Gospel Story Finder

Life couldn’t have been finer for Carlos Espínola in 1967. Baptized at age seventeen, he had served a mission in Uruguay and was now pursuing a degree at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. He was also earning what he considered to be an enormous salary, writing and preparing materials for the Peace Corps on how to teach the Guaraní and Spanish languages—both of which are spoken in Paraguay.
To make the dream complete, Nelly, his fiancée from Uruguay, was ready to join him. They would marry in the Salt Lake Temple, he would finish his degree, and they would settle down to a wonderful life in the United States.
But, unexplainably, Carlos felt that something wasn’t quite right. Seeking spiritual direction, he asked for a patriarchal blessing. “My blessing said that I was to help my own people to know the Church, and that I was going to be a leader among them,” he says. “When I received that blessing, I thought a lot about those words.”
He fasted and prayed to know how to interpret the blessing. Finally, “after receiving the confirmation of the Spirit, I felt that this was not the place for me. I felt that the Lord really needed me in South America. So I made the decision to return.”
Even though his visa was good for another year, he gave it up—along with his apartment, his furniture, his schooling, and his job—and went home. He and Nelly were married in Uruguay. There he continued his schooling and earned two degrees—one in business administration and another in construction. And he got a job for less than a third of the salary he was making in the United States.
“My friends told me I was crazy. But I said, ‘No, I am happy, because I want to do it.’ And I knew the reasons I was doing it. The blessings we have received by staying here have brought to pass many promises in my patriarchal blessing.”
In 1979, Carlos became the first stake president in Paraguay. Nearly ten years later, he became the second Paraguayan to serve as a mission president. (He opened the Chile Antofagasta Mission.) And he has been blessed professionally. For twenty years, he has worked for the Presiding Bishop’s Office in Uruguay and Paraguay. He is now regional manager for the Presiding Bishopric in Paraguay.
“We are very satisfied with our lives here,” says Sister Espínola. “For us, the brothers and sisters in the Church are like family. The Lord has greatly blessed us and our children spiritually.” She and Carlos were sealed in the temple and have four children: Alejandra, 22; Alvaro, 20; Ariel, 16; and Arturo, 14. They speak of rich experiences they’ve shared as a family, both on their mission and at home.
“Our children are our best inheritance,” says Carlos. “They are having experiences that are helping them gain their own testimonies. I can see that they are living on their own light.”

The culture of Santa Claus is very uncommon or rather unheard of in our African society—we only get to see this in movies. We sat as friends and decided to participate in the Church’s 2017 Christmas initiative. We then each contributed a little money and got donations of food items from friends and family. We bought food and made 100 packs. These included sugar, flour, soap, salt, candy, and many other items, and then drove to a nearby village which had people who really needed food.
One of us dressed like Santa, and we surprised the villagers with these Christmas gifts. The expression they had on their faces was unbelievable—they were very happy and thankful. But we were the ones who really benefited the most! We felt joy that at least we had fed the hungry just as the Saviour did. We left the village with our hearts filled with joy, and we are grateful for the experience! We are hoping to do the same thing again this year and so touch the lives of the people around us.

As a young man, I served a 30-month mission in France, from 1955 to 1958. During the last eight months of my mission, I was called to serve as branch president in Cannes. The Cannes Branch was small, with fewer than 10 active members.
Our mission president informed us that he planned to close the branch shortly if we had no baptisms. Miraculously, three elderly ladies soon requested baptism. After their baptism, one of them moved to Dijon, where there was no branch of the Church, and the other two struggled to remain active in the Church. Nevertheless, these new Church members helped us keep the branch open.

Prior to leaving on our mission in June 2018, we attended the Missionary Training Center for a few days. We were blessed to be taught and inspired by the prophets, seers, and revelators. We were honored to speak with our beloved Prophet, President Russell M. Nelson. He then asked Lucy and I to take a personal message to the people of Papua New Guinea. He said, "President, tell the good people of Papua New Guinea I love them."His message was simple yet very powerful, and everywhere I went, and every time I spoke, I gave his message to all. They were so touched that the Prophet of God, President Nelson, remembers and loves them, and they felt the power of his love. Oh, how I wish you could see their reaction. I testify He is the true and living prophet today.

