Gospel Story Finder

But Bishop Carvalho did not come from a close family, and joining the Church helped him learn how to be a better parent and spouse. “I didn’t understand my responsibilities as a father. Sometimes, when I came home from work, all I could think of was how tired I was,” he explains. “The gospel was like a light that showed me the way. I began to understand my purpose as a man and as a father.”
Now, Bishop Carvalho says, he could not handle his many work and Church responsibilities without the support of his wife and two children. He says it is a great blessing to have been called as a sealer in the Swiss Temple, because temple work is so important to him. He functions in the calling when he travels to Switzerland with Portuguese temple excursion groups.

Have you ever felt like you failed at something even though you had hoped with all your heart you would succeed? That’s how I felt as I came home from my mission. Two years in France, and what good had I done? Sure, I had made friends, learned a language, and grown to love faithful Saints who strive to live the gospel.
But I hadn’t baptized anyone.
Then I remembered advice my mission president gave me during my final interview: “If you can honestly say that the Lord is pleased with the effort you have made, if you can honestly say that you did the best you could for Him, then that is the measure of your success. Nothing else matters.”
As I thought about that, I felt compelled to pray. Slowly, peace came to my heart. The Spirit whispered, “The Lord knows you did the best you could. Your sacrifice is acceptable.” It was time to get on with the next steps of my life.
Fast-forward many years. I was writing a letter to my daughter, who was serving a mission in Canada, when I heard a ping on my phone. Someone had sent me a photo of the inside front cover of a copy of the Book of Mormon with a testimony written in French—in my own handwriting! I had given the book to a sister who had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints while I was a missionary (though I hadn’t baptized her), but she had fallen away a couple of years later. Why would someone be sending me a photo of the testimony I had written so many years before?
The picture came with a message: “I thought you would be interested in seeing your testimony again. My aunt was so excited when I joined the Church that she gave me the Book of Mormon you once gave to her. I thought you would appreciate knowing what a treasure it is to me.
“My aunt didn’t remain active in the Church, but she always spoke highly of it, so much so that her younger sister (my mother) asked the missionaries to teach her. My mother joined the Church. She was married in the temple. She and my father raised four children as members of the Church. My three siblings and I have all served missions and been married in the temple. We are all active and faithful.”
Emotion overwhelmed me. All those years ago, I thought I had failed. But now I could see how the Lord had accomplished His work, in His way, over time.
If you had asked me at the end of my mission, I would have said I was a failure. But as I thought about the testimony I had written in that Book of Mormon all those years ago, I realized that you haven’t failed as long as you do your best for the Lord. “Maybe the only thing I failed at was being a failure,” I thought.
“I realized that you haven’t failed as long as you do your best for the Lord.”

It was President Kimball who said, “The Lord answers our prayers, but it is usually through another person that he meets our needs.” An incident in the latter part of President Kimball’s ministry helped me to better understand his message and the way his own life witnessed to the truthfulness of his inspired counsel.
As a stake president during this period, I went to a local hospital to visit a dear sister suffering with a terminal illness. More than forty years earlier, I had attended school with both this sister and her husband, who had been childhood sweethearts. But they had not been blessed with children of their own, and they had filled this void by his serving as a Scout leader—and his loving companion as the “Scout mother”—to scores of young boys over a generation.
As I approached the hospital that day, my heart was heavy with foreboding for what lay ahead in the lives of this choice couple. For weeks this dear brother had stayed with his companion at the hospital day and night to give comfort and ease her burden and the pain of her suffering.
As I reached the door of her hospital room that day, I met my friend emerging from his wife’s room into the hallway. Unlike my earlier visits, when his countenance reflected the weight of their ordeal, this time his face was radiant and his eyes were aglow. Before I could utter a word, he said, “You will never guess what just happened. As my wife and I were feeling so burdened, into our room came President Kimball”—himself a patient at the hospital, where he had recently undergone surgery. “He prayed with us and he blessed us, and it was as though the Savior himself had come to lift our burdens.” Many other patients in that hospital, I might add, experienced a similar blessing from one who knew so much of pain and suffering.

