Gospel Story Finder

Before I celebrated my sixteenth birthday, I had lived in fourteen different homes! My father was a homebuilder, and every home he built was for sale—including the ones we lived in. Because we moved so often, we did not collect a lot of possessions. Every home I lived in was full of the spirit of love, friendship, humor, fun, and laughter. These priceless things always moved with us. The things we didn’t take with us were given to Deseret Industries.
A few things, however, were never discarded, including books, scriptures, family histories and photos, and music. Those material items were handled with care every time we moved, and I learned to value deeply what they stood for. My father and mother carefully wrapped and boxed these items, and I sensed even as a very young child that they were extremely important. As I grew older, this sense developed into a great love for the scriptures and also for family history and for our ancestors who sacrificed so much for us.
These moving adventures shaped me into the person I am today. I am not attached to material possessions. Instead, I place the highest value on relationships with people, including written records of these relationships, such as the ones you find in the scriptures or in family histories. I love to meet new people and look forward to getting to know others and making new friends.

I began to urge my family to come with me to sacrament meeting. I told them I wanted us to be an eternal family. To encourage them, I would wash everyone’s church clothes on Saturday night so that the excuse “I don’t have anything to wear” was no longer an option. I told them that I had a testimony of the gospel and that I wanted to share it with them. Most important, I prayed. I prayed that my family could know the Spirit the way I did. I wanted them to go to church so that we could someday be sealed in the temple.
It started slowly and took some time, but one warm August morning, my prayers were answered as we were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple. I felt the Spirit stronger at that moment than ever before. I knew my family could be together forever. To this day I cannot thank my Heavenly Father enough for this wonderful blessing.

Shortly after I was baptized at the age of 10 in Lappeenranta, Finland, I received my first Church calling. It was 1960, and our small branch desperately needed someone to accompany the hymns for sacrament meetings. I was asked to fulfill this assignment.
While my mother had always encouraged my brother and me to pursue artistic talents, I did not know how to play the piano, and we did not own a piano. But I wanted to fulfill my calling, so we made a plan.
In family home evening, we talked about what this calling meant to all of us. However, because my mother was a widow with two young children, we knew it would be a great challenge for us to purchase a piano and pay for lessons. We decided that we were all willing to make the needed sacrifices.
The first sacrifice my family made was financial. We decided that from spring to autumn we would ride our bicycles rather than the bus. My brother, Martti, was courageous and became especially good at biking—even on snow and ice. I gave up most of my clothing purchases and learned to sew. We also learned to live providently. We started a garden in the countryside near my grandparents’ house and preserved food for the winter. Our “vacations” became our mother’s trips to the temple in Switzerland or picnics and camps close to home.
The second sacrifice my family made was with time. We divided the chores and rescheduled our other activities and homework so I had enough time to practice the piano. Because of our sacrifices and hard work, Mother often remarked that we had no free time to get into trouble like others our age. In reality, my calling became a family calling long before I ever played a note.
I began taking lessons with a music teacher at the local school. I practiced using a paper keyboard and on a piano at the church. When my piano teacher moved away, we purchased his piano, and I was accepted to study with a renowned piano teacher in the area.
I learned the hymns on my own and practiced a lot with the branch music director. Everyone encouraged me—even if a “sour” note slipped in. My teacher was horrified after she found out that I played in front of people before I had thoroughly learned and memorized the pieces. But playing with one hand was better than having no music at all.
I rode my bike to my lessons, and when winter came, I tried to walk or ski if possible. On Sundays I walked alone to Church meetings so I could arrive an hour early and have time to practice. I resolved to ride the bus only when temperatures reached below -15ºC (5ºF). Rain and snow didn’t really bother me; time went by quickly as I walked because I had so many beautiful hymns to keep me company. As I walked, I was crossing the plains with the pioneers (see “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” Hymns, no. 30), walking high on the mountain top in Zion (see “High on the Mountain Top,” Hymns, no. 5), and standing with youth who would never falter (see “True to the Faith,” Hymns, no. 254). I could never falter with that support—even though my family and I were the only Latter-day Saints in our community in eastern Finland, in the shadows of the Russian border.
Over the years I became better at playing and could make music rather than just play the right notes. I learned to be prayerful in selecting the music so the Spirit would be in the meeting. And most important, my testimony of the gospel came to me through music. I could easily recall the feelings, words, and messages of the hymns if I ever questioned something. I knew that the gospel principles and ordinances were true, having learned them line upon line and note after note.

