Gospel Story Finder

I was having a meltdown. I was working on a family history project, and I was getting nowhere. I was looking for a marriage certificate for my great-great-great- grandparents, but when I’d done a quick search on FamilySearch for their names, nothing had come up. I’d prayed to Heavenly Father that the Spirit would help and guide me, but I was starting to get frustrated because my prayer hadn’t been answered yet.
I started scrolling down matches again. No, no, no; this wasn’t helpful at all. I scrolled back to the top. Wait—I’d missed one! There were my grandparents’ names, but they were on a baby’s birth certificate. I called for my mom, and I told her I’d found a record of a baby named Sarah. I would have never imagined her response.
“We don’t have a known great-aunt by the name Sarah,” she said.
I checked the record. Yep, it was correct. We searched for her name by itself, and we found a death certificate for her. It was four days after she was born. I was ready to cry, but they were tears of happiness. My prayer had been answered. I had one thought: “We’ll all be together again.”

Several years ago I spoke at a meeting for members and investigators in the Peru Lima South Mission. I don’t know why I started talking about revelation and the importance of having a prophet. But as I did, I noticed two young men on the first row listening attentively and taking notes. After the meeting, those two young men came to me and said, “You talk about prophets and about revelation. We thought that there weren’t any prophets after John the Baptist.” The young men had been sent by the local priest to find out what I said. I had to leave on an airplane soon and didn’t have time to explain more about prophets and revelation. However, I did tell them that if they wanted to have personal revelation, they should read the Book of Mormon and follow the counsel in Moroni 10. I gave them each a Book of Mormon and marked Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5]. Three months later, I received a letter from those young men telling me that they had been baptized. One year later, I received another letter saying that they were both preparing to go on missions. The Book of Mormon was what converted them.

One such sister was inactive for several years. She didn’t remember why she had stopped going to church. Her only contact with the Church came from the visits of her home and visiting teachers. Whenever they encouraged her to come back to church, she insisted that it was “too hard” and “too late.”

Then, one day, she shared with her visiting teachers a poem she had written. They asked her permission to use it in the ward newsletter, and she said yes.

When the poem was printed, another sister was reminded of their earlier friendship, and she visited the woman. They talked about poetry, and the warmth of their former closeness was renewed. At the end of the visit, the visitor said, “I would give anything if you would come back. The ward is not the same without you.” The less-active sister’s reply surprised them both: “I think I will.”

She didn’t come that week or the next, but phone calls and visits to her home continued, and finally she came. The affection and excitement that greeted her gave her hope and courage, and she came again—and again. Gradually, her habit of inactivity was broken, and a new habit of involvement took its place.

Love and appreciation from others was the spark that ignited this sister’s desire to come back. Like her, many less-active members feel lonely and isolated. President Ezra Taft Benson has given us the charge of helping bring them back to the fold?: “We, as members of the Church and followers of the Lord, must extend and renew our love and heartfelt invitation to come back,” he said. (Ensign, September 1987, page 3.) How can we do so? By following four steps:

But it was the inspiring words of Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Council of the Twelve, given at the Relief Society conference in Salt Lake City in the fall of 1971, that gave me the courage to tell my husband how I felt about him joining the Church. Among other things, Elder Packer said:
“I have often said that a man cannot resist membership if his wife really wants him to have it, and if she knows how to give him encouragement.
“If you have faith enough and desire enough, you will yet have at the head of your home a father and husband who is active and faithful in the Church.
“Some who have long since lost hope have said bitterly, ‘It would take a miracle!’ And so I say, Why not? Why not a miracle! Is there a purpose more worthy than that?
“And I repeat, if your husband doesn’t feel at home going to church, then do everything you can to make him feel at church while he’s at home.
“Sisters, make the gospel seem worthwhile to them, and then let them know that that is your purpose.
“He needs to know, he needs to be told that you care about the gospel and what it means to you.” (“Begin Where You Are—at Home,” International Magazines, July 1972.)
Now an apostle of the Lord had told me to tell my husband what it would mean to me for him to accept the gospel. What a task! In our home the gospel was never mentioned unless my husband started talking about it first. I wept, trying to figure out how I’d ever be able to do it. Then I remembered the scripture, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10). I decided once again to fast and pray and trust in the Lord. It took me until January 1972 to find the courage to speak.
Then, one night, I asked Norman if he felt he could ever accept the gospel. He gave me a firm, but not unkind, no. Taking a deep breath, I told him how much the boys and I loved him, what a fine father and husband he had been; but, I said, he was unable to give me the thing I wanted most of all. Well, I had done it! An apostle of the Lord had told me to do it. Within six months of that night, after thirty-seven years of marriage, Norman was baptized. It was indeed a miracle.
Looking back on the months following that January conversation, I can see that many things happened to bring this about. Some friends from Salt Lake City gave Norman the book, No More Strangers by Hartman and Connie Rector, and challenged Norman to take his place at the head of his family and bear the priesthood. After our younger boy’s missionary farewell, where Norman spoke briefly, Norman’s Sunday School teacher challenged him to be baptized. Steven wrote letters of encouragement and asked his dad to read the Book of Mormon. Douglas also bore testimony to him. Though Steven had left a nonmember father behind in 1972, he returned in 1974 to find his father sitting on the stand as second counselor in the bishopric.