This was not what I thought being engaged would feel like.
My fiancé was righteous, worthy, and kind. We’d prayerfully considered the decision to get married. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake a horribly anxious feeling.
“What if he’s the wrong person for me?” I wondered. “What if I mess up Heavenly Father’s plan for me by making the wrong choice?”
Some days the anxiety felt like a crushing boulder I couldn’t get out from under.
If marrying my fiancé was right, why did I feel this way? Was God trying to tell me I shouldn’t marry him?
Eventually I learned I was experiencing relationship anxiety, which made it difficult to feel peaceful about my choice. If I could go back and talk to my anxious, engaged self, here are some things I would share.
I remember feeling guilty reading friends’ social media posts about their engagements. “Easiest question ever!” they’d say. “I never doubted he was the one for a second!”
I had to learn that struggling with anxiety didn’t mean the love we had for each other wasn’t real—or that God wasn’t guiding us.
Ultimately it wasn’t how quickly we fell in love or how easily we made the decision to get married that mattered. What mattered was how we grew together through the hard times. And seeing my fiancé love me through the most difficult, anxious time of my life confirmed that he really was the real deal.
Something that helped me move forward was learning to recognize when the Spirit was speaking to me—and when anxiety was planting ideas in my mind. When I felt sick to my stomach about marrying my fiancé, was that from God? Or just my own fears?
Galatians 5:22 says, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith.” When I thought of times in my life when God had spoken to me through His Spirit, it was always accompanied by encouraging, peaceful, and empowering feelings. He never caused me fear or panic.
I also learned that the constant sick-to-my-stomach feeling was actually a classic symptom of clinical anxiety. And while spiritual promptings are usually quiet and subtle, my anxiety was very loud. By using coping strategies to manage my anxious thoughts, I was better able to calm my mind and recognize the quiet promptings and reassurance of the Holy Ghost.
Though those moments of peace were sometimes rare, writing them down helped. Sometimes I put a sticky note on my bathroom mirror with a scripture that brought me comfort. Other times I wrote in my journal about an especially calm feeling I had after a heartfelt prayer. My fiancé and I even recorded videos of us talking about moments when we both felt peaceful about getting married. When I was afraid, we watched them together to remember how God had guided us to where we were.
When my anxiety was at its worst, I remember feeling like Heavenly Father had abandoned me. I was reading the scriptures, going to the temple, fasting, and praying, yet I still felt fear. Why wasn’t He helping me more?
Looking back, I see that He was helping me—but often through others. He helped me through a wise bishop who listened and suggested I meet with a mental health counselor. God helped me through my therapist, who provided professional insight and taught me practical coping methods. Later, I received help through a doctor who recommended I try medication for my anxiety.
God also helped me through family members who knew and loved me. As I communicated with my fiancé about how I was feeling, I received comfort from his understanding and support as well. And I found comfort knowing that my Savior understood me perfectly and was there for me in my hardest moments.
Despite all the quiet promptings of reassurance, my anxiety always drove me to wish I had a more certain answer. I still found myself praying that the heavens would open and that God would send an unmistakable sign that my fiancé was the right one to marry.
But that didn’t happen.
Instead, I learned that God trusted me to make the decision. As much as I wanted Him to just tell me what to do, the choice was up to me.
President Thomas S. Monson once shared this counsel: “Choose your love; love your choice.”
In the end I chose to marry my fiancé. We were sealed in the temple on a beautiful summer day.
Spoiler alert: My anxiety didn’t magically disappear.
I continued meeting with my therapist, taking my medication, seeking spiritual guidance, and communicating with my husband about my challenges. And over time, I felt better.
I love these words from Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “When you and your spouse remain steadfast on the covenant path, you will have heavenly help to create the marriage you hope to have.”
My husband and I have now been married for five years. Life isn’t perfect, but we are so happy. I’m so grateful I chose to act in faith despite my anxiety.
If you are experiencing relationship anxiety, turn to the Lord, prophetic guidance, your Church leaders, and if needed, professional resources for help. Heavenly Father will never abandon you. He will guide you. And as you strive to follow Him, He will give you the courage to trust in your ability to make good decisions.

“I first learned about the Church welfare program in Dad’s store, where a part of the back room served as the pickup station for needy Church members. The welfare program had just begun, and supplies were meager—a few sacks of flour, some potatoes, several grapefruits that were usually withered. There were eight or ten food items, and that was all. I often remember Dad saying, “That isn’t good enough’ as he filled the welfare sacks to be picked up. Then he’d add to the sacks some of his own commodities from the front of the store. He taught me a great deal about giving.

I was preparing to serve a mission while many things were shut down due to COVID-19. I needed to travel to the capital city of Uganda—Kampala—to get my passport but couldn’t take a taxi because of the pandemic. I knew I needed my passport to go on my mission, so I decided to walk four hours into the city.
When I finally got my passport, I was exhausted and my feet were swollen, but I knew it would be worth it.
And I was right!
The Lord promises that when we bring others to Him, we will experience joy (see Doctrine and Covenants 18:15).
As I shared the joyful message of the gospel of Jesus Christ while on my mission, I became more like the Savior and felt God’s love more deeply.
Now that I’m home, I can continue feeling that love and joy by sharing the gospel with friends and family.

On one occasion, a missionary in the final week of his mission reminded me that I had given him clearance two years previously to serve a mission. The clearance had been extended with some reservations on my part because he had indulged in a number of transgressions before his mission. He said: “Elder Asay, you allowed me to go into the field after due repentance and after I promised that I would be strictly obedient and would work diligently. I can assure you that I have worked hard and have obeyed every rule.” Then he said something very significant. “I feel that my sins have been forgiven. I feel perfectly clean.” He had been cleansed through selfless service and by developing a close association with the Holy Spirit. He had been through the refiner’s fire, and impurities had been burned away.