There were five of us on the trail crew that day. We were all new to the job, so when we gathered around to hear the assignment for the day, we were delighted to learn that we would start on a new trail—Clegg Canyon they called it.
“You mean Fly Canyon?” replied Verle, our fearless leader.
“Why Fly Canyon?” I asked.
With a sly smile, Verle looked down at me and said, “You’ll see.”
While we unloaded the Jeep, Verle filled us in on what work needed to be done. At last we were ready to start the trail. As we walked, Verle kept reminding us that this trail was considered one of the most miserable assignments because of the flies, but we couldn’t see any flies, so taking him seriously was a little hard. Verle had a way of pulling your leg at times, and I was usually a gullible victim. But today, he assured us, once the sun was out, the flies would be too.
As we hiked up farther into the canyon, we soon came to realize how right Verle was. At first the flies came in pairs, buzzing around my ears and making quick landings on my nose. Then they became bolder, so we were sure they had called out their battalions. I had considered myself a patient person until then. Every 30 minutes we had to stop and recoat ourselves with insect repellent. We especially had to drench our hair to keep the pests from getting entangled. When we began to realize that our efforts to avoid the flies were in vain, we began to lose our tempers.
It finally came to the point where we knew we were doomed. The newspaper headlines flashed through my mind, “Forest Service Employees Carried Away by Flies.” Something had to be done quickly. We tried to work faster, believing motion would shoo the flies away, but our sweat made a more delectable landing. As all good news travels fast, more flies came. In desperation we turned to our leader, who, surprisingly, was taking this all very coolly. He explained that we had to learn how to relax and laugh at annoying situations.
“What is so humorous about 50 million flies attacking us?” I asked.
“Look at it this way. They could carry us through the canyon and save us the trouble of hiking up the trail,” Verle replied.
While we sat eating our lunches (it was more like sharing them with the United Fly Nation), we began to relax and develop a humor of our own. At first the laughter was scarce, but one joke led to another, and we were soon lying back in laughter, oblivious to the millions of black specs around us.
That morning we had loaded the tools that were expected to be useful in completing our assignment. But as we headed down the trail that afternoon, we carried with us a new tool—humor.
On the way down to the Jeep, we were rewarded with a sudden cloudburst that finally rid us of our pests. Free at last, we skipped down the trail like children, grinning from ear to ear. We had survived! But, more important, we had laughed.

When Elder Hales finished serving as mission president in 1979, the family moved directly to Europe. There, as area supervisor, he worked with Elder Thomas S. Monson, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, and Hans B. Ringger, then a regional representative. They worked closely with the leaders of countries where the gospel had not yet been established. In East Germany, they talked with leaders about the possibility of building a temple. Each time the Church leaders made the request to build, it was denied because “no building materials were available.” Finally, they asked where building materials might be available. Eventually the answer came: Freiberg. Soon permission was granted to build a temple there.

A few years ago I had been assigned with other General Authorities to attend a series of area conferences in New Zealand and Australia. Initially, the leader of our group was to have been President Spencer W. Kimball. However, because of the need for some emergency surgery, he could not travel with us, so President N. Eldon Tanner led the group in his place.
Each day during the trip President Tanner telephoned President Kimball in his hospital room to get a report on his condition and to give a brief report of the conferences in which we were participating. After the daily call to Salt Lake City, President Tanner would always give us a report on the President’s condition. We were anxious and appreciated these brief messages.
Once, after we had been out for five or six days, President Tanner made his usual call to the hospital in Salt Lake City. However, this day he had no report for us. When we asked if he had talked to the President, he told us he had tried, but President Kimball wasn’t in his room. “Where was he?” we asked. “They weren’t sure; they couldn’t find him,” President Tanner said. “They thought he might have gone down to the next floor of the hospital to visit the sick.”
To paraphrase a statement made by Wendell Phillips, it may be accurately said, “How prudently most men sink into nameless graves, while now and then a few forget themselves into immortality.” (As quoted by William Jennings Bryan, The Prince of Peace, Independence: Zion’s Printing and Publishing Co., 1925.)

