Gospel Story Finder

He was concerned about how to raise his three children—sons, Randrianandry and Sedinirina, and daughter, Nirina. He was unhappy that his short temper had led to challenges in the family. He wanted to be a kinder parent.
“I decided I was the one who had to change because I saw who I had become,” he said.
But his sons say the biggest change they have seen is in their father’s temperament. They describe him now as an example of humility and kindness. Roger said the gospel convinced him that he had to change. Since he began studying it, Roger has tried to fill his life with good things.
“Because of the teachings of the gospel, I never lose my temper,” he said. “Sometimes there are provocations, but the gospel is in my heart, in my head, and in my spirit. It helps me stay calm.”
When upsetting situations arise, Roger is the one who calms down family members and reminds them to act as the Savior would.
“My father became humble and now cares for our family with love,” Sedinirina said. “When I look at the change in him, I’m so grateful for Heavenly Father, for the gospel, and for being members of the Church.”

I should like to tell you of an experience I had many years ago while serving as a stake president. I received a telephone call from a bishop who reported that a husband and wife in his ward were seeking a divorce. Having gone beyond all limits of prudence in installment buying, they now argued endlessly over money matters.
The husband in his employment faced the constant threat of garnishment of wages, and the wife refused to remain at home because of the harassment of bill collectors. Furthermore, they soon would be without a home because they had received notice of foreclosure. In their mutual frustration, he shouted at her for being a poor manager, and she at him for being a poor provider.
The bishop reported that he had taken care of their emergency needs, and that he had counseled with them at length in an effort to restore the love and respect they once had known. He had reached the point where he felt he had done all he could to help them.
I asked whether the man belonged to a priesthood quorum. The bishop replied that he was an elder. That evening the quorum presidency responded to a call to meet with the bishop. On a confidential basis the problem was outlined. Then the quorum presidency suggested the names of a committee who might work with the family. As I recall, the committee included a lawyer, a credit manager, and an accountant, all members of that quorum.
The couple was then called in and asked whether they would be willing to put their financial affairs in the hands of these brethren. They broke into tears at this sign of help with the burden they had found too heavy to bear themselves.
The men nominated for the committee were then approached and each agreed to serve. What they discovered was a dismal picture indeed. Obligated monthly payments totaled almost twice the monthly income. But these men were accustomed to dealing with problems of this kind. They analyzed the situation thoroughly.
They found, for instance, two cars where one could do at the price of a little inconvenience. There were other things that could be dispensed with.
Then, with the facts before them, they called on the various creditors. They did what the beleaguered husband could not do for himself. They spoke the language of the creditors, and worked out a plan of payment with each. They gave the creditors the assurance that they had control of the assets of the family, and with this assurance and the evident expertise of the committee, the creditors were willing to go along.
While in the process of managing the family’s affairs, the committee effectively taught principles of budgeting, financial responsibility, and money management. The problem was not cured in a day. It required many months. But miracles happened. A new and satisfying discipline came into the lives of the husband and wife. The creditors received their just due. The home was saved, and—most important—love and peace returned to that home.

For many years the girls were too shy about their writing to share it even with each other. It took a small accident by Charlotte to get them to share their work and their dreams of someday having their work published.
Charlotte was moving Emily’s notebook one day to set the table. She had done this many times in the past and had never neglected Emily’s privacy by reading her work. This day, however, the notebook fell open accidently to some poems, and before Charlotte could close it her eyes caught a few lines.
Having studied the best poets at her boarding schools, Charlotte was capable of recognizing good poetry when she saw it. Emily’s poems were good, very good, and Charlotte couldn’t put the notebook down. She knew her sister’s work must be published.
“Charlotte! How dare you!” Emily cried as she came into the dining room.
“It was an accident, Emily; really it was.” Charlotte realized what her sister must think. “Your poems are so good, though, I couldn’t quit reading them.”
Emily’s anger lasted for three days during which she didn’t speak to Charlotte. After all was forgiven, the door was open for the sisters to discuss their work with each other and make plans to try to publish it.