The results were truly remarkable. A young returned missionary unable to find work for eight months, was skeptical when his bishop suggested a certain amount for his contribution. He told the Lord, however, that if he had an income he would willingly pay the assessment—and more if it were required of him. The first employer he approached that day offered him a permanent job and he started work the next day. Two days later he was given a significant increase in pay.

Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.

We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.

In the late 1800s, the Tintic mining district near the southern end of Utah County was one of the more important mining districts in the western United States. Jesse had no real training in how to find an ore deposit, but he enjoyed prospecting anyway and did prospect for seven years in this district before he found anything of real worth. It is that discovery that was most remarkable and unexpected—at least by some.

This is the week in my Geology 460 course that we generally discuss how ore deposits such as those in the Tintic Mountains are formed and what the best indicators are for evaluating the possible proximity of a large ore deposit. These guides to finding an ore deposit are particularly well known for the East Tintic mining district because in the mid-1900s the United States Geological Survey spent 25 years working in the district to develop the exploration guides. To teach this part of the course, I take my students on a field trip to the area and show them the different types and combinations of hydrothermal alteration that are often indicative of a concealed ore deposit. Then I take them to the east side of Godiva Mountain, where the rocks are really quite unremarkable. I wish I could take all of you to this locality.

Well, let us imagine that we are on the east side of Godiva Mountain in southern Utah County. Our story resumes with Jesse sitting down somewhere around here to rest under a pine tree. Suddenly, to his surprise, “he heard a voice distinctly say to him, ‘This country is here for the Mormons’” (in Jesse Knight Family,37). That was all. He assumed that was a good indication regarding the area where he was prospecting, so he continued looking. Jesse brought Jared Roundy, who he considered to be an expert miner, to come and evaluate the likelihood of there being ore concealed at depth on the site. He asked Mr. Roundy if he would like to be a partner in staking a claim on this site. Mr. Roundy declared that this area was a “darned” old humbug and that he wanted no part of it. Jesse was not deterred and staked his claim on this piece of ground that day, calling it the Humbug claim. (See Knight, The Jesse Knight Family, 37–38.)

Jesse eventually began driving a tunnel to look for ore. There are piles of waste rock from the Humbug tunnels, and initially that is all there was—just waste rock. There was no ore to justify all of his effort. In fact, there were no other productive mines on this side of the mountain. But he was confident that ore would be found, so he hired the two very best miners that were working in the adjacent Tintic district and talked his son J. William into coming to work for him as well. Those three worked in eight-hour shifts, and Jesse’s job was to wheel the broken rock out of the tunnel in a wheelbarrow. Driving a tunnel using just a single jackhammer and a wheelbarrow is extremely slow and difficult work. The four of them did this for almost two months, finding nothing except extremely boring and unremarkable limestone. (See Jesse Knight Family, 40.)

I agree with Jared Roundy: looking at this rock from a geologic point of view, there is no reason to anticipate finding anything of worth in the vicinity. Jesse must have had a lot of faith to continue this pursuit day after day! J. William Knight recorded:

One day while we were walking up the steep mountain side to do work in the Humbug claim, father said, “Will, I want to tell you something. We are going to have all the money that we want as soon as we are in a position to handle it properly. We will some day save the credit of the Church.” [Jesse Knight Family,39]

Well, you know how children are with their parents. J. William was in disbelief. He reminded his father that they had mortgaged the ranch and that the Church, at this difficult juncture in 1896, “was in debt probably over a million dollars.” Will thought his father’s statement was “ridiculous,” and he said that he “argued considerably” with him (Jesse Knight Family, 39).

Here is where Jesse now sounded just like his mother. He replied, “I don’t want to quarrel with you about it, but I never had anything come to me with greater force than the impression that came to me at this time, and all I want you to do is to remember what I am saying” (p. 39). Jesse regarded their future wealth as a sure thing and felt that it would be given strictly “for the purpose of doing good and building up the Church” (Jesse Knight Family, 39–40). So Jesse and his son didn’t argue or discuss the matter any further.

About three o’clock one morning in August 1896, one of the two hired miners came down from the tunnel and said that he had just struck a vein containing ore. J. William was excited, but his father Jesse was rather subdued about it. They both went up to the tunnel, and Jesse went in and loaded up the first wheelbarrow full of ore and came out and dumped it on a small platform. Then he stated, “I have done the last day’s work that I ever expect to do where I take another man’s job from him” (in Jesse Knight Family, 40). From then on he hoped he would be able to provide work and employment opportunities for others.

Before we finish our field trip here today, let me tell you about the ore. It may have been mostly lead sulfide or lead carbonate, but the real value of the ore was in gold and silver. Each ton of ore contained roughly 175 ounces of silver and 3.8 ounces of gold, which is very rich ore (see Jesse Knight Family, 41). So just a small pile of rock would contain the equivalent of 175 of these one-ounce silver coins. This is impressive, considering that this was supposedly a humbug of a claim!