President Tafadzwa Mahachi, who is serving as a branch president in the Zimbabwe Kadoma First Branch, and is also an author, publisher, graphic designer and a mathematics teacher shares how he overcame his mountain through faith: “I have discovered through interaction with both prospective and returned missionaries in Zimbabwe that there is a general fear of the unknown that keeps many from wanting to serve a mission. In reflection to President Nelson’s talk in which he spoke fervently about the need to replace our fears and doubts with faith, I could not help seeing the challenges of a returned missionary as a mountain that can only be moved through faith.
“After finishing my upper high school while living with my grandfather after the demise of my grandmother two years prior, grandfather passed. My father’s death followed exactly 21 days later. Given these circumstances, my future was no longer clear as all the supporting pillars were collapsing [before] my eyes. I could have doubted. I could have given up. But I give thanks to a supportive mission president who identified me among myriads of members who also needed his attention. He called me for an interview, and ministered to me so I could see the blessings of putting my faith into action. He realized that all my mission papers were ready and helped me to enter the mission field”.
President Mahachi served an honorable mission without knowing what awaited him upon his return. He placed his faith in the Lord.
When President Mahachi returned from his mission, he knew that his success depended on exercising faith with total integrity, despite all the opposition around him. He shares his experience: “The anticipated mountain came immediately after my honorable release as a missionary. I had no job. With only high school qualifications, there were no prospects of getting any. Living in a developing country required some form of dishonesty to rise to the top through bribing those who could give me a job or entrance into a tertiary institution. I was a returned missionary. All I had was a testimony of the divinity of the Saviour and the truthfulness of the restored gospel.”
Despite those great barriers, President Mahachi said that through prayer and fasting he successfully secured a position in college which opened up the doors of opportunity.

Another example that means a great deal to me is that of my great-great-grandmother. She grew up in a pleasant section of England, a place of green, rolling hills. Her family was not wealthy, but they had a substantial living by the standards of their time. They left that condition to cross the Atlantic Ocean—not by jet plane, not even by a fashionable ocean liner. With a company of Saints, they were able to hire a ship in Liverpool, England. The only vessel available was one that was supposed to have been discarded. But they prevailed upon the owners to rent it to them for one last trip across the Atlantic. The owners thought, “Well, it has a reasonable chance of making the trip.” They found a captain and crew who were willing to sail this leaky old vessel.
When they had been at sea for about a week, a terrible storm struck the ship.
Now the captain didn’t want a bunch of panicky passengers interfering with his crew during storm conditions, so he simply closed the hatches to make sure the passengers stayed in the hold below the main deck. So there was no way of escaping.
Down in the dark of the hold, the heavy trunks containing the Saints’s household goods broke loose from the ropes that secured them and slid from one side of the cabin to the other, so that the passengers were afraid to get out of their bunks for fear they’d have their legs crushed in the dark. They had brought their cooking equipment aboard, and all the pans and dishes were clattering from one side to the other, making almost as much noise as the small children screaming in terror in total darkness all night.
When the storm stopped and the Saints were allowed up on deck, they immediately held services to thank the Lord for their deliverance. The old sea captain was impressed. After he had heard them sing their hymns and offer their prayers, he said, “You must worship a God who thinks a great deal of you, or you all would have been at the bottom of the sea this morning. The ship took on water all night, and the sailors stood knee deep in water, pumping for their lives while the old ship went with the storm.”