I was first exposed to pornography at age 13. I found it accidentally on social media, not knowing what it was and not understanding it. I went from unintentional exposure and curiosity to intentionally seeking it out.
At that time, my leaders’ messages about pornography seemed to be saying that it was something only boys struggled with. This left me feeling a lot of shame. I thought I’d never be able to tell anyone about my struggle. I knew about Jesus Christ’s Atonement, but because I thought that I was the only girl with this struggle, I felt like my situation was out of the Savior’s reach. I felt like the exception.
During those years, in places like seminary or devotionals—wherever the Spirit was present—I often felt prompted to set up a meeting with my bishop. For so long, what kept me from doing this was the idea that I had a reputation to uphold as a good kid from an active family. I thought he would see me for who I was—and I didn’t believe that person was lovable. I thought I would be met with instant punishment.
When I finally set up that meeting, it went very differently from how I expected. Instead of handing out punishment, my bishop told me: “You are still a daughter of God. You are still just as loved, and you are still just as valued.”
My bishop told me: “You are still a daughter of God. You are still just as loved, and you are still just as valued.”
I remember feeling overwhelmed with love. That was the first time I had felt the power of the Savior’s Atonement so strongly in my life. Looking back, I understand why those words my bishop said were so important.
When you’re struggling with pornography, you go through a cycle of shame. For me, I would feel out of touch with my own identity and then use pornography to deal with those negative emotions. Then I would feel shame and isolate myself from others, and the cycle would repeat.
For so long, I tried to rely on my own willpower to “just stop.” But I couldn’t do it on my own. My bishop helped me remember my identity—that I am a beloved daughter of God. As I met with him and remembered that truth, I started to make genuine progress.
Understanding God’s nature also helped me understand Satan and his tools and how they work in direct opposition to God. One of Satan’s most powerful tools is shame, which is different from guilt or “godly sorrow” (2 Corinthians 7:10). When you feel guilt, you realize you’ve made a mistake. But shame links the negative feelings you have about yourself when you sin to your identity, like you are those feelings.
Satan wanted me to believe that I could overcome this challenge on my own. This lie was something that kept me from talking to my bishop about my struggle with pornography. I felt like I couldn’t meet with him until I could say it was something I had struggled with in the past. Satan uses your individual weaknesses to make you feel unworthy to seek the Savior’s healing power.
I learned that Satan works on us when we’re isolated, so our best defense is connection. Sometimes it’s as simple as reaching out to others and spending meaningful time with good friends. Connecting with Heavenly Father, with yourself, and with others (especially with those who see you the way Heavenly Father does) is the best way to remember your true identity: a valued child of God.