I am here in answer to a call from the prophet and to fulfill a lifelong dream and commitment. As a young girl, I planned and prepared to serve a full-time mission. However, my life plan was “reordered” when I went to a Young Adult activity. There I met a recently returned missionary who offered to teach me to waterski. Over the next year became good friends and grew in love. We embarked on one type of full-time mission, one without a release date: marriage and family. We were sealed in the Provo temple almost 44 years ago. Between then and now, Elder Rasmussen and I have enjoyed a life journey with all the ups and downs of raising seven children, having a career and serving in the church. I am grateful for my experiences as a “mommy missionary.” Our children, their spouses, and our 28 grandchildren are truly a blessing to us.

Last year, we received our call to serve as full-time missionaries here at BYUH. The pandemic made the process of coming complicated and interesting; you know what I mean! We began our BYUH experience remotely, like so many of you. But eventually, we made it to Hawaii. (To you students who are still remote: be patient and have hope. Keep working to get your visas and travel documents. You will get here. We need you here.) My husband teaches in the Religion department. I get to work with him. I also practice speaking conversational English with international students. We serve in the Laie Married Student Ward. It is a joy to serve here, to meet you, virtually and in person. I am grateful that of all the places in the world that we could have been called to serve a mission, we are called to this campus. I love being a missionary with my dearest friend, the companion of my choosing!

The Example of Martin Luther
Here is an account of how Martin Luther himself came to believe the doctrine of justification by faith alone; it is an ideal illustration of why this doctrine has such wide appeal.
A friendly biographer tells us: Luther “was much concerned about his personal salvation and given to gloomy reflections over his sinful condition,” so much so that “he fell dangerously ill, and was seized with a fit of despair.” Also:
No one surpassed him in prayer, fasting, night watches, self-mortification. He was . . . a model of sanctity. But . . . he found no peace and rest in all his pious exercises. . . . He saw sin everywhere. . . . He could not trust in God as a reconciled Father, as a God of love and mercy, but trembled before him, as a God of wrath, as a consuming fire. . . . It was sin as an all-pervading power and vitiating principle, sin as a corruption of nature, sin as an alienation from God and hostility to God that weighed on his mind like an incubus and brought him to the brink of despair.
While in this state, he gained
the conviction that the sinner is justified by faith alone, without the works of the law. . . . This experience acted like a new revelation on Luther. It shed light upon the whole Bible and made it to him a book of life and comfort. He felt relieved of the terrible load of guilt by an act of free grace. He was led out of the dark prison house of self-inflicted penance into the daylight and fresh air of God’s redeeming love. Justification broke the fetters of legalistic slavery, and filled him with the joy and peace of the state of adoption; it opened to him the very gates of heaven. [Philip Schaff, History of the Christian Church, vol. 7, pp. 111, 116–17, 122–24]
So says Luther’s biographer.
It should be perfectly clear to all of us that Luther’s break with Catholicism was part of the divine program; it came as an Elias preparing the way for the Restoration. But this does not in any sense put a stamp of divine approval on the doctrine he devised to justify the break in his own mind.

