Gospel Story Finder

As for the fear of proselyting, much of it ended on that first night. Credit definitely goes to the inspiring messages and testimonies of the 130 elders of the Cumorah Mission who performed in pageant. It was a thrill to watch them among the audience—the joy they had for being back tracting after a week away from it was obvious in their handshakes. But Heavenly Father deserves most of the credit. As Barbara Eichler of the Fairport Ward, New York, explained: “After the study group meeting, my companion and I decided we could use all the help we could get, so we went up to the top of the hill and prayed. As we rose from our knees and walked back down, we could feel our bodies being led, but not by our own power.”

Since it was near the beginning of the school year, being only the second week of classes, his teachers didn’t make much of a fuss over him. He sat unknown in his first two classes. When the bell rang, old friends joined up, leaving him alone and ignored.
His 11:00 class was sociology. It took him a long time to find the room, so that by the time he arrived, it was already nearly full. He found an empty desk and sat down.
To his left a boy was scanning a “men’s” magazine. As he slowly turned each page on his desk, he grinned, chattering a stream of crude remarks to his friend ahead of him.
Kevin looked away to avoid seeing the picture spread blatantly on the desk next to his. He felt his stomach churning; he clenched his teeth tightly, thinking sarcastically that he wished his father were there to see some of the new friends he was making in his new school.
“Hey, are you new here?”
Kevin turned back and saw the boy facing him, holding the rolled-up magazine in one hand. Nodding his head, he said, “Yeah, we just moved here.”
“Great. They call me Fitzie,” he said, flashing a broad grin. “Hey, have you seen this issue yet? Go ahead, take a look.” He plopped the magazine on Kevin’s desk.
Kevin’s mind raced, his internal defense and prosecution lawyers giving their arguments why he should or should not open the magazine to avoid offending the only person who had made any attempt to be a friend.
“C’mon, hurry up,” the boy said impatiently. “Class is going to start in a minute. You do want to look at this, don’t you?”
Kevin paused for what seemed a long time, then with a smile handed the magazine back. “Later. There’s not enough time now.”
At first he thought it had been a victory. After all, he thought, I didn’t look at the magazine. But a gnawing uneasiness bothered him.
The class began with Mr. Martin yelling to get everybody to quiet down. Mr. Martin had the voice and face of a movie gangster, but either because of that or in spite of it, he had control and the interest of his class.
“Today,” he said, leaning against the front of his desk, “we’re going to talk about what ethical basis you use in making decisions or why you do the things that you do. Fitzie, you usually have something interesting to say. Why do you do some things but don’t do others?”
Fitzie extended his feet further into the aisle, attempting to look more relaxed than he was. “I don’t know. I’m no philosopher. I just do things.”
“But how do you decide?”
“Well,” he said with a mischievous grin, “if it looks like fun, then I do it.” This brought catcalls of approval from many in the class.
“Kim, what basis do you use in making decisions?” Mr. Martin asked.
Kim sat three seats from Kevin. He was fascinated by her. Her high cheekbones made her look as if some sculptor had fashioned her face. She caught him staring at her and cast him a hurried smile.
“I think it’s important to be sincere,” she answered. “We live in an age of freedom, don’t we? All the old barriers are down. We’re free to do anything we want to, as long as it doesn’t hurt anyone. So all we have to do is to be honest with our feelings.”
The discussion came around to dating. Kim raised her hand and was called on by Mr. Martin.
“If a girl is going with a guy,” she said, nervously tapping her pencil on the desk, “and if she really cares about him, and if he’s sincerely interested in her at the time, then I think it’s okay for them to use their freedom. I mean, what good is freedom if you don’t use it?”
Mr. Martin walked intently across the room toward Kim. “You say if he’s sincere at the time. What happens when he no longer cares about her?”
Kevin sat close enough to see her eyes close momentarily, as if Mr. Martin had found a weakness. She fought for composure for only a moment, her distress unnoticed by most in the class. “Well, of course, people change … and drift apart. Maybe if they can just try to be honest with their feelings,” her voice trailed off, “while they’re together, maybe that’s all any of us can hope for.”
As the discussion continued, Kevin suddenly realized that he was waiting for someone to stand and present arguments against the ideas being given for doing whatever looked like fun—someone who would say that freedom requires responsibility. In his classes back home in his old high school, although there had been the same reasons given for freedom to “love,” there had always been some of his friends who defended the standards of the gospel.
By the end of the class he realized that the someone he waited for wasn’t around anymore. More painful to him, he realized that he had not been that someone.
After class Kevin went up and introduced himself to Mr. Martin, who gave him some previous assignments.
As he turned to leave, Kim was waiting for him.
“You’re new here, aren’t you? Can I show you how to make it through the cafeteria alive?”
They jostled their way through the line and ate by themselves at one end of a table in the corner. As they ate, other boys came and talked with Kim. As they were leaving the cafeteria, she told him, “I’m not going with anyone now … in case you were wondering.”
They walked outside to the parking lot in back of school. It was filled with students lounging in cars or standing around talking.
“You can get anything here in the parking lot if you need it,” she said to him.
He looked at her with a puzzled expression.
“You know? Beer, grass, whatever you need.”
“Oh,” he said, looking more carefully at the cars filled with students.
“Mostly I’ve given it up. Now it’s just for special occasions. How about you?”
“I’ve never tried it.”
“Never? Why not?”
“I don’t know,” he said weakly, again feeling his stomach tighten up.
“Well, you should,” she said, touching his arm, “just to see what it’s like. It’s fun. Sometime, when my parents are out of town, I’ll let you know. Maybe we could get a few others together and have a party.”

