Gospel Story Finder

Ten years later I came back to my father’s home for a time. My father, who was the ward mission leader, invited me to listen as the missionaries taught two young ladies in his home. The missionaries challenged us to ask Heavenly Father if Joseph Smith was a prophet. I accepted the challenge and spent fourteen hours reading, meditating, and praying about Joseph Smith. It was a spiritual experience that is sacred to me. I read Joseph Smith’s history in the Pearl of Great Price twice that night. I prayed many times and stayed up all night. At nine o’clock the next morning I knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet and that the gospel was true.
I went to the sister missionaries’ house and asked for baptism. They explained that they needed to teach me seven discussions. I told them, “Give me all seven right now. I need to be baptized.” Two days later, I was. I began at once to work in the Church and to study everything the Church published in Portuguese. I enjoyed it all immensely, and my testimony has been strong ever since. The Church and the gospel have given me everything I have, including my family.

Brother Blanchard also introduced Meliton to President Brigham Young. Meliton told President Young that more than anything, he wanted to translate the Book of Mormon into Spanish.
President Young asked Meliton to help the missionaries who were going to Mexico translate parts of the Book of Mormon into Spanish. Meliton spent many weeks translating the English words into Spanish. Each night he reviewed his translation with the missionaries. They spoke some Spanish but felt this important translation needed a native Spanish speaker. They knew Meliton was an answer to their prayers.
In 1875 the translation was published. It was called Trozos Selectos del Libro de Mormon (Selected Passages from the Book of Mormon).
The missionaries were now ready to go to Mexico. They loaded 1,500 copies of the translated scripture onto horseback and started on their journey. For the first time, Spanish speakers were able to read the Book of Mormon in their own language! Even though Meliton had lived thousands of miles away in Spain, Heavenly Father led him to exactly where he needed to be. Because of Meliton’s courage and faith, he helped bring the word of God to countless people.
Meliton Gonzalez Trejo (1844–1917) served several missions in Mexico and baptized some of the first members of the Church there. In 1886 Meliton helped finish translating the entire Book of Mormon into Spanish.

Years ago, I worked as a senior managing partner at one of the world’s leading private equity firms when my wife and I were interviewed by a senior member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. He called us to serve as mission leaders for the Church in Africa. We had many things going on in our life at that time. We were involved in some very challenging family dynamics. We were heavily engaged in large humanitarian efforts across the world while also managing a large and rapidly growing global investment business. As we sat there that day with this beloved Apostle and reflected on our personal situation, we both politely said that this was probably not the best time for us to serve a mission.

Without hesitation, this member of the Twelve turned to my wife and said, “Lynette, you are going to make a great missionary and companion to your husband.” He then turned to me and said, “You really don’t get it. The Lord is calling you to save your life. You are either going to live your life by covenant or convenience. There is never a convenient time to serve. This is a matter of faith. You either believe that the Lord will bless your life with the blessings you need, as you do His priorities, or you don’t.”

Those words changed my life. I left my company, went to Africa, and later found all that we had worried about was answered and resolved.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
“For 19 years I had enjoyed Christmas surrounded by family and friends.
“Then, as the Yule season approached in 1960, I found myself half a world away from all that. I had been in England less than three months when, on the first of December, my first junior companion and I were sent to open missionary work in the conservative city of Guildford, an area that had never had Latter-day Saint missionaries. … We were young, inexperienced, and a bit overwhelmed, but we were not fainthearted.
“We knocked on doors in the morning, we knocked on doors at midday, we knocked on doors in the afternoon, and we knocked on doors at night. … And we got in almost none of them.
“So it went until Christmas Eve, when people were even less inclined to hear a couple of missionaries. That evening, weary but devoted, we retired to our one-room rental and had a Christmas devotional. We sang a Christmas hymn and then offered an invocation. We read from the scriptures and listened to a tape recording titled The True Story of Christmas. Then we sang another hymn of the season, said a closing prayer, and went to bed.
“On Christmas morning we kept our morning study schedule and opened the two or three packages that had caught up with us following our transfer. Then we went out to knock on doors. … We didn’t get in any of them.
“For such an uneventful Christmas—clearly the least festive of any I ever had before or since—it says something that those special days in December of 1960 remain in my heart as one of the sweetest Christmases I have ever had. I think that is because for the first time in my life, I found myself understanding Christmas rather than just enjoying it. I think for the first time in any truly significant way, I was getting the message of Christ’s birth and life—His message and His mission and His sacrifice for others.”5