It’s a giggle, a chortle, a wonderment of clowns. The large classroom in the Shriners Hospital for Crippled Children is warm with children and bright with laughter. Clowns blossom here and there in their rainbow wigs and giant smiles. Reflected double in the large eyes of each child, they glow with an unearthly light.
The children have already laughed and shouted through exploding balloons and pin the tail on the clown (with the biggest, sharpest pin in the world). Now it’s time for clown bowling. The clowns form themselves into a wedge. A nurse is called on to bowl. She takes a large ball from among the hospital toys and sends it flying at them. It looks like a sure strike. But clowns jump and lean as the ball whistles harmlessly through them. Now a little girl has the ball. Sitting in her wheelchair, she pushes it at them as hard as she can, but it dribbles weakly off her lap and barely reaches the clown pins. The little bowler sighs, underestimating clown magic. As the ball gently nudges the foremost clown he flies backwards as if struck by a locomotive, knocking down a second clown who ricochets into a third. The whole clown wedge explodes like a grenade. Strike! The children cheer. The nurse hints at a fix but is shouted down. When clowns are present, children always win.
With this wild bunch of clowns, it’s one crazy thing after another. The children shriek and giggle and clap their hands at each new outbreak of silliness. Even the teenage patients who are trying hard not to be sucked in cannot help smiling. For a few moments at least, no one is thinking about operations or needles or pain.
When the official performance ends, the clowns come down and move among the patients, making balloon animals and objects—dogs, cats, swords, giraffes, airplanes. They’ll try anything the kids request, and even the failures are good fun. They also draw clown stars on the children’s faces. Before each star is drawn, the child must raise his hand and make a solemn vow that he will not wash it off until forced to do so by a nurse.
All too soon the good times must end. The fun-loving nurses who have laughed and cheered right along with their patients begin taking them away for medical treatment. The children invent delaying tactics, stretching out the moment as long as they can. One little girl hugs a clown tight for a moment, then looks into his eyes. “I love you, clown,” she says.
The clowns are as high as kites. They keep their costumes and their faces on as they leave the hospital. It’s 14 degrees below zero here in Spokane, Washington, but to them it feels like spring.
Passersby stare at them in wonder. Clowns!
The clowns pile into two cars and drive off to a well-earned hamburger. Motorists along the way, especially little ones, gape in wonder as they see the two carfuls of smiling and waving clowns. At several stoplights clowns spill out onto the snowy road and race around in a Chinese fire drill.
At the hamburger joint, children at other tables (including 40- and 50-year-old children) giggle and goggle as real clowns eat mortal food.
The hamburger munchers react to the unexpected clowns much as they might respond to a stray unicorn. There’s a double take, then a prodding of nearby ribs, a subtle jabbing of thumbs. “Look, a clown!” “Don’t stare!”
As the clowns eat they share experiences from their hospital performance. They have made many such visits. Hospitals and clowns seem to go together. After all, if laughter is the best medicine, these guys are physicians. They can cure sadness with smiles, tears with giggles. If you’re suffering a mirth defect, they’re the specialists to visit. They’re crazy. They’re magic. They’re clowns.