Last Christmas I talked to the proprietress of a Salt Lake City nursing home. From the hallway where we stood, she pointed to several elderly women assembled in a peaceful living room. She observed, “There’s Mrs. Hansen. Her daughter visits her every week, right at 3:00 p.m. on Sunday. To her right is Mrs. Peek. Each Wednesday there is a letter in her hands from her son in New York. It is read, then reread, then saved as a precious piece of treasure. But see Mrs. Carroll; her family never telephones, never writes, never visits. Patiently she justifies this neglect with words which are heard but do not convince or excuse, ‘They are all so busy.’” Shame on all who thus make of a noble woman “mother forgotten.”

Sonia Patrick describes herself as a mouse with a tail on fire running through a dry field. On the streets of Barbados—where the culture swings to a Caribbean beat—she makes sure everyone at the bus stop hears her testimony.
“God comes first,” she said. “I carry Him with me everywhere I go.”
Sister Patrick is among a growing number of members in the Christ Church Branch who have felt the fire of temple and family history work. They have learned firsthand what Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Anywhere you are in the world, with prayer, faith, determination, diligence, and some sacrifice, you can make a powerful contribution.”1
Sister Patrick joined the Church in 2008 after meeting the missionaries, who offered to wash her car for free. She is now known as the “bold one” in her branch on this sunny island in the West Indies.
“I grew up Christian,” she said. “I felt a spiritual pull to accept the missionaries’ offer to attend church.”
Tragedy struck three years after her baptism when her only son was killed. Suddenly, she said, “family history became very important to me.”
Opportunities for family history research and temple work were limited at the time on the island. Computers were scarce, and travel to the nearest temple was expensive and difficult.
Sister Patrick arranged for the proxy baptism of her son but remained patient over the next years. She stayed busy “doing what she was supposed to do” until a series of events came together to provide more help for her family history work.
Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect,2 the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.
As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?
Photograph of Ogden Utah Temple by David Bowen Newton
Sister Stoffers’s home-ward bishop liked the plan and rallied the support of youth and adults. Soon, names from Barbados were being shared instantly on FamilySearch.
Now, as often as their schedule permits, a battalion of youth converge on the Ogden Utah Temple, where Bishop Rob Smout pulls from a stack of ordinance-ready printouts to divvy among the youth. The talkative youth grow whisper quiet as they contemplate the unusually spelled names of people with whom they have no connection but feel a spiritual kinship.
Participation has been widespread across the ward. On certain Saturdays, a family of five boys arrives early at the temple to enjoy the sunrise over the Wasatch mountains before performing baptisms.
“It’s become a ward quest,” said Bishop Smout. “It has united the ward. Many have become involved and take names routinely, including those who haven’t attended the temple in years. Others have come back into activity to participate.”
Many members in Barbados, meanwhile, have had unique experiences that motivate them to gather their families.
“As we work together, we feel a family connection,” Sister Stoffers said. “We feel a saintly joy. It is hard to describe, except that it seems to resonate in others beyond.”
“As we work together, we feel a family connection. We feel a saintly joy.”
This enthusiasm to discover ancestors has now spread beyond the branch and across the Caribbean to members on neighboring islands. Proselyting missionaries assist by meeting with members in their homes. To guide those in the far reaches of the mission, Sister Stoffers conducts virtual training sessions.
This effort on a small island in the Caribbean began with love and a desire to bless ancestors. Then came the means to learn how. The branch discovered that the work is spiritual, requiring what Elder Scott called “a monumental effort of cooperation on both sides of the veil, where help is given in both directions.”3 They proved that even in remote Barbados, a small number of devoted members can make a great contribution.
A Work Made Possible through Jesus Christ
“Many of your ancestors did not receive [saving] ordinances. But in the providence of God, you did. And God knew that you would feel drawn to your ancestors in love and that you would have the technology necessary to identify them. He also knew that you would live in a time when access to holy temples … would be greater than ever in history. And He knew that He could trust you to accomplish this work in behalf of your ancestors.”
President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, “Gathering the Family of God,” Liahona, May 2017, 21.

