pulled the Book of Mormon off a shelf. His eyes sparkled.
“I’ve read the book through once. It’s strange; usually I’m not a very religious person, but I couldn’t put the book down.”
It wasn’t hard to read the “oh no” look in Elder Parks’s face, but I didn’t let it bother me too much. After all, the Spirit was really strong there. There was just something special about this sweet old man. Even Elder Parks had to sort of admit it.
“How many investigators have read the Book of Mormon all the way through by the third visit?” I asked as we walked to the bus stop.
“Not very many,” he had to admit.
“So can’t you see? This man is one of the most golden contacts you’ll run into on your whole mission.”
“Maybe so, but wait until you get to the discussion on the commandments. Then you’ll find out how golden he really is. You saw that cigar dangling from his mouth last time, didn’t you? Do you really think an old man like that is going to be able to give up his stogie for the Church? And he’s too old and feeble to get around. Somebody will have to pick him up for church every Sunday and take his arm and chauffeur him around the chapel. Nobody’s going to do that week after week.”
A week passed by, and Elder Parks refused to go back. He just didn’t want to teach old folks.
Finally, on the following Tuesday, we came back to our apartment from a long, discouraging day in which nobody had shown the least interest in hearing about the Church. We were sitting at our desks planning the next day’s schedule when somebody knocked at the door. People didn’t usually come by that late at night, so I was close behind Elder Parks as he answered the door.
It was a boy about ten years old, with long black hair and blue eyes. He was wearing black shorts, a white t-shirt, and thongs.
“Grandpa said I should come see you. He wonders why you haven’t come back.”
I smiled at Elder Parks as we let the boy in.
Roberto was curious about what missionaries do and asked us all sorts of questions. Finally he told us, “Grandpa wants to see you tomorrow night at 7:00. He wants to know more about your church.”
I pulled out my little black book and began thumbing through it. Elder Parks was doing the same.
“Nothing tomorrow night.”
“I don’t have anything either,” he said. “Tell your grandfather, tomorrow at 7:00 will be fine.”
It was a foggy, cold night Wednesday as our bus jolted out toward the little shack on the edge of town.
The porch light was on, and we could hear a lot of noise inside as we knocked on the door. The old man answered and ushered us into a room packed with people—22 of them. Elder Parks’s face was blank with astonishment as Grandpa Carlos introduced us to his two sons, two daughters, and their families. In the middle of it all was Roberto, excitedly telling his parents about his visit to our apartment.
Well, we baptized the old man, two of his sons, a daughter, and their families—a total of 17 in all. One daughter and her family haven’t joined yet, but we’re working on them. And Elder Parks hasn’t said a thing about teaching old folks since. As a matter of fact, we’re teaching three old friends of Grandpa Carlos right now.

As a young woman, I filled up pages in my journal about what I wanted my future husband to be like.
Pages. Multiple pages.
But when I got old enough to date seriously, I realized that dating can be an obstacle course. I caved and tried a dating app.
I soon discovered a common trap:
You swipe up on someone because you think they’re attractive, but you don’t know anything except that they’re possibly above average in height, looks, and salary (depending, of course, on how honest they are in their profile).
In a world where dating is often initiated through dating apps, many spend so much time window-shopping for potential partners that they tend to judge by outward characteristics only, forgetting to focus on what’s on the inside.
And if the prerequisite for marriage is a model-worthy face and body, what kind of marriage will that be?
Elder John A. Widtsoe (1872–1952) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles once said: “‘Falling in love’ is always from within, rather than from without. That is, physical attractiveness must be reinforced with mental and spiritual harmony if true love is to be born and have long life.”
It’s not bad to desire physical attraction in a future spouse. But if outward appearances are your only compass for finding an eternal companion, you will come up short; physical attractiveness is not a marker of compatibility or spirituality.
As Elder Widtsoe said, love comes from the inside, not the outside. I believe that when you find the person who portrays righteous inner qualities and traits compatible with yours, their spiritual attraction fosters and enhances all other kinds of attraction—even physical.
The scriptures teach, “The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7).
Don’t fall into the trap of only caring what’s on the outside. Keeping covenants requires commitment, honesty, integrity, and humility. Search for a companion who embodies righteous spiritual attributes, and cultivate those attributes within yourself.
Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “In God’s plan of happiness, we are not so much looking for someone perfect but for a person with whom, throughout a lifetime, we can join efforts to create a loving, lasting, and more perfect relationship.”
In your journey to find a spouse, do you stop to look at your own progress to perfection or only seek and expect perfection in your partner?
When my sister was single and struggling with dating, she realized she might be making this mistake. So she drew a simple picture of her desired partner:
A stick figure with three—only three—of the most important attributes she wanted in a husband. No height requirements, no six-figure salary quota.
Within several months she started dating her future spouse. He was dedicated to the gospel, hardworking, and honest. Together they are working to create an eternal marriage.
Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared: “Marriage is not a match of two individuals who feel they are perfect for each other, although you may feel that at some time. Marriage is when two individuals love the Lord and each other by covenant … and nurture a celestial relationship.”
Let these truths guide you through the important decisions you will face as you date and search for an eternal companion. Whether your search is on a dating app, among friends, at a YSA conference, or elsewhere, remember the eternal, spiritual attributes that will bring you the most happiness.
It will take more than a second glance to learn what really matters. You will not find perfection, but when the right companion comes along, together with the Savior, you can be perfect for each other.