These thoughts ran through my mind for the next several months. One evening in September 2007, my mother, my three younger siblings, and I were leaving a deli in my hometown of Haverhill, Massachusetts, USA, and stopped to sit on a bench. Two young men in black suits, white shirts, and ties approached us. One of them said, “I know it may seem a little bit awkward to talk to two people you don’t know, but could we share a message with you?”
We agreed. I knew they were going to talk to us about religion, and I was impressed that they didn’t just thrust a card or pamphlet at us and walk off. Rather, these young men genuinely seemed interested in us and excited about their message. At the conclusion of their message, they asked if they could visit our family. My mother agreed and set up a time, so I have her to thank for what became a great change for good in my life.
We started learning the gospel. After a while Mom became busy with different things and didn’t continue to meet with the missionaries, but I did.
I connected easily with Elder Kelsey and Elder Hancock. Perhaps part of the reason was that they weren’t that much older than I was. I felt great love from them and for them. Soon I felt that same love from ward members and from other youth in my stake.
The missionaries taught me the plan of salvation, which answered the questions I had about my uncle and about my own purpose in life. The elders also introduced me to the Book of Mormon. I remember reading in Alma 32 about the seed of faith developing and tasting good (see verse 28). That description was exactly how the Book of Mormon seemed to me. What I was reading and what the missionaries were teaching me rang true, felt right, and tasted good.
My mom teased me about what she called my “hermit crab stage” because I would retreat to my bedroom and spend several hours reading the Book of Mormon. Although I didn’t recognize my feelings as the Holy Ghost at that time, I felt that this path was right.
When the missionaries asked me to be baptized, they encouraged me to pray about the decision. When I prayed to know if joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was what I was supposed to do, I received a very direct answer, to the point that it shocked me. The direction was clear: go forward with baptism.
I remember vividly the day I was baptized—December 15, 2007. As I stood in the cold water with Elder Kelsey and he raised his hand to the square, the Spirit just filled me up; it seemed to take over my whole frame. I could say that I was also grinning from ear to ear, but that description doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt.
After my baptism I continued to feel the Spirit. I felt sanctified. I knew that my sins had been remitted. I felt the approval of Heavenly Father that this was, indeed, the path I was supposed to take.
Occasionally, when little doubts pop up, I go back to that experience and remember how I felt that day. Remembering what I felt then helps me dispel any doubt I may encounter.
Even though we don’t reenter the waters of baptism to have those powerful feelings again, we can remember that feeling when we renew our covenants through repentance and the sacrament. Each time I repent, I can find that feeling again—one of being cleansed and of being loved.
Feeling that love helps me identify with what Joseph Smith taught: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”1 Knowing the worth of a soul helps me be excited about opportunities to go teaching with the missionaries in my area. I also look forward to the day when I can serve a full-time mission and share how happy the gospel of Jesus Christ has made me.

I was reminded of this several years ago at Christmastime when one of our daughters had returned recently from her mission. My wife and I had purchased a gift for her—one that she was excited to receive. On Christmas Eve I suddenly realized that I didn’t remember where I had hidden the gift. (Remember, I’m the guy who beat a cherry tree with a baseball bat.) I racked my brain. I searched in all my favorite hiding places. I simply could not find the gift. I felt sick. Minutes went by, stretching into an hour or more. Nothing came to my mind. I decided to pray: “Father in Heaven, I need your help. I have a gift for my daughter but I can’t find it. She is a choice daughter, and I don’t want to disappoint her. Please help me find the gift.” Immediately, I knew where to look. I found the gift. I testify that He knows us. He loves us. We can go to Him in prayer, even in the small and simple things.

Elder Bruce Porter of the Seventy recounts an experience: “As a missionary in Germany nearly 25 years ago, I arrived in the city of Wuppertal as a new zone leader shortly after the missionaries who preceded me had had phenomenal success in baptizing several families and individuals. Their baptisms represented a substantial addition to that branch, which had nearly 100 members. We decided as missionaries to concentrate a great deal of effort on integrating and fellowshipping these new members so that they would remain active members of the branch for the rest of their lives. We taught them all of the new member lessons, as well as additional lessons of our own making; we enrolled them in a yearlong Gospel Essentials class taught by the missionaries; we worked with the branch leadership to ensure that they received callings and were integrated into the branch through socials and fellowshipping by members; we arranged for them to meet one another and help teach other investigators so that they would form bonds among themselves that would help them as a group remain active in the future. In short, we spent more than six months after their baptism doing what we could to ensure that their testimonies were strong and that they were integrated into the Church.
“Today, 25 years later, almost all of those families and individuals are still active and faithful. Many of their children have served missions and have been married in the temple. We now have a second and even a third generation of activity in the Church. The one couple who did go inactive had a daughter who remained active and has since been married in the temple. Although this is only one case, my experience then persuaded me that time spent by missionaries working with members to integrate new members into the Church will pay off richly in the long term” (letter to Elder Richard G. Scott).

To promote modesty and values, the young women of the Torrance Second Ward in California had a modest “fashion shoot” for a recent Mutual activity. Each girl chose a value to portray in her clothing choice. The room where the young women meet was then transformed into a working photo studio, complete with studio lights and backdrop. Each girl had her own photo shoot with her value poster and then the photographer took group shots. Not only did the young women learn about the values, but they also realized modesty can be easy, fun, and fashionable. And it never goes out of style.