My little brother, Joel, and I had been waiting for days to take our friend Robby to see the lights and the manger scene on Temple Square. Ever since we’d mentioned going, Robby had been counting the days.
You see, Robby had never seen Temple Square at Christmastime, and this was his first Christmas outside of a hospital in two years. He still can’t walk, and his right hand and arm are all crooked and bent. The only way that he can get around is in his silver wheelchair with someone pushing him.
Robby couldn’t go to a lot of places. He didn’t go to Primary, so Joel and I tried to take some Primary to him. We’d go over to his house, sit by his wheelchair, sing him the songs, and tell him the stories we’d learned in Primary. Robby loved it, and all week long he’d have us repeat what we’d done in Primary.
One afternoon in December we told Robby the Christmas story about Jesus being born in the manger. When we finished, he sighed and said, “Oh, I wish I could have been one of the shepherds who visited Jesus on that special night. Or one of the Wise Men who later followed the star. I would like to have seen the Baby Jesus and given Him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”
“There’s a manger scene on Temple Square,” Joel said. “It’s not the real one, but it looks real.”
Robby’s eyes got big, and his smile seemed to go from the tip of his chin to the ends of his ears. “That’s where I’d like to go for Christmas,” he said. Then his smile disappeared. “But I don’t see how I could,” he said, running his good hand over his wheelchair.
Robby had recently moved to Salt Lake City. He was the only child in his family, and his mom and dad traveled a lot. They didn’t ever seem to have time to take Robby anywhere. Of course, Robby had Mrs. Helber, who took care of him while his mom and dad were away; but she was older and didn’t drive a car.
“We’ll take you to Temple Square,” Joel declared one afternoon as we all sat at Robby’s window and watched a million snowflakes flutter to the ground. “We’ll get Dad to help us,” he said firmly, “won’t we, Jeremy?”
“Do you really think you could?” Robby asked, glancing at me pleadingly. “I’d like going, Jeremy—more than anything else!”
I smiled. “We’ll get you to Temple Square,” I told him. “That’s a promise.”
Now it was the Friday before Christmas. Joel and I had stopped by Robby’s place late in the afternoon to see if he would be ready to go that evening. Robby’s mom and dad were gone, and we could hear Mrs. Helber in the kitchen fixing supper. It was getting dark, and Robby asked anxiously, “Your dad won’t forget will he?”
I patted Robby on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ll be back in an hour and a half to pick you up. Dad won’t forget.”
But Dad did forget! He was getting ready for a meeting over at the church when we came home.
“To a meeting?” Joel gasped.
“But what about taking Robby to Temple Square?” I cried.
Dad groaned and hit his forehead with his hand. “Oh, no! Was that tonight?”
Joel and I couldn’t even nod. We just stared, suddenly feeling sick.
“Brother Thomas asked me to go over to a planning meeting,” Dad explained. “When he talked to me this morning, I forgot about our trip with Robby. I’m really sorry, boys. Can we go another time? How about tomorrow?”
“Robby’s been counting on going tonight,” Joel mumbled. But I don’t think Dad heard. I could tell that Dad felt really bad; he doesn’t usually forget.
After supper Dad left for his meeting, and Joel and I told Mom we were going over to Robby’s. We put on our coats, hats, gloves, and boots and stepped out into the dark night. The snow crunched under our boots, and big puffs of steam blew out of our mouths and noses as we breathed.
“How are we ever going to explain this to Robby?” Joel wanted to know when we were outside. “We just can’t let him down. He’s been waiting for this for a long time.”
“I don’t know what we can do. Dad’s already gone, and he won’t be back till late.”
Joel grabbed my arm and whispered, “Maybe we could take him, Jeremy.”
“Us?” I said. “That’s seven or eight, maybe ten blocks. Who’d we get to drive us down there?”
“We’ll push him in his wheelchair. We can do it!” Joel coaxed. “Most of it’s downhill. Besides, we just have to take him, Jeremy! We can’t tell him that Dad forgot.”
I thought for a minute. “We’ll ask Robby,” I said. “If he wants to go in his wheelchair, we’ll take him.”
When we got to Robby’s place, he was waiting right by the front door, with his coat and hat on. A scarf was tied around his neck, and a blanket was tucked in around his legs. “Let’s go,” he greeted us. “I already told Mrs. Helber good-bye.”
I pulled off my gloves and stared at the floor. “Dad can’t come,” I explained. “He had to go to a meeting.” I glanced up and saw Robby’s smile droop. For a minute I wondered if he was going to cry.
“But we’ll take you,” Joel blurted out. “We’ll push you. Do you still want to go?”
Robby’s smile returned, and he nodded furiously.
“It will be cold,” I warned. “And it’s a long way just walking.”