My father had an idea that his boys ought to learn to work, in the summer as well as in the winter, and so he bought a five-acre farm which eventually grew to include more than thirty acres. We lived there in the summer and returned to the city when school started.

We had a large orchard, and the trees had to be pruned each spring. Father took us to pruning demonstrations put on by experts from the agriculture college. We learned a great truth—that you could pretty well determine the kind of fruit you would pick in September by the way you pruned in February. The idea was to space the branches so that the fruit would be exposed to sunlight and air. Further, we learned that new, young wood produces the best fruit. That has had many applications in life.

Illustration from Getty Images
As parents of a toddler and a newborn, we had faced difficulty fulfilling Church callings. So when my husband was called to serve as the bishop of a young single adult ward, we were both filled with hesitation.
Questions flooded our minds regarding our ability to manage everything with the added responsibility. We found out a few days after receiving the call that I was pregnant with our third child. Due to my medical history, previous pregnancies had been difficult. As we discussed what we would expect over the next few months if my husband accepted the call, we weren’t sure what to do. We began to pray earnestly for comfort and guidance.
At one point, my husband wondered if he should explain our situation to the stake president and turn down the calling. This made the most sense to us, but as we prayed and fasted, we were reminded of the words of President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018): “When we are on the Lord’s errand, we are entitled to the Lord’s help” (“Duty Calls,” Ensign, May 1996, 44).
Our hearts were comforted and our worries eased. We received the assurance that this call did not come from the stake president. It came from the Lord, and He knew before we did that I was pregnant when the calling was extended. He could do more for our family than my husband could on his own if he did not accept this call.
With faith in our hearts, my husband accepted the call and we took each day as it came. My third pregnancy proved to be a great miracle, and our son was born healthy and strong. The years I spent attending our home ward with our children helped us grow closer not only as a family but also to fellow ward members as well. While my husband diligently labored in his calling, I learned to turn to my ward family for help with my children.
My husband and I are grateful to many faithful Saints and, most important, to our Heavenly Father for helping us as we strived to balance work, family, and service in the Church.

My Grandma Jeri and I have been making fudge since I was a little girl. Because my grandparents live in Utah and we reside in Colorado, we didn’t visit them as often as we liked. When we did, my grandma always made time for us to cook up some delicious fudge.
When my grandparents got their mission call to Cambodia, I was so excited for them to be able to share the gospel, but I was also sad, because it meant that I wouldn’t see them for two years. Their farewell was a bittersweet moment, not only because they were leaving but also because I was munching on bittersweet chocolate fudge.
My grandparents had been gone about a year when my uncle, their youngest son, got engaged. My grandma got special permission to attend the wedding. Excitement ran through my body as I gave her a hug. It was so good to see her and the rest of my family.
After the wedding my grandma and I were talking. My eyes lit up with excitement, and I asked if she wanted to make fudge. The batch was small, but it tasted just as good as I remembered.
It was hard to say goodbye before we left for the airport, but I knew that soon she’d be back. In grandma-fashion, she wanted to make sure we had something to eat on the plane, so I took the rest of our fudge. Needless to say, with a hungry dad and daughter, the fudge was gone before we got off the plane.
I will never forget how lucky I was to have that special time to talk with my grandma. I can’t wait until she gets home from her mission so that we can continue our tradition.

The Holy Ghost will also help you to do what is right, even when that seems very difficult. I hope you children will never be afraid to stand up for what is right. I still remember an experience I had in primary school. Primary school includes first through seventh grades. When I was about 12 and in my final year of primary school, the head boy, who was supposed to be the school leader, was actually the school’s biggest bully. He and three or four of his pals would go around teasing other kids.
I was new at the school, so one day he tried to intimidate me. When he discovered I would not respond to his intimidation, he gave up and bullied other kids, especially the weaker ones. One day when I saw this happening, I walked over and told him to stop. I said that if he did not stop I would defend the smaller boy. There stood the bully with his three or four friends, surrounding this small, timid boy and myself. It was very scary. I thought they were going to beat me up. To my surprise, the bully withered under my words. He and his friends made some smart remarks and left.
Throughout the rest of the year I continued to defend other boys from these bullies. Others started to do so too, until the bullies gradually lost all their power and influence. Children, the lesson I learned from this experience was that when we do things for the right reason, even when it is very difficult, the Lord will bless us and help us. He needs courageous people to stand up and defend what is right and reduce the influence of evil. You are never too young to begin doing so. When you stand for what is right, you will discover that good triumphs.

Brother Anthian has several goals for the choir. One is to infuse joy, love, and hope into the lives of men who have in the past sought to salve their pain with drugs, alcohol, and other vices. The fulfillment of this goal is clear in the life of Nicolas “Colas” Allaire, who hands out roses during subway concerts. Now 65, Colas was raised in a Montréal orphanage until age 17. With no formal education and no family, friends, or money, he was never able to find work. In winter he made snow caves to keep from freezing to death. Sometimes he committed crimes just to be put in jail so he would have something to eat every day. This is his first regular job. Since joining the choir, he says, “my life has been paradise. I have made friends, and I have started to support myself. I now have a small apartment, and I am happy.”