We can bear witness with our words and with our actions. We recently had a wedding in our family—I pause to say that you should know that our families are one of the most important places following Him will lead us. This wedding has a story.
My niece, Mari—some of you may know her since she lived here with me during Fall semester—was married in March.
John, her new husband, joined the Church just over a year ago. When he came to work in Arizona, he lived with some co-workers who happened to all be returned missionaries. When President Hinckley asked the members of the Church to read the Book of Mormon, his roommates obeyed and because they were all reading the Book of Mormon, John decided to read it, too. Then he called up the missionaries and asked them to teach him.
In our family, we call him President Hinckley's convert, but he was also directly influenced by the example of his roommates and the spirit of the Book of Mormon.
John and Mari were sealed in the Mesa, Arizona Temple.
At their sealing were two missionaries, one of whom had taught John the gospel. John had asked him to serve as his witness at the wedding. With permission, he came to the temple to perform this service for the investigator he taught and baptized—on the very last day of his mission!
What a wonderful day it was! To what a beautiful place following Him had led our family—to the temple in company with family and friends and those two missionaries.

During my youth, my father had a stable job and made a good living. However, he was addicted to alcohol, and this affected his family life. One day, a building was completed in my neighborhood near our house, and many speculated on its use: a school, a hospital, a church?
It was a building of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My father was invited there and he went despite the mockery and ridicule of his family members. Eventually my father was baptized.
From that moment on, we noticed a change in his character: To our astonishment, he stopped consuming alcohol and tobacco. He often read a book that later turned out to be the Book of Mormon. After my father was baptized, he invited us to join him in his new Church. The other members of my family were reluctant to join. I had always been close to my father and decided to go to church with him.
After my baptism, my two brothers and sisters joined the Church. My mother was later baptized as well.

While I was serving as a mission president in Bolivia, a wonderful elder came to see me. It was near the end of his mission. He was very depressed.
He spoke to me about the difficult time he had experienced in the Missionary Training Center. While he was there his father had died, and for a brief period the elder had considered returning home. But, encouraged by a loving mother, and spurred on by individual commitment, he continued his training.
He recounted the initial efforts he had made in the mission field to work hard, pray often, follow all the rules—hoping, of course, to be rewarded with hundreds of baptisms. But, unfortunately, the baptisms had not come. Gradually he began to slacken his pace. He felt his prayers were not being heard. The mission rules seemed to be burdensome and restrictive. They were silly things, written by the mission president only to goad and irritate him.
In despair he told me, “I’m nobody! What I do won’t make any difference.” Then, as if searching, he quickly asked, “Will it, President Hammond?” For an instant similar questions passed through my mind. Can he make a difference? Can I? Can anyone? Does it matter what one person does?
Then, in my mind’s eye I saw a myriad of people and events who had made a difference. I reminded him of the work of Copernicus, who revolutionized the science of astronomy; and Mohandas K. Gandhi, who in preaching peace and love, brought freedom to his native India.
There are many men and women who have truly made a difference, I said. I thought for a moment and then continued with the stories of two others.
I placed my hand on the young missionary’s and asked him if he was ready to go back out into the field of labor? I asked if he could make a difference in the lives of the special Bolivian children of our Heavenly Father?
His attitude had changed. With a renewed spirit of dedication, tears slipping down his face, he committed himself once again to the work of the Lord. We knelt in prayer together and I blessed him that he would be able to find the way.
Although he had been weak, I felt an inner confidence in him. I surprised even myself by assigning him to one of the most difficult and remote areas of Bolivia—a small community named Bermejo near the Argentine border. The work had gone badly there for some time, with only a few baptisms to reenforce the handful of Saints who were discouraged and found it hard to keep the faith.
In his weekly reports the missionary told of his diligent efforts to contact the people and preach the gospel to them. He indicated that they were slow to listen, but that he was continuing his faithful stewardship in that part of the Lord’s vineyard.
And then it happened. Overnight a small river that runs near the village, fed by heavy rains in the mountains, rose to a height never before known. Homes were swept away and people were drowned. The only bridge connecting the city to the main road was torn from its footings and washed downstream. There was chaos everywhere.
Two young missionaries were caught in the turmoil. And one, perhaps remembering that “a man can make a difference,” threw himself into the turbulent waters to rescue many who were drowning; he sought those buried beneath fallen buildings; he gave relief to the injured and succor to the hungry.
And a miracle occurred. He became a hero. He was lauded by the newspapers. People mentioned his name with reverence. Those who had previously rejected him and the message that he carried now searched him out. Their doors were opened to receive him. They loved him. They accepted his burning testimony of Jesus Christ and the gospel restored through the prophet Joseph Smith.
In the few months that remained of his mission he brought scores of wonderful people into the Church. Today, a beautiful chapel stands in Bermejo. On the Sabbath day it is full of members who still remember one faithful elder who made a difference.