A Home-Concealed Woman. The title in the book catalog drew my eye again and again—A Home-Concealed Woman. Was it the story of my life? I checked the book out of the library. It was a diary kept by a woman living in the southern United States in the early 1900s. It was a warm and cozy record of her busy life as she bore and reared a large family, loved her husband, entertained friends, and cared for her aging parents. She was a kindred spirit, a good woman, hard-working, kind, observant of the beauties of nature. Her writings were similar to some of my own—filled with joy at her children’s small accomplishments, worry over teeth and earaches, delight at the first blossoms of spring. But she called herself a “home-concealed woman.” She had an obvious talent for writing but never much time to develop it. The physical circle of her life was small—hardly extending to the nearest village.
Did I see myself as a “home-concealed woman”? I wondered. Yes, I am a stay-at-home woman; but do the walls and roof of my home take on the aspects of a bushel basket over the candle of my personal light?
In the twenty-five years that I have been married, the place of woman in society has been the subject of much debate and confusion. As a young college graduate, I was refused a teaching job because I was pregnant—a strictly enforced district policy. In those days pregnant women and most other women, whether they had children or not, were expected by society to be concealed in their homes! A few years later, stay-at-home women were ridiculed in the popular press. Housework was supposed to be beneath the dignity and attention of the up-and-coming woman. (They forgot that it still had to be done by someone whether she, or he, was up-and-coming or not.) And a few years after that, there seemed to be no choice left. Nearly every woman I know now must work either full- or part-time—either outside or inside her home. For many, it is an economic necessity.
Does working outside the home release a woman from concealment? Maybe, if she is on television. But most often the women I know who work must maintain a carefully controlled schedule and limit their activities severely in order to do their jobs and care for their homes and families. They seem to be concealed within a tight world bounded by the realities of time and energy.
I still wondered what it was about the word concealed that had caught my attention. Did it have something to do with the fact that often when I meet new people they ask a few polite questions about our children and then turn with obvious interest to discussions of my husband’s work and hobbies? Yes, at times like that I do feel concealed and want to cry, “Look again! There is a person here—not just the wife of someone and the mother of someone else, but an individual with her own interests and talents. I read books, I have opinions, sometimes I am even witty—take a chance; get to know ME!” To those who know me well and with whom I am not shy, I am not a “concealed” person.
If my home is not a bushel basket over my light, then what is it? Is it a room—and I a candle set upon the mantel to give light to that room and to all who come within my circle of illumination? Perhaps the word concealed appealed to a bit of unfortunate pride within me—a desire to be a city on a hill, rather than just a candle in a room. I’m afraid that might have something to do with it.
And yet I know that the Lord has given me a light and that it is just the right light for the room in which I dwell—my home, family, neighborhood, and ward. I know that the work I have to do is important and that no one else can illuminate the space around me. I feel sure, most of the time, that the Lord approves the priorities I have set and the way I am tending my own little light. I also know that it takes all my best efforts, talents, and energy to keep that light glowing. And I know that I am part of the city set upon a hill, as is every other member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
There can be only a very few people in the world at a time who have such bright candles that they light up whole cities, or the whole world. Brigham Young was one of those people, and we often credit him with moving the Church to the West and settling Utah and other states. But he did not actually do any of that by himself. To be sure, he did provide inspiration and guidance, but it was the thousands of people with little candles who actually plowed the ground, built the cabins and temples, baked the bread, washed the clothes, built the towns, composed the songs, wrote the stories, taught the children, harvested the crops, and did all the other work that went into settling the West. Without all those little lights, Brigham Young’s dream never could have become a reality.
President Joseph F. Smith said, “After all, to do well those things which God ordained to be the common lot of man-kind, is the truest greatness. To be a successful father or a successful mother is greater than to be a successful general or a successful statesman” (Gospel Doctrine, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1939, page 285).
I know all these things, but sometimes I still feel “concealed,” and I think it is not the adulation of the world that would change that feeling. I remember the time when, as the young mother of four very small children and the wife of a very busy husband, I felt not just concealed, but buried by my home. I vividly remember standing at the ironing board in a room cluttered with toys and children, watching general conference on television. As President Harold B. Lee spoke, he seemed to be talking directly to me, and the Spirit entered my heart that day to remind me that I was a daughter of God and beloved of Him. Tears splashed on the iron as I felt His love surround me—a feeling I had forgotten.
Later I realized that I had become too busy with my little family for scripture study and going to the temple. Most of my time at church was spent in the hall with fussy babies, rather than worshiping. I had thought that reading the scriptures years earlier as a missionary would carry me through the rest of my life. I felt “concealed”—cut off from the Lord, but I was not. He was there, but I had failed to look up and see Him and receive His help and blessing. Now I know that no matter how small and insignificant my life may appear to the world, it doesn’t matter—as long as I am not concealed from the Lord.
So am I a “home-concealed woman”? No, I am a woman lighting a room, which is my home—sharing my light with others who come into my circle of illumination. Does my home and the work I do there conceal my talents? Does it keep me from reaching my potential? Not unless I choose to let that happen. Being a homemaker, mother, and wife is no more concealing of the real me than being a teacher, factory worker, nurse, or lawyer could be.
No, I am not a “home-concealed woman.” I am a “home-enhanced woman,” a “home-challenged woman.” But, most important, I am a loved daughter of Heavenly Father, who never loses sight of me.

A few years ago in Italy, LDS missionaries were harassed by some Italian youths. Among the group on two occasions was a young man named Felice Lotito. He was challenged by a bold elder to come to the local LDS branch so that he could judge for himself. It was a dare which Felice accepted. He came. He heard. He studied. He believed. He was baptized. Later he was sent on a mission to England where he increased his faith and his facility with English. He served honorably, came home, married a lovely Italian girl in the Swiss Temple, and became one of the directors of the seminary and institute program in Italy, which now serves nearly 1,000 students.

In July of 1980, Felice Lotito left at age 32 to be the mission president in the Italy Padova Mission of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints! God saw in Felice possibilities that Felice did not see in himself. When the gospel was presented to him, Felice had the integrity of heart and intellect to believe it, even though he had been hassling the missionaries just days before. The Lord reached out for Felice Lotito who will now reach out to thousands of his countrymen and touch hundreds of missionaries—missionaries like those of whom he was so critical just a few years before.