Gbenga Onalaja is the only Mormon at his Catholic school in Ibadan, Nigeria, and he is a little bit shy. So when a visiting archbishop asked a question at a school assembly of more than 1,000 people, Gbenga hesitated more than a minute before he answered the question.

“After his remarks, the archbishop asked the question ‘Who was Saint Martha?’” says Gbenga.
The Catholic designation of “Saint” threw Gbenga off a little bit, so he didn’t raise his hand. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, however, it appeared that no one knew the answer. Gbenga knew what he had to do.
“I raised my hand and the archbishop called me up to the front of the assembly. I was nervous and my leg was shaking, but I managed to answer that Martha was the sister of Mary and Lazarus.
“He then asked me to explain, so I told him what I knew. It was easy because I had learned it all in church.”
The archbishop was so pleased with Gbenga’s answer, he rewarded him with a scholarship for his last year at the school. Gbenga was also able to tell the archbishop about the Church.
Gbenga, who is a deacon in the Ibadan Third Branch, says, “Since that day, I have been referred to as ‘scholarship boy.’ Every time I hear that phrase, it brings back good memories and reminds me to listen to the promptings of the Spirit.”

Ever watch a hungry alligator leap from the water in a feeding frenzy just a few feet from your face?
Good times, right there. At least, good times if you’re safe in a boat and surrounded by some of your closest friends.
“It was crazy!” says Arizona H., a Laurel. “Nature’s beautiful, even if it’s a giant reptile.”
You know you’re in good hands when your Mutual activity involves ginormous reptiles and wild boars crashing through the swamp around you.
Several hours’ drive from their area is the closest bishops’ storehouse. The 13 youth in their ward wanted to head down for a service project. This particular storehouse serves a massive geographical area, providing food and other necessities—including after hurricanes and other natural disasters.
“It was really spiritual,” Elizabeth says. “We all got together and started working. It was pretty cool how all of us got so much done so fast.”
The youth scrubbed food bins, bagged food, cleaned the delivery truck, did yard work, and helped in a dozen other ways.
“I had never been to a bishops’ storehouse,” Arizona says. “There are so many parts that make up a bishops’ storehouse, it’s amazing. I thought it was a big room with food in it. It’s so much more.” Part of that “so much more” includes disaster relief gear like generators and blankets. “During Hurricane Katrina tons of people came needing help.”
The youth service project was a massive success. So successful, in fact, that the senior missionary couple working at the storehouse that day figured the youth probably banged out a week’s worth of service in a few hours.
So … what to do with the rest of the day?
Now we’re back to those leaping alligators. When the youth planned the big service project at the storehouse, they thought they’d take advantage of the unique part of the world they live in at the same time.
“It’s really pretty here,” says Arizona. “Our backyard is part swamp, part lake. It’s awesome.”
After the service project, they still had time for a swamp tour. And yes, those swamps are full of swamp critters you wouldn’t want to bump into while out on a brisk swim. But from within the safety of a tour boat? Bring it!
The tour guide would entice the alligators near the boat with marshmallows and hot dogs. “We were so close to the animals,” Jordan says.
Then came time for the boars. The tour guide lured them from the trees with a shrill call. “I thought he was making a Wookiee call,” Arizona says. Responding to the weird sound, the boars came charging out of the trees to get their share of the food haul.
“I think the world revolves around marshmallows,” Arizona added.
Activities like the swamp tour and service project are only a small sample of how these youth stay connected. “I like how in my ward all of the youth are really close,” Jordan says. “We’re a small group and we know each other better.”
As a bonus, being in a tight-knit group like that is the best way to fend off a swarm of gators. Just in case.