As a young woman, I participated in Personal Progress. There were activities to do, projects to create, and goals to achieve.
For one project, I decided to read the words for all the songs in the hymnbook, look up the scriptures referenced for each song, and learn to play them on the piano.
I thought it was a practical project that would help me in the future, so I went to work reading, studying, and practicing the hymns.
Fast-forward a few years.
I served a mission in Argentina, and one of my challenges was speaking a different language. At first it was very hard to put words together fast enough to be able to share my thoughts with anyone. However, I learned that I could find a hymn that said just what I wanted to say faster than I could translate my thoughts. I would find the hymn I wanted to share, and even though the words were in another language, the tune and the message were the same. I sang my testimony to many people and was able to share gospel truths this way until I became fluent in the Spanish language. I had the Lord to thank for the inspiration behind my Personal Progress project.
Because I know the words of the hymns, God has been able to send very specific messages to me many times. If I didn’t know the words, I wouldn’t have been able to receive the messages of hope, encouragement, and love that were there. I may have been able to feel the Spirit and be uplifted by the music, but without knowing the words, I would have missed the full message.
This was an unforeseen blessing of my practical Personal Progress project. Heavenly Father has been able to send profound and timely messages to my heart through the hymns.

Dave and Rosemary Smart were live-at-home missionaries assigned to the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in Maine. They learned of a young seaman in the coast guard who would soon leave for three months’ sea duty. The seaman and his wife, members of the Church, had three children.
Until the Smarts contacted them, the young couple were unaware of military relations missionaries. They were relieved to know that Elder and Sister Smart would be nearby to offer support to the family in the absence of their husband and father.
The Smarts introduced the couple to the manual Becoming a Self-Reliant and Resilient Family. They explained how to find it in the Gospel Library and on the Gospel Library app. The app version would be of benefit to the seaman when he was at sea and there was no wi-fi aboard ship. He realized that the manual would benefit him and his family and that it would assist him in his job. As a health services technician, he often counsels others.

Recently Rachel had the opportunity to teach the gospel through her singing. The branch in Marshall, Minnesota, where the Cheadles go to church, decided to perform a special musical concert of church hymns and narration for their friends who were not members. Brother M. Michael Suzuki, professor of choral music at Southwest State University in Marshall, was the director, and Rachel and her brother Joseph were the youngest members of the choir.

In the concert, Rachel sang a solo of “I Am a Child of God.” She was especially happy that all four of her grandparents and also her great-grandparents were able to come. A lot of other people were there as well, but Rachel wasn’t afraid to sing in front of such a large audience. “I thought it was fun to sing in a big choir.”