“We can make it!” Robby grinned. “I know we can.”
A shiver of excitement tickled the back of my neck as I gripped the handles on Robby’s wheelchair and began pushing it down the sidewalk.
We walked block after block. Since it was mostly downhill, it wasn’t hard pushing Robby at first, but after a while all that walking made my legs tired. Joel tried to help, but he could barely see over the back of the chair, so I had to do most the pushing.
I was getting a little worried about whether I’d remembered the way right, because I had never gone to Temple Square without a grownup, when Robby called out, “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” Joel asked.
“That gold statue lighted up on top of the pointy building.”
Joel and I smiled. “That’s the Angel Moroni on top of the temple,” I said. “That’s where we’re going.”
“You mean that all we have to do is follow the light and we’ll find the place?”
“That’s all,” I said.
Robby smiled back at me and said, “We have our very own angel to show us the way.”
Robby wouldn’t take his eyes off the gold statue on top of the temple. And I wasn’t worried anymore because I knew we’d soon be there.
A few flakes of snow started to fall as we crossed the last street. We could see most of the spires of the temple now, and we could see the walls around Temple Square.
Joel led the way as we squeezed through the crowds of people and made our way inside the wide gates. My legs were tired, and my cheeks were numb, but I kept pushing, knowing that we were almost to the manger scene. All the while, Robby was straining forward to see the colored lights.
I glanced back toward the street and suddenly realized that it was blocks and blocks back to our house—all uphill! A sick feeling came over me, and I wondered if we would be able to push Robby back home. Then I saw Robby’s face as he stared at the Christmas lights that Joel and I had told him so much about.
Temple Square was sparkling with thousands of lights—in the trees, on the bushes, everywhere. And they all seemed to reflect off Robby’s beaming face. “It’s beautiful!” he whispered. “More beautiful than you said.”
We came to the manger scene in the middle of a big, snow-covered lawn just as a light shone down on a group of shepherds. A voice began to speak, and quiet music began to play.
Robby didn’t say anything. He just stared. The voice told the Christmas story almost the way Joel and I had told it to Robby, but it was so much better here, because we could see it almost like it had happened so many years before.
Then the light shone on the manger, and we saw Jesus and Mary and Joseph. Finally the light fell on the Wise Men who were following the special star to see the Baby Jesus. Robby turned around and whispered, “We followed a kind of star too.” He pointed above us toward the Angel Moroni. “Tonight we were like the Wise Men.”
Three times that night we listened to the Christmas story, standing in the cold and looking at the manger. Even when Robby started to shiver from the cold, he wouldn’t let us leave the beautiful manger scene.
But it was getting late, and I knew we’d have to go back. We pushed Robby through the gates, and I stopped and gulped. My feet were numb, my nose and cheeks burned with cold, and an icy wind had started to blow, making tears come to my eyes. I was so tired that I wanted to cry, but I knew that I couldn’t, not with Robby and Joel depending on me. Instead, I bowed my head and said a little prayer, asking Heavenly Father to help us get home safely.
After going about a block, a voice called, “Jeremy! Joel! Robby!” I turned, and there was Dad hurrying across the street, waving to us. He rushed up to us and hugged Joel and me and patted Robby on the shoulder. “I thought you were lost for sure,” he panted, looking more worried than I had ever seen him. “Then I remembered how much you had been counting on bringing Robby here.”
A few minutes later we reached our car. Dad put Robby and Joel on the back seat and set the wheelchair in the trunk. I climbed up front with Dad.
“I hope you’re not mad,” I said. “We just had to bring Robby.” I looked down at my hands. “We won’t do it again, but we couldn’t let Robby down, not at Christmastime.”
Dad took a deep breath as he started the engine. “Sometimes there are more important things than meetings,” he whispered. “I learned that tonight.” He put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me against him.
“It was so beautiful,” I whispered. I could feel a lump in my throat. “We followed the light and went right to the manger, just like the Wise Men.” I was quiet for a moment. “But we didn’t leave a gift,” I mumbled. “Not like the other Wise Men did. We didn’t have any gold or frankincense or myrrh.”
Dad held me close for a moment while he drove. Then he told me, “Oh, but you gave an even better gift. You gave a gift of love to Robby. What you gave to Robby, you were really giving to Jesus, and a gift of love is the very best gift of all.”
“Are you sure, Dad?” I whispered.
“I’m sure,” he said.