“Liz, I’m selling walnuts so you need to sell something else,” Abby said to her older sister. “And hurry. We’re meeting Hannah and Zack in five minutes!” Abby continued picking up walnuts that had fallen from the walnut trees in their yard.
Liz loved to play store with her neighbors, but today she couldn’t think of anything to sell. She grabbed her bike and headed down the street. She saw Hannah and Zack setting up their stores under some trees in front of their house. Hannah handed Liz some leaves from the trees. “We each get 20 leaves to spend,” she said.
“What are you selling?” Liz asked.
“Mom let me have some granola bars to sell, and Zack got some aloe vera leaves from our backyard,” Hannah said.
“What are you selling, Liz?” Zack asked.
Liz bit her lip. “It’s a surprise.”
Liz rode her bike around their neighborhood looking for something to sell. Her neighbors, the Bakers, had a beautiful tangerine tree in their front yard, and the tangerines looked delicious. Liz noticed that their car wasn’t in the driveway. She hurried to the tree and filled her pockets with tangerines. As she picked them she smelled their tangy-sweet scent. Liz rode back to her friends and piled the tangerines next to Abby’s walnuts.
“Those look yummy!” Abby said. “How much?”
“Five leaves each.”
“I’ll take two.”
Liz handed Abby two tangerines and added the ten leaves Abby handed her to her own. Now she had 30 leaves! She went to Hannah’s store to buy a granola bar. They cost 15 leaves each.
“I’ll take one.” Liz handed Hannah the leaves.
“Where did you get so many leaves?” Hannah asked. “Did you cheat and take them from the trees?”
“No, I sold some tangerines to Abby,” Liz said.
“Really? How much for the tangerines?”
“Five leaves each.”
“We’ll be right over,” Hannah said.
Liz sold six more tangerines to Hannah and Zack. She had never earned so many leaves when they played store! She was able to buy five walnuts from Abby, an aloe vera leaf from Zack, and another granola bar from Hannah. Plus she ate a tangerine. It was juicy and sweet.
Liz saw the Bakers drive their car into the driveway, right next to the tangerine tree. Liz tried to hide her pile of tangerines.
“Liz, did you take those tangerines without asking?” Abby asked.
“No. It’s not stealing if they don’t care, Abby. They have lots of tangerines,” Liz said. But she was scared her neighbors would see the tangerines she had picked. Would they be angry with her?
“We should give them back,” Abby said.
Liz bit her lip. “How? We already ate them.”
Abby thought for a moment. “We can give them some of the walnuts from our tree.”
“That’s not the same thing.” Liz put her hands on her hips. “And don’t tell me what to do, Abby. You’re only five.”
Tears came to Abby’s eyes, and Liz felt bad. Abby was right, but she was scared to tell her neighbors she had taken their tangerines. “Will you come with me, Abby?”
Abby nodded, and the girls gathered up some walnuts to give to the Bakers. Liz went to the front door and knocked timidly. Mrs. Baker answered the door.
“Hi,” Liz said, holding out the walnuts. “We brought these for you.”
Mrs. Baker smiled. “Thank you, girls! What nice neighbors you are!”
Liz looked at the ground. “We brought them because I took some tangerines from your tree while you were gone. I didn’t have anything to sell for our game, and they looked so good.” Liz felt her lips tremble. She didn’t want Mrs. Baker to yell at her. “I’m really sorry.”
“That’s OK,” Mrs. Baker said.
Liz looked up in surprise. Mrs. Baker didn’t even seem angry.
“We don’t eat many tangerines anyway. You can have as many as you want, as long as you ask first.” Mrs. Baker smiled at the girls.
“Thanks, Mrs. Baker!” Liz declared.
She put her arm around Abby as they walked home. “You know what, Abby? You’re a great little sister.” Liz felt good for telling the truth and giving Mrs. Baker walnuts to make up for the tangerines. She looked forward to eating more delicious tangerines from the Bakers’ tree. After asking first, of course.