Juliano stood up to rest his back. Pulling weeds was hard work, but he knew that his family needed a good crop of potatoes. The ch’unu (freeze-dried potatoes) that they made from them would feed them all winter.
He could see his awquinaca (parents) at the other end of the field. They had finished their rows and were headed back home for dinner. Juliano finished his row and headed for the house too. When he got there, he stopped in surprise. Two men were talking to his parents. He could tell that they weren’t Aymara Indians. The tall one had blond hair. Both of the men wore white shirts. Because his parents couldn’t speak English or Spanish and strangers never spoke Aymara, he wondered how they could talk together.
As he drew closer, he could hear the strangers—and they were speaking Aymara! He wondered what they wanted with his parents, who were just humble yapur jake (farmers) living in a mud house.
Juliano sat down where the men wouldn’t notice him. They seemed to feel at home and sat on a rock when his parents sat down. The mud house was too small to invite anyone inside.
Ana, Juliano’s sister, was drawn to the blond hair of the tall man. When she touched his hair, he laughed.
Juliano soon learned that the men were missionaries from a new church—at least it was new to Patacamaya, a very small village so far into the altiplano, or high plain, of Bolivia that few strangers ever visited there.
The tall one held Ana on his lap while he talked. Juliano’s family listened politely. They had never heard a stranger speak their tongue. Soon Juliano noticed that this man was more than just speaking in their language. He was teaching his parents.
Juliano looked at his parents. They were carefully listening to everything that these men said. Juliano started to really listen too. They told of a book that was a history of their people from long ago. It told of a white god, Jesus Christ, and of how He had visited their ancestors.
He saw tears form in his mother’s eyes. She seemed to be excited and touched by what they taught.
After that, the missionaries came often. Juliano continued to sit in the shadows and listen, but he was still too shy to come any closer. His father asked many questions.
One night the tall blond man asked them if they were ready to be baptized. Juliano’s father said, “Yes,” and his mother eagerly agreed. Then the man turned to Juliano.
“Are you ready to be baptized?” the man asked.
“I’m only ten years old,” Juliano answered, surprised. “How can I know the truth?”
“You can know the same way that your parents do,” the missionary answered softly. “You can think about what we’ve taught you. You can read the Book of Mormon. Then you must pray and receive an answer for yourself.”
The other missionary spoke. “Your parents will soon be baptized. Ana is too young to be baptized, but you’re not. We would like you to be baptized with your parents. But you must seek and gain a testimony of your own.”
Juliano knew that his parents wanted him to be baptized. But he wanted to be sure for himself. He decided to do as the missionaries had told him. Every night he read the Book of Mormon to his parents, who had never learned to read. Juliano was glad that the Book of Mormon had been translated into Aymara. It made it easier for them all. After they read in it, they had family prayer.
One morning after doing his chores, Juliano took the Book of Mormon into the hills behind their home. He sat down next to the path, then read again Moroni’s promise: “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”*
“How can the Holy Ghost visit a young boy like me?” he asked himself after he read it. Then Juliano remembered a story that the blond man had told him from the Book of Mormon. The story was about a boy just his age when he learned that he was to be the future keeper of the gold plates. Quickly he searched through the scriptures. Yes, here it is! Juliano thought with satisfaction. The boy my age was Mormon! Maybe it doesn’t matter how old you are for the Holy Ghost to testify to you. Maybe it only matters how faithful you are!
Juliano knelt by the path and bowed his head. He prayed as the blond man had taught him. When he finished, he felt a peaceful feeling spread through him. Now I know that the Book of Mormon is true, he thought.
That Saturday night Juliano joined his family at a nearby jawira (river). The baptism was beautiful. As he came up out of the water, he felt especially clean. He had never felt closer to his family, and he had never felt closer to his Heavenly Father. He was glad that even a boy can know for sure that the Church is true.

When one young woman read this statement, she decided she didn’t want to walk even close to the line of immodesty. Immediately she removed anything in her wardrobe that wasn’t consistent with being a representative of the Savior. She said, “I would be smart if I didn’t even try on anything in stores that I knew I shouldn’t wear. Why be tempted?” The principle of representation helped her make that firm resolve.

The work moved forward. The paramount blessing needed was the privilege of our worthy members to receive their endowments and their sealings.
We explored every possibility. A trip once in a lifetime to the temple in Switzerland? Not approved by the government. Perhaps mother and father could come to Switzerland, leaving the children behind. Not right. How do you seal children to parents when they cannot kneel at an altar? It was a tragic situation. Then, through the fasting and the prayers of many members, and in a most natural manner, government leaders proposed: Rather than having your people go to Switzerland to visit a temple, why don’t you build a temple here in the German Democratic Republic? The proposal was accepted, a choice parcel of property obtained in Freiberg, and ground broken for a beautiful temple of God.
The day of dedication was an historic occasion. President Gordon B. Hinckley offered the dedicatory prayer. Heaven was close that day.
For its size, this temple is one of the busiest temples in the Church. It is the only temple where one makes an appointment to participate in an endowment session. It is the only temple I know of where stake presidents say, “What can we do? Our home teaching is somewhat down because everyone is in the temple!” When I heard that comment, I thought, “Not bad—not bad at all!”