I asked my mom if I could play outside with my friends. She said, “Yes, but don’t go too far.” When I got outside, my friends were waiting for me. “Should I get my scooter?” I asked. “Sure,” said Derek. Sam said they were going to the park. I remembered what my mom had told me, and I heard a voice say, “Don’t do it. Don’t do it.” I said that I wouldn’t go. Right after they left a car passed by. I knew I probably would have been hit. I am happy for my mom and the Holy Ghost who guide me through my life.

“The bus is coming! Get your coat on!” Jacob’s mother called. Opening the closet, Jacob looked for his red, black, and blue coat. He had been given the coat for Christmas, and his mother had written his name on the inside of one of the sleeves with a marker.

“Hurry, Jake!” Mom called again.

“I can’t find my coat!” Jacob cried. “Where is it?”

Mom hurried to the closet. “Just put this jacket on,” she told him. “We’ll find your coat tomorrow. There’s no time now.”

Jacob wished the jacket would somehow magically turn into his coat as he slid his arms into the sleeves. He looked down at the blue jacket with disappointment. It wasn’t nearly as awesome as his Christmas coat.

“Don’t worry,” Mom said, as she smiled with encouragement. “We’ll find it later.”

Jacob tried to smile back, but he couldn’t. His heart felt tight and heavy. He hated to lose things that he really liked.

The next day, Jacob woke up earlier and went through the coat closet. He lifted the vacuum out, picked up the coats and jackets that had fallen on the floor, and checked every hanger, but couldn’t find the missing Christmas coat.

He frowned as he reached for the blue jacket again. Where could his coat be? He had looked everywhere. It was as if it had been swallowed by an invisible snow monster.

As Jacob walked to the bus with his head hanging, a thought occurred to him: What if it wasn’t lost? What if it was stolen? Had he left it at school and forgotten? He thought hard and decided that the possibility of his coat being stolen was very likely.

During the next few days, Jacob stopped looking for his coat and instead started looking for who the thief might be. Everyone became a suspect, and it wasn’t long before he found someone to blame. When Mom picked him up from school, he noticed a boy his age walking to the bus with his Christmas coat on!

“There’s my coat!” he cried, pointing an accusing finger at the boy heading for the bus. “Let’s go get it!” Jacob reached for the door.

“Wait a minute,” Mom said. “Maybe it’s just a coat that looks like yours.”

Jacob shook his head. “I’ve never seen anyone wear a coat like mine until today. There’s no way it could be anyone else’s coat but mine.” He turned around and looked at the boy who was boarding the bus. “He’s the same size as me. I’ll take it and turn the sleeve inside out, and my name will be there. You’ll see.”

Mom shook her head. “I don’t know, Jake. I would hate to find out that it really isn’t yours. We better go home and check really thoroughly one more time.”

As the van pulled away, Jacob’s heart sank. He had looked everywhere thoroughly. He knew his Christmas coat wasn’t at home. His coat was on that boy!

When they arrived home, Mom went with him to the coat closet. Together, they systematically began removing everything inside—the vacuum, the coats on the floor, and boxes. At the back of the closet was a box that Jacob hadn’t seen since Christmas. It was filled with Christmas decorations and still smelled like cinnamon sticks and pinecones.

After Mom lifted the box out, she asked, “Jake, would you crawl in there and see if you can see anything else?”

Jacob crawled into the closet on his hands and knees. “My coat!” he cried. “I found my coat!” It had been well hidden by the box. As he emerged from the closet, he turned the sleeve inside out, just to be sure. His name was clearly printed on the inside. Jacob held it up for Mom to see.

She nodded her head. “I am so glad that you didn’t accuse that boy. Can you imagine how awful you would have felt, and how awful you would have made the other boy feel?”

Jacob’s smiling face changed to a quiet, thoughtful one. He hadn’t worried about what might happen if he accused someone falsely. His only worry had been finding the coat or the person who took it. As he looked at his mom, relief spread through his body. He was glad she had insisted that they check the closet one more time.