Some years ago when I was in Mexico City, checking on some Church buildings as part of my assignment with the Church Building Department, one of the missionaries there asked, “Would you like to see the ruins of a previous civilization that are close by?” We gladly accepted the invitation. As we were returning along the highway, we saw a family working together making rope for sale. Having been in the livestock business, I was interested in their product. This family made rope from cactus fibers. They stripped the fibers from a species of long-spear cactus prevalent in Mexico and braided them into excellent rope. All of the family members were working, and I was concerned as I saw two young people who were of elementary school age. Through an interpreter, I asked these children, “Do you go to school?” They replied, “No, sir.” I said, “Why not?” They answered, “We don’t have the chance. There are no schools.” Then I asked them, “Would you like to go to school if you had the opportunity?” They replied, “Oh yes, sir.” They were sincere young people. Many people do not have the privilege of obtaining an education.
In contrast to this, what do we do with the opportunities we have? I do not know whether or not you have ever stopped to consider this, but James Russell Lowell calls this thought to our attention:
“Have you ever rightly considered what the mere ability to read means? That it is the key which admits us to the whole world of thought and fancy and imagination? To the company of saint and sage, of the wisest and the wittiest at their wisest and wittiest moments? That it enables us to see with the keenest eyes, hear with the finest ears, and listen to the sweetest voices of all time?”

Ever wish you could escape into a book and live there instead of in your own life? That was me in high school. My sister used to joke that if I was in the middle of a good read, the house could burn down and I wouldn’t notice.
What’s more, I was horribly shy. I felt awkward and unsure of myself and frequently had little or nothing to say. So to avoid socializing, I preferred to find a quiet spot where I could sit and read.
My family had moved several times during my middle school years. Changing schools so often added to my barrier of shyness. Why try to break through when it was easier to just get lost in the pages of a book?
But then one day, while I was reading, I kept thinking about what had happened the previous weekend. Nels, one of the young men in my circle of Church friends, noticed that I kept to myself most of the time. He decided to help me change that.
Nels’s sister and my sister were friends, and one night I went with my dad to pick up my sister at Nels’s house. While we were waiting, Nels came out and asked if I was going to the school dance that night. Just as I was about to say no, my dad said, “There’s a dance? Of course she’ll be there.” On the way home, Dad talked to me about the importance of participating.
Scared to death, I went to the dance. Nels saw me, asked me to dance, and after a few awkward moments, he said, “You don’t like to dance, do you? Let’s just talk instead.” We spent the rest of the evening discussing the challenges we each faced, including the fact that I was painfully shy, liked to read, and refused to spend the lunch hour with our mutual friends.
“It’s good that you love to read,” he said. “But it’s not good to isolate yourself. Why don’t you come sit at our table at lunch? Everyone will be happy to see you.” I hesitantly agreed to try it—sometime. Then I changed the subject.
Thinking back on the weekend made it difficult to focus on what I was reading, so I thought about taking Nels up on his offer to sit with the others. Since the lunch hour was half over, however, I decided that I would be brave tomorrow. Maybe. With that tentative plan in place, I went back to my book.
Then, without warning, I heard someone calling, “There you are! I’ve been looking for you!” It was Nels. He appeared out of nowhere. He ignored my excuses about how it was too late to join our friends for lunch.
“Right now,” he said, “you need to socialize more than you need to read.” And with that, he gathered up my books and nearly dragged me to the lunchroom, encouraging me all the way.
From then on—not all at once, but a little at a time—my life became fuller. I learned how to talk to others. I found that I enjoyed becoming acquainted with people I otherwise would not have met. I broke through the shyness barrier!
A few years later Nels and I talked about that day. When I thanked him for helping me to overcome my shyness, he said, “Oh, it wasn’t much. You just needed a little encouragement.” And that’s the point: Sometimes a listening ear and a little encouragement can make all the difference.

