Gospel Story Finder

You visit a nonmember family. As is often the case, they prepare a meal for you before you leave. This is common, and you had not taken much note of it before. This time you pay particular attention. The little red rooster that had been crowing when you arrived is now boiling in the pot. The last bunch of bananas is plucked. Enough money is found to buy a can of corned beef. You look around. The house is small, the roof needs patching, there are many children in the family, and they have little clothing. Yet they give you the best they have, and the only reward they hope for from you is your blessing, as a servant of the Lord, upon their family. As you leave there is a lump in your throat and mist in your eyes. You are humbled with the realization that you are charged with teaching the perfect gospel to a people who know and live the principles of true Christianity. You find there is much to be learned from them as you teach them the restored gospel.

In 1991, my beloved husband, Gilberto, lost his life in a truck accident in Pôrto Alegre, Brazil. His death was a shock. We had all been happy and healthy. We had even recently rejoiced in Gilberto’s baptism. The rest of the family—Gisele, Pablo, and I—had been members of the Church for some time.
Unfortunately, the children and I did not overcome our loss very quickly. Days ran into nights and into days again, and nothing seemed to lessen our pain or our sense of abandonment.
Then we learned that we would not be able to get an insurance settlement because we lacked the necessary documentation. We had to sell our house and all the furniture because we could no longer make the payments. Three months later, we were able to buy a small apartment. But it seemed as if nothing could cheer us.
We spent three very unhappy years in that apartment. The school where I worked became more unpleasant with each passing day. The children were having problems at school, too. They were persecuted by the other students for being members of the Church. Rather than improving, life seemed to become more unbearable. We began to lose hope and even stopped going to church.
After a time, we decided to move to a city in another state. We felt that by moving to Florianópolis, we might be able to leave our grief behind.
We arrived with the modest funds we had received from the sale of our apartment. But everything was very expensive, and we soon became discouraged. Then, during Easter vacation in 1994, we went to look at a new house in a place called English Beach. We went only out of curiosity, not expecting to like it much and certainly not realizing the blessings Heavenly Father had in store for us there.
We arrived at the house and met the owner, a man from Argentina who needed to return to his country. He was ready to sell for any amount, as long as the money was available immediately. It was a wonderful house, very large and very beautiful. We knelt down and thanked our Heavenly Father for such a wonderful blessing. We felt guilty for having had so little faith in him. But the house itself was only the beginning.
Two months later, we met the LDS missionaries in the area and learned where church meetings were held. Soon we were attending regularly. The members were very concerned about us. They showed us that we were members of a large family—the family of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Day by day, we grew happier.
With the arrival of spring a few months later, the rental rates in town went up, and it became very expensive for the branch to stay in its quarters. So the branch began to meet in our home. We opened our home to the branch, and the branch opened their hearts to us.
When we came to Florianópolis, there were few members. Now our little chapel is full. Both of my children have been called as stake missionaries. I serve as the organist and teach in the Relief Society. Our family is planning to go to the São Paulo Temple to be sealed.
Today, I know that even in our most desperate times, there is a purpose to our trials. We realize now that it was necessary for us to come to English Beach, and our years of struggle taught me that there is no greater happiness than doing the Lord’s work. Now I know that even though my husband was taken from us, our Heavenly Father has not abandoned us. He will always provide.

The day after he received the plates, Joseph went to work repairing a well in a nearby town to raise money for a lockbox. That same morning, while on an errand just over the hill from the Smith home, Joseph Sr. overheard a group of men plotting to steal the gold plates. “We will have the plates,” one of them said, “in spite of Joe Smith or all the devils in hell.”
Alarmed, Joseph Sr. returned home and told Emma. She said she did not know where the plates were, but she was sure Joseph had protected them.
“Yes,” Joseph Sr. replied, “but remember that for a small thing Esau lost his blessing and birthright. It may be so with Joseph.”28
To be sure the plates were secure, Emma mounted a horse and rode for more than an hour to the farm where Joseph was working. She found him by the well, caked in dirt and sweat from the day’s work. Hearing of the danger, Joseph looked into the Urim and Thummim and saw that the plates were safe.
Back home, Joseph Sr. paced back and forth outside the house, glancing every minute down the road until he saw Joseph and Emma.
“Father,” Joseph said as they rode up, “all is perfectly safe—there is no cause of alarm.”29
But it was time to act.
Hurrying to the hill, Joseph found the log where the plates were hidden and carefully wrapped them in a shirt.30 He then ducked into the woods and headed for home, his eyes alert to danger. The forest concealed him from people on the main road, but it gave thieves plenty of places to hide.
Straining under the weight of the record, Joseph tramped through the woods as fast as he could. A fallen tree blocked the path ahead of him, and as he bounded over it, he felt something hard strike him from behind. Turning around, he saw a man coming at him, wielding a gun like a club.
Clutching the plates tightly with one arm, Joseph knocked the man to the ground and scrambled deeper into the thicket. He ran for about half a mile when another man sprang from behind a tree and struck him with the butt of his gun. Joseph fought the man off and darted away, desperate to be out of the woods. But before he could get very far a third man attacked, landing a heavy blow that sent him reeling. Gathering his strength, Joseph hit the man hard and ran for home.31
Back at the house, Joseph burst through the door with his heavy bundle tucked beneath one arm. “Father,” he cried, “I have got the plates.”
His 14-year-old sister, Katharine, helped him set the bundle on a table as the rest of the family gathered around him. Joseph could tell that his father and younger brother William wanted to unwrap the plates, but he stopped them.
“Can we not see them?” Joseph Sr. asked.
“No,” Joseph said. “I was disobedient the first time, but I intend to be faithful this time.”
He told them they could feel the plates through the cloth, and his brother William picked up the bundle. It was heavier than stone, and William could tell that it had leaves that moved like the pages of a book.32 Joseph also sent his youngest brother, Don Carlos, to get a lockbox from Hyrum, who lived down the road with his wife, Jerusha, and their newborn daughter.
Joseph borrowed a lockbox like this from his brother Hyrum to store the Book of Mormon plates.
Photograph by Jed Clark
Hyrum arrived soon after, and once the plates were securely in the box, Joseph collapsed onto a nearby bed and started telling his family about the men in the woods.
As he spoke, he realized his hand ached. Sometime during the attacks he had dislocated a thumb.
“I must stop talking, Father,” he said suddenly, “and get you to put my thumb back in place.”33