It was the last week of high school. Among the seniors there was a feeling of celebration and yet also sadness, because what they’d shared was coming to an end.
Dark-eyed, raven-haired Whitney Brown, the only member of the Church in her Minnesota high school class of 547, would be going to Ricks College in the fall. She played first chair French horn in the high school band.
Next to her in the French horn section was Steve Dunn, also a senior, a boy she’d known since first grade.
The last week of school the seniors were excused from rehearsals while the rest of the band practiced the songs they would play for baccalaureate and commencement. Mr. Richards, the band director, asked the seniors to help sort and file music. And so each day, Steve and Whitney would meet during band period and sort through music in a practice room. By Tuesday the other seniors had vanished, having better things to do than that.
While Steve and Whitney worked they talked. They’d been talking to each other once a day during band for the past six years, going clear back to seventh grade band.
Steve was a little on the shy side. Band had been his only activity in school. His father had an auto body shop, and Steve worked there after school and on Saturdays.
Through the years Steve had listened to Whitney’s chronicle of life, hectic but always interesting. She had always talked to him openly about the guys she was interested in because he was her friend and seemed interested in her and never talked to anyone else about what she said.
Steve’s plan after high school was to study auto body work at a regional vocational training center and then come back and work for his father. Fixing dented cars was what he loved to do.
Whitney thought that someday she might like to be a high school drama teacher. She’d been in nearly every play in school. Steve had come to see her perform in most of them.
On Friday they had nearly finished sorting and filing the sheet music. “I guess this is the last time we’ll be together,” Steve said.
“Oh, not really. We’ll see each other at commencement.”
“Sure, but you have your friends.” He paused. “And I have mine. Besides I bet it’ll be really crowded. I just wanted to say I’ve really enjoyed knowing you,” he said, his gaze fixed on the music he was working on, not daring to look at her directly.
“I’ve enjoyed you too, Steve. You’re really a nice guy. If I ever bang up my car, you’re the first person I’ll think of.”
“I can hardly wait.”
They both smiled. They had a comfortable kind of humor between them.
“I’ve kind of been watching you through the years,” he said.
She laughed. “You poor guy.”
“No, it’s been great. I always looked forward to band each day because I knew I’d see you.” He stopped suddenly. “I’m sorry for spouting off. I’m not all that important to you, right?”
“You are, Steve. You’re one of my friends from high school I’ll always remember.”
“I was always hoping you’d open up more to me.”
“Steve, I’ve told you practically everything that ever happened to me. I told you about the time I was waiting for my date for prom and I was so hungry I took a bite of my brother’s hot dog and spilled mustard on my prom dress just before my date came and had to pin the corsage over the stain. I told you about sneaking into school and turning around all the desks in Mrs. Halvorson’s class. I’ve told you a lot of things.”
He looked at her like he’d been betrayed. “Do you care what happens to me?”
“Of course I do.”
“What’s the most important thing in the world to you?” he asked.
She didn’t say anything.
“Whitney?” he asked softly.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Just tell me what it is you value above anything else in the world?”
She paused and then said, “My family I guess.”
“What else is important to you?”
“I’m glad I get to go to college in the fall.”
“Is going to college the most important thing in your life?”
“No.”
“Then what is?”
She paused. “I’m glad I’ve learned to set and achieve goals.”
“Is that the most important thing in your life?” he asked.
“No.”
“Nobody in school really knows you very well, do they?”
She turned away from his stare.
“I’ve always been fascinated by you,” he said. “You had fun but you had a way of avoiding things that weren’t good for you. I could never figure out how you could be so smart. It was like you had some hidden compass that helped you make decisions. And then someone told me you were a Mormon.”
“You didn’t know that?”
“No, not really. Maybe you mentioned it in passing once. I can’t remember. You never said much about it. Is being a Mormon important to you?”
“Yes it is.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me then? We were friends, but you never once talked about what you believe. Why not? Are you ashamed of your beliefs?”
“I didn’t want to offend you.”
“Why would I be offended if you told me something that was important to you?”
“I didn’t think you’d be interested.”
“Maybe I wasn’t at first, but I’ve spent all this time with you. I know we’ll probably never see each other after we graduate. I’m really going to miss that.” He sighed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is I want to have friends like you all my life.”
“Can I tell you now about what I believe?” she asked.
“I’d like that.”
And so as the band rehearsed the commencement processional music that would lead the 547 seniors out of high school into adult life, with the French horn section noticeably lacking its two best players, Whitney started in.
She talked about her beliefs in Jesus Christ, in the Book of Mormon, and in the plan of salvation. She told him what it meant to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Steve listened, and when she finished, he said he had never heard anything like that before. He told her that he wanted to know more and asked if she would give him a Book of Mormon.
She did. In the weeks that followed, he read it. He asked questions. Whitney answered as best she could, and she also introduced him to the missionaries.
Before long Steve decided he wanted to be baptized. Whitney was there when he was baptized, and later, when he was confirmed a member of the Church, she was there too.
The friendship that had grown through years of band practice continued, but now it had a new dimension. Steve said he was grateful that Whitney had been willing to share what mattered most to her, because it had changed his life.