After we finished walking the Jesus Trail, Mya did not take back her rope. She left it tied to my scooter. For the next few days, my teenage nephews and their friend took turns pulling me through the streets of Jerusalem. They made sure I did not miss out on the stories of Jesus. I was reminded of the strength of the rising generation. We can learn from you. You have a genuine desire to know the guide, Jesus Christ. You trust the strength of the rope that tethers us to Him. You are unusually gifted in gathering others to Him.

By faith, Heber C. Kimball accepted a call to serve on a mission to England. On June 4, 1837, the Prophet Joseph Smith came to Heber C. Kimball who was seated in the temple in Kirkland, and whispering to him said, “Brother Heber, the Spirit of the Lord has whispered to me: Let my servant Heber go to England and proclaim my gospel, and open the door of salvation to that nation” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, 1945, p. 116). This would be the first time that the restored gospel would be preached overseas. It was a great undertaking. Heber C. Kimball’s response to the call was,

“O, Lord, I am a man of stammering tongue, and altogether unfit for such a work; how can I preach in that land, which is so famed throughout Christendom for learning, knowledge and piety; the nursery of religion; and to a people whose intelligence is proverbial…. The idea of such a mission was almost more than I could bear up under. I was almost ready to sink under the burden which was placed upon me.” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, 1945, p. 116)

And then Heber C. Kimball said this:

“However, all these considerations did not deter me from the path of duty; the moment I understood the will of my Heavenly Father, I felt a determination to go at all hazards, believing that He would support me by His almighty power, and endow me with every qualification that I needed; and although my family was dear to me, and I should have to leave them almost destitute, I felt that the cause of truth, the Gospel of Christ, outweighed every other consideration.” (Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball, 1945, pp. 116-17)

Nine days later, Heber C. Kimball and those who were to accompany him departed to England. As a result of that mission, thousands of British converts joined the church and most of them crossed the ocean and settled in Nauvoo. Many of these converts became great church leaders and brought strength to the church. Faith in Christ caused Heber C. Kimball to act.

As was mentioned in my introduction, I came to Rexburg, Idaho, before I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Everyone then and everyone even now still asks me why on earth I would come to tiny Rexburg, Idaho.

Well, my story begins with the power of invitation. My best friend growing up was named Chantell. She came to Rexburg, Idaho, to attend what was then Ricks College. She wasn’t a member of the Church of Jesus Christ, but that didn’t last too long for her either. She loved her experience here. Every time we spoke on the phone, she would invite and encourage me to join her. Those invitations would end up changing my life forever.

For some reason, I came to Rexburg during the summer session without Chantell. I would take some classes, then we planned to come together for the fall semester. During that summer session, I lived in a house with 14 other girls, which I would not recommend to anyone.

However, there were two girls that noticed little things about me that indicated to them that I didn’t know much about the Church. I didn’t fast on fast Sundays. I didn’t go to ward prayer. And I didn’t have much interest in home evening activities. They kindly asked questions and could not have been more shocked to hear that I wasn’t a member of the Lord’s Church.

The next day came an invitation to read the Book of Mormon with them under the guise of preparing for a religion class I would have to take in the fall semester. I wasn’t very interested but agreed just to be gracious. They would ask me questions like, “How do you feel about the Book of Mormon?” I didn’t really know how I felt about it. But I would say things like, “Wow, that Laman and Lemuel need to get their acts together.” Then, with even more emphasis, the girls would say, “No, how do you really feel about the Book of Mormon?” My blank stare solicited the request to pray to know if the Book of Mormon was true. Again, I agreed just to be gracious. Night after night, I would pray to know if the Book of Mormon was true. Because I didn’t know any better, I would ask for a specific sign as an answer to that prayer. I would kneel there beside my bed and look around for the answer. Then, on about the seventh night of prayer, I felt the Spirit like a wave washing over me. Then I heard as clear as day, “Why do you keep asking me about something you already know is true?” I jumped up and pulled the covers over my head. I knew that I had received an answer to my prayer. It didn’t come in the way I was expecting. But it was clear and unmistakable. I knew in that moment that God was real. He hears and answers our prayers. And I knew that my life would literally be forever changed.

Some time back, I was in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. Debbie, a beautiful teenage girl, spoke at stake conference. Among other things she said, “I want to tell you about a friend I had when I went through high school.” She said she felt homely but her friend told her she was beautiful. When there were dances, he would dance with her. He built her up. She said: “He was my very best friend. He was handsome and popular, and he lived his religion. I never heard him swear, he never violated the Word of Wisdom, and he faithfully went to church.