“I know when I joined the Church, I too expected everyone to be perfect. It was quite a shock to realize that they weren’t. I began to hear talk, rumors, and criticizing. Then a nonmember friend who had been coming to Church with me regularly commented on some of the backbiting. She said she didn’t think that Mormons were allowed to act that way. The only thing I could think of as an answer was to explain that we all have faults, but I’m not concerned about the faults of others. It is more important for me to do what I know is right and be a good example. In this way I may encourage others to live the gospel more fully. No feelings were hurt with this explanation, and I did not prejudice her against anyone else in the ward.”
Fiona EssonRichmond, British Columbia, Canada

My great-grandfather, Heinrich Friedrich Christian Pieper, was baptized as a single man in his early 20s in Germany in 1895. As a new convert, he learned about the temple and began preparations to receive his ordinances in the house of the Lord. Because there was no temple near him, it was seven years before he could realize his dream. By that time, he was married and was able to be endowed and sealed in 1902. He now lived within one hour of a temple and worked hard to prepare names of ancestors. He and his wife visited the house of the Lord as often as possible to perform vicarious ordinances for loved ones. By 1952 he and his wife had performed more than 20,000 ordinances for others.

As Jeremiah had prophesied, the restored covenant was written deeply in my great-grandfather’s and great-grandmother’s hearts and, as a result, in the lives of me and other descendants. Their temple service provided them strength to endure life’s many challenges and remain faithful to their God.

Just before my junior year in high school, my family moved 3,000 miles to the San Francisco area. I started the year knowing exactly one person—my freshman sister.

Redwood High School was very different from the strict high school I had been attending. The whole atmosphere was intimidating.

Shortly after school began, I tried out for cheerleader. I didn’t even make first cuts. In October I went to an audition for a Christmas choir program. Before I even sang a note, the choir director asked me if I had ever been in a school choir. When my answer was no, I was ushered out the door and told thank you very much.

The one bright spot in my day was early-morning seminary, where I always felt welcome and accepted.

At school I worked hard and occasionally forced myself to contribute during classroom discussions. Eventually I made some friends and found a group to eat lunch with. I went to the ball games and school plays, volunteered during spirit week, and hung out at the dances. But I still never felt like I quite belonged.

I kept busy my senior year filling out college application forms, taking entrance exams, and applying for scholarships. Three weeks before graduation, Lee, the good-looking, iron-pumping, brainy debate team member and senior class president, called out to me after class and asked me to walk with him. I was stunned that he even knew my name.

As we walked he explained that he was the president of his church youth group. The group had been studying the religions of the world, and someone had expressed interest in learning about Latter-day Saints. Lee turned to face me and asked if I would deliver an hour-long presentation about the Church to his group.

Weakly I managed to reply, “You don’t want me to speak; who you really want is our missionaries. I’ll ask them for you.”

His response startled me, “We don’t want your missionaries. We want you. We know you, we’ve watched you, and we like who you are.”

Stunned again, I told Lee I would be glad to speak to his group.

The next five days were a flurry of preparation. My seminary teacher, my parents, and the missionaries helped me prepare to explain the basic principles of the gospel and how The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints differs from other churches. Knowing that Lee and his friends were forceful debaters who could be merciless against opponents, I also fasted and prayed for divine guidance.

The day of the presentation arrived. With scriptures in hand and a prayer in my heart, I entered the meeting hall. The 35 people in the room—kids from school, a few adults, and the pastor—all turned to look at me as I walked to the front. After Lee greeted me warmly and introduced me, I took a deep breath and began by telling the Joseph Smith story. A calm feeling filled the room, and for the next 45 minutes the words I spoke came smoothly and effortlessly. I ended by bearing my testimony of modern-day prophets, revelation, and the love Jesus Christ has for each of us.

Then, with great apprehension, I asked if there were any questions. Hands shot up all over the room. Oh boy, here it comes, I thought to myself. But to my surprise, none of the questions were hostile or quarrelsome. As I left the hall I knew that a power stronger than my own had directed the evening’s event.

Throughout high school I had always assumed that being popular meant dating cool guys, appearing in lots of yearbook pictures, or being prom queen. Through this experience, I finally realized that there is a different kind of popularity—popularity based on respect.