“Thanks, Mom,” Jacob said.

“I’m glad you found your coat, and I think you found something else too,” she replied.

“What?”

“You found that it’s best to be sure you’re right before accusing someone of doing wrong.”

Jacob nodded. “And that’s something worth finding!”

After my husband died, the missionaries came into my life. I resisted the gospel message at first. I had become very independent. But one day they said to me, “Sister Ncube, you know, we are not looking for members. What we are after is your soul. We are pursuing you for your soul.” That went deep in my heart. I sat down and said, “I agree. I will be baptized.” For the first time in my life, I learned what true freedom was. When I was baptized my soul was set free.
I was baptized on Liberia’s Independence Day, but for me it was the day I would declare, “Now, I know the truth. I know I am free. I am free indeed.”

Just minutes before, the fairgrounds were alive with the excitement of the rodeo. High school students were brushing, saddling, and warming up the horses. Cowboy music rang loud, reminding all to have a “good-ridin’, fun-timin’” rodeo. The lilting music, the country drawls, and the masses of cowboy hats created a nostalgic feeling of excitement, a feeling that causes a non-rodeo attender to feel as if he’s either been placed back in time 20 years to the old small-town get-together days or else placed in a Hollywood scene for the newest western. At any rate, the cowboy inside the slickest of city slickers comes alive.
Now, as the rodeo begins and the clouds begin to roll in, the lively atmosphere becomes more subdued. The setting sun silhouettes the announcing stand, the bleachers, and the rows of horse trailers. The announcer’s country drawl booms out from the loudspeaker and spills into the dusty haze that smells of horses and hay.
“And, ladies and gentlemen, our next team ropers are the brother and sister team from American Fork, Utah, Janice and Brent Ault!”
Bursting out of the chute, a calf turns, twists, and dodges, kicking up mud as he’s chased by Janice and Brent. Quickly Janice swings her coiled rope over the calf’s neck. Brent then throws his rope on the ground, pulling it up around the calf’s hind legs. The clock stops, and smiles replace the determined looks on the faces of the brother-sister team.
It’s not often that a brother and sister compete in team roping, yet team roping is only the beginning of the Janice-Brent team. Just last fall, serving the governor of Utah, his wife, and other judges a meal consisting of garlic lamb steaks, baked potatoes, tossed green salad, carrots, a melon-ball appetizer, braided yeast bread, and a raspberry cream dessert was—yes, the Janice-Brent team.
Adorned with aprons and hats, and reminded by 3-by-5 cards printed with such phrases as “Put plates in oven to heat,” “Cut green peppers,” “Set fruit on table,” “Change aprons,” and “Call guests,” the efficient team won first place in the state 4-H contest and a trip to Denver, Colorado.
Ah, but this team doesn’t stop at cooking together. As the early morning sun sparkles on the dew-kissed June grass and glistens on the auburn-colored horses, Janice and Brent can be seen together, buckets in hands, feeding the softly neighing animals.
Or one might see them on a winter-white afternoon riding snowmobiles, letting their laughter ring out above the snowmobiles’ hum. At evening time, one might find them doing homework, leatherwork, or making cookies—together—and the list goes on!
Why is it that Janice, who is 18, and Brent, who is 16, work so well together at an age when many teenagers, although secretly admiring their brothers and sisters, avoid and label them as “pests” or “bossy”?
“We do things together because we like the same things,” says Janice. “And by doing things together we learn more about each other and how to get along.”
“Also,” says Brent, “when we do things together, we’re happier.”
Janice enjoys cooking, being outdoors, camping, photography, traveling, and participating in rodeos. Brent enjoys riding horses, riding motorcycles, hunting, fishing, and snowmobiling—to name a few.
Together, they also enjoy photography. Janice has won the 4-H state competition two years in a row. Brent has won the Utah county title and “will soon win state,” Janice adds.
They both ride horses, and they both cook. They both ride motorcycles, and they both bake bread. And that’s the key! They are both totally involved in family and Church activities. They both enjoy the same things!
However, Brent and Janice aren’t just a twosome team. Most of the time it’s a family team, with the extended family often participating.
It’s a father-son team when it’s planting, plowing, and haying. Brent farms with his father, and whether it’s on the tractor, feeding the sheep, or riding the horses, Brent and his dad are having fun, and, Brent reminds, working hard.
But don’t overlook the mother-daughter team when it’s time for baking and keeping house. By participating in meal preparation, Janice has learned to be better organized in the kitchen. “And Janice,” according to her proud mother, “makes the best bread you’ve ever tasted!”
It’s a family team when it’s rodeo, vacation, or 4-H time. When dad needs help on the farm, everyone pitches in. With mother as 4-H leader, everyone joins 4-H! And when Brent and Janice are competing at the rodeo, huddled from the rain under umbrellas and blankets cheering them on are mom, dad, and sometimes even grandma!
Of course, Sundays, Monday evenings, and other times find the Aults attending their meetings and serving faithfully. Brent is a counselor in the teachers quorum, and Janice is a counselor in the Laurel class.
We feel that it’s important to be together as a family, so we’ve chosen interests and activities that involve the whole family,” Brother Ault remarks.
Instead of isolating themselves with their personal hobbies, the Aults participate in activities that everyone can join. Instead of becoming strangers, they become friends; instead of tolerance, there is love.
Yes, Brent and Janice do have their own interests and friends, but they’ve learned, by doing things together, how to love and respect their family. It’s not uncommon for Janice to go outside to saddle up her horse and find the horse all brushed and saddled. Standing close by with a shy smile is Brent. Of course, Janice quickly returns the kindness.
As the sun begins to set, casting shadows on the quiet ten acres backgrounded by mountains, the horses are fed and brushed, the chores are done, and mom has just served a big garden supper, complete with Janice’s hot homemade bread. Voices and laughter echo in the peaceful stillness because the Aults are together—again.