Having to defend their choices to live gospel standards is a regular part of school life for the teens in the Concord New Hampshire Stake. Many are just one of a few members in their schools. Some of the standards outlined in For the Strength of Youth pamphlet are easy to defend, while others end up being hard to talk about with friends.

The girls overwhelmingly found modesty to be one standard that they had little trouble defending. Jessica Payne, 17, of the Laconia Ward, says, “Modesty is easy. I do sports, but I’m the goalie, and I wouldn’t wear tank tops anyway. It has never been a subject I have to talk about with my friends. They like to wear long pants or long shorts. We’re used to dressing that way.”
“Modesty and no drinking are easy to explain, and people understand. But language is tough,” said Arica Chatterley, 16, of the Manchester Ward.
But for Sarah Ayer, 16, of the Laconia Ward, the subject of drinking has become a sticking point with some classmates. “Someone in my chemistry class asked me what would happen if I drank.
“They asked, ‘Would your parents disown you?’
“‘No, they wouldn’t do that,’ I answered.
“‘Then why don’t you just try?’
“‘First of all, it’s bad for you. God gave us the Word of Wisdom, so we can know what is good and bad.’
“‘Would you go to hell if you were swearing and drinking?’”
Sarah stopped for moment in her story and shook her head. “It’s weird how extreme some people get. I had to explain about repentance.”
Then Sarah said something that truly answered her classmates’ questions about standards. “Living them daily makes it easy to continue to live them.”

In April 1973, my parents and I traveled from our native Argentina to be sealed in the temple. Since there were no temples in all of Latin America at the time, we flew more than 6,000 miles (9,700 km) each way to be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. Although I was just two years of age at the time and do not recall the entirety of that special experience, three very distinct images from that trip were fixed in my mind and have remained ever since.

First, I recall being placed close to the airplane’s window and seeing the white clouds below.

Those beautiful, bright clouds endure in my mind as if they had been gigantic cotton balls.

Another image that has remained in my mind is that of a few funny-looking characters at an amusement park in the Los Angeles area. Those characters are hard to forget.

But of much greater importance is this brilliant and unforgettable image:

I clearly remember being in a sacred room of the Salt Lake Temple where sealings of couples and of families are performed for time and for all eternity. I remember the beautiful altar of the temple and recall the bright sunlight shining through the room’s exterior window. I felt then, and have continued to feel since, the warmth, safety, and solace of the gospel light of truth and love.

Similar feelings were reaffirmed in my heart 20 years later, when I entered the temple to be sealed once again—this time as my fiancée and I were sealed for time and for all eternity. However, on this occasion, we did not need to travel thousands of miles because the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple had since been built and dedicated, and it was just a short drive from our home.

Twenty-two years after our wedding and sealing, we had the blessing of returning to the same temple, but this time with our beautiful daughter, and we were sealed as a family for time and for all eternity.

As I’ve reflected upon these very sacred moments of my life, I have been overwhelmed with profound, enduring joy. I have felt and continue to feel the love of a compassionate Father in Heaven, who knows our individual needs and our heartfelt desires.