I had been on my mission for little more than a year when I hit a particularly difficult time. We were right in the middle of a dismal, gray season—just coming out of a cold winter and moving into spring. And no matter how hard my companion and I worked, everyone we spoke to rejected our message outright. When we met with other missionaries, we learned that their work was going strong. I couldn’t think of any reasons why we were so unsuccessful. I had been out long enough to speak the language well, my companion and I were good friends, we had established trust with the members, and we tried to follow the Spirit and obey the mission rules with exactness.
But no matter what we did, we faced rejection at every turn. After weeks and weeks of this, I let my sour attitude get the better of me. During one planning session I finally exclaimed, “What’s the point? Nobody will listen to us anyway.” My companion, having a better perspective than I did, simply said, “We set goals to show our faith. We follow up on goals to count our blessings.”
As I pondered her insight, I realized that I had been using the wrong measuring stick to judge my success as a missionary. Preach My Gospel: A Guide to Missionary Service provides a list of behaviors of successful missionaries,1 and I realized that all those behaviors are within the missionary’s control. I could not control whether or not the people in my mission would accept the gospel message, but I could control the type of missionary I chose to be. My companion showed me that greater faith in Jesus Christ and gratitude for His blessings would allow me to recognize the ways I already was a successful missionary.
It was humbling to realize that my faith was lacking. I looked for areas where I could strengthen my faith and found that when things hadn’t gone according to plan, I had let myself become discouraged. Preach My Gospel says: “Discouragement will weaken your faith. If you lower your expectations, your effectiveness will decrease, your desire will weaken, and you will have greater difficulty following the Spirit.”2 I realized that I had allowed our setbacks to weaken my faith.
I began by praying for a change of heart and more faith. I also relied on the promise given in Mormon 9:21: “Whoso believeth in Christ, doubting nothing, whatsoever he shall ask the Father in the name of Christ it shall be granted him; and this promise is unto all, even unto the ends of the earth.” This promise led me to pray more fervently for the blessings and miracles my companion and I felt we needed, always adding, “Thy will be done.” These prayers helped me to accept changed plans and setbacks with greater faith, knowing that Heavenly Father always answers prayers of faith—even when the answers come in ways we don’t anticipate. I became more able to recognize the ways the Lord was guiding us throughout our day.
As I worked on strengthening my faith, I found the positive form of the statement from Preach My Gospel to be true: if you raise your expectations, your effectiveness will increase, your desire will grow, and you will be able to follow the Spirit better. Additionally, I was more optimistic about missionary work and my missionary service when I could recognize and appreciate the miracles that happened daily.
The Lord began to show me that He worked miracles for us each day—but I had been unable to recognize them until I made a conscious effort to be genuinely grateful. Expressing gratitude is more than just a good habit or nice manners. When I expressed gratitude to the Lord and to others, I was empowered. I found myself being excited for other missionaries when they had success instead of being jealous (see Alma 29:14, 16). I was more able to focus on what I had and what went right rather than what I lacked and what went wrong.
I learned that gratitude is the antidote to comparing ourselves to others. Those times when I didn’t feel like a successful missionary usually came because I told myself, “I’m not doing as well as they are,” or, “They are better at this than I am.” I also learned that while it is the Lord’s pattern to give us righteous examples to emulate and follow, it is Satan’s counterfeit to tempt us to compare ourselves with them in order to determine our worth or success. But Preach My Gospel is clear on this: “Avoid comparing yourself to other missionaries and measuring the outward results of your efforts against theirs.”3 Ultimately, gratitude helped me avoid pride and reminded me that the Lord is in charge of His work. I did not need to be jealous because my fellow missionaries appeared to be having more success.4
Before I had this change in perspective, I had been so focused on a specific type of blessing that I had forgotten to leave my eyes open to the other ways the Lord was answering our prayers and blessing our missionary work. Eventually, the Lord began blessing the missionary work in our area in beautiful and unexpected ways. We did find people willing to accept our message, but I had learned by that time not to measure my success by the choices of others.
President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) shared one mission president’s counsel about missionary work: “Do your best, your very, very best. Say your prayers and work hard and leave the harvest to the Lord.”5 Preach My Gospel teaches something similar about successful missionaries: “Do your very best to bring souls to Christ, and seek earnestly to learn and improve.”6
As long as I was willing to repent, as long as I could honestly account to the Lord that I was doing my best, I could feel confident that I was a successful missionary—regardless of whether people accepted our message. In many ways, the measure of my success as a missionary could be judged by my willingness to repent and my determination to keep working.
I have many miracles recorded in my journal from this time of my mission. As I strove to be more faithful and grateful, I had a better perspective, I avoided discouragement, and I felt the Spirit more abundantly in the work. I found that what Preach My Gospel teaches is true: “When you have done your very best, you may still experience disappointments, but you will not be disappointed in yourself. You can feel certain that the Lord is pleased when you feel the Spirit working through you.”7 And when I felt the Lord was pleased with me, I could endure any trial.

During the Great Depression, we had certain values burned into our souls. One of these values was gratitude for what we had, because we had so little. Rather than becoming envious or angry because of what we did not have, many of us were grateful for the meager, simple things with which we were blessed, like hot, homemade bread and oatmeal cereal.
I remember my beloved grandmother Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson making homemade soap on the farm. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap. On the farm, there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that desperately needed a Saturday night bath. If you had to bathe with that homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. I have since developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.