Elder Stout and I decided to have a prayer before going out again that Christmas Eve. We had arrived home from our last appointment, and I wasn’t exactly eager to step into the freezing-cold Italian air again. But my companion thought we still had time for the Christmas project we had been planning.
“Please guide us to those with no special place to go for Christmas,” we asked. “Please help us to cheer those who are experiencing sadness and loneliness during the holiday.”
I grudgingly rebuttoned the buttons I had so eagerly unbuttoned minutes before as Elder stout gathered up the Christmas gifts left over from what we had given our investigators—five Christmas candles decorated with paper holly and aluminum-foil bases. We had made them ourselves during the weeks before while practicing “Venite Fedeli” ( “Oh, Come, All Ye Faithful”) to sing to those we found wandering around with no place to go on Christmas Eve.
We walked into the cold, deserted streets of Bolzano, and I apprehensively looked for someone to cheer up. I had been in Italy for only twenty days or so and, although I was enthusiastic about missionary work, I still found it hard to approach strangers and talk to them in a language I barely knew about things they didn’t seem interested in.
A man started walking in our direction, avoiding looking at us. We managed to stop and talk with him, lit and gave him one of our decorated candles, and sang to him.
As we sang, the faraway look in his eyes faded away. Not only a smile, but genuine warmth came to his face. I felt good. The man walked away with new vitality, and my attitude about our plans for the evening changed. It was going to be a good evening after all.
Then, walking toward the center of the city, we met a gray-haired old man. He was wearing a thick jacket and limping along with the help of a crutch under his left arm. Elder Stout recognized him as someone he had talked to before my arrival in Italy. We presented him a candle and sang our carol.
He was thrilled. “Won’t you come with me?” he asked in Italian marked by a strong German accent. “I’m on my way to church.” We agreed and proceeded into town slowly, keeping in step with his pace. As we walked, Elder Stout and the man continued talking.
As they conversed, I studied our companion and realized that, in spite of the incredibly low temperature, the hand supporting his body on the crutch was gloveless. “Please take this glove for your left hand,” I somehow forced out.
“No, no,” he replied. “Many years ago I spent the winter in Russia as a soldier with less than I’m wearing now. This is nothing compared to then.”
We neared the church and noticed a large group of people waiting outside. Our friend yelled out, “Hey, these Americans want to sing for you and give you a present!” This wasn’t exactly what we had planned to do, but we sang anyway and gave out one of the three remaining candles. Our friend stood off to the side and smiled.
The night was getting colder and colder, so when we finished, Elder Stout and I asked him to take a glove from one of us to protect his bare hand. Once again he explained that he had undergone winter in Russia many years ago and had suffered much worse.
Then a car stopped near the church, and a well-dressed woman and her young son stepped out. The boy was yelling, upset at the necessity of going to church on the night before his favorite day of the year. While the mother attempted to calm him down, our friend motioned us to them. As we followed his labored steps, he called out, “Hey, these American boys want to sing for you and give you a present!”
We knelt down eye-to-eye with the boy and made our presentation. As the boy, wide-eyed and silent, listened intently to our well-rehearsed carol, I could see our friend smiling and enjoying every minute. When we stood up to wish the mother a merry Christmas, we saw that she had been crying as we sang. She smiled at us, and, before we could say anything, our friend wished them a merry Christmas in a way that only Santa Claus could rival.
We echoed his wishes and turned back to tell our friend that we still had one more candle and planned to continue on until we found someone to give it to.
He looked at the ground and then turned back to us: “Well, it’s too crowded here anyway. Maybe I’ll go on with you to a smaller church.”
Happy to hear that we would still enjoy his refreshing company, we left to find another church. Our limping friend guided us through the quiet streets only to find the other chapel closed. As it got colder and colder, I kept remembering the hand of our friend, trying to sense what it would be like for my bare hand to remain frozen in one position, holding on to a crutch. We both offered our gloves, and again he refused.
As we walked away from the church, we saw two teenage girls walking dejectedly down the street. Within seconds, our friend was yelling, “Hey, these American boys want to sing for you and give you a present!” Remembering that we only had one candle left, not two, I became uneasy. But we lit the candle and gave it to one of them.
“What about the other girl?” our friend asked. After Elder Stout explained that we had just given away the last candle, our friend cried “Wait!” and started fumbling through his pockets. He finally found the candle we had given him and handed it to the other girl. Elder Stout and I sang our carol while our friend stood by smiling. The girls began smiling, too.
When they walked away, Elder Stout said, “Well, that’s the last of our candles. I guess it’s time to go home.” Our friend replied that he would accompany us as far as the other church. When we arrived, we wished one another a merry Christmas and went our separate ways.
Back in our apartment, Elder Stout and I knelt in prayer. We thanked the Lord for making it possible to touch a few hearts and shine a little light on saddened countenances. We also thanked him for the lesson that angels don’t always wear white flowing robes but come in all different sizes, colors, and nationalities. Some walk with crutches.

When disappointments come into your life—and they will—you have an important decision to make. Do you wallow in self-pity or do you arise and shine forth? As a thirty-five-year-old single woman graduating from BYU, Amanda de Lange chose the latter. (The following is taken from Ann Brenoff and Amy Page Christiansen, “Amanda de Lange: Woman Who Rescued Orphans Shares a Final Message,” Huffington Post, 13 July 2012; huffingtonpost.com/2012/07/13/amanda-de-lange-starfish_n_1660170.html?utm_hp_ref=religion&ir=Religion.)