Meanwhile, World War I broke out. To help connect women with each other during that challenging time, the Church published its Relief Society Magazine, which became an important resource for the sisters in Melbourne. They discussed its articles, poetry and stories as they gathered to knit socks and prepare parcels for soldiers in Europe and the Middle East.

Elizabeth’s two grandsons had enlisted to serve in the war. Her son Horace also enlisted and was sent to the Middle East as part of Australia’s Light Horse regiments.

Church attendance dwindled as more brethren were called to military duty. Soon, it was up to the women—Elizabeth and her friends—to keep their small branch together. The sisters looked forward to their weekly meetings for spiritual renewal and social and personal upliftment.

By the end of the war, almost every family in their area had lost a brother, a husband, a son or grandson. For Elizabeth, it was her grandson William Wallace Cameron Butler who died in the Battle of Fromelles. The bond amongst the sisters in the branch grew even stronger as they supported each other through the heartbreak. Then they began rebuilding their lives.

Sally Millerchip’s introduction was a bit different. “I lived across the road from the Grices from the age of two,” she explains. “I always wanted to join their church one day, but my family said no. They sent me to a parochial school. I always had questions about many things.”
So she kept in touch with the Grice girls. “I attended church with them on and off for three years,” she admits. Then came Sharline’s baptism. “I had such a good feeling inside,” she recalls. “During the testimony time, I sat next to Rachael and could clearly hear the Spirit whispering to me, ‘Go on up there.’ I tried to explain to Rachael, asking her to come with me. Rachael hesitated, so I told Sarah I had to go up. She was really surprised. Eventually we walked up to the stand together, and I was just able to say, ‘I know this church is true,’ before bursting into tears.”
Sarah’s tears were spirit filled also. Prior to Sally’s desire to see Sharline baptized, Sarah had been earnestly praying about her friend. “I really wanted Sally to accept the gospel,” she says, “and when she only came to church on and off for so long, I pleaded with the Lord that she would have an answer to her searching. When I heard her testimony, I knew my prayers were being answered.”
Sally’s own baptism seemed like a miracle too. “My Dad said I must wait until I’m 18,” she recalls. “Two years is a long time, so we all prayed about it—the missionary sisters included.”
Gradually Mr. Millerchip’s time limitations decreased to a year—then six months. “I never gave up praying,” Sally says. “Then one day I decided to set a goal date of 17th March, because Sister Dickerson would be returning home to the States after that, and I wanted her to be there. I told my mum about it, knowing she would mention it to Dad. That evening I left them downstairs and went to my room. I prayed very hard. I also asked the Lord for both parents to come to my baptism.”
Next morning Sally was getting ready for school. As she passed the kitchen door on the way out, her father called, “So you want to be baptized on the 17th, do you? Well, you can’t.” Sally’s heart sank. “Not the 17th,” he went on, “because I’m out walking that weekend, but if you want to be baptized on the 10th, then that’s okay with me.”
“And he did attend,” smiles Sally. “He came in frosty and went home warmed.”

My grandfather, Fa’alogo Tovia Fa’alogo, was a convert to the Church. Early in life he learnt about God and Jesus Christ while he was a member of the Congregational Christian Church. He passed away in 1960 aged 84, before I was born. I learnt about Grandfather from my father who took care of him, assisted by his siblings and family, until he passed away.
Grandfather learnt about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ from two missionaries. In his search for the truth, he came to know for himself that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was the kingdom of God on earth and that Joseph Smith was the Lord’s revelator, the instrument through which the gospel was restored. This he believed with all his heart. In time Grandfather was ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood, office of elder.
In 1959, grandfather gifted to the Church, by way of declaration, part of the land belonging to the Faalogo (paramount chief) family title in the village of Paia, Savai’i. The declaration (pulefaamau) was published as required by law in Samoa’s national newspaper, called ‘Savali,’ in September 1959. The declaration was subsequently approved and registered by the Samoa Lands and Titles Court.
Part of the declaration published was “this piece of land has been set aside for religious matters and an area is made available as an access road to it for use by the congregation of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-days Saints, that they may use it every day as needed by that Church for religious matters.” (“ua tuueseina atu e ia lea fasi fanua mo Mataupu tau Lotu ma le avanoa o se ala e ui i ai ia aoga i le aulotu a le Ekalesia a Iesu Keriso o le Au Paia o Aso e Gata Ai ia faapea ona latou faaaogaina mo aso uma lava . . . e mana’omia pea ai e lena Ekalesia lea fasi fanua mo Mataupu tau lotu.”) Since that time, the Church has used that land for religious matters. It now has a ward worshipping there, using the chapel, teaching areas, a cultural hall and a playing court.
I believe Grandfather knew what The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints stood for and that it added great value to what he already knew about God the Eternal Father and His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ. His desire, as I learnt later, was not only to please and show his love for God but also for his family, village and community to be blessed, as well as those who may come to live there. He loved God, he loved the Church, he loved his family, and he loved his village and country. He gave up something good for something much, much better. He lived as he believed.
At the time of the declaration there were only three generations of his family in the Church, now there are six; many of them reside in foreign countries with their growing families, who serve the Lord in numerous capacities. They continue the legacy he left behind—to encourage their family to keep the two greatest commandments: love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and to love thy neighbour as thyself (see Matthew 22:37, 39).
Lastly, I learnt that when Grandfather made the declaration, well before a temple was ever dreamed of in Samoa, to my mind he was essentially practicing the law of consecration. That law we have come to know so well in our temple worship and in the scriptures—knowing that the earth and all it contains belongs to God, the Creator of heaven and earth. To return a portion of it for the establishment of His kingdom seems not a sacrifice but an acknowledgment of God’s love and an expression of greater appreciation for the people and the world around us. I know Grandfather saw the hand of God touching him and his family whilst he was still living.
Grandfather reminds me of Father Lehi, when he partook of the fruit and desired for his family to do likewise, to taste of the goodness of it and to hold fast to the iron rod (See 1 Nephi 8). I am eternally grateful for Grandfather’s faith in exercising his agency to choose the right when he heard the restored gospel message and accepted it, and then he did let the consequences follow, as in the words of Choose the Right:
Choose the right when a choice is placed before you.
In the right the Holy Spirit guides;
And its light is forever shining o’er you,
When in the right your heart confides.
Choose the right! Choose the right!
Let wisdom mark the way before.
In its light, choose the right!
And God will bless you evermore.1
Grandfather’s family and village have been abundantly blessed because of his faith and trust in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and because of the righteous choices he made.