I smile a little now when I remember my second attempt. I had discovered that righteousness had something to do with getting rid of all those sins I was treasuring, and so I decided to simply stop sinning. Now, getting rid of one’s sins is not funny or easy but the methods I used seem almost embarrassing. I was, however, sincere.
In order to get rid of my sins, I found that I first had to discover what they were. I began by comparing myself with others. It didn’t take too long before I began thinking that maybe I wasn’t so bad, after all. In fact, I really began to enjoy this step. And while I concentrated on other people’s faults, my guilt and frustrations really seemed to ebb. So it was not effective. For awhile I had been able to pretend that I didn’t really need to change, but I couldn’t keep that illusion forever. My conscience wouldn’t let me smother my own sins completely.
I was a little more wary when I tried a second time to identify my sins. I reflected on what sin was and what it wasn’t. I found I was actually just postponing any real action; but I found that I really was able to become more objective about who I was and what I needed to change.
I could see that I had been trying to rationalize my sins away, thinking that many warnings in the scriptures and by modern-day prophets simply didn’t apply to me. By thinking that way, I had effectively put myself above most everyone else. But as soon as I was able to honestly acknowledge my sins, I was less fearful—even almost eager—to get rid of them.
I promptly designed a program to get rid of my sins. My program was just to tell myself I would not sin—I would not think impure thoughts; I would never lie; I would not procrastinate; I would not lose my temper. It took several failures, trying again and again, to discover two more important things: first, when I tried to avoid sin, and was successful, I would consistently receive a confirming, warm feeling from the Holy Ghost. Second, I discovered that some of the things I told myself over and over not to think about actually came into my mind more often as a result.
A big part of my problem at this point, I can now see, was that I saw my sins as a kind of contest—them against me. I thought I had to struggle, to fight against them, that righteousness was obtained by willpower. That perspective just perpetuated the situation. My problem in this stage was my perspective. I was trying to not do things instead of trying to do things. Instead of defining my sins, I should have been defining those attributes I wanted to have.
The outcome of this attempt at righteousness, then, was that most of my sins with a view of myself as essentially a failure.
My next reaction was as ineffective as the others. I lost hope. I decided that I needed to accept reality—accept the fact that I could not change—and then just try to be as honorable a person as I could under the circumstances. I had assumed that I could not change enough to be a celestial person. The real problem was that I had not learned how to change at all.
This was probably the most unhappy time of my life. The habits of Church activity were so ingrained in me that I did not withdraw from participation. Instead, I found that fulfilling church assignments in a mediocre way is remarkably easy. I did my home teaching, for example, quite regularly, but usually at the end of the month and carelessly. My mind wandered regularly during worship services. I was still doing all the right things outwardly, but inside I was feeling sorry for myself, sure that God could not and did not love me, and despairing of any kind of reward after mortality.
Most of us go through these feelings in some degree at some time in our lives. We shy away from the disapproval that will come if we withdraw totally from Church activity, yet we find ways to resist full and honest commitment. We become an in-between person. For example, we may teach Sunday School—but never really think seriously about or understand the lesson. We may accept some welfare assignments because we can’t find a good excuse not to. We may find some fault with speakers, leaders, or those who appear to be a bit hypocritical. Our prayers may be stilted and routine. We may see the Church as something that’s trying to control us—a large, complex institution dispensing pressure and guilt-causing messages. And we pull away from others and keep most of our guilt and frustration to ourselves.
I can’t recall telling anyone that I felt this way. I do know that my life had little direction.
But I couldn’t tolerate this melancholy and loneliness indefinitely; I had always been a happy person. My loneliness had made me realize that I and no one else was responsible for improving my spiritual life.
When I realized that self-esteem was more important to me than others’ opinions, I was suddenly free to make a whole new set of choices. As long as my self-esteem had been dependent on others’ opinions, I had not been free to decide for myself what I should and should not do. I had not been free to choose—or even understand—righteousness, because I had already decided that righteousness was a complicated set of external criteria that I had to meet.
But true freedom of choice, I discovered, came only when I could see myself as a unique child of God, responsible to promote my own eternal welfare. I discovered, too, that this kind of concern for self is not selfishness. We are only selfish when we neglect to give equal concern to others.
There may be more than one reason for the things we do or say. A compassionate act may be motivated both by selfishness and by a desire for the satisfaction or happiness that comes through giving. This does not mean that the giver is selfish. Wanting to do something righteous because it makes you feel good is not a bad reason.
Armed with these experiences and insights—the memory of my desolation and the feeling that I could change—I pondered again what was righteousness. The recollection of the Lord’s message to me as a student in a Brigham Young University Book of Mormon class came back with great force. I had learned then that the Book of Mormon was divine, but far more significant to me now was the simple realization that God was there. I had asked and he had revealed his existence to me.
And why was this discovery so important? Because knowing God is the basis of righteousness (see John 17:3). God reveals himself to us because he loves us, but also so we can become like him.
I had not realized that my nature was of the same stuff as his nature and that I thus had the power within me to refine myself (see D&C 58:28). The Savior said, “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21). And he also said, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God” (Matt. 6:33). I learned that I have to work until I create those righteous conditions within.
And it seemed to me that the most exquisite, joyful thing I found as I approached the Lord was the peace of mind, the overwhelming love that comes from communion with him. Before, desire for this communion had seldom been a reason for anything I had done. But now, at last, I had found an unfailing guage for righteousness.
My worth and my progress, then, would not be measured by how famous, wealthy, powerful, or even well-liked I could become, nor by many other unsatisfactory standards, regardless of how popular or accepted they might be. My worth would be determined by how often the Holy Ghost revealed to me that I had succeeded in becoming more like the Father. True righteousness, I had discovered, was learning about and becoming like God.
After identifying, through study, some of the characteristics of our Heavenly Father, then I found three steps in trying to adopt those characteristics, in trying to become more like the Lord.
First, I found I needed to exercise, without any external pressure, my free agency to choose to do or think what Heavenly Father would want me to do or think. This was a conscious choice, an effort—but one I wanted to make, not a struggle or a fight. Next, I had to follow that choice with action. And the third part was communion with the Holy Ghost, a witness that my choice was good, evidence that I was making progress and reconfirmation that my Heavenly Father loves me.
Let me give an example. My first attempt at becoming like Heavenly Father was to try to control my moods. I had noticed that occasionally I came home from work tired and unhappy. When I brought those feelings into the home, I was not being a good husband and father. I decided that I would be growing more like the Lord if I could come home daily to my wife and children cheerful and pleasant. I freely chose—and wanted—to try to do that. I acted on that choice and discovered, through experimentation, that I could change my mood. One little device I used to help me was to pick a building five minutes away from my home. On my way home from work, that building was a signal for me to turn my thoughts to my family and how anxious I was to see them. I consciously remembered fun times playing with my children or being with my wife. Or I would review in my mind the rewarding things about being a husband and a father. These things were effective for me. I can now come home cheerful most of the time. And I have felt the approval of the Lord for my effort, a tremendous motivation in itself for making and acting on other decisions to be more like God.
As my desires to be more like God grew, these three steps toward righteousness caused a radical change in my perspective toward my church responsibilities, my family, and myself. Instead of doing my home teaching just to get it done, I now find myself wanting to go because I know it will help me create a godlike characteristic. The motivation is strong—I grow, and the people I teach also benefit. Instead of thinking that fulfilling all church responsibilities equals righteousness, I realize that Church programs are simply one of the best places to practice desired character traits—one trait obviously being learning to love and serve others. Instead of attending sacrament meeting out of habit or from fear of disapproval, I can go knowing that there I can develop my ability to communicate with the Lord’s spirit.
The family is probably the most important setting for helping us create godlike personalities. I have sensed an attitude change here, too, from a tendency to see children as objects of loving obligation to an awareness that a family is the finest source of growth and joy I can possibly have and the finest place to help others discover joy and identity. I feel a need to savor each moment of teaching, laughing, loving, working, and growing together.
My perspective has also changed about my sins and my struggle with them. I have experienced just enough of this process toward righteousness to know that my sins disappear as I replace them with a trait like my Heavenly Father’s. The energy I once gave to contain anger, for example can now be directed into choosing to be gentle, and then following that choice. The anger simply goes away because there is no time for it. I am more concerned with teaching and loving.
Those who know me best—myself, especially—could not stretch their imaginations enough to say that I have achieved any remarkable state of righteousness. I feel frustration when I discover a choice that would bring joy but I cannot fully act on it. I’m sure others have made that same discovery. But I have experienced the joy and strength that comes with the blessing of at last having the right goal.
At the final day, I suspect God will ask me two questions. The first, “What have you done?” will be the more easily answered. To the second, “Whom have you become?” I earnestly hope I can reply, “Like thee.”