After graduation Amanda went to Taiwan to teach English, then on to Xi’an, China, where she continued teaching and started volunteering at the city orphanage. She wanted to do even more, so the orphanage decided to let her care for babies with special medical needs. Just four days later, with the legal papers signed, she went to the orphanage and picked out six babies and took them home. Her Starfish foster home had begun.

“She laughed at her own ambition,” recalled a friend. “A single lady taking care of six malnourished babies, some needing to be fed with a dropper, all on her own.”

In an article highlighting Amanda’s life, journalist Ann Brenoff described how Starfish blossomed:

Amanda knew she couldn’t stop at just six, so she hired some help, and from there [her ­foster home] just grew and grew. . . . At one point, Amanda operated her orphanage out of three large ­apartments—housing up to 50 babies, with 26 nannies and volunteers coming and going all the time.

In all, she cared for 168 foster kids with medical needs that required nearly 250 surgeries. Eighty-one of those children ended up being adopted into families all over the world.

Amanda took the sickest babies from Chinese orphanages and brought them back to life. She fed them, held them, nurtured them. She convinced the world’s top doctors and surgeons to come [heal] them, to restore them, to fix their damaged hearts and cleft palates. And then she saved them again by creating a new, temporary family for them—a small army of devoted volunteers who comforted the babies through their nightmares, soothed them when they [suffered], taught them how to love and be loved. She then helped her Starfish babies find ­[loving] families. She saved them, loved them and then sent them on their way—pure and simple [though] never easy. . . .

[One mother says she] will always remember what Amanda said to her on the day she came to Starfish to pick up her son. It was, “I know my place. I am to love them, nurture them and care for them. I am to then give them up so that they may experience the love of a family.”

Early this year Amanda was diagnosed with a very aggressive form of cancer. She eventually ended up in hospice care in Nashville. Starfish families traveled “thousands of miles to see her and say their good-byes, bringing along many of the 81 adopted children who have passed through Starfish’s door—[many of whom] wouldn’t be alive if not for Amanda.”

Twenty-six days ago, on July 14, Amanda de Lange, a shining light, truly a standard for the nations, passed away at age fifty-one.

Five days before she died, in a letter to the Starfish community, she wrote:

To the babies of Starfish, I want you to know that I have given it my best effort, my all. My life has been to care for and love you. Wherever you go in your lives, I wish you the very best. May you always be drawn to those in need and may you never forget that at a very critical time in your life there was someone there at the door to welcome you into the house. Be the change you want to see in the world.

The letters, diaries, and autobiographies of past Church leaders contain many descriptions of this baptism of the Spirit. One of these was written by Lorenzo Snow, later an apostle, and still later a president of the Church. Elder Snow wrote that immediately following his immersion in the waters of baptism at the age of twenty-two, he expected to receive the Holy Ghost, and to have the promise fulfilled that he would “know of the doctrine, whether it be of God.” (John 7:17.) But Elder Snow did not receive this assurance immediately. He began to worry whether he had done wrong—whether God was displeased with him. Several weeks later, while studying the scriptures, he felt depressed and disconsolate. He left the house and walked outside, tormented by uncertainty and enveloped by “an indescribable cloud of darkness.” He had been in the habit of going to a small grove every evening to have secret prayer. On this particular day he was so dejected that he “felt no inclination” to pray. “The heavens seemed like brass over my head,” he wrote. Nevertheless, he forced himself to pray, and soon he heard a sound “like the restling of silken robes” above his head:

“… immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge … I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the Holy Priesthood, and of the fulness of the gospel. It was a complete baptism—a tangible immersion in the heavenly principle or element, the Holy Ghost; and even more real and physical in its effects upon every part of my system than the immersion of water.”

God had conferred upon him, he concluded, “that which is of greater value than all the wealth and honors worlds can bestow.”1
Lorenzo’s sister, Eliza, author of some of our favorite hymns and later the president of the Relief Society of the Church, had a similar experience:
“On the 5th of April, 1835, I was baptized by a ‘Mormon’ Elder, and in the evening of that day, I realized the baptism of the Spirit as sensibly as I did that of the water in the stream. I had retired to bed, and as I was reflecting on the wonderful events transpiring around me, I felt an indescribable, tangible sensation … commencing at my head and enveloping my person and passing off at my feet, producing inexpressible happiness.”2

I would like to use my own family as an illustration of what I have in mind. Mother and I were filling a mission together over in Holland when we had a little girl born to us, and after we had been home a few years she passed away. When she was born, my wife has told me over and over again that she felt she saw an angel bring that spirit to her. And yet she is gone. Then I think of her four sisters. You voted here today to sustain one of them as a counselor in the general presidency of the Relief Society. Her other three sisters are just as noble and wonderful, although their talents may be just a little different.