In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail, and put a piece of twine through them so that he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to his mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. Searching, he finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”

One of the most important times I had a prayer answered was with my whole family. A few months after my cousin Christian finished his mission, he was driving late at night on a mountain canyon road. He and another car crashed into each other. The other driver was fine, but my cousin was taken to the hospital by helicopter.
Christian had serious injuries all over his whole body. He went into a coma, and the doctors didn’t think he would wake up. Our family decided to fast and pray. My parents, sisters, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and all my cousins took turns fasting for Christian. I fasted on a school day. I had to explain to my teacher and classmates why I wasn’t eating lunch that day. I really didn’t mind going without food for a day because I was fasting for my cousin.
Heavenly Father answered our prayers, and Christian eventually woke up from his coma. He still doesn’t have his full abilities back, but he has made some progress. I know Christian has a long recovery ahead of him. We still pray for him. Anything is possible with Heavenly Father’s help.

A few months ago I got stuck in the elevator of my apartment building without my mom or brother. I was very afraid. The man who cleans the building found me and helped me get back to my mom. Later, Mom told me that while I was lost she said a prayer to Heavenly Father asking that I would get back safely to her. I am still nervous when I get in the elevator, but I’m more careful, and I know I can ask Heavenly Father for help.

“Happy birthday, Heber!” exclaimed his mother as she handed him the most beautiful coat he had ever seen. He hugged it close and his eyes were bright with happiness. He knew how difficult it had been for his mother to make it, and he could hardly wait to go out in the cold and feel its warmth around him.
One day as Heber was hurrying on an errand, he saw a boy in a thin sweater shivering with cold. As he hurried by, the boy looked at Heber’s coat with such longing that, almost before he knew what he was doing, Heber stopped, took off his new coat, and gave it to the boy.
When Heber’s mother saw her son wearing his old coat instead of the new one, she asked what he had done with his lovely new overcoat.
“Oh, Mother,” Heber J. Grant explained, “I saw a boy who needed it lots worse than I, so I gave it to him.”

Peering through the rails of a fence, 17-year-old Fabio Fogliatto and his friends of the Canoas Brazil Stake watch intently as workers in hard hats construct a building near the southern tip of Brazil. Fabio notes with satisfaction that one of the workers leaves the construction site before smoking a cigarette. “He must know this is a sacred site for us,” Fabio says.
On the other side of the fence from the teens is a spectacular sight. Against the backdrop of the city, the walls of the Porto Alegre Brazil Temple rise out of the red earth.
“Just watching them build the temple, I can feel it really is a temple of the Lord,” says Ivan Carvalho, age 14, of the Esteio Ward. “It makes me feel even stronger that I want to come here to do ordinances for the dead and for myself.”
Fourteen-year-old Guilherme Recordon of the Estância Velha Ward adds, “And now that we have to go only 20 kilometers instead of 300, maybe we’ll be able to come here every week!”
The feelings of these boys represent a growing excitement all across Brazil as temples are built. Another temple is nearing completion in Campinas (a city just west of São Paulo), and yet another will be dedicated soon in the northern city of Recife. As the Church builds temples in Brazil, youth here are constructing their own temple-worthy lives.
Living worthy of going to the temple can be anything but easy for young Brazilians. They are teased by their peers if they don’t use drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. Extreme immodesty is common on billboards and prime-time television. Many students carry pornographic magazines to school. During carnaval, a weeklong festival Brazil is famous for, immodesty and immorality parade in the streets.
But Latter-day Saint youth say that looking to the temple helps them keep the commandments despite the many temptations and trials they face. “At school, when you won’t look at the [pornographic] magazines, people make fun of you. But I have a goal to serve a mission and marry in the temple, so I already know that if they push this stuff at me, I won’t do it,” says Fabio Marques, age 16, of the Campinas Fourth Ward, Campinas Brazil Stake. “I’ve already made my decision.”
Fabio says having a temple so close to his home in Campinas will strengthen him and his Latter-day Saint friends. “It’s hard to get to the temple in São Paulo, but soon we’ll be able to do baptisms for the dead more easily and frequently at the Campinas temple. And each time you do that, you make a stronger goal to return to the temple and to be worthy to marry in the temple.”
Whenever challenges seem too much for 18-year-old Janise Figueiró, she looks at a little bottle of red earth she received from her Young Women president in the Higienópolis Ward, Porto Alegre Brazil Moinhos de Vento Stake. “Whenever I look at that soil from the temple site, I remember to live worthy.”
Fourteen-year-old Juliano Garcia of the Guaiba Jardim Ward, Porto Alegre Moinhos de Vento stake, was thrilled with the prize he won. Although he had been a Church member for just under a year, he won a scripture chase in his multistake seminary bowl. As he began to look through the pages of his prize, a booklet entitled The Holy Temple by Elder Boyd K. Packer of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, he became fascinated with the pictures of temple baptismal fonts and celestial rooms. Juliano didn’t know much about the temple, but as he read in the booklet about baptism for the dead, his heart turned to his deceased grandparents. “I thought about my grandparents, how great they were, and I thought that more than anything I wanted to go to the temple for them.” Juliano hasn’t been able to travel to the São Paulo temple, but he is now preparing to go in Porto Alegre.
As Juliano and other Brazilian teens continue to construct their own temple-worthy lives little by little, they do not doubt that when the doors of the new temples are ready to open, they will be ready to enter.
When the angel Moroni appeared to 17-year-old Joseph Smith in 1823, he told the young prophet that Elijah the prophet would “plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (JS—H 1:39).
This prophecy is literally being fulfilled in the hearts of young Brazilians. “The Spirit of Elijah is working … , especially on the young people, to do work for their ancestors. It’s something that we cannot explain,” says former São Paulo temple president Aledir Barbour.
For example 16-year-old Jeferson Montenegro of Canoas (pictured below) and Suelen Alexandre (age 15); José Meirelles (age 18); Priscila Cavalieri (age 18); Carlita Fochetto (age 14); and Carolina (age 16), Christiane (age 15), and Carlos Rodriguez (age 12) of São Paulo volunteer in their Family History Centers for 10 to 20 hours each week. They assist Church members in their research, enter extracted names into the computer system, and search for names of their own ancestors.
These teens aren’t unusual. Many Brazilian youth have found the names of hundreds of their ancestors and have eagerly begun their temple work. Why? “I feel the influence of the Spirit of Elijah,” says Jeferson. “It makes me feel a closeness with those who’ve gone before me.”