Youth all over the world are drawn to temples. In Lima, Peru, I met a father and three of his daughters outside the entrance of the temple. I saw the light in their faces. Two of the daughters were severely disabled and sitting in wheelchairs. The third daughter, while attending to her sisters’ needs, explained she had two more sisters at home. They too were in wheelchairs. They were unable to travel the 14 hours to the temple. The temple meant so much to this father and his daughters that four of them had come to the temple that day—two of them simply to observe the one who could be baptized for the dead and perform that sacred ordinance. Like Nephi, they “[delighted] in the covenants of the Lord.”

When Marcus Martins and his wife, Mirian, received their calling to the Brazil São Paulo North Mission, the Laie, Hawaii, USA, residents were counseled by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles that there would have to be sacrifice, but he told them not to sacrifice too much.
The Martins went home and prayed to know how they could afford to accept this opportunity. They sold everything. “The blessing—we sold everything in one day,” Sister Martins said. “It was a miracle for us.”

While I prepared for my mission I found comfort and strength within my ward family. They did an amazing job of helping me adjust to the lifestyle changes that come with being a Church member, and they gave me support in coping with the opposition of my family. I found it easier to persevere despite the frustrations by immersing myself in the Church through callings, activities, and going on exchanges with the missionaries. Also, I lived close to Palmyra, New York, so I often found myself sitting in the Sacred Grove, pondering my situation and seeking peace.

Sainimere Balenacagi of Fiji learned this lesson as a teenager when she was attending a wedding with some friends who were not members of the Church. Many people there, including Sainimere’s friends, were drinking and smoking and invited her to drink. “I was taught my whole life to live the gospel standards, so I rejected the offer without hesitation,” Sainimere says.

She knows that the blessings of adhering to the Word of Wisdom go beyond physical health: “I have found extra protection in the sense that I am able to make better choices because of the closeness of the Holy Spirit. I see clearly that standards do not restrict our freedom; they protect us from consequences that lead to restricted freedom.”