When I think of this little one that we laid away when she was three-and-a-half years old, I thank God I have the faith to believe that God reigns in the heavens above and in the earth beneath and that this little one will ultimately enter into her glory and be equal to any of her four sisters who have tarried here upon this earth and raised their families. I thank God for the statement of the apostle Paul when he said that “If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.” (1 Cor. 15:19.) In this brief period of mortality, it would not be possible for God to accomplish for all of his children all that he has in mind for them, the ones that are true and faithful.

I think of the statement of Moses as recorded in the Pearl of Great Price: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” (Moses 1:39.) I wonder sometimes if we ever stop to analyze that statement. I think we can understand what “to bring to pass immortality” is, that we will never die after we come forth in the resurrection, as President Romney pointed out this morning. But what about eternal life? As I interpret this, I find in it the feeling that all that God has ultimately planned for his children who are faithful and true shall come to them in his own due time.

We read in the Book of Mormon that we are not all born at the same time (and that doesn’t matter) and that we don’t all die at the same time. (See Alma 40:8.) I think of the words of Abraham when he saw the placing of the spirits here upon this earth, that the Lord would prove them to see if they would do all things whatsoever he had commanded them. Then he adds: “And they who keep their first estate shall be added upon.” (Abr. 3:26.) That was in the spirit life before we came to mortality. “They who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever.” (Abr. 3:26.) This little girl of ours kept her second estate as far as she could at her age.

Then I think of the statement of the Lord to the Prophet Joseph Smith when he said: “The works, and the designs, and the purposes of God cannot be frustrated, neither can they come to naught.” (D&C 3:1.) In other words, no one can stand in the way of God achieving what he has decreed for his children. Then a further statement in the Doctrine & Covenants where the Lord said: “His purposes fail not, neither are there any who can stay his hand. From eternity to eternity he is the same.” (D&C 76:3–4.)

Then there are the words of the Lord to the prophet Nephi when he said: “For my work is not yet finished; neither shall it be until the end of man, neither from that time henceforth and forever.” (2 Ne. 29:9.) Now that should enable us to comprehend and realize that there will never be a time when God will cease to do his work to bring to pass, as we read in the Pearl of Great Price, the glory that will be added upon their heads forever and ever.

Coming back to our family, we had four daughters before we got a boy and he grew into beautiful young manhood; we lost him in an accident down at the beach in California while I was the president of the stake there. He was just turning 16 and he stood as tall as his father, and to think now of his own brothers who are here: they have their families, and one of them has just been serving as one of the Regional Representatives of the Twelve. I can’t believe that boy will come out any less exalted in the eternities that are to come than his brothers who have lived here in mortality. When he died, the principal of the high school came to our home (and he was not a member of the Church) and told Sister Richards that our son was the best boy he had ever had in his school, and we felt that, too, as he grew into manhood.

I hung up the phone, dumbfounded. “I have to call everyone,” I thought. “Pete, Whitney, Kristen …” I fumbled for my planner, too flustered to remember the phone numbers I’d had memorized since middle school.
A few weeks before, our group of friends had mailed Daniel a Christmas package. We had marveled that in a mere six months he would be home from his mission. We could hardly wait!
Then Daniel’s dad had called. Now I wished we still had to wait—bad news suddenly turned six months into three days. Daniel had become so sick he was bedridden, and the doctors didn’t know why.
Besides being worried about his illness, I was heartsick to think of how disappointed he must be. Serving a mission had been his most treasured goal, and the people in Michigan were some of his most beloved friends.
The night before Daniel’s return home, I lay in bed staring out the window. The moon illuminated brown mountains and bare tree branches—nothing like the snow-covered evergreens I pictured in Michigan. I frowned. “It will be even more depressing if he has to come back to this,“ I thought. Climbing out of bed and onto my knees, I prayed that Daniel might be welcomed home by a glistening, white blanket of snow. Before I drifted off to sleep, a few snowflakes flurried outside my window.
The next morning, as we walked to Daniel’s house to await his arrival, beautiful snow crunched under our shoes. I offered a hurried, silent prayer of thanks.
Soon a car pulled into the driveway. Daniel looked frail, but he managed a weak smile and handshake for each of us. As he inched up the walkway, he paused to survey the yard. His smile deepened. “I like the snow,” he murmured. I turned away to hide my tears.
That afternoon, as I drove back to college, I realized more fully what the Lord had done. Only one storm cloud hovered in the sky, directly over our hometown. Less than three miles away from the snow, the sun beamed down on a dry, brown valley.
I had always believed in answers to prayers, even in miracles. But it was the first time I had understood that sometimes God performs small miracles just to show His love. Overwhelmed by the Spirit, I thanked the Lord again for His gift of comfort—a snowstorm for Daniel.