Charlie Hays died on January 30, 1997. He was 12 years old. On his first day of first grade, he was diagnosed with medullary thyroid cancer. It turns out he was born with this rare mutation. After the initial diagnosis, doctors gave 7-year-old Charlie only six months to live. They told his mother his windpipe would close because of the tumors between the esophagus and the trachea.
“Charlie lived five and a half more years,” his mother, Susan, said. “His first goal was to live until he could be baptized, which he accomplished. He was so excited on that day. At his baptism, the entire room at the church was filled to capacity. After Charlie was immersed in the water, the audience clapped because it was made up mostly of children. We all giggled because you usually don’t hear clapping in church. But the children were so happy Charlie had reached his goal. Then he went for the tougher goal, and that was to live long enough to become a deacon and to be able to pass the sacrament.”

“Throw ’em in the rag bag,” Mom would say whenever I outgrew an article of clothing. Sometimes it was hard to think that a favorite blouse or skirt would end up as a cleaning rag.
But one rainy day, Mom told me how I could make something new from my old clothes. “I’ll show you how to make a rag rug,” she said.
We got out the sack of old clothes. First, we tore the clothing into inch-wide strips. These varied in length. For instance, the pieces from a skirt were longer than those from a blouse.
“Roll the strips into balls,” Mom said. “That way, the pieces won’t get all tangled up.” So I made separate balls of woolen cloth strips, cotton strips, and strips made from knit fabric. Mom explained that it was better to make my rug from one kind of fabric. If the strips were similar in bulk, it would be much easier to “work” the rug.
When there was a variety of strips, I sewed them together, end to end. I sewed mine by hand, but a machine works fine, too. By alternating strips in color and design, I created a pretty pattern. It takes many, many of these strips sewn together to make a rug. I figured about 680 yards would make a 24-by-45-inch rug.
Using a large wooden crochet hook (size 15), Mom showed me how to make a chain. This was the base of my rug.
Size 15 (Actual size.)
I made a slip knot with my cloth strip and inserted my hook through it from right to left. By pulling both ends of the strip, I drew the loop up close to the hook (figure 1).
Figure 1.
“Not too tight,” Mom directed.
With my right hand, I held the hook. I looped the strip over the hook with my left hand. Then I pulled the strip through the loop to make a chain stitch. I repeated this over and over until I had 45 chains. That is, I had 45 chains plus the one on my hook (figures 2a and 2b). This made my rug about two feet wide.
Figure 2.
Next, I inserted the hook down through the second chain from the hook. I looped my strip over the hook and pulled it up through the chain (figure 3a). I then had two loops on my hook. Putting the strip over the hook once again, I pulled it through both of the loops. That made one single crochet (figure 3b). This procedure was repeated in each chain. When I got to the end of the row, I chained one more, then turned my work (figure 4).
Figure 3.
Figure 4.
The second row was formed by making a single crochet in each single crochet of the first row. I again chained one before starting the next row.
I kept repeating this until my rug was the length I wanted. Eighty-five rows of single crochet made a 45-inch rug. It took me approximately 56 hours to make it.
To finish the rug, I removed the hook. Pulling the loop out, I worked the end of the strip back and forth through the rug’s stitches.
At times, weeks would go by before I’d work on the rug. Then I’d be in the mood to crochet again, so I’d do a few more rows.
Sometimes my girl friend would help. I’d let her crochet while I watched. Once in a while, Mom and I would work on our rugs together. Those were nice sharing times.
When it was finally finished, it made a colorful spot by our door. I felt good when I’d see my favorite old clothes still being useful in a bright rug.