Although she could barely see over the leafy branches she carried, Willa knew she was near the bees because of the low humming sound. She dropped the branches and pushed her sunbonnet back off her head.
“Come, Willa,” her grandfather called. “I want to show you something.”
Willa hesitated to join Grandfather, who was standing by several straw hives fastened onto a four-wheeled cart.
“Come, Willa, the bees are too busy to think of you today. There is much honey for them to gather.”
Willa walked carefully to where Grandfather stood and looked where he pointed. She could see a cluster of bees hanging on the outside of one of the hives.
“They are so crowded in there that they will soon swarm,” he explained. “Then when the queen flies out, many will follow her. After they are gone, a new queen will hatch to lay eggs for those who remain.”
“Where will they go?” asked Willa. She stifled the urge to swat at the bees humming past her face.
“Probably to a nearby tree. They’ll gather there and send out scouts to find a new home. I’ll make a new hive for them so we can catch them and bring them back to the cart.”
“How will you get them into the new hive?” asked Willa. She was edging away from the cart, hoping Grandfather would follow.
“If they gather on a small branch, we can cut it off and bring it down to the hive. Then we’ll turn the hive upside down and shake them in.”
Being anywhere near those thousands of swarming bees frightens me, thought Willa. She knew her grandfather wasn’t spry enough to climb trees, and by the way he kept saying “we” she knew she would be asked to help.
She looked to where the covered wagons were gathered.
“Maybe my friend Kurt will help you hive the swarm,” she said hopefully.
“The bees will fill themselves full of honey before they fly off, and it’s hard for a full bee to bend her tail to sting,” Grandfather encouraged, patting Willa on the shoulder.
He gathered up the branches and began to place them on the hickory pole framework built over the cart. The branches would provide shade for the hives.
“It’s still a long way to the Salt Lake Valley,” he said. “I was told that no bees had been seen there. We must take our own to pollinate our fruit trees.
“I want you to learn to help with the bees, Willa. I won’t always be able to do the work,” Grandfather said, putting his arm around her waist as they walked to their wagon. “I’d like you to gather lots of long dry grass to make the new hive. I’ll go down to the river to find something to use for the binding.”
That afternoon Willa sat with Grandfather in the shade of the wagon to watch him make the hive. Kurt came from his wagon to watch too.
“This kind of hive is called a skep,” explained Grandfather. “My father taught me how to make them. He gave me this bone needle that I use to pull the binding through the straw. When he came from Holland on a sailing ship, he brought his bees with him.”
“Like the Jaredites!” said Kurt.
“Yes, like the Jaredites,” agreed Grandfather.
“They carried their bees in barges across the ocean to the promised land,” said Kurt. “I read about it in the book of Ether.”
“‘And they did also carry with them deseret,’” quoted Grandfather, “‘which, by interpretation, is a honey bee; and thus they did carry with them swarms of bees. …’” (Ether 2:3.)
Willa sat on the seat of the wagon the next morning while Mother combed her long, honey-colored hair. “Mother, I’m afraid of the bees,” she confessed. “I’ll never forget how it hurt that time when I was stung.”
“Your grandfather knows a great deal about bees,” encouraged Mother. “If you do as he says, they probably won’t sting you.”
“But I’ll still be afraid,” murmured Willa.
“Sometimes it’s good to be afraid,” said Mother. “Only the foolish are never afraid. The brave are those who keep trying even when they are afraid.”
Willa sat in silence as her mother wrapped her braided hair in a golden crown around her head.
Suddenly Mother said, “Listen! The bees are swarming.”
Willa jumped down from the wagon and saw a cloud of bees gathering about the cart. “Call Grandfather,” she cried. “I’ll follow them.”
The bees flew to a large tree by the river with Willa in hot pursuit. She watched as they collected into a mass of crawling bodies on a branch above her head. When she caught her breath, she began to call out so Grandfather could find her.
He arrived carrying the new hive and a wooden plank. Inside the hive were a pair of gloves and a wide-brimmed hat covered with cotton netting.
“You’re a plucky girl, Willa,” said Grandfather as he squinted up at the swarm. “Do you think you can climb that high?”
Willa looked at the tree. She knew she could, but the sight of those thousands of bees gave her a cold feeling in her stomach.
“I’ll go get Kurt,” she called as she ran back to the wagons. However, a few minutes later she returned wearing a pair of britches. “Kurt is sick,” she explained, still breathless from running. “He can’t come, so I borrowed these pants from him. I’ll climb the tree.”
Grandfather helped her put on the hat. He made sure the netting fit closely about her shoulders and neck. Willa put on the gloves and took the knife Grandfather pulled from his pocket.
“Remember, child,” cautioned Grandfather, “the bees are happy, and they’re full of honey. But you must be careful not to shake them loose from the branch or they’ll fly away again.”
Willa was able to sit on a branch and reach the limb where the bees hung like a living Christmas stocking.
As she cut the branch, bees walked over her gloves and down the long sleeves of her blouse. They hummed about her head and settled on the netting hung from her hat.
She had the branch free and was climbing down when she felt a bee crawling into her glove. A hot, stabbing pain shot through her hand. She lost her grip on the branch and it fell with the swarm. But Grandfather caught it handily in the upturned hive. Then he turned the hive over with the bees inside and set it on the plank.
“We’ll leave them there,” said Grandfather as he helped remove the bees from Willa’s clothes. “By evening they will all go inside and we can carry them back to the cart.”
Later that night as she helped Grandfather carry the hive back, Willa thought, What Mother said about being brave is true. It helped a lot. Aloud she mused, “Grandfather, do you remember that line from Shakespeare that says: ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once.’ I think I died at least a thousand times in that tree this afternoon.”
“But you were brave, Willa, and for your effort I want to give you this hive of bees.”
After the hive was fastened to the cart, Willa said excitedly, “Grandfather! Why don’t we call this new colony Deseret, after the Jaredites’ bees?”
“That’s it, Willa!” Grandfather said, taking off his hat and rubbing his head. “I think it’s a perfect name. Honeybees are a true symbol of industry and harmony,” he added, “and the name will just suit them.”
Willa watched while Grandfather put screen on the hive entrances and hitched the cart to their wagon so they’d be ready to leave early in the morning. When he was done, he gazed at the hives a moment before turning to go. “Deseret,” she heard him murmur contentedly as he walked away.
Willa touched the sting on her hand. It felt better already.