Gerhardt, a little German shepherd boy, was such an example. He was very, very poor, and one day as he was watching his flock, a hunter came out of the woods and asked the way to the nearest village. When the boy told him, he said if he would show him the way he would be rewarded handsomely. When Gerhardt replied that he could not leave his sheep for fear they might be lost, the hunter said, “Well, what of that? They are not your sheep, and the loss of one or two would not matter to your master. I will give you more money than you have earned in a year.”
When the boy still declined, the hunter said, “Then will you trust me with your sheep while you go to the village and bring me food and drink and a guide?”
The boy shook his head, saying, “The sheep do not know your voice.”
Angrily the hunter retorted, “Can’t you trust me?”
Gerhardt reminded him that he had tried to get him to break faith with his master and asked, “How do I know that you would keep your word to me?”
Cornered, the hunter laughed and said, “I see you are a good faithful boy. I will not forget you. Show me the road and I will try to make it out by myself.”
The hunter turned out to be the grand duke, and he was so pleased with Gerhardt’s honesty that he later sent for him and had him educated. Though Gerhardt became a rich and powerful man, he remained honest and true. (Adapted from “A Faithful Shepherd Boy,” in Moral Stories for Little Folks, Salt Lake City: Juvenile Instructor Office. 1891, pp. 11–13.)

No matter how old we are, if we do not understand and feel what it means to be a child of God, we will not have the courage to endure life's trials. I had such an experience relatively recently. When faced with uncertainty related to a particular situation, and not knowing how to resolve it, I decided to kneel and pray. I simply asked, "Father, Am I your son? and Father, do you love me?" The answer came with such power that I knew that He was listening, and sending the comfort I desperately needed. I did not receive the knowledge as to how to fix the problem at that moment, but I had the courage not to give up, and to keep moving forward.

Our very humble home was located about twenty minutes from the temple. Together, my wonderful bride and I decided we would go to the temple at least once a week while we lived near a temple. We had no idea where we would live after law school or whether we would be near a temple. Remember, there were no temples east of the Rocky Mountains in those days. We decided to go on Thursday evenings.

At first, Thursday evenings seemed the most complicated day of the week. Everything would go wrong to keep us from going to the temple. We learned, however, that if we persisted in our determination to go every Thursday, things began to go more smoothly. We both noticed that fact and commented on it. It was apparent the adversary didn't want us to go to the temple and he threw up all kinds of impediments, but if we were diligent in our goal he would eventually give up on us.

Next we learned the same thing I had earlier learned as a returned missionary, the temple is a place of peace. In our determination to be faithful to our goals we would occasionally go to the temple when we neither one felt very much like going. Maybe we had some disagreement or something that had left some tension in the air. That sort of thing probably happens to all young newlyweds trying to blend two lives into one. On those occasions we would drive the twenty minutes to the temple without a word between us. After the temple session, we could neither one remember what the tension was about or even that there had been any tension.