My usual spot in ninth-grade seminary was in the back row, where I could talk and joke around with my friend. I had only signed up for seminary because there was an open space in my schedule. Seminary was offered during the school day where I lived, and a school counselor suggested I take it since I’m a Latter-day Saint. I knew the teacher’s name, but that was about all I had learned from class.
Then my friend was gone one day, so I ran into a problem: I had no one to joke with. How would I pass the time? In a panic, I went with the only other option—I listened. It was the first time I paid any attention to the teacher.
As I look back, I don’t remember a word he said that day, but I do remember being captivated. My friend was back the next day, but instead of joking around, I listened and was again pulled in.
I eventually moved from the back of the room and sat on the front row, where I could pay better attention. Not a class went by in which I didn’t feel a strong interest in the lesson or in the students who were sharing their testimonies.
I enjoyed seminary so much that I signed up for it again the next year. I had been baptized at eight years old but had never really gone to church. But something changed one day in December right before the Christmas break. The teacher invited us to come to the front of the room and say what gift we would give Christ that year.
“No one will do this,” I thought. But, to my surprise, one by one the students walked to the front of the class. Some shed tears, others shared goals they had set, and some told stories. I couldn’t believe it.
Time was ticking. I was the only one who hadn’t gone. Before I knew it, I was on my feet. I had no idea what I was going to say. Then, with a shaky voice, I said, “This year for Christ’s birthday, I’m going to start going to church.”
From that day forward, I started going to church as my gift to the Savior. The ironic part was that I was the one who received the gift. Going back to church changed my life, and it all started the day I stopped talking long enough to listen and allow the Spirit to touch my heart.
The Spirit still speaks to me. All I have to do is stop to listen—and then follow.

As a Brazilian, I was surprised when I received my mission call to serve not in Brazil or even in South America but in the Texas Houston South Mission in the United States. My surprise soon turned to deep gratitude.
Four days after I arrived in my first area, the bishop of the local ward invited my companion and me to go with him to the hospital to visit Brother Noel Stevenson, an older member who was ill with leukemia. When I met Brother Stevenson, I was amazed that he started speaking Portuguese. He told me he had served a mission to Brazil in the 1950s. He mentioned several cities where he had served, including Ponta Grossa in the state of Paraná.
“When you were in Ponta Grossa did you know Raul Pimentel?” I asked hesitantly.
With an expression of joy, he replied, “Yes, I knew Raul. I baptized him.”
I told Brother Stevenson that Raul Pimentel was my grandfather, the first member of the Church in our family. We embraced, and tears rolled down our faces.
Then I told him that my grandfather was 84 and still active in the Church. His 8 children were also active, all having married in the temple and 5 having served full-time missions. And his 30 grandchildren were active in the Church as well. As we talked, the Spirit of the Lord filled my heart with joy and gratitude.
My grandfather was baptized in 1958 by two American missionaries. He had heard that the other elder had now passed away, but he had never had any news about Elder Stevenson. When my grandfather learned that I had met the missionary who baptized him, he was overwhelmed with joy.
He and Brother Stevenson began exchanging e-mail messages almost every week. Then the e-mails stopped abruptly. I received a telephone call telling me that Brother Noel Stevenson had passed away.
Although I felt sad, I felt even more grateful that the Lord had allowed me to meet the man who brought the blessings of the gospel to my family. This experience helped me be a better missionary and strengthened my testimony that mission calls are inspired.

Growing up I was shy, and I worried about everything. But every time I was worried, my brother Spencer would say, “Ellie, hunamata,” imitating the phrase “hakuna matata” (“no worries”) from the movie The Lion King. Or he would sing the song “Don’t Worry, Be Happy.” He helped me see that I was important and that if I let go of my worries, I could find a lot of joy. I try to help others in the way Spencer has helped me.
Ellie S., 16, Utah, USA