Before the trip, Spencer asked the missionaries for 10 copies of the Book of Mormon and some pass-along cards to hand out. We gave them to people like hotel employees and tollbooth attendants. Once Kylie got to take a Book of Mormon to the clerk at a gas station. He said he already had a Bible, so Kylie explained why the Book of Mormon is special. He said he would try to read it! Kylie says, “I loved traveling with my family, visiting relatives, seeing God’s beautiful creations, and being a missionary too!”

Last December, two small boys extended a very special dinner invitation to Alec Ferguson, Jimmy Rasband, and Brandon Clayton, priests in the Provo Edgemont Stake. The young boys, who came from a high-risk home, invited their teenage friends as guests of honor.
“Apparently they were in a situation where they didn’t have a dad in the family. And so they kind of looked up to us three guys as father figures,” Brandon recalls with a smile. It’s one of his favorite memories of his high school years. He loves spending time with the children who have come to know and love him, Alec, and Jimmy as “the puppet boys.”
For the past three years, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have been volunteering their time once a month as puppeteers at Kids on the Move, a care program for children at a local hospital. Recently, the boys added a weekly show at the Family Support and Treatment Center in their hometown of Orem, Utah. In both venues, the boys perform for children in high-risk situations. And although the work can be draining, it’s also the highlight of their week.
“It’s so fun! It’s like being a kid again,” says Brandon.
In the last year alone, Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon have performed more than 100 hours of service with their puppet shows. In doing so, they have completed the service requirements for their Duty to God awards. Each of the boys has also qualified for the Presidential Service award, which is awarded to individuals who have demonstrated outstanding volunteer service and civic participation. But for these boys, it’s not about the awards—it’s about the kids.
“It’s cool to say we did 100 hours of service in a year,” says Brandon, “but I think the best thing that’s come out of this for me is just that great feeling that you get knowing that you’ve helped someone or that you’ve brought a smile to a child’s face—a child that probably doesn’t get that happiness too often in life.”
Alec, Jimmy, and Brandon are famous among the children at both facilities. The children frequently ask when the puppet boys are coming. When the three teenagers walk through the door, they are greeted by countless hugs and shouts of delight. The puppet shows that they perform last only about 20 minutes, but the boys often stay for several hours to play with their young friends. Each of the boys has made a connection in his own way with the children they serve.
“Brandon will really get into playing with the kids, and they love him for it. Sometimes 15 kids just come to him at the same time. He’s really lovable when it comes to the kids,” says Alec.
Brandon says, “Jimmy is always there for the kids that maybe don’t look like they have someone giving them one-on-one attention. Jimmy goes right over there and makes friends. He’s always there for them when they need him.”
In addition to doing the puppet show, the boys draw pictures with the children. Alec’s artistic talents make him a favorite. “They’re fascinated by Alec’s drawing ability,” says Brandon. “I’ve seen it where literally 18 kids have come up and asked him to draw a picture for each of them. And he does it just for the kids.”
Jimmy says his friends’ enthusiasm and willingness to serve are the reasons for their special relationship with the children. “They go and actively participate and play with all the kids. I think with little kids it’s often that you just have to be there.”
Francesca Lawson, Alec’s mother, often goes with the boys when they perform their shows. She describes the response of the children’s mothers. “There was one mother who said, ‘My children don’t have many positive role models in their lives. My boys really look forward every month to coming and being with these guys, because they’re positive male role models.’ I was touched by that. I don’t think these boys totally understand what a difference they’ve made.”
All three boys feel that the experience has blessed them with greater understanding.
“It’s not like it takes special people to be able to give service,” says Alec. “It’s not difficult, and it’s not necessarily very time-consuming. A hundred hours out of a year is not a lot at all. I don’t think enough people give service.”
Jimmy says he learned the importance of taking time to get to know individual children, because “the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).
Brandon says he has gained a closeness to the Savior and a greater understanding of charity. “It’s helped me to be more Christlike. And in a lot of ways, I feel closer to the Lord, especially when I’m serving. It makes me feel like I’m doing good in life—like I’m doing okay.”
If these three friends should ever wonder whether they’ve done any good, they need only remember the words of one small boy who recently announced that when he grows up, he wants to be a volunteer—just like the puppet boys.

Some time ago I learned I was about to lose my job. At this time the June 2000 Liahona arrived; it included a message from Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles titled “Cast Not Away Therefore Your Confidence.” I immediately thought, “This is for me.” Indeed it was. I read the message several times until I had gained what I needed in peace, confidence, and security. My faith increased, and I knew I was not alone.
By applying the principles Elder Holland taught, I was able to find a new job. My heart was filled with happiness and gratitude to my Heavenly Father because once again I had been a recipient of His goodness. I realized that adversity is necessary for our spiritual growth and that we should not cast away our confidence.Freddy Baeza Sandi, Nuevo Loarque Ward, Tegucigalpa Honduras Toncontin Stake