The Warwoods always planned to go on a senior mission, and Sister Warwood was certain she knew where the Lord needed her to serve. As a neonatal nurse practitioner, she felt drawn to humanitarian work in developing countries.
“I always thought I would serve a humanitarian mission in a third-world country, something with mothers and babies,” she explains. But when they visited Africa a year before their mission call, something unexpected happened. “When I thought to myself, ‘We’ll be here in a year,’ I just had this dreaded feeling,” Sister Warwood recalls.
Back home, during a senior mission meeting, coordinators asked about their preferences. She answered, “Third world, something medical, saving lives.” The dread returned. “I thought, ‘I guess I don’t really want to serve a mission. This is a horrible feeling.’”
Everything shifted when coordinators learnt the couple’s backgrounds—he an accountant, she in healthcare. They explained that “the Mission Health Adviser (MHA) is the most coveted job in the mission because you get to know, love, and serve all of the missionaries.” Sister Warwood realised the MHA “did many of the things I did in the NICU—just with much bigger babies!”
“By the time we left the meeting, instead of feeling dread, I was very excited.” She realised: “The Lord’s been trying to tell you third-world humanitarian is not where you’re supposed to be. He couldn’t have made it more obvious.”
The Warwoods accepted a call to the Auckland New Zealand Mission, where that guidance proved itself many times. In one memorable incident, a sister missionary called with allergic reaction symptoms. She had eaten mussels and was experiencing throat itching and nausea. As they talked, her symptoms escalated.
“Her tongue and face were swelling, she could hardly swallow, was drooling, coughing and developed a rash,” Sister Warwood remembers. She coordinated care, managing four phones at the same time—with the missionary, her leaders, transportation, and the urgent care centre—so they would be prepared to treat her on arrival.
“The urgent care answered right away,” she marvels, “no eternal ‘on hold’, as usual.” The missionary received immediate treatment. “Everything went so smoothly,” Sister Warwood reflects. The Lord’s hand was undeniable in this event.
Meanwhile, Elder Warwood was discovering his own unexpected path. “When we came out, I didn’t know what I was going to do,” he admits. When another senior missionary couple had to return home early, Elder Warwood inherited their bicycle maintenance responsibilities, in which he had little experience. “I know enough about bike repair to get myself in trouble,” he laughs.
The solution came through family. His brother Dan was planning to visit New Zealand for just one week with his wife. Sister Warwood suggested they extend their stay. “Gary could really use some help with bikes.” Her sister-in-law’s response was immediate: “Oh, Dan would love that.”
Dan, a skilled mechanic, ended up staying almost three weeks, teaching Elder Warwood everything about bicycle repair. “He fixes anything,” Elder Warwood says gratefully. “The Lord just provided that help.” Now he manages both mission finances and keeps dozens of bicycles running.
As President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught, “Whom the Lord calls, the Lord qualifies.” Elder Warwood has learnt that this principle applies not just to the calling but to every challenge that arises, “for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish … them” (1 Nephi 3:7).
The Warwoods have four children, two with challenges, making it especially difficult to leave their family. But their setting-apart blessing included a promise that “people would come into their lives to help and serve them in ways that we are not able to from far away,” Sister Warwood shares.
That promise taught her new faith. “I find peace when I say, ‘OK, Lord, I can’t do anything about this, but you can. So I’m going to leave it with you.’ It takes the worry away.” The mission has shifted her perspective. “I’ve learnt to think more celestial, seeing what really matters in the end, and what doesn’t.”
Elder Warwood sees this divine orchestration everywhere. “The Lord puts people in our space—it’s this big jigsaw puzzle where He knows exactly where we’re all supposed to be to help others. He fulfils everyone’s needs.“
In that jigsaw puzzle, every piece has been shaped for its exact place. While they wondered at first how they might fit into the senior mission experience, the Warwoods have learnt that the Lord has been preparing them for this work their whole lives. They were already the pieces that He needed.

One day I noticed a new girl at school. Her name was Huda. She came from Iraq and spoke no English, and she seemed nice. I talked to her at lunch (well, I tried to). After that, we became friends. The girls I had started being friends with basically ignored me after that because they were uncomfortable talking to Huda. Even though I lost my friendship with them, I found a better friend.
Katie L., age 11, Mississippi, USA