A few years ago, I had a stake conference assignment in California. On the flight back to Utah, a beautiful lady in her mid-70s sat beside me. Her name was Patti, and she loved to talk.
Patti told me all about her family—about her husband and her son who had died. Our conversation went on until we were about to land. I said, “Patti, you have been talking for most of the flight. Before we land in Salt Lake City, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
I asked her sincerely, “Patti, do you know you will see your deceased husband again?”
She said, “Oh, is that possible?”
Then I asked, “Do you know you will also see again your deceased son, Matt, who died as a baby?”
Her eyes became moist, and her voice was shaking. The Spirit of the Lord touched her. She had missed them so much.
Then I prayerfully asked her, “Patti, do you know you have a loving and kind Heavenly Father, who loves you so dearly?”
She said, “Do I?”
I asked, “Patti, do you know your Heavenly Father has a special plan for you and that your family can be forever?”
“Can we?” she replied.
“Have you ever heard the plan before?” I asked.
She said, “No.”
Very sincerely I asked her, “Would you like to know about it?”
“Yes, I would,” she responded.
The Spirit of the Lord touched her deeply.
The missionaries taught Patti. Three weeks later, while she was staying in Utah, Patti called me: “Brother Kikuchi, this is Patti. I am going to be baptized. Would you come to my baptism services?”
My wife and I went to her baptism. Many members were kindly fellowshipping her. Oh, I shall never forget her joyful countenance as she came out of the water!
I shall never forget her sweet tears at the sacred altar in the Salt Lake Temple a year later. I remember her peaceful and celestial glow when she was sealed to her deceased husband and son and to her living daughter, who was already a member of the Church.
My friend Patti found the Lord Jesus Christ. Because of the temple sealing, she now knows her family is forever in the Lord.

Nine-year-old Amber Donohue didn’t want to get out of bed. I have four good reasons not to, she reasoned, and only one reason why I should: It’s Sunday and church starts in an hour.
She thought hard about why she shouldn’t: In the first place, I’m too tired. It isn’t fair that bears can sleep all winter but people can sleep only at night. In the second place, it’s too cold to get up. Judging from the way the snow was piled on the limbs of the maple tree outside her bedroom window, Amber was sure that it had snowed all night. In the third place, she thought, if I get up now, I’ll be cross with everybody for having to get up. It wouldn’t be fair to others. And in the fourth place, … Amber couldn’t think of a fourth reason yet, but she was sure that if she stayed in bed long enough, she’d think of something!
Amber knew, though, that her one reason for getting up was more important than all the ones for staying in bed put together. It was Heavenly Father’s day, and she knew that He wanted her to be in Primary. She also knew deep down in her heart that she wanted to be there too. She glumly crawled out from under her covers and sat on the edge of her bed. “What are you staring at?” she snapped at her pet white rat, Cuddles, that sat looking at her from its cage in the corner. “You don’t have to get up!”
Amber’s five-year-old brother, Arnie, knocked, then skipped into her room, his shoes untied.
“What do you want?” she snarled at him.
“I want to get out of here,” Arnie said, deciding not to ask her for a favor, after all. He hurried down the hall back to his own room.
As Amber slowly got her Sunday shoes from her closet, she heard her mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready, everyone. We have to hurry, or we’ll be late for church.” Then she added, “Don’t forget to wear your warmest coats and put on your best singing voices.”
“I’ll wear my warmest coat, that’s for sure,” Amber grumbled, “but nobody can make me sing! I don’t feel like singing any more than I feel like getting out of bed!”
Suddenly Amber heard singing outside her window. It was a bird on the tree limb. Amber stared at it with surprise. “It’s gray and windy and cold out there,” she muttered. “Why is that bird singing such a happy song?”
“Maybe it’s counting its blessings,” came a small voice from behind her. Amber turned and saw Arnie standing a safe distance from her, his shoes still untied. “Mommy says that whenever she’s sad or just wants to feel better, she either counts her blessings or sings a song. Especially about Jesus. Like we do in Primary. And sacrament meeting. She says that she sings when she’s happy too.” Then Arnie added, “Heavenly Father likes singing. A lot. Otherwise why would He put so many birds in the world?” As Arnie turned and started to leave the room, he said, “Maybe you should sing a song, Amber. Maybe you should sing lots of them.”
Alone again in her room, Amber looked at herself in her dresser mirror. The first song that came to her mind was the one about no one liking a frowny face. She looked at the bird in the tree outside her window again. It was still singing. It’s happy, Amber thought. Maybe it’s counting its blessings and praising Heavenly Father too. If birds can sing on gloomy days, she thought as she started toward the kitchen, why can’t I?
Amber was ready for church on time. Well, almost on time. She stopped halfway through brushing her hair just long enough to help Arnie tie his shoelaces. And she sang every Primary song that she could think of all the way to church.