I also remember the day I discovered death. I was 16 and had a brand-new 20-gauge shotgun. I had gone pheasant hunting that morning and, like every hunt since I had been given the gun, had failed to hit anything. It was late afternoon, and I was skirting a hill north of my home when I saw a bird standing about 18 meters in front of me. I raised the shotgun and fired. A cloud of dust and feathers signaled a direct hit.
I ran to the spot and there found, flapping painfully on the ground, a wounded meadowlark. It stopped moving as I reached down to pick it up. Instantly, the excitement drained from the day, and in the pit of my stomach grew a sickness I’ve since learned to call disgust. I had killed, not for food or for any other useful reason, but simply for the pleasure of killing. I was ashamed. The meadowlark was gone—and with it a small part of my youth.

In May 2010, over 1,200 youth from eight stakes in British Columbia and the Bellingham Washington Stake gathered in Vancouver for a temple celebration marking the completion of the Vancouver British Columbia Temple.
The celebration, titled “A Beacon to the World,” highlighted the land, history, and people of British Columbia. Part of the celebration included the youth’s guiding 172 of the area’s oldest Church members down to the floor for recognition. After dancing and performing music for the program, the youth closed the program by joining hands and circling around a replica of the temple.
Sabrina Blackmore, 17, of the Blackmore Ward in the Prince George British Columbia Stake, rode 15 hours on a bus to participate in the event. “This is the best experience ever,” she said.

Several years ago, while on vacation, I wanted to go kayaking for the first time. I rented a kayak, and full of enthusiasm, I launched into the sea.

After a few minutes, a wave overturned the kayak. With a great deal of effort, holding the paddle in one hand and the kayak in the other, I was able to regain my footing.

I tried again to paddle my kayak, but just a few minutes later, the kayak tipped over again. I stubbornly kept on trying, to no avail, until someone who understood kayaking told me that there must be a crack in the shell and the kayak must have filled up with water, making it unstable and impossible to control. I dragged the kayak to the shore and removed the plug, and sure enough, out came a large amount of water.

I think that at times we move through life with sins that, like the leak in my kayak, impede our spiritual progress.

If we persist in our sins, we forget the covenants we have made with the Lord, even though we keep capsizing because of the imbalance that those sins create in our lives.

Like the cracks in my kayak, the cracks in our lives need to be dealt with. Some sins will require more efforts than others to repent of.

LeAnn Coshman, director of the Santa Maria California Family History Center, writes: “Like most family historians, I have a few great stories of serendipitous experiences and of lost families found. But one stands out to me.
“We had a booth at our county fair, and a large banner proclaimed our purpose: ‘Family History Center, Families Are Forever.’ A disheveled cowboy quietly stood looking at the items on the display table. I approached him and asked if I could help him look for one of his ancestors. His shyness, combined with a significant speech impediment, made it a little difficult to communicate. He indicated he didn’t know anything about any of his ancestors and said, ‘I don’t even know if my mom and dad are alive.’ With that declaration, he gained my full attention. He told me he had left home under bad circumstances as a teenager. He had been ‘rodeoing’ ever since, but he had now ‘settled down some.’ He was married and had two children.
“I invited him to sit with me at one of the computers. I explained that we normally didn’t search for living people, but I offered to help him check the U.S. Social Security Death Index to see if his father had died. Since his father’s name was quite unusual, I felt it would be easy to identify him. When we didn’t find him, we were grateful because it meant he was probably still alive.
“After a bit of Internet sleuthing, I was able to obtain a little information about the cowboy’s father, including a current address and phone number. As he stared at the computer screen, he repeated several times, ‘I can’t believe this. That’s my dad.’ I tried to encourage him to call his father, but he said, ‘I can’t do that. My dad will never talk to me—maybe my mom, but not my dad.’ I printed out the information and handed it to him. I suggested that if he didn’t feel comfortable calling, he could write a letter. I offered the idea that regardless of the circumstances surrounding his leaving, he should ask for his parents’ forgiveness and tell them he missed them. I tried to encourage him by explaining that his parents would be anxious to learn about their grandchildren.
“As he walked away, I said a silent prayer for him. I had no expectation of ever learning the outcome; however, two days later the cowboy was back standing in the same spot. I hurried to him with my hand outstretched and said more than asked, ‘You called!’
“He said, ‘Yeah, and they showed up on my doorstep at 6:00 this morning!’
“He tried to express his gratitude but was having a hard time getting the words out. So I extended my hand once more and told him that he didn’t need to say a word, that I understood completely. He clung to my hand, not wanting to let go, and I moved forward to accept the hug I knew he wanted to give.
“I’m grateful to have played a part in helping this man find his parents. I have gained a fresh perspective of a familiar scripture: ‘He shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers’ (Mal. 4:6).”