Amy and her family lived in an old log house at the foot of a pine tree covered mountain. She used to have to stand on a chair to look out the window, but now Amy stood on the floor and pressed her nose against the windowpane, watching the snowflakes float down.
“Mom! Mom!” she called. “Mother Goose is shaking her feather pillows again. Look at the snow coming down!” Amy danced happily around the room. “May I go outside?” Amy asked her mother. “I want to play in the snow.”
Amy’s mother looked outside at the snow-covered slope. Turning, she smiled at Amy and said, “Yes, but be careful. The snow looks soft and snuggly, but it covers hard rocks and holes.”
Giving her mother a quick little hug, Amy ran to the closet and put on her coat, stocking cap, mittens, and boots. Then she grinned at her mother and bounded out the door. There was a half-foot of snow on the ground. Amy laughed as she fell backward into the snow and moved her arms up and down and her legs back and forth to make a snow angel.
Quickly jumping up, Amy ran to the woodshed. I wish we had a sled, Amy thought as she opened the door. Maybe there’s something in here that I can use. Looking around, she saw an old deer hide stretched over a box. Maybe that will make a good sled, she thought, grabbing at the corner of the hide and dragging it up the hill. But the hide didn’t slide well at all, so Amy dragged it back to the woodshed. This time she found a large piece of cardboard.
After carrying the cardboard up the slope and checking for rocks and holes, Amy sat down on the cardboard and slid down the hill. “Whee! That was fun!” she shouted when she reached the bottom. But it wasn’t long until the cardboard was too soggy and ragged to slide.
Amy was soon back in the woodshed to find something else. She searched in all the corners and behind the woodpile. Just as she was about to give up, she spotted a big metal dishpan hanging on the wall. “Oh!” Amy squealed happily at her discovery. “I bet that would make a wonderful sled!”
Picking up a broom, Amy knocked the dishpan off the wall. She grabbed the pan, stepped outside, and ran back up the slope.
SWISH! Round and round Amy went down the hill, sitting in the dishpan. Tumbling out at the bottom into the soft, deepening snow, she lay there, breathless and dizzy.
“What’s the matter?” a voice asked.
Turning over, Amy looked up into the face of her older brother Roy. “Just the greatest ride ever,” Amy replied. “You should take a ride. It goes round and round!”
“You want me to ride in a dishpan?” Roy asked. “I’m too big. How do you steer it anyway?”
“You don’t steer it,” Amy said excitedly. “You just ride in it! C’mon, I’ll give you a push.”
Not wanting to be outdone by his little sister, Roy walked up the hill with her. With a push from Amy, he was off.
“Yippee!” Roy shouted as round and round and down and down he went.
At the bottom Roy tumbled out and rolled over in the snow. Amy ran down to meet him. “I told you, didn’t I? Wasn’t it fun?” she asked.
“That’s really terrific,” Roy told her with a big grin.
Mom and Dad came running up. “What happened?” Mother gasped. “We heard someone hollering.”
Roy, getting up and looking at Amy, said, “Only the greatest ride ever. Amy found a ‘sled’ that really goes.”
“Let me show you,” said Amy as she grabbed the dishpan and ran up the hill. Mom and Dad watched Amy push off and come hurtling toward them. Faster and faster she came down the hill until she tumbled out at the bottom.
Laughing with excitement, Amy and Roy and Mother watched Dad reach down, pick up the dishpan, and run up the hill. He scrunched down in the dishpan and, before you knew it, was flying down the slope, shouting with glee.
At the bottom of the hill Dad handed the dishpan to Mom and said, “Now it’s your turn.” Taking the dishpan, Mom ran up the slope for her ride in Amy’s sled!

I learned in school that some children have a disease called cancer and that the medicine they take can make them lose their hair. I was sad for them because not only are they sick, but other kids might make fun of them too. I found out that I could donate some of my own long hair to these children. My ballet school is very strict and wouldn’t let me dance in their recital with short hair. I worked hard all year so I could dance in the recital, but I didn’t care. I donated my hair because I knew Jesus would say that people are more important than anything else.

When missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints started teaching his family, Isaac Kojo Botwe made it clear from the beginning that he was not interested.
“I would abandon them in the sitting room, go into the boys’ room, and smoke my dirty pipe,” he says, laughing as he recalls what followed. Soon he decided that he really ought to listen to what the missionaries were saying. Not long afterward, he decided that he needed to give up that “dirty pipe” and live the Word of Wisdom.
Elder Mark Owusu, one of the missionaries who taught him, remembers that Isaac Botwe had his children gather his pipes, his tobacco, and his coffee—and then he set fire to the lot of it!
Isaac, his wife, Frances, and their children of baptismal age came into the Church together in 1987. Today, Isaac is bishop of the Takoradi Ward, Cape Coast Ghana Stake. His family has an extensive history of service to the Church. So, too, does Mark Owusu, who has served in a variety of teaching and leadership positions since his mission.

See if your family has any connections to a place you are already visiting.
On a recent trip to New York City, I decided to see if I had any ancestors that had lived there. Using FamilySearch, I discovered that my fourth great-grandmother Rachel Laird immigrated from Scotland to America and saw the Statue of Liberty only two years after it was completed! Learning about Rachel helped me to feel more connected to my ancestors and made the trip I already had planned even more special.