Guiding the sisters back to the temple was the goal of the Merthyr Tydfil Wales Stake Relief Society presidency when they set out to plan a temple focus week.
Aware that many sisters had not returned to the temple since COVID-19 restrictions had been lifted, the presidency decided to encourage not only temple attendance, but also an invitation to focus on the temple all week.
Kicking off the focus week with a Sunday evening devotional, sisters in the stake were introduced to a calendar of activities which would help them to turn their hearts to the temple, their covenants and their family each day.
Much thought went into the ideas for the daily activities and it was hoped that the sisters would connect with their living relatives, as well as complete research for their deceased ancestors. Suggested activities for the week centered on family history projects, conference talks, service opportunities, scriptures and ideas to make connections with living relatives.
During the devotional, sisters also heard talks from President and Sister Jensen, who were just about to be released from the London England Temple presidency. They shared beautiful testimonies of how their time in the temple had taught them about the importance of covenants, and how the temple experience is personal and individual.
Merthyr Tydfil Stake president, Simon Hayes, spoke to the sisters and left his blessing upon their efforts in the coming week.
The week culminated with over 40 sisters attending the London England Temple together. The sisters were joined in the temple on the day by young adult brethren from the stake, who assisted in all aspects of a special baptistry session.
One sister commented, “I enjoyed the company and conversation with the sisters on the drive to the temple, and was blessed that more work was accomplished than I had anticipated.”
With distances to the temple being so far for many families in the stake, the actual temple visit on the Saturday was an act of faith on the part of the presidency. Stake Relief Society president, Theresa Williams commented. “Our faith was rewarded as the temple filled with the happy faces of so many of our sisters. It was a real glimpse of heaven for us to all be there together. Participating in the activities of the week brought a sense of unity even though we were taking part separately. We knew that somewhere in the stake our sisters were joined with us in the work of salvation. ‘Fulfil ye my joy, that ye be likeminded, having the same love, being one accord, of one mind’ (Philippians 2:2).”

The New Era is a great comfort to me. I am a convert to the Church, and I have learned many wonderful things this past year just by reading this great magazine! I go to a Catholic school, and I have to take a course in religion. In this class I was assigned to give an oral report from a magazine or book on “My Personal Happiness.” I chose the article “The Business of Being” in the July 1983 issue of the New Era. Elder Cuthbert really knows the meaning of maturity. When I gave that report, I know that the Spirit was with me. He helped me to touch the hearts of many in my class, and I am grateful for that. By the way, I got an A!
Linda VillaromanSan Francisco, California