“Time to get up, sleepy head!” Mom softly whispered in my ear. “Oh, Mom, do I have to?” I moaned in discomfort as she gently tried to raise me from the dead for seminary one more time.
As I sat in that state of semiawakeness, it occurred to me that Mom was always there to wake me up and that she was as reliable as any alarm clock, only a little more caring. I thought about what the world might be like in a few years and wondered how many things could really be automated. For instance, would a cold metal arm protrude from the ceiling to wake me up some day in the future, or would my bed just dump me on the floor as it folded back up into the wall?
Would I go on a mission with an IBM companion, or would I have a real human being? I knew, of course, that that was just silly and I didn’t worry about it too much, yet they were making a lot of advances in the field of robotics. It’s strange to see what was once just science fiction beginning to come true in this world of high technology.
I got up out of the warmth of my bed, and as my feet hit the cold floor I felt that electrically heated floors wouldn’t be a bad idea for chilly mornings. On my desk a fresh pile of clothes had been thoughtfully laid out by a mother who cares so much about me. Those clothes were always fresh and clean smelling. It was totally amazing how one lovely mother could keep the house so clean and all the clothes washed and still have time to feed the family. I knew that with six children it was a job indeed. Even a myriad of machines would not replace Mom.
Now almost dressed, I rushed down the stairs to the aroma of hot cereal and toast. I saw Mom hurrying to put everything on the table. She really was great. As I sat down to eat this delicious breakfast, so lovingly prepared, I wondered how much longer it would be until we just had pills to eat, eliminating all of the time mothers spend “over a hot stove.” It always amazed me how Mom was able to come up with so many different meals. Her brain must work like a computer, or does a computer work like her brain? I hurried and ate and then took my dishes over to the sink. We didn’t have one of those standard household dishwashers; ours was still “manual.”
I lazily walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth, wondering how much longer until they give teenagers dentures and eliminate the worry about decaying canines. After all, they already had braces, electric toothbrushes, and other dental hardware. Just about then Mom yelled to me that, although she loved me, my seminary teacher might not if I was late for her class. Seminary was one thing that I wished I could get on videotapes. I would then have a lot more time for some of the luxuries in life, namely more sleep.
Mom gave me a parting hug as I zipped out the door to the waiting car full of people. Her enthusiasm and motivation were the only things that kept me awake and going in the mornings. Mom was always there whenever I needed anything. It really dawned on me that no one could ever replace someone who cooks, cleans, and cares like my wonderful mom!

“Are you excited for Activity Day?” Chloe asked Gabby as they sat down in sharing time.
Gabby shrugged. “We’re supposed to learn about a pioneer ancestor and do a presentation, right?”
Chloe nodded. “I’m excited. My great-great-great-grandma was from Scotland. She crossed the plains to Utah in a covered wagon. I think I’m going to bring her journal and read it in a Scottish accent.”
“That’ll be cool.” Gabby looked down at her hands. “I don’t think I’m related to any pioneers, though.”
“Hmm,” Chloe said. “Well, Sister James says we’re all pioneers.”
Gabby imagined everyone in the room dressed in pioneer clothing and laughed. “I’m glad we don’t have to wear bonnets!”
Later that day, Gabby was helping Mom cook dinner when she thought about Activity Day again. “So … what pioneer ancestors do we have?” Gabby asked, stirring a pot of bubbling red sauce.
Mom threw some spices into the pot, then started chopping little sausages.
“Ancestors? I tell you about them all the time. You should know.”
“Wait, like who?”
“Like your Great-Grandpa …”
“No, I mean pioneer ancestors who crossed the plains. Ones who pulled wagons and wore bonnets and stuff.”
Mom laughed. “Well, we don’t have any of those. But we do have other awesome ancestors who did pioneering things. Like your Great-Grandma Luisa.”
Gabby smiled. “I love hearing stories about your grandma! She grew up on a farm in Spain, right?”
Mom nodded. “Then she moved to Argentina and started her own business. Even though she never had a chance to finish school, she made sure her children got a good education.”
As the sauce simmered, they sat at the kitchen table, and Mom told Gabby more stories about Grandma Luisa. She was a gardener and talked to her flowers. Whenever she went on a trip, the flowers would wilt a little, just because they missed her.
“And the most important thing to remember about Grandma Luisa is her faith,” Mom said. “She would pray out loud as she did dishes, as she cooked, as she gardened … she loved talking to God!”
Mom got a happy-sad expression on her face, like she was looking at something far away.
Gabby reached out and put her hand on Mom’s arm. “Those are cool stories, Mom,” Gabby said. “I think I’ll tell the other Primary kids about Luisa. I wish I could have known her.”
“Me too. She would have loved spending time with you,” Mom said.
When the day of the activity came, Gabby was ready. She’d gathered a few of Luisa’s things to show: her favorite lotion, a beaded rosary she held while praying, and a gourd she used as a cup for traditional drinks. But Gabby’s favorite thing to show was a picture of Luisa when she was 18 years old. It made her seem so real!
At the activity, Chloe presented first. She had dressed up like her great-great-great-grandma, with a bonnet and everything. Then it was Gabby’s turn.
“I want to talk about my Great-Grandma Luisa,” Gabby said. “She was my mom’s grandma …”
As Gabby kept talking, she felt really good inside. Even though she had never met Luisa, she loved her!
“Because of Luisa’s faith, my mom learned about God,” Gabby said. “And then my mom joined the Church when she grew up. And that’s why I’m here!”
As Gabby sat down, she looked down at her picture of Luisa.
Thanks for being a pioneer, Gabby thought with a smile.