Please allow me to tell you a story about my family. As my wife, Karen, mentioned, we have been blessed with four sons and one daughter whom we love very, very, much. Our children are very close in age. When Clay, our youngest, was born, our four other children were ages two, three, four, and five. Karen was a very busy mother.

When Clay and Sid were two and four years old, our family was invited to a friend's home for a barbeque. It was held in their backyard which was nicely landscaped and contained a large swimming pool. As we were seated for dinner on the patio, Sid and Clay removed their sandals to dangle their feet in the water near the pool steps. Soon they started to argue and all too predictably Clay began to complain that Sid had done something to annoy him. Karen got up from her seat and went over to Sid and scolded him by whispering something in his ear.

Our visit with our hosts continued for a few more minutes when Karen suddenly jumped from her seat, and in what seemed like one sweeping movement, ran to the pool and then leaped in fully clothed. She scooped Clay from the bottom and brought him back to the pool's edge. Karen had our baby above the water's surface so fast that I am not sure if he even realized that breathing under water was going to be a problem.

Soon it was apparent that Clay was OK and not the least upset by his walk on the bottom of the pool. At this point, Karen turned to Sid and firmly demanded, "why didn't you help your brother?" Then, with all the frustration that a four-year old could muster, he glared at her and said, "You, told me not to touch him!"

Entering Roosevelt Junior High School in Salt Lake City required some important decisions for me. One September day I was confronted with new choices! What subjects to take? Thus far my schooling had been prescribed. We had gone at 9:00 A.M. and followed through the day with what was presented in our homeroom. Now we were to change classes each period, going from room to room. Should I take Algebra A and B, or a course called Mathematics? Or, something called General Science? English, physical education, and some selections were prescribed. But there was remarkable latitude in other choices. I could take U.S. History, or something called Civics. I could elect to study Spanish, Latin, or French. Some of us had the benefit of prior consultation with our parents. In line with their counsel, I was left with the choices I have indicated.
I also discussed my choices with two classmates. One was the son of a University of Utah professor of history. The other was a future doctor of medicine, whose older brothers had already attended the University of Utah and had gone through “the mill.” Both were wise young men. I benefited by discussion with them. After a few hours, I made my choices: Algebra A with Miss Cora D. Patterson, continuing the second semester with Algebra B, the binomial theorem, factoring, and other algebraic systems. I elected Spanish, a modern language, with Miss Grace Hogan as teacher. Assignments to stake conferences in Mexico and Latin-America have been assisted by that choice. Third period found me in U.S. History, a subject I dearly loved, with Miss M. Hulbert. Then came the luncheon break. Period four was physical education, under E. V. Howell. Period five in English brought Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar with Mrs. Jessie Hutchinson. Sixth period I elected music. I found my way to the room where Mrs. Matilda W. Cahoon presided.
This challenge of choices continued throughout high school and the university years following. The same process of consultation with parents and fellow students, prayer, study, and working it out in my own mind, produced the selections. In later years it was a great blessing to have elected in the ninth grade to study geometry, under Miss Snyder, and especially Ancient History under an excellent teacher, Miss Welthea M. Learned. I learned much of the history of the classical Middle East, Greece, and Rome and became acquainted with architectural and art forms that have enriched my life.