I met Regis Carlus for the first time in 1995 in France. He was not a member of the Church. His daughter, Charlotte, was being sealed in the Bern Switzerland Temple the next day, and he had written, asking if he could stop by my office to meet me. He had heard that I often inquired about him, and he was perplexed as to why.

After being called as a General Authority and assigned to serve in the Europe/Mediterranean Area Presidency, I received Mr. Carlus’s request to meet and hoped that he would follow his children into the restored gospel.

When Charlotte’s father was a university student in the 1960s, the missionaries had taught him the gospel. He was drawn to the restored Church and felt the power of the Book of Mormon. He decided, however, that joining a small, American-based church would not help his professional career.

Now, as I greeted Mr. Carlus and exchanged pleasantries that day in 1995, he asked why I had demonstrated such an interest in him.

After praying with him, I told him that these few minutes with him might be the only time in this life that I would see him. I complimented him on his remarkable daughter and son and told him I respected him immensely for raising two righteous children.

Then I spoke to him of the purposes of the Savior in restoring His gospel upon the earth, the role of the priesthood, the importance of family and the sealing power, and the gathering of a covenant people across the world.

I told him I felt that when the missionaries taught him as a university student, his righteous destiny was to join the covenant people of the Church. I asked that he not be offended as we read two verses that I felt applied to him.

Together we read in Alma about those “called and prepared from the foundation of the world … on account of their exceeding faith and good works; in the first place being left to choose good or evil; therefore they having chosen good, and exercising exceedingly great faith, are called with a holy calling … while others would reject the Spirit of God on account of the hardness of their hearts and blindness of their minds, while, if it had not been for this [for they were on the same standing] they might have had as great privilege as their brethren” (Alma 13:3–4).

I politely shared with Mr. Carlus that I believed he had been prepared to be with us, and when he refused because of the appeals of the world, the Lord continued to bless him with two choice spirits to be his children. They embraced the covenant path meant for his family. Then I invited him to accept the invitation he had been given 30 years before.

Regis Carlus did not join the Church in this life, but his children had chosen the covenant path, and they have remained on the path.

Caliana McMurtrey of Big Thompson Ward, Loveland Colorado Stake, shows this spirit in her own way. Caliana knows what it is to give of herself. To celebrate her ninth birthday, she decided to have her first real haircut.

The hairstylist, Jill Harris, also a member of Big Thompson Ward, braided Caliana’s hair from the middle of her back to her hips, then cut 15? (38 cm) from the 30? (76 cm) length. Caliana donated her hair to an organization that makes wigs of real hair for children who have lost their hair because of cancer treatments, burns, or other medical problems.

Before the big moment, Caliana had never had a real haircut, just trims and snips. She decided to donate her hair after her mother told her about seeing a television program on charities that make children’s wigs.

“I want to do that because I have such long hair,” Caliana said.

The Coopers have a family tradition where each person says something nice about the other people at dinner.
I’m glad I married such a great cook.
No fair, Mom. You say that every time Dad cooks.
I like that Mandy says hi to me at school, even when she’s with her friends. Tony’s sister acts like she doesn’t know him.
I like how Matt is a good friend to Franco.
Franco’s easy to like. Most of the kids are nice to him these days.
But there’s this other kid in my class—Carter. He can’t really read, and some of the kids think he’s dumb. Ms. Wood made me his reading partner.
And … ?
Well, Carter isn’t dumb. He says he was just born with a brain that has trouble reading. So he has to work harder at it.
You know what? Kids can see Franco’s crutch. If they could see Carter’s problem, maybe they’d be nicer to him too.
I think that’s a very wise observation.
This soup tastes really good, Dad.
And it looks good on your shirt too.
Dad, does that count as another compliment?