One of our sons served in the military and was called to serve overseas. He had not been overseas very long when we received a phone call that he'd been seriously wounded.
Nancy and I met our son at Walter Reed Army Medical Hospital a couple of days after we received the phone call—those were long days and nights we waited. When we met him, he was pretty busted up.
Following his fifth surgery in less than 3 days, he was in excruciating pain. The pain would come in great waves and then it would subside for a moment. It was terrible to hear him moan and scream in pain. He held his mom's little hand and I could see her tender fingers turn white when his grip tightened as the pain grew.
It was absolute chaos in his room. Doctors and nurses were running in and out. They gave him various medications and increased dosages, but nothing worked. After about 10 minutes of frantic activity at his bedside, the doctors decided to consult in the hallway. When they left, my son looked at me and said, "Dad, I need a blessing." The time for preparation was past. There was no time to fast or repent or get a snake out of my dining room. There was no time to figure out how to get in tune with the Spirit. I was the person—now was time.
The blessing was among the shortest that has ever crossed my lips. He was told that he would be able to withstand the pain until the doctors determined how to properly treat him.
He instantly relaxed and became calm. His entire facial expression changed. In less than a minute, the doctors came back into the room from the hallway. One doctor asked him, "what is different? Something has changed and everything seems to be better." My son looked at him calmly and said, "I can't explain it to you in a way that you would understand. The pain is just as bad as it was before, but somehow I am able to withstand it now."
The doctors wheeled him out of the room to another surgery room to see if they could figure out what was wrong. As he was being wheeled out, he looked at me and said, "Dad, it was the priesthood." Over the next hour, the doctors determined the shunt they had put in to deliver pain medicine was in the wrong place so it wasn't working and they were able to move it and relieve his pain.

When I was seven years old, I promised the Lord that, if given the opportunity, I would preach the gospel throughout the world. At that time I regularly attended the Baptist Church with my family. I did not understand many things. For example, I didn’t know why only the pastor and his assistants were allowed to speak. I felt everyone should have the opportunity to share his or her feelings and beliefs. However, my family and our church helped me gain a love and appreciation for Jesus Christ and for the scriptures.
As I was growing up, my family lived less than five minutes from the Washington D.C. Temple. The temple fascinated me as a young boy, and I always wanted to enter. But my father assured me, “It won’t be part of your life. Don’t ever worry about that building.”
Every day I would watch my father study the Bible intensely. I knew my father was a man of God, and I began to pose many questions. He would always tell me to read the Bible and find out for myself.
A decade later I was serving as a United States Marine security guard for the American Embassy in the Republic of Djibouti, a small country in northeast Africa. I decided to search for the truth, so I read the Bible cover to cover. As I grew closer to God, I realized the Bible was the true word of God. I did not have to rely on the testimony of my father. But I felt I still did not have the whole truth, and I longed to know why I felt compelled never to drink, smoke, or swear and to remain morally clean. Why did I always strive to obey the commandments?
After 15 months I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first Black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, U.S. president Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons I received many recognitions and awards.
In South Africa I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of duty. I went downstairs to the embassy library where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All kinds of information came up, and I read for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black name tags. They were sitting at the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. When I woke up, I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into a Latter-day Saint meeting, I knew there was something different about this church. It happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted. The missionaries began teaching me.
Later, when I learned the principle of baptism for the dead, I thought it amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which was about families, and I realized I had always known that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then I made a discovery. It felt as if my soul unfolded, and I shed a sort of shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was floating off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I had wanted to know why I was the way I was. No one had ever had the answer for me. But the Lord did, and I learned that answer through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew everything they had taught me previously was true and everything they would teach me would be true. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly reading the scriptures as when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21. I knew it was true. I always knew my body was important, and I knew it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t very happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of kilometers from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. A very clear voice said, “You are to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on 12 October 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, 12 October 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving full time in the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive of my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission, my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before leaving to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and said, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know we owe it to the service you gave in Spain for two years.”

In 1983, when I was 15 years old, I asked my mom why no one cared about Latin America. I wondered if God even loved us. Did He forget about us until Christopher Columbus arrived in the Americas? I wondered why Jesus Christ hadn’t come to this continent, and I felt there should be a book about prophets and God’s relationship with America.
My mom, a devout Catholic, replied, “God created us, and He loves all of His children in the world.”
I said, “If so, why didn’t Jesus Christ come to this continent? There should be a book about prophets and God’s dealings with America.”
My mother emphatically said there was a Bible to which nothing should be removed or added. She told me not to think about it anymore and to recite the Rosary prayer because I was a Catholic.
In 1993, I was married and had one child. One day at work, a secretary took a Book of Mormon to the office, placed it near a glass, and left it. She did not tell me what the book was about, but I was curious. I decided to keep the book. Around the same time, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints started visiting my mother. One day, while visiting her house, the missionaries knocked on her door, and I happened to answer it. As we visited, they asked if they could see my family too. My spouse and I agreed.
At our first meeting, I was surprised to learn that this religion had a book called the Book of Mormon. It contained over a thousand years of history and told the story of Jesus Christ coming to the Americas, paralleling the time period of the Bible. I read the entire book in four days and felt immense joy. I knew with certainty that it was the book I longed for, that God and Jesus Christ loved everyone, even those of us who live in the Americas.
In March 1993, my spouse and I were baptized, and we covenanted to give our lives to help establish the kingdom of God in this small place on earth. This decision brought miracles into our lives and into the small branch we attended.
Before our baptism, 11 brethren in the branch had prayed every day at 6:00 a.m. for a family to come and stay so they wouldn’t have to close the unit. At the same time, I had been praying for a permanent home. We all had our prayers answered!
A month after we were baptized, I was called as music leader, and my husband became the president of the Cua Branch in Palo Verde, Venezuela. Two years later, in October 1996, we traveled with our two children to the temple in Lima, Peru, and were sealed for eternity as a family.
As I tell my story, my children say, “Our mom came to earth saying, ‘There is a book! There is a book! I have to find it!’” But in reality the book found me!
From the moment I found the Book of Mormon, my life had meaning, purpose, and direction. I feel the love of God and my Savior, Jesus Christ.