Miguel opened the door to his abuelo’s (his grandpa’s) shoe shop. He smelled the leather that Abuelo worked with. It was one of his favorite smells.
“Hi, Abuelo!”
Abuelo was kneeling down and tracing a customer’s foot onto a piece of paper. He didn’t look up. Abuelo’s hearing wasn’t very good.
Miguel sat down at a workbench. He looked at the stacks of cut leather. He imagined what Abuelo would make with each one, using his hammer and pliers.
The tools reminded Miguel of something else he loved. Abuelo always gave him a piece of candy whenever Miguel helped clean up.
But Miguel was hungry now! He knew he wasn’t supposed to take a treat without asking, but it looked like Abuelo would be busy for a while. “Maybe I don’t have to wait,” Miguel thought.
Miguel reached under the counter for the candy jar. It was full of his favorite candy—sweet and spicy with chili powder! As he opened it, Miguel felt a little uncomfortable. But the candy looked so tasty. He hurried and put it in his mouth.
Pretty soon the customer left. Abuelo picked up a piece of leather and dunked it in some water. That helped keep the leather soft and easy to work with.
Miguel gobbled the rest of the candy as fast as he could. Then he walked over to Abuelo.
“Hello!” Abuelo said with a smile. “I’m glad you came to see me.”
Miguel hugged Abuelo. He hoped Abuelo couldn’t tell he’d eaten a piece of candy. Miguel pushed the worry away.
“It looks like you’re busy today,” Miguel said, pointing to the stacks of leather. “Do you need any help?”
“Sure! Could you pass me that thread?”
Miguel reached for a long piece of thread. He tugged it between his hands. It was tougher than it looked.
“Wow, that’s strong.”
Abuelo chuckled. “It has to be, to last through the wear and tear of life.” Abuelo pulled the thread through the leather. Then he got that look on his face that Mamá sometimes called the “Wise Abuelo” look.
“You know, we need to be more like this shoe,” Abuelo said with a nod.
Miguel squinted at the leather. “Um. We do?”
“Yes, indeed. We need to stay strong. That way Satan’s temptations won’t make us fall apart.”
The red candy flashed through Miguel’s mind. He knew he should tell Abuelo about it.
Abuelo took an old shoe off the shelf. “See this big hole?”
Miguel could probably fit his hand through the hole. “Yeah.”
“This was once a small hole that could’ve been fixed easily. But they waited, and now it’s going to be much harder to fix. Bad habits and bad choices are like that hole. Best to fix them early.”
Abuelo nodded again, and the Wise Abuelo look turned back into a smile. They kept talking as Abuelo worked. The whole time, Miguel kept thinking about the red candy stick.
When Abuelo finished, Miguel helped him clean up. Then Abuelo reached for his jar of candy.
Finally Miguel couldn’t take it anymore. “I took one of your candies!” he blurted out.
Abuelo set down the jar. “What was that?”
Miguel told him about taking the candy without asking. “I’m so sorry, Abuelo! I’ll never do it again, I promise!”
Abuelo gave Miguel a big hug. Miguel felt so much better.
“Thank you for being honest. That’s more important to me than just about anything else.”
On the walk home, Miguel felt just like one of Abuelo’s new pair of shoes. Strong as can be, and ready for life!

One sister writes: “At age 21 I was stricken with a mental illness that, I learned, would be a lifelong problem. Through priesthood blessings, I was promised I would be healed according to my faith. Maintaining faith became my greatest challenge. During a particularly troubling time, my mother gave me the personal history of my great-grandmother.

Those words spoke powerfully to this sister. “My faith was strengthened,” she says, “and I knew in the Lord’s time I, too, would be healed.”

Young men in the Twin Falls 15th Ward, Kimberly Idaho Stake, came up with an unusual surprise for the young women in their ward. This year, their annual “Laurel appreciation night” featured a full-length production of Shakespeare’s Hamlet. In true Elizabethan style, the young men played all the parts.
Laurel appreciation night is a tradition the young men started a year ago by cooking dinner for the girls in their stake. This year, the young women enjoyed the play so much, they can’t wait to see what the priests will come up with next.
“We were honored because they provided an evening of entertainment just for Laurels,” says one young woman.