Last year in Cub Scouts, we were asked to design a crest, drawn on paper. The theme was “Yesteryear,” and only eight pictures out of the whole district were chosen. These pictures were then designed on a crest for all the Cub Scouts in the district.
I drew a covered wagon, and my picture was chosen to be on the crest. At the Cub Scout camp, a special presentation was to be made, and the eight boys whose designs were chosen were to be presented with a special award.
My Cub leader told me this would take place on Sunday morning at ten o’clock. I didn’t know what to do. If I went, it would mean that I would miss church. My mom said that I could decide. I thought about it, and I said a prayer. I told my mom that I didn’t want to miss church. I received my award later. I felt good about the choice I’d made.
Caleb Johnson, age 9Orono, Ontario, Canada

Let me tell you about a young Laurel president who explained it this way: “I was called to be a class president of seventeen girls, and the bishop said I was responsible for them. I was scared of such responsibility. Then he told me to decide on my counselors and reminded me of the need to pray and ask the Lord. I wondered how it worked—how would I know who the Lord wanted?

“I wrote seventeen names on a piece of paper. Then I prayed about those names … I kept thinking and praying and [crossing off names] until the third day. With only two names remaining, I had a strong feeling that I knew who Heavenly Father wanted. That’s how it works.”

It is appropriate for her and for you to recognize and witness the power of the Holy Ghost as you seek inspiration concerning the calls you have received from your Heavenly Father through your bishop.

One day while serving in the Texas Fort Worth Mission, my companion and I finished visiting some investigators and then realized we didn’t have a dinner appointment. We decided to stop at one of the many nearby fast-food restaurants.
When I stepped to the cash register, an employee took my order and asked me my name so she could call me over the loudspeaker when my meal was ready. “Elder García,” I replied.
The woman did not seem to understand my English. Again she asked me my name. To avoid any further misunderstanding, I pointed to my name tag, which bore my name and the name of the Church in Spanish.
As I turned to sit with my companion and wait for my order, I happened to notice the name she had written. Instead of writing my name, she had written, “Jesucristo.” Maybe she made the mistake because the Savior’s name stands out on the Church’s logo. Or maybe she just wasn’t paying attention.
Each time I remember this simple experience, I feel a firm desire to have people think of Jesus Christ when they see me—not because of a name tag but because I am bearing His name by doing the things He taught us to do.

First, some background. During the dedication of the Mexico City Temple, I had one of those singular experiences that readjusts the course of a life. It occurred during the eighth dedicatory session, where many of the men and women leaders of Mexico and Central America were present. When unexpectedly asked to speak, I attempted to convey the strong impressions that poured into my heart. I spoke of those beyond the veil who, in fulfillment of prophecy, had served, suffered, and given greatly to form the foundation which permitted the opening of a new era of the work.
I expressed a feeling to plead in behalf of former prophets who had prepared and protected the sacred records of the Book of Mormon. I sensed that they were saddened as they see us walk from place to place with an unopened Book of Mormon under our arm or see it kept in homes where it gathers dust and is not read, pondered, nor its contents applied.
The Book of Mormon was prepared by divine assignment for the blessing and enlightenment of all those who receive it.
As I spoke, I realized in my heart that all the efforts that I had expended for six years in trying to help those beloved leaders overcome the effects of false traditions and learn to apply the teachings of the Lord would have been better directed had I strongly encouraged them to ponder and apply the teachings of the Book of Mormon. The Book of Mormon contains messages that were divinely placed there to show how to correct the influence of false tradition and how to receive a fulness of life. It teaches how to resolve the problems and challenges that we face today that were foreseen by the Lord. In that book he has provided the way to correct the serious errors of life, but this guidance is of no value if it remains locked in a closed book.
I witnessed that it is not sufficient that we should treasure the Book of Mormon, nor that we testify that it is of God. We must know its truths, incorporate them into our lives, and share them with others. I felt an overwhelming love for the people and an urgent desire that all would comprehend the value of the Book of Mormon.
At the conclusion of the meeting, Ezra Taft Benson, then President of the Quorum of the Twelve, invited me to join him in a private room in the temple. He asked me to be seated, drew his chair close to mine, looked penetratingly into my eyes, and with an earnestness that I will never forget, witnessed of his profound conviction that every member of the Church must learn to use the Book of Mormon as the Lord intended.
As he spoke I knew that the Lord had inspired him to have those feelings. I had a witness borne to my heart that he was speaking the will of the Lord.
The influence of these two friends, President Benson and the Book of Mormon, has comforted and sustained me in times of intense need. I would share them with you in your hour of need.