“It was a good thing that he was a strong member of the Church,” she said, “because I tailed him everywhere he went. I did what he did, and I would have followed him anywhere. I cannot express the love and respect I have for him. I was not his girlfriend, but I sure loved him. He is on a mission now, and we write regularly. He still loves me and is still my best friend. He is my older brother.”

What a blessing it is to the Church when brothers and sisters are filled with that kind of love and respect for each other!

Not long after being called as a stake patriarch, one of us gave a 93-year-old sister her patriarchal blessing. The words pronounced in that blessing were a heaven-sent message of approval for a life well lived in valiant service to the Lord. More than reassurance, she was given additional counsel and direction for her life both here and hereafter. She was also told that the long-awaited reunion with her beloved eternal companion who had passed away years ago was not far off. Both she and the immediate family members present wept and embraced and celebrated her willingness to seek this revelation from the Lord.

Shortly thereafter, this stalwart sister passed through the veil.

I treasure the memory of that day when I began more fully to understand the power of a patriarchal blessing in whatever season of life it might be received.

Church magazines: Sister Hinckley, you have said that “you don’t teach a child not to hit by hitting.”5
Sister Hinckley: When my daughter Jane was a young girl, she said to me one day that she had a friend who was grounded. I said, “Grounded? What does that mean?” We let our children figure things out for themselves. They knew when they were doing wrong, and they would fix it themselves. One of our daughters decided to stay home from church one Sunday. So she stayed home. She got very lonely. Everybody was in church but her, and she just sat on the lawn. She didn’t try that again. She figured it wasn’t any fun. It was lonely.

There were three major obstacles to quinoa research in 2000. First, there was hardly any information in the scientific literature on the species, especially in botanical taxonomy. Second, there was only a meager amount of genetic material—we call it germplasm—available in publicly available gene banks. And third, even worse, there were a series of very restrictive international seed-exchange laws enacted beginning in the early 1990s, and the Andean countries were not very willing to share their materials with U.S. scientists.

From the limited amount of taxonomic information that was available, I noted that there appeared to be a larger number of unique species within North America, especially the United States, than in other parts of the Western Hemisphere, so by 2004 we decided to assemble our own seed collections for researching quinoa’s ancestry and biogeographical diversity. Thanks to a growing array of strong international collaborations as well as tens of thousands of road miles on seed-collection trips, my colleagues, my students, and I have been blessed to uncover many fascinating aspects regarding the quinoa genome and its ancestry. We have identified one of quinoa’s most likely wild diploid ancestors, sandhill goosefoot from western North America, which is therefore the most likely region of the Americas where the wild allopolyploid first appeared. We discovered that quinoa’s wild North American allopolyploid ancestor was independently domesticated in ancient Mexico as well as in the Andes, that it is exceptionally diverse, and that it can be bred with quinoa to improve the crop’s adaptation for production in lowland tropical regions of countries such as Malawi and Guyana. We have also learned that the quinoa genome, like the oat genome, has a highly dynamic chromosome structure with interchanges, inversions, and repetitive element expansions.

Brother Martell D. Adamson was a member of the bishopric when I was an Aaronic Priesthood boy. He was barely five feet tall—shorter than some of the boys in the ward. But we all looked up to him—even those who could look down on him physically.
Brother Adamson lived by the Scout slogan, Do a Good Turn Daily, and he taught us to do the same. He constantly challenged us to help others. He assigned us to chop wood and deliver coal for the widows and the sick. We would go to the coal yard and get big chunks of coal and break them up so that they would fit in the widows’ stoves.
It was seldom just a one-time assignment. Brother Adamson would say, “Now boys, you’re assigned to Sister Williams for the whole winter.” Then instead of just asking if we’d chopped the wood or carried the coal, he would say, “How’s Sister Williams doing?” We learned that we weren’t just responsible for providing fuel; we were responsible for Sister Williams herself. We were to visit her and make sure that she was all right. Brother Adamson made us feel that we were doing something important. Through helping others, we began feeling good about ourselves.
Brother Adamson taught me long ago that my wood chopping and coal carrying were really not about coal or firewood, but about Sister Williams. Your efforts to find out more about your ancestors is not only to provide information so that temple work can be done for them, it is also about their eternal well-being. If your heart has truly been turned to “the fathers,” you won’t just be sending names to the temple. You will be blessing the lives of real people whom you have come to know and love.