The Spirit was in evidence on many other occasions. At one point, it was discovered that someone was stealing the taros that had taken so much labor to plant. No one at Sauniatu seemed to know anything about it, and Brother Kamauoha became very concerned. That night, he prayed for direction in solving this problem. His prayer was answered with a dream in which he saw two villagers stealing the taros from the plantation. He saw how they were digging them up, cutting the leaves off the roots, and sticking the leaves back into the ground. He saw where they were hiding the taro roots and how they would come back for them later in the night. The next day, he called the two men into his office and asked them why they had been stealing the taros. They were belligerent and asked, “What makes you think we are the ones?”
Brother Kamauoha replied, “I know you are stealing the taros because the Lord showed me in a dream.” Then he related step by step just how they had done it. “They cried, were very sorry, and learned a great lesson about lying: You can lie to another man, but you cannot lie to God.
“I have had many experiences that have made me realize that the Lord will help you to do the impossible. When you operate like this, you learn that keeping the Spirit is the most important thing.
“One day, we had a work crew organized, and we needed 13,000 fathoms of sennett (rope made from coconut husks) to tie the pieces of the roof on the McKay house together. I had received promises from many people that they would supply the rope, but when I went to pick it up, no one had it ready. After driving all over the island, I had collected only about 30 fathoms. I was discouraged, and so I complained to God. In my prayers, I said, ‘We are working hard, and yet I can’t get the help I need.’
“I had to stop at the mission home to confirm another appointment, and one of the supervising elders said, ‘Brother Kamauoha, I have some sennett you can use.’
“I thought, ‘How nice,’ but I was sure an elder’s little souvenir roll of sennett wouldn’t really help us. He went into his room and came out with this big roll. He handed it to me and said he had about 13,000 fathoms as he wanted to build a Samoan fale (house) with it when he got home to the U.S.
“You can bet I hurriedly went back to the Lord and retracted my complaining. I was truly sorry for ever being discouraged.”
When the various projects were well into their second year, Brother Kamauoha reported that the people really learned that a job is not done until it is complete. After building roads, bridges, and the steps to the waterfall, the people at Sauniatu had to put in a culinary water system. They wanted to pipe water from a spring. They had no money for pipe, so they dug up some old pipe that had been used years before and cleaned it in the river. Then they painted the usable pieces. They only had enough good pipe to make a straight line from the spring to the village. Seventy-five feet of lava bedrock lay in the path of their trench.
“I told them, ‘We have enough good pipe to make a straight pipeline. So if you want water and you want it badly enough, then you’ll have to cut through the bedrock to the spring!’ A big Samoan man named Faleow Itopi, who had worked extra hard on every project said, ‘Why, after what we have done, this little bedrock is nothing.’
“We worked into the nights with lanterns. Faleow’s hands were bleeding, but he set an example for the students and showed them how to work. He was that way in all of his projects. When he built roads, he always built them too long rather than too short. He never took a shortcut because his heart was in the right place.”
From Ed Kamauoha and Faleow Itopi and other leaders like them, the young people of Sauniatu learned that despite being poor and often scorned by other men, they are important to the Lord, and he will help them be “Number 1.” Wherever they have gone as they have left Sauniatu, they have established the reputation of working hard and being the best.
Most of the young men who worked on Sauniatu went on missions. Elder Pouono Lameka is now serving a mission in Western Samoa. He spent three years at Sauniatu. He worked on the farm and the waterfall besides going to school. When he talks about his experiences at Sauniatu, his eyes shine and his face looks happy.
“I expanded at Sauniatu,” he said. “Brother Kamauoha encouraged me in school so that I improved and graduated from high school. He was my teacher—now he is my friend.”
Most of the students said they are grateful that they learned how to work, and they feel that this experience has helped them to face almost any problem. Mati Fuifatu said, “Ed taught me how to do things and then made it my responsibility to get them done.”
While the projects were being finished, the Sauniatu students’ academic ratings rose. They gained feelings of independence and pride and in three years raised themselves from the bottom of the standard test to the top scores in all the Church schools.
Poao and Atalina Ahhow met while they were both single teachers at Sauniatu. After they were married, they decided to go to BYU—Hawaii Campus and get additional schooling. Atalina said she learned about being a good mother and teaching a family from watching the young people work on the various projects.
“I also learned that you need to check after a project is done. If it isn’t right, do it over,” she said.
Her husband, Poao, said that he learned leadership skills, and once he caught the vision of doing the impossible, he felt he could go away for additional schooling so he could become a better teacher. “I learned that sometimes when the work is very hard, if you make a joke and smile, it seems easier.”
Poao and Atalina struggled at BYU—Hawaii because they didn’t have much money. “We had learned to sacrifice while at Sauniatu, and the Lord blessed us for it. When we needed money to do our washing, we would visit a pool near the temple. Every time we needed a quarter for the washing machine, it was waiting for us in the pool. Sometimes more was there, but we only took enough to do our washing. When we didn’t need money, we never saw money in the pool. This is one way the Lord helped us,” Poao said.
Brother Folau Neria and his wife, Leute, think of Sauniatu as a place of blessings because they have seen the Lord’s hand there. They were dorm parents while most of the work was being done, and Sister Neria worked with the girls who made one of the roads.
Brother Neria explained his feelings about Sauniatu. “I love that place. That’s where I met my sweetheart in 1942. Some of the first schoolteachers there taught me. I learned to take care of the work of the Lord there.
“We built that place with our hands and made it beautiful, then the Lord blessed it for us. Taros, bananas, everything grows better there than in any other place in Samoa.
“We learned how to work together and to teach each other to work. I was serving as bishop, and I learned that if we show people how to work and start first, they will soon follow.”
The spirit of Sauniatu seems to affect everyone who goes there. Brother Isamaeli, who works on maintenance at the school, said that he didn’t want to come at first. “But,” he said, “after I had been at Sauniatu for a while, I felt the Spirit of the Lord upon my family. I knew it was a blessing to be here. When my family is sick, I administer to them and they get better. Before we came here, my wife and I quarreled many times, and sometimes I lost patience with her. But I’m glad to say that now we have a very happy family.
“It is nice to live in a place that is far away from town and other big villages. It is very quiet, and we are free from drunkards, robbers, and other people who cause trouble.”
Today Losa Lane aptly fits President McKay’s description of Sauniatu as “the most beautiful place on earth.” The young people walking beneath the palms and orchids are beautiful. They love the Lord and work hard to improve themselves and live the gospel. And every year, a few of them are prepared to go forth into the world. They take the lessons of Sauniatu with them. And there is a great principle of leadership training that was used to teach all the lessons of Sauniatu: “We loved them,” said Brother Neria. “That is the way to make them work.”