Dilcia Soto, 16, still remembers the day the temple was dedicated in her hometown of Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic: “I was only nine then, but I said, ‘Wow! A temple here!’ I was used to seeing people go to other countries to be sealed and to make covenants. I thought, ‘Now my family and I will not have to go to another country because we have our own temple nearby.’”
Today that temple stands majestic and tall in the capital city, so striking with its spire and well-kept grounds that many people passing by assume it must be a cathedral. Dilcia is happy to explain that it is even more sacred than that. On the temple grounds there is a quiet dignity in sharp contrast to the bustling energy of the streets and markets downtown.
It is to this place of peace that Dilcia and her friend Kelsia St. Gardien, 14, came not long ago. Both are members of the Mirador Ward of the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Independencia Stake. Both have been to the temple before to do baptisms for the dead. But on this day they came simply to walk in the gardens, to talk, and to feel from outside the building the Spirit that the temple carries within.
“I have an immense love for the Lord, and I am so grateful for what He has done in my life,” Dilcia says. “My immediate family are members of the Church, but my aunts, uncles, and cousins are not. When they come to my house, I always have a Book of Mormon ready because there might be an opportunity to share the gospel with them.” She also shares the gospel with friends and “with any person I might meet who is truly interested.” And every time she does, she says, “I feel the Spirit so strongly. Every time I share my testimony, I feel the truthfulness of the Church all over again.”
She remembers a seminary lesson about the plan of salvation. “Before this world was, we were in a great Council in Heaven, and we chose to follow our Heavenly Father and accept the sacrifice that Jesus Christ would make on our behalf,” she says. “Our teacher explained that we could tell we obeyed Heavenly Father then because we are here on earth now with bodies of flesh and bones. When he said that, I knew it was true. That night in my prayers, I cried and gave thanks to God for that knowledge.”
Dilcia quotes 1 Corinthians 3:16: “Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you?” “If I am also a temple,” she says, “I need to be as clean and beautiful as the temple. What a marvelous blessing it is to be in this Church and to be a virtuous young woman!”
She says her greatest desire is to live with her Heavenly Father again someday. “I am so grateful that He has given us the temple so that we can do all we need to do to return to Him,” she says. “The best form of thanking Him is to live the way He asks us to live.”
Dilcia says, “The Lord wants us to enter His house, to learn about Him, and to work our way toward eternity with Him.” She says she enjoys participating in baptisms for the dead because “it is a way to help those who are waiting on the other side of the veil, to do something for them that they cannot do for themselves.”
Kelsia agrees. “Our ancestors need us to do the work, and I know they are going to be grateful to us,” she says. “In particular I am looking forward to seeing my grandmother whom I never got to know in this life. We are going to make sure all her temple work is done for her.”
Talking about the temple brings out strong emotions for Kelsia. “I am committed to making decisions that will help me to be sealed to my family,” she says. “We have to respect the gospel and observe the commandments al pie de la letra [to the letter of the law],” she says. “We do it because we love our Heavenly Father, and obedience is how we show our gratitude to Him.”
Her family joined the Church in December 2006, six years after her parents moved to the Dominican Republic from Haiti. “I’m so grateful for the missionaries who knocked on our door. It was great to feel the Spirit and to learn about Heavenly Father’s plan for us. Since the gospel came into our lives, our family is much closer. I am grateful that He gave me a family that is so united, even in the most difficult moments. To think that we can have the privilege of being sealed eternally seems like one of the greatest blessings of all.”
Her parents are taking a temple-preparation class right now, and that reminds her to prepare for the day when she will be married in the temple. “That is my main goal, that my future husband and I will be worthy for each other and worthy to be an eternal family.”
The two friends walk past the pole where the flag of their nation unfurls in a gusting breeze. “Even the flag at the temple reminds us to be faithful,” Dilcia says. “It is more than just colors. It contains the motto Dios, patria, libertad [God, country, liberty] and shows a Christian cross and the Bible. It reminds us that our country was founded by people who believed in God and that God is still important here.”
They also walk past the entrance to the temple, where the words Santidad al Señor, la Casa del Señor (Holiness to the Lord, the House of the Lord) are inscribed above the doorway, as they are at every temple.
“Whenever I read those words, I am filled with a powerful witness that they are true,” Dilcia says. “I remember coming here with our Mutual group one evening, just to visit the grounds. After we were done, the bishop asked us what we felt here. We talked about it and came up with a one-word answer: peace.”
And Kelsia and Dilcia walk away thinking of that perfect one-word answer … perfect because the temple is the place of peace.

Once when I was in second grade I was riding the bus home after school. Some high school boys were sitting in front of me looking at a magazine. The one who was holding the magazine came back and sat by me. The magazine had pictures of immodest girls. I knew that the prophet had said not to look at bad magazines or pictures. I closed my eyes and turned away. The boys tried to get me to look, but I kept my eyes closed. I’m glad I chose the right by doing what the prophet said.

Illustration by Toni Oka
Taking the step to leave her family and gather to Zion was a profound choice for 20-year-old Cyrena Dustin. Baptized in Portage, Ohio, in March 1837, she was the only member of her family to accept the message of the restored gospel. Joining the Church brought opposition from her family, but rather than abandon her faith, Cyrena held fast to her testimony.
In the summer of 1837, she traveled to Kirtland, Ohio, and visited the recently dedicated temple. She described that meaningful experience: “Truly I felt like thanking God that my mind had been enlightened and that I had been permitted to embrace the gospel and partake of its blessings.”
The next year she felt the desire to gather to Zion and join her fellow Latter-day Saints in Missouri. This decision not only separated her from her family but required her to, in her words, “start out alone in the world to fight the battle of life among strangers.”
Cyrena trusted in the promises of her patriarchal blessing, which brought her comfort and gave her the “necessary faith, courage, and fortitude to make the sacrifice of leaving home and friends.” She wrote of her determination: “I went forth trusting in the Lord in full faith that he would give me grace sufficient to overcome all obstacles and difficulties which might be thrown in my way, and that I might endure to the end.”
Her final farewell with her parents and siblings before leaving for Far West, Missouri, was filled with tears, pleas for her to stay, and even threats to have her forcibly returned home. Despite the sadness, Cyrena left holding firm to the conviction that she had heard the voice of the Lord.
“As I was leaving the house,” she recalled, “I turned back at the door and bore a faithful testimony to the truth of the gospel, and that was the last time I ever saw any of my father’s family.”
Quotations come from Cyrena Dustin Merrill, Autobiography, L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University.
A longer version of this article can be found in this issue at liahona.ChurchofJesusChrist.org or in the Gospel library app.

When I was an eighteen-year-old college freshman here at BYU, I took a theater class my first semester and somehow found myself cast in a main-stage production of Shakespeare’s Macbeth.

I had virtually no acting experience (one play in eighth grade doesn’t really count), and I had no business being on that stage with truly excellent actors, some of whom you have seen in TV shows and movies. In our version of Macbeth, we were recreating an early druidic version of the play, and we used real swords onstage. (I am sure my risk management colleagues here at BYU are wondering what sort of event approval process was in place back then!) My character was Malcolm, one of King Duncan’s two sons.