Many years ago I stood by the bedside of a young man, the father of two children, as he hovered between life and the great beyond. He took my hand in his, looked into my eyes and pleadingly asked, “Bishop, I know I am about to die. Tell me what happens to my spirit when I die.”
I prayed for heavenly guidance before attempting to respond. My attention was directed to the Book of Mormon, which rested on the table beside his bed. I held the book in my hand, and, as I stand before you here today, that book opened to the fortieth chapter of Alma. I began to read aloud:
“Now my son, here is somewhat more I would say unto thee; for I perceive that thy mind is worried concerning the resurrection of the dead. …
“Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body … are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow.” (Alma 40:1, 11–12.)
My young friend closed his eyes, expressed a sincere thank-you, and silently slipped away to that paradise about which we had spoken.

I don’t like mushrooms. That smell and texture—I don’t like them at all! But my parents began cultivating mushrooms when I was a child, so we ate them at meals every day. During the harvest season, I would help my parents late into the night. I would measure 200 grams of mushrooms, pack them in a bag, and press the seal on the package. I remember having fun while talking with my family. It was almost like having a family home evening every day.
It also provided income for the family, so we had to help out. But there were two downsides: First, one of my favorite television programs was on at the time we had to work, so I couldn’t watch it. And second, by the time I finished work, my hands would be black from the mushrooms, and it was hard to get rid of the color and smell with soap. When I was a child, I sometimes complained about why I had to help so much every day.
The mushrooms provided a good income for a while, but eventually the prices fell as the number of mushroom farmers increased, and my parents stopped growing mushrooms. I thought that they had only stopped because the prices fell, but I learned a fact that surprised me when I graduated from college.
My parents had started cultivating mushrooms to save college funds for me and my brothers. They had only stopped because they’d reached their target amount. When I found out, I felt ashamed of ever complaining. I hadn’t known that I had been working for my future college expenses. And on top of that, my family had helped me!
I had complained over and over without knowing that we grew the mushrooms for my own scholarship. My complaining was like Laman and Lemuel’s in 1 Nephi 2:12: “And thus Laman and Lemuel … did murmur because they knew not the dealings of that God who had created them.” I’m so glad the Lord knows me well and blessed me, despite my complaining.
I don’t think I’ll ever like eating mushrooms. But if there were no mushrooms, I would actually be a little sad, because I wouldn’t have the opportunity to remember those experiences with my family. Because of them, I learned to value my blessings and trust in the Lord’s plan—and not to complain! So even though I dislike mushrooms, I now appreciate them. They are an important symbol for me to remember my family bonds.