Frances couldn’t sleep. She felt like jumping up and down with excitement, but she forced herself to lie still so she wouldn’t wake her three younger brothers on the floor beside her.
She pinched herself to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. “Tomorrow I’m really going with Father to Salt Lake City for the temple dedication. This will be my happiest birthday ever!” she thought.
It seemed only minutes had passed when Father nudged her and whispered, “Wake up, Frances. It’s nearly sunup.”
She quickly slid into her dress and smoothed her hair. Clutching the small bundle containing her other dress, she hurried to the wagon.
Frances had never been away from home. She wanted to see everything. But by mid-morning, she realized that red soil, gray sagebrush, and dark cedar trees were the only sights for miles around. “I wish we could go faster,” she said. “I can’t wait to see the temple. Perhaps we’ll even see the prophet!”
“Singing will make the journey go faster,” Father suggested. He began singing his favorite hymn, “The Spirit of God.”* After he finished singing, Father said, “That song was sung at the Kirtland Temple dedication. I expect it will be sung in many more temples of the Lord.”
Frances and her father began to sing in harmony. The hymns “Now Let Us Rejoice” and “Redeemer of Israel”** echoed through the nearby hills. Frances smiled. “I’ve never been so happy,” she thought.
After Father stopped the team for the night and the two of them had eaten, Father said, “It’s time for scripture study. Will you read from Isaiah, Frances?”
She opened Father’s well-worn Bible to the page they had read the night before and began reading.
After scripture study, Frances lay on the corn-husk tick (mattress) in the wagon and quickly fell asleep.
April 6, 1893, dawned cold and windy. Frances awoke early. She could hardly contain her excitement! “Today we will finally see the temple!” she thought. “I couldn’t receive a better birthday present.”
The scenery changed as they traveled north. The mountains were higher and more rugged. The air was cooler with cloudy skies, threatening to rain.
When they arrived in Salt Lake City, many wagons and buggies bumped along the busy, dusty road toward the temple. “It looks like everyone in the Church is going to the dedication with us,” Frances exclaimed.
Rounding a curve, she gasped. In the distance a huge granite building with six majestic spires rose in splendor. Standing high on one spire was a golden statue of the angel Moroni.
Father stopped the wagon. Tears filled Frances’s eyes as she hugged Father’s arm. “The temple is even more beautiful than I had imagined,” she whispered.
Father’s eyes were moist, too. “It’s taken forty years of sacrifice and hard labor to build this temple, but it is a small price to pay to finally receive the blessings the Lord has in store for us in His house.”
To Frances’s surprise, Father drew a tiny box from his pocket and placed it in her hand. “I want you to always remember this day,” he said. Opening the box, he removed a gold locket and fastened its delicate chain around her neck.
Tears of joy flowed down her cheeks. “Father, I love you so! I’ll always treasure this locket. It will help me remember the things you’ve taught me.”
“Always remember the importance of the Lord’s house,” Father said. “The desire of my heart is for all of my children to be sealed in the temple. I’m depending on you to set the example and teach your brothers and baby sister.”
“I will, Father,” Frances promised.
Father jerked the reins, and the horses moved forward. Outside the temple a large crowd was assembling. Father parked the wagon a short distance from the temple, secured the horses, then helped Frances climb out of the wagon.
As Frances studied each detail of the great temple, she remembered the words she had read in Isaiah the night before:
“Even them will I bring to my holy mountain, and make them joyful in my house of prayer: their … sacrifices shall be accepted upon mine altar; for mine house shall be called an house of prayer for all people” (Isa. 56:7).
She looked at the golden angel, high against the ash-gray sky. Walking reverently beside her father, she whispered, “I’ve never felt this close to the Lord. I know that this is His house.” She reached for her father’s hand. A feeling of joy and peace filled her heart as they walked toward the temple doors.

As a new member of the Church, Soren knew little about the Church or its teachings. For the first month, he did not even attend church meetings. Finally, feeling obligated to learn what the gospel was about, he read a pamphlet about the Book of Mormon. From that small pamphlet he gained a testimony that the Book of Mormon truly is the word of God. That realization forever changed the course of Soren Edsberg’s life.

My wife and I have seen our grandparents and then our parents leave us. Some experiences that we first thought to be burdens or trouble have long since been reclassified as blessings.
My wife’s father died in our home. He needed constant care. Nurses taught our children how to care for our bedridden grandpa. What they learned is of great worth to them and to us. How grateful we are to have had him close to us.
We were repaid a thousand times over by the influence he had on our children. That was a great experience for our children, one I learned as a boy when Grandpa Packer died in our home.