At the end of each performance, a group of us would celebrate when Macduff saved us from Macbeth. But during one of the performances, I raised my hand in the air to celebrate—my hand that was still holding my sword. Isaac Walters, who was playing Siward, was next to me, and I cut him across his face with my sword.

I watched in total panic as the cut along his cheekbone immediately turned red and began drizzling real blood. Even now I feel terrible remembering it and thinking about how much worse it could have been. I completely broke character and just started apologizing.

Isaac remembers saying to me, “You’ve got to hold on; you’ve got the final speech.” Isaac, still in character as Siward counseling young Malcolm, helped me keep it together long enough to finish the play. Isaac also immediately forgave me that night, but I noticed as I watched my old video of the play that Isaac is not next to me; I am guessing this filmed performance was one of the later ones, and he knew better than to risk standing next to me again!

So often the people we hurt in our lives, unintentionally or even intentionally, are those closest to us, those who mean the most to us. The feeling of hurt is exacerbated by the closeness of our relationships as roommates, friends, and family members. It is hardest when the hurt comes from people we love and trust.

It’s awful to be the first one to know good news and not be able to tell it.
When I heard Papa telling Mama that we were going to move to New Mexico, I was so excited I wanted to talk to Caroline and Ed and everyone else about it. But talking was something I couldn’t do. No matter how hard I tried to make the words come out, my tongue did not work right and the sounds were garbled and mushy, not sharp and clear the way I was thinking them. Only my brother Ed could tell what I meant most of the time.
Because I couldn’t talk, I wasn’t allowed to go to school. Caroline was in the third grade already and Ed in first. I had a hard time filling in the long hours until they came home. One day when I was playing behind the sofa, dressing and undressing my doll, I overheard Papa and Mama talking. I really paid close attention when I heard Papa tell Mama that their prayers to have a place of their own had finally been answered. “Just think, hon,” Papa was saying, “160 acres of our own to raise anything we want. We’ll grow corn, cantaloupe, potatoes, beans, tomatoes, and even some watermelons for dear Dora. She loves them so. We’ll have cows for milk and pigs for pork, chickens—”
“Is there a school?” Mama asked anxiously. “I want the children to go to school.”
“Just down the road a ways—close enough to walk to, I’m sure.”
“What about church?”
“Don’t worry about church,” Papa laughed. “It was some LDS folk down there that wrote to President Smith and told him about the available land. There’s already a meetinghouse in Harmony, and even if there wasn’t, there’s enough people going from here to start a ward—over eighty.”
“That many?”
“Figure it out. Twelve families, each with at least five children. That’s the requirement. I guess they figure anyone with that many children won’t pick up and leave.”
“Is anyone we know going?”
“The Coldwells and the Lenstroms.”
“No better folks than that anywhere. It sure would be nice to have room for the little ones to run. Is there a house?”
“Has to be. Someone has been living there. I imagine it will need some fixing up if they lost it by default.”
“Could that happen to us?”
“Of course not. That only happens if you’re shiftless and lazy. All we have to do is make the land productive and live there. After seven years it’s ours, free and clear. Oh, it’ll take lots of work, but we’re young and strong. We’ve got the boys to help me, and you and the girls can have a garden and bottle food for the winter. I tell you, hon, it’s the chance of a lifetime.”
“It’ll be nearly a year before we can bring in a crop,” Mama reminded him. “How can we manage until then?”
“We’ll have some money from selling our things, and I can get some bricklaying jobs. Even homesteaders need chimneys and fireplaces.”
“The winter’s ahead and we can’t take much with us,” Mama warned.
“Yes, but that far south is bound to be warm even in the winter. It’ll be good not to be shoveling snow.”
No snow! I thought. I’ll miss lying down in it and leaving a snow angel shape by brushing my arms and legs up and down to make the wings. And I’ll miss the noisy chase of fox and geese games and the sleigh rides with bells jangling on the horses’ harnesses.
Still and all, to take the whole family and move to a different state where there would be room to grow watermelons seemed like such an exciting thing to do that I almost couldn’t breathe thinking about it. I couldn’t wait till Ed came home. What I couldn’t get him to understand, he’d find out from Mama and Papa, and I knew he’d take me with him to tell all our friends.
At church on Sunday everyone was talking about the call to go to New Mexico. Brother Golden took me on his lap as usual, and while I brushed and braided his long red beard, he talked to Mama and Papa about the best place to buy a good cover for the wagon. I remembered the first time that he’d picked me up several years before, and I’d reached up to feel his stiff, prickly beard.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“Can’t you get rid of it?” I tried to say. He must have thought my mumble meant yes because he just laughed, patted my head, and said, “You’re an angel.”
I wasn’t much of an angel, but maybe I looked a little like one because I had a headful of yellow curls, blue eyes, and a smile that made a dimple hole in my cheek.