Kumar grew up near Panadura, Sri Lanka in below poverty conditions. He found it difficult to get enough to eat each day. His father was uneducated and worked very hard selling coconuts. He would hang king coconuts on his bicycle and try to sell them along the road. Sometimes, Kumar would go with him. Kumar described his father’s love and determination to provide for his family, “I saw his eyes when he didn’t sell the coconuts . . . he was so sad he couldn’t feed us. He was a very good man. He never smoked or drank alcohol.”

“When I was 16, I ‘came to Jesus’ on the road one day when I was walking alone. I was so hungry. There was a priest that helped me to come to the Church and build myself. God gave me everything, every day, through people. Now I’m very comfortable with many blessings and my wonderful wife and three children,” asserted Kumar.

Kumar said for many years he had a good relationship with Jesus. He said he has prayed to God daily for 30 years and has received help in times of need, “I’ve had many miracles in life.”

In December 2004, Kumar was taking a tour of southern Sri Lanka with a client from Germany. Unexpectedly, the man changed his plans and told him to drop him at his hotel by the beach. He told Kumar he would call him in a few days to continue his tour. Kumar could have stayed to enjoy the beach but decided to call his tour partners for another assignment. They asked him to take a client to Kandy, a mountain area in Sri Lanka. While in Kandy, he heard on the news that a terrible tsunami had hit southern Sri Lanka exactly where he was earlier that day. His client from Germany never called him back, as the hotel where he dropped him off was destroyed. Sri Lankan authorities reported over 31,000 confirmed dead with several thousand others missing, nearly 0.2 percent of the population of Sri Lanka.

Avoiding the tsunami reinforced Kumar’s commitment to pray. He thanked God for saving his life that day and continues to thank God in prayer daily.

They went to the family room, and Mother pulled her book of remembrance from a shelf and turned to a picture of a man with white hair and a white beard. She told Eric, “Welcome Chapman was my grandmother’s grandfather. While still a young man, Welcome heard rumors of a Joseph Smith, who was living in western New York, and who claimed to have a golden book that was given to him by an angel, and to have had visions and revelations. He also claimed that he had seen Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. He said that They had instructed him to organize a new church.
“After thinking a lot about it, Welcome decided to find out for himself whether what he’d heard was true. Against the wishes of his parents, he saddled his horse and rode two hundred miles to New York.
“When he found the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Mother continued, “he discovered that they were about the same age. Welcome heard a complete account of all that had happened to Joseph, including how he obtained and translated the records on the golden plates, and was very much impressed with the Prophet and his wonderful experiences.
“He stayed two weeks at the home of the Prophet, learning all he could of the gospel. Convinced that this was the true religion, Welcome was baptized. Because of his activities in the Church and the esteem Joseph Smith had for him, he was made one of the Prophet’s bodyguards.”

There were times I thought that pursuing my education wouldn’t be worth it.
I’d moved away from my family to attend university. I wasn’t living in a very safe part of town. And with all the anxiety I was experiencing about my safety and my finances, I didn’t feel like I was learning very much.
But here’s what I realized: I wasn’t doing this just for myself. My education was about more than me and my experiences.
I’m from Camotes, a small island in the Philippines. When I decided to attend college to become a teacher, I moved to Cebu, a larger island that was a two-hour boat ride away.
And for a while, I really worried about my safety. There was a lot of drug use and crime in the area I was living in, so getting from my house to campus every day sometimes forced me to be in stressful and dangerous situations, and I didn’t have the protection of my family.
During this time, there was a quote from President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) that changed how I thought about my situation: “Decisions determine destiny.”
I’d been thinking about all of the hard things happening to me, all the things outside of my control. But over time, the thought occurred to me that I’d made this choice—I’d chosen to travel away from my family and get an education.
This realization caused me to consider why I’d made this choice. And the answer came to me quickly: I wanted to be a leader in my branch. I wanted to return to my community with greater knowledge. I wanted to teach the kids on Camotes and encourage them to seek learning opportunities that could help them bless their future communities too. This was the destiny I was working toward.
President Russell M. Nelson once taught: “Don’t be afraid to pursue your goals—even your dreams! There is no shortcut to excellence and competence. Education is the difference between wishing you could help other people and being able to help them.”
Now I’ve finished my degree, and I’m back living on Camotes. I teach children in grades one and two, and I’m also the first counselor in my branch’s Primary presidency, so I get to use my education even more than I was expecting. I know how to be patient with these kids and teach them gospel principles in a way they will understand. Every day I’m grateful that I decided to get educated, despite how difficult it was at times.