As a young girl, she went one night with a friend to attend a Latter-day Saint gathering. Fia was extremely impressed and later said that the message of the missionaries sounded strangely familiar, as though she was not hearing it for the first time. She had a strong desire to meet with them again. But feelings against Latter-day Saint missionaries and converts were very great in Sweden at that time, and when her uncle learned where she had been, he was extremely upset. He told her she must never go again. She stayed away for one week but could not forget the messages she had heard. In spite of her uncle’s warnings, she went again to the meetings.
Fia had a lovely singing voice and one night was asked to sing and play her guitar at a Latter-day Saint social. Andrew Christofferson, a missionary from Lehi, Utah, attended and heard her sing. He was deeply touched. When Fia learned he would soon be released from his mission and planned to go to Germany before his return home, she asked if he would visit Mia, her sister, who was in Germany at that time. He was happy to honor her request.
Missionary discussions continued for Fia, and when she turned eighteen, she asked for baptism. It was November, and the ice had to be broken on the Baltic Sea in order for the missionaries to baptize her. The ordinance was performed at night because of continuing opposition to the Church in that area. When her uncle learned of her commitment, he told her that, if she did not give up her religion, she must leave and would be disinherited. Fia’s testimony was strong, and she refused to give up that which she knew to be true. Although handicapped by her poor vision, she left her uncle’s home and went out on her own, getting a job in a match factory packing matches.
Andrew Christofferson, who had returned to Lehi, corresponded with Fia, asking her to come to Utah. She wanted to emigrate, but she didn’t earn enough money to afford the voyage, so Andrew saved until he could send the money for her passage. She traveled to England where she boarded a boat for the United States. As she landed in Boston, an immigration officer noted her poor eyesight and refused her entry; her poor vision would cause her to be a burden on his country. Sadly she returned to England.
When Andrew learned what had happened, he determined to try again. Once again, he worked and saved and sent her the boat fare. He told her to try entry at New York City this time. Again Fia was refused entry because of her poor vision.
As Fia returned once again to England, she was befriended by a group of missionaries on their way to Europe. The missionaries took Fia to the mission home with them in Liverpool, England, where Elder Heber J. Grant of the Council of the Twelve presided with his wife and young daughters. Sister Grant found Fia sobbing in the hall as she waited with the elders, who were to be interviewed by their mission president. Through an interpreter, Sister Grant learned of Fia’s unsuccessful attempts to go to Zion. Also discovering that the young girl had no place to go and no money, Sister Grant felt compassion for Fia and asked if she would like to remain at the mission home to work as a maid. Fia gratefully accepted, though she had never had any experience as a domestic servant.
As they became better acquainted, Sister Grant realized that Fia had received a good education and possessed impressive musical talents. In spite of the fact that she had never done housework before, Fia knew how things should be done. She took pride in her work. Her disposition was so delightful that the whole family soon grew to love her. They marveled at her abilities, her patience, and her sweet spirit. They said she never spoke a cross word but always sang and gave praise to her Heavenly Father for the blessings she had received. Along with housekeeping duties, her first responsibility was the care of the two youngest Grant girls, Emily and Frances. Elder and Sister Grant traveled frequently on the continent, supervising the many areas of the European Mission, and they felt fortunate to know their daughters were under Fia’s care.
Fia believed in cold-water “Swedish” baths. Without a water heater in the bathroom, those who wanted a warm bath had to heat the water downstairs and carry it upstairs to the bathtub a bucket at a time, so Swedish baths were much more convenient. Each morning Fia filled the tub with cold water, tying a bag of rock salt to the faucet and letting the water run over it to simulate sea water. The squirming, protesting little girls were then given their morning “dip in the ocean.” After a quick bath, Fia rubbed them vigorously with a large fluffy towel. They said later that they hated their baths, but they loved Fia so dearly they were willing to endure them to please her.
Meanwhile, in Utah, Andrew Christofferson was unable to forget the lovely girl he’d fallen in love with. He remained single and continued to save money in hopes Fia would one day be able to make a successful journey to Utah.
As the mission term for the Grant family came to a close, President Grant decided to try to get Fia into the United States. He booked passage for her as a nurse for his children and hoped that as he was prepared to support her for the rest of her life, there would be no trouble with the immigration authorities. When their ship landed in New York, the excitement of returning home was nearly forgotten in the concern the Grant family had over whether Fia would be able to remain with them. But things went much easier than they had hoped. The immigration officers asked no questions and made no examinations. Fia was in!
The Grant family arrived in Salt Lake shortly before Christmas 1906. Fia was a most welcome addition. Elder Grant even talked of adopting her legally. Perhaps because of her age this was never done, but she was no longer considered hired help; she was loved and treated as a family member.
When Andrew Christofferson learned that Fia was living in Salt Lake City with the Grants, he wasted no time in calling to court her. Several months later, he asked Elder Grant for permission to marry Fia. Sophia and Andrew were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 14 June 1907 with Elder Grant performing the ceremony.
Andrew took his bride to Lehi to live in a very modest cottage. Circumstances were quite different from those to which she had been accustomed. The adjustments she had to make must have been difficult indeed. But Fia had never regretted giving up a life of ease for the sake of the gospel, nor did she regret giving up life in the comparative luxury of the Grant home for life on a small farm. She was cheerful and pleasant and made the best of her surroundings. She learned many new skills as a farmer’s wife and helped care for her mother-in-law as well.
In time their home was blessed with two sons and two daughters: Grant, Reed, Mia, and Ellen. The first boy was named after Heber J. Grant.
Because the light was very painful to her eyes, Fia seldom went out in public, but people were attracted to her home. She was known far and wide for her warm hospitality. All who came into her home felt her love. They were entertained and fed and, if downcast, were cheered and encouraged.
Aunt Fia’s one sadness was the loss of contact with her family in Sweden. To her knowledge, she was the only family member to have accepted the gospel. She always felt a keen responsibility toward her relatives and ancestors. She did what she could to secure their genealogy and have the temple work done for them.
Her dear Andrew died 17 June 1954. Aunt Fia lived alone in her home until she suffered a stroke a few months before her death. She was taken into the home of her devoted daughter, Mia, and cared for until she died suddenly of a heart attack on 8 May 1961, shortly before her eighty-second birthday.
Aunt Fia left memories that will be cherished by countless friends and relatives, and a legacy that will continue to bless many lives until we again enjoy the privilege of her friendship in the eternities.

Five months ago, my wife, Diane, and I went to Africa with Elder and Sister David A. Bednar. The sixth and last country we visited was Liberia. Liberia is a great country with a noble people and a rich history, but things have not been easy there. Decades of political instability and civil wars have worsened the plague of poverty. On top of that, the dreaded Ebola disease killed nearly 5,000 people there during the latest outbreak. We were the first group of Church leaders from outside the area to visit Monrovia, the capital city, since the World Health Organization declared it safe to do so after the Ebola crisis.

On a very hot and humid Sunday morning, we traveled to a rented meeting facility in the center of the city. Every available chair was set up, totaling 3,500 seats. The final count of attendees was 4,100. Almost all who came had to travel by foot or some form of inconvenient public transportation; it was not easy for the Saints to gather. But they came. Most arrived several hours before the appointed meeting time. As we entered the hall, the spiritual atmosphere was electric! The Saints were prepared to be taught.