When I went to Sunday School class that day my teacher was giving out red leather Bibles to some of the children who had 100 percent attendance for a year. I wanted one of those Bibles so bad I could hardly stand it, but there was no way I could get one now. I’d be gone in less than a month.
After class I went up to the front of the room just to look at the one beautiful book that was left. As I reached up to touch it, the teacher turned around from cleaning the blackboard and looked at me.
“You’re moving away, aren’t you, Dora?” she said.
I nodded my head.
“I’ll miss you in my class. I can tell when I see you listening that you are very close to our Heavenly Father.”
I nodded. She was right. I was close to Him. I knew He understood me even when no one else did.
“Would you like to have that Bible to take with you?” she asked kindly.
I bobbed my head up and down so fast I could feel my curls bouncing. She handed me the book, and I hugged it to me.
I reached up and kissed her cheek and skipped from the room, so happy I wanted to sing.
“Thank You, oh, thank You,” I murmured, glancing heavenward.
Papa made me a little wooden box with a hinged lid for my birthday that October when I was seven. It was to hold my precious things to take with me, he said. I packed it and repacked it many times, trying to find the best way to get the most in; but I never could get it to hold everything I wanted to take.
Papa and Mama were busy getting the wagon ready to go, and my friend Eileen was watching me pack the box for the last time.
“Where do you think the best place is for the chickens?” Mama asked.
“Chickens?” Papa said. “We’re not taking any chickens.”
“Of course we are. Three or four of the best layers and Caroline’s rooster, so we can raise some chicks in the spring and maybe a couple of hens to eat along the way.”
Papa sighed. When Mama had that sound in her voice, he knew it was no use to argue.
“I guess we can put them in a crate and tie it to the side behind the washtubs. You’d better put chicken feed on your list.”
“I already did.”
“I think I’ve figured out how to load the stove so we can cook on it while we’re traveling,” Papa told her.
“That’ll come in handy. Will we have plenty of water?”
“Four barrels: two in front and two behind. That should be enough to get us through the driest places.”
I carefully placed the soft leather Bible in one end of my box. Pressed between its pages were beautiful red leaves I had gathered from the autumn trees. I’d tied a string round and round both ways so they wouldn’t fall out. I dropped the seeds in next, in the little crack that was left behind the book: two red beans and four watermelon seeds and then the long strand of tiny glass beads I had strung myself. Sister Johnson had given them to me in a slim bottle with a cork one day when Mama was visiting her. While they talked, I had picked up the beads one at a time with the thin needle and slipped them along the thread, choosing the colors to suit me as I went.
I tried to fold the doll quilt small enough to fit into the box, but it was no use. I handed it to Eileen instead and indicated it was to be hers.
“For keeps?” she asked, and I nodded my head.
She rubbed it against her cheek. I’d made it by sewing together scraps from the new baby clothes, and I knew I could stitch another after we’d moved.
“Will the doll fit?” she wanted to know, and I answered by placing Henrietta on the soft bed I’d made with her folded flannel nightie. Henrietta was a beautiful painted-eye doll with china head, hands, and feet, and a stuffed cloth body. Some girls had shut-eye dolls, but I wouldn’t have traded because I loved Henrietta.
“What about those?” Eileen asked, pointing to the rest of my treasures beside her on the step.
I shook my head and handed them to her one by one—an old hat and pair of shoes I used to play dress-up, some more doll clothes, a worn-out Mother Goose book. When I came to the bag of marbles, I dumped them out, selected five or six of my favorites, and pushed them into the folds of the doll dresses in the box. The rest I returned to the bag and gave to Eileen.
After she ran off home with her hands full, I noticed again the pain in my head. It had started two or three days before as a tender spot behind my right ear and now was a sore and throbbing lump. I went inside to talk to Heavenly Father and ask Him to make it better.
By morning I was burning up with fever and crying with pain. Mama took one look at the spot I pointed to and said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We’ll have to get you to a doctor fast!”
The doctor decided just as quickly that he should lance the boil, and before long he had drained it.
“There, doesn’t that feel better?” the doctor asked.
I tried to say it sure did, but he couldn’t understand my mumble.
“Can’t this child talk?” he asked Mama.
“Not too good,” she said.
He took a look in my mouth and said, “Why, she’s tongue-tied! This should have been taken care of a long time ago. It’s a very simple procedure.”
He explained to me that my tongue was fastened down on the bottom where it should not be. All he had to do was cut it loose a little, and then I’d be able to talk like everyone else. I couldn’t believe it.
For a few minutes life was wonderful. The pain was gone in my head and the doctor could help me talk. When we get to our home in New Mexico, I’ll be talking like everyone else, I dreamed. I can go to school with Ed and, best of all, no one will tease me.
I did not know yet that it would take lots of pain and effort before I could talk and years of hard work before we had a place of our own.
The doctor asked Mama when would be a good time for the operation, and she said, “You’d better do it now; we’re leaving tomorrow.”