May I underscore this call to action by discussing a concept I was reminded of recently while watching a basketball game.
In that game, the first half was a seesaw battle, back and forth. Then, during the last five seconds of the first half, a guard on one team made a beautiful three-point shot. With only one second left, his teammate stole the inbound pass and made another basket at the buzzer! So that team went into the locker room four points ahead with a palpable surge of momentum. They were able to carry that momentum into the second half and win the game.

In July 1939 the Gestapo arrested four missionaries; they lived on bread and water for 40 days until President Toronto was able to negotiate their release. On 24 August, Church headquarters directed the few remaining missionaries to evacuate. President Toronto sent his family first, then stayed behind a few days to arrange the departure of the missionaries and conclude other mission affairs. He set apart 21-year-old Josef Roubícek to preside in his absence. In Denmark Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, assured Sister Toronto that the war would not start until her husband and the missionaries were all safely evacuated. President Toronto found passage on the last train to leave before war engulfed Europe.

Jenny has suffered from multiple sclerosis for almost 50 years. Lockdown meant Colin was not able to get out and about, so he had to look for other ways to serve. He feels God prepared him, as shortly before lockdown began, Colin was decorating for a member when a neighbour approached him for advice.
He offered his help with painting for her and in return, she offered him donations to give to the soup kitchen where Colin had been volunteering. Soon after that, she contacted Colin to say she was moving away to be nearer her son.
Colin felt strongly he should visit to thank her for her donations. During the visit, he felt impressed to ask her what her maiden name had been and was amazed to find it was Pearson and that they were related through his grandmother’s line.
This, together with a ward goal to find 20 names to take to the temple, spurred Colin to ask a sister who had previously helped him with his family tree, to see if she could find more names for him, not expecting to find that number. As lockdown began, the searches began, and the sister was able to find around 2,500 names to submit to the temple. Research on the Pearson line was quite miraculous as the family had travelled down to the Midlands from Lancashire on the canals, having children in Birmingham and Coventry before settling in Wolverhampton. Extra names added to familysearch.org led to very successful research.
As the sister found the names, Colin meticulously compiled several books of remembrance for all the families. While being unable to serve the living, he has had a very special time serving his ancestors by reconnecting with them. This is particularly poignant as Colin never knew his father. This made passing on the information to his children and grandchildren especially important to him. He now has many books containing “records of [the] dead” (D&C 128:24), all thanks to lockdown.

Sometimes living the principles of the gospel presents us with some challenges. During World War II, I enlisted in the Navy immediately out of high school and entered boot camp in San Diego. I shall never forget the first night in the barracks. We were all dressed in our standard white skivvies, and I ended up with the top half of a two-man bunk. I remember lying there after the lights were turned off and trying to decide how I was going to say my prayer. There was a little confusion around the area, and I didn’t want to flaunt my religion, but I also thought I might as well establish early that I was not ashamed to pray. So after a few minutes when the confusion subsided, I knelt quietly on top of my bunk and began to pray. I had just started when a large, boisterous fellow I’d met from northern Idaho came roaring down the aisle and in a loud voice yelled, “Hey, what are you doing, Clarke?” At the same time he whopped me across the backside and just about knocked me off the bunk. It’s quite an experience to kneel in the dark about five feet off the ground and suddenly find yourself flying through space! I managed to grab the rail and stay on top, but my nerves took an awful jolt. I didn’t say anything but continued my prayer. When I finished, my big neighbor fervently apologized and promised it wouldn’t happen again. We talked good-naturedly for a few minutes, then went to sleep.
That was the end of my problem. The next night I followed the same basic routine, but this time my friend took it upon himself to see that I had no interference. I heard him say, “All right, you guys, knock it off. Clarke’s saying his prayers.”