When a speaker quoted a scripture, the members would say the verse aloud. It did not matter—short scripture or long; the entire congregation responded in unison. Now, we do not necessarily recommend this, but it was certainly impressive that they could do it. And the choir—they were powerful. With an enthusiastic choir director and a 14-year-old young man at the keyboard, the members sang with vigor and strength.

Then Elder Bednar spoke. This, of course, was the anticipated highlight of the gathering—to hear an Apostle teach and testify. Clearly with spiritual direction, partway through his remarks, Elder Bednar stopped and said, “Do you know ‘How Firm a Foundation’?”
It seemed that 4,100 voices roared in response, “YES!”
He then asked, “Do you know verse 7?”
Again the entire group answered, “YES!”

The arrangement of the mighty hymn “How Firm a Foundation” sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir for the last 10 years has included verse 7, which was not sung much previously. Elder Bednar instructed, “Let’s sing verses 1, 2, 3, and 7.”

Without hesitation, the choir director jumped up and the Aaronic Priesthood–bearing accompanist immediately began to energetically play the introductory chords. With a level of conviction I have never felt before in a congregational hymn, we sang verses 1, 2, and 3. Then the volume and spiritual power was elevated when 4,100 voices sang the seventh verse and declared:
The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose
I will not, I cannot, desert to his foes;
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
I’ll never, no never, I’ll never, no never,
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake!

In one of the most remarkable spiritual events of my life, I was taught a profound lesson that day. We live in a world that can cause us to forget who we really are. The more distractions that surround us, the easier it is to treat casually, then ignore, and then forget our connection with God. The Saints in Liberia have little materially, and yet they seem to have everything spiritually. What we witnessed that day in Monrovia was a group of sons and daughters of God who knew it!

Eli tried to be a good friend. But Will wouldn’t play with him.
“If you play with Eli, you can’t play with me,” Will told Jake and Danny.
Eli asked Will nicely, but Will said, “No. Go away.”
Eli tried to join in when the other boys played chase. But no one would chase Eli.
One day Eli brought some toys to school. A new girl named Emma watched him playing.
“Do you want to play with me?” Eli asked.
“Yes,” Emma said. “That looks like fun.”
Jake and Danny asked, “Can we play too?”
“Yes,” Eli said.
Will looked lonely.
“Come on, Will,” Eli said. “You can play too.”

When our oldest daughter, Wendi, was age five, she attended kindergarten class each morning. One day I sent her to school, then readied our two younger children to go shopping. I felt rushed because I wanted to finish shopping in time to pick up Wendi from school. So with my shopping list in one hand and my two younger children in the other, I set off for the store.
About 20 minutes later a clear thought interrupted me: Darlene, go check on Wendi. I thought, How silly! Wendi is fine at school. I dismissed the thought and went about my shopping. A short time later the thought came back again. Darlene, go check on Wendi. The thought came so clearly I stopped in the middle of a grocery store aisle.
Looking at my shopping list and at my two young children, who would not be patient much longer, I reasoned to myself, This is silly! I’m sure Wendi is fine. I continued down the aisle, but the words came forcefully yet again: Darlene, go check on Wendi!
I told a clerk I would be back for my groceries and rushed from the store. As we left, I noticed a severe thunderstorm had come up. Wendi was terrified of thunderstorms, but I knew she was safe at school. Nevertheless, I began to worry that something terrible might have happened. I hurried to the school. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, and even the storm was passing. I thought perhaps I wouldn’t go inside after all. But after making the effort to get there, I decided I should at least walk to the classroom and reassure myself that all was well.
I turned the corner to Wendi’s classroom and saw the door was open and Wendi was standing in the doorway. How odd! Why wasn’t she at her desk? As I approached she smiled. I didn’t know what to say, so I just hugged her.
“Mommy, I knew you’d come!” she said.
With that, her teacher came over and said, “How did you know to come?” Then she explained that the thunder and lightning had upset the class. As she tried to gather the children to sit together, she noticed Wendi at her seat praying. When Wendi finished, she told her teacher that she was all right and that she had asked Heavenly Father to send her mommy to her. She asked if she could please wait by the door.
I could not stop my tears as I realized the prayer of faith of a five-year-old had literally moved me from a grocery store several kilometers away to be at her side. I am deeply grateful to Heavenly Father for this experience, for Wendi and I both learned divine lessons about faith and trust that day.

There is an urgency in this work that motivates us to extend the blessings of the temple to as many of our Heavenly Father’s children as possible. I was impressed with an experience of President Wilford Woodruff when he told of a visitation he received from the Prophet Joseph Smith some time after the Prophet was martyred. According to President Woodruff’s own account: “[Joseph Smith] came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.

“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’

“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry … to accomplish it.’

“Of course, that was satisfactory,” President Woodruff concluded, “but it was new doctrine to me.”