Gospel Story Finder

Meet Amy Richardson and Amy Richardson.
That’s right, these girls are the same age and have the same name. They were introduced when they were both just a few hours old and fighting to stay alive in the University of Utah’s Newborn Intensive Care Center. (Both were born prematurely and suffered complications because of it.) The “Amys” got well and went their separate ways, one Amy living in Woods Cross, Utah, and the other in Murray, Utah.
But they doubled up again for a brief moment last year. It seems they share more than a name. They also share a vision for sharing the gospel and were reunited at the MTC, where they met by accident the night before Amy from Murray left to serve her mission in Latvia. Amy from Woods Cross left a few days later to serve in Dallas, Texas.

I was sitting at a lunch table with my friends when I noticed that a new boy named Michael had transferred into our lunch period. It seemed like he didn’t really know anyone but was willing to make some new friends. He decided to sit with a group of older boys, who pretended to be his friends for a while but ended up making a joke out of him. They constantly made fun of him until he started to cry. I watched this happen, and it really bothered me. I later learned that Michael has autism.
I decided to ask Michael if he wanted to sit by my friends and me. He said no, probably out of fear of people making fun of him again. He decided he’d rather sit alone.
The next day, I went up to him and introduced him to my friends. I could tell he was glad I hadn’t given up on him, and we started talking. I learned that he is a tic-tac-toe pro. He is almost undefeatable. I also learned how incredibly smart he is. He knows all of the U.S. presidents and can tell you what years they served. He is awesome, but not many people were willing to see past his disability. Some of the other students teased me for sitting with him, but I didn’t let them bother me. I liked hanging out with Michael.
Each day as we met for lunch, I could tell Michael was becoming a happier person. He looked forward to lunch every day, and so did I. What I thought was simply an act of service was really the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

The true church of Jesus Christ must have a living prophet. Ricardo Perez was convinced of that. But where was such a church?
His study of the Bible had led him to leave the church of his forefathers, in spite of what his family and friends might think. To them, this seemed like folly in the Guatemala of 1954. But Ricardo felt he could no longer practice some of the things he had formerly been taught. So in leaving the church of his youth, he felt that he had left error behind. He wanted to find the church God approved. He wanted to know the truth.
He investigated several evangelistic churches, but “I did not find a place to practice religion as the ancient Apostles taught,” he recalls. Study of the Bible had convinced him the true church would have certain unmistakable features—a living prophet, Apostles, baptism by immersion, and proper administration of the sacrament to members, for example.
Trying to find a place to buy a new Bible finally led him to the church he sought. “I often see some young men—North Americans—around here. They sell Bibles,” one of the employees in Ricardo’s tailor shop told him. At that moment, two Latter-day Saint missionaries passed by the door of the shop. “There they go!” the man said.
No, the missionaries explained, they did not sell books; they preached the gospel, teaching from a book called the Book of Mormon, as well as the Bible. They would leave a Book of Mormon with him for one week if he would read it.
“Since I was desirous of learning something more about the things of God, I started reading it immediately. As soon as I began, I felt the Spirit very strongly in the book. I knew it was of God,” Brother Perez reflects. “I reached a point where I would sometimes dream of events in the Book of Mormon before I had read them. Then when I would read the next day, it would be what I had already dreamed.”
When Ricardo Perez attended Church meetings with the missionaries, he found the Church offered all the things he had become convinced the true church must have—and more. He gratefully shared what he had learned with his family, and his children also believed.

Just over a year ago, a dear family friend, age 95, living on the east coast of the United States, who had been taught by missionaries for 70 years, said to her daughter, “I want to go to the temple with you.”
Her daughter replied, “Well, Mother, you first need to be baptized.”
“OK,” she replied, “then I want to be baptized.” She was baptized. A few days later, she reverently entered the temple baptistry. And just over a month ago, she received her own endowment and sealing. “The knowledge and power of God are expanding; the veil o’er the earth is beginning to burst.”

It had rained. Teddy stopped and raised his nose to sniff. His black tail, combed by the wind, streamed behind him.
Bramble was more anxious to get out and get going. She leaped over the ditch and raced wildly through the field. Then even she stopped to sniff the marvelous smells. She could smell a mole and a gopher, as well as a deer. Where was Teddy? What a slow poke! she thought.
Teddy was leisurely making his way to Bramble. He never understood why she had to go so fast and never stopped to enjoy the fresh air, the trees, and the damp coolness of grass on her paws. It was all marvelous!
When Teddy caught up to Bramble, he sniffed her ear in a friendly greeting. Then both dogs went to investigate a promising gopher hole. Bramble was first to start digging. Then Teddy joined in and stuck his nose and paws into the hole she had started. This they both enjoyed. It didn’t matter that they rarely caught a gopher or a mole; just the joy of the hunt was enough.
Finally they tired of digging and moved on. Suddenly Bramble turned and leaped sideways into the long grass. Another leap. Then another, and another. Teddy was mystified. What on earth was she up to now? He went to investigate. As he got closer, Bramble leaped backward and landed right on top of him. Yawp!
Then a frog leaped past him and made for the marsh. Teddy and Bramble were too busy sorting out who had run into whom to follow it. After several playful growls and tumbles, they forgot all about the frog.
Then off Bramble went again, running through the long grasses, her ears flying out so, it looked like she might take off. Teddy traipsed on in the plodding, thoughtful way he had. Soon he lost track of Bramble. Oh well, he thought, I’ll probably find something much more interesting than she will.
Soon Teddy caught a familiar scent. It was a bird smell, and it was close to him. He cautiously moved forward, then stopped with a front paw raised and a back paw barely touching the ground. He stayed in this tottery position for a full minute. Then, sensing that the birds knew of his presence, he carefully inched forward.
Suddenly a bird flew up in his face and landed in the grass several feet behind him. Bramble would chase that bird, thought Teddy. But I smell something more interesting here. So he continued edging forward. And there at his feet was a nest. Three little birds were in it. They didn’t have feathers yet. Teddy was enchanted. He lay down and watched closely. The mother bird tried to scare him away by screeching over his head, but he ignored her and continued to watch the little ones. They sat in the nest and, if he breathed on them, opened their mouths wide. Teddy wagged his tail. He wanted to be their friend.
The baby birds were calling for food. Finally the mother bird couldn’t stand it any more. She flew down and landed on the opposite side of the nest from Teddy. He was surprised to see her, but he wasn’t really interested in catching her. She inched forward and began to feed her children. Teddy watched, fascinated. It looked like she was pushing food way down into their tummies. He was glad his mother had never done that to him.
The mother bird finished, then glared defiantly at him. Oh well, Teddy thought, it’s probably time to get back home, anyway.
Meanwhile, Bramble had discovered a deer scent that was getting stronger. She followed her nose and ran faster and faster. She was startled when she looked up to see the deer only a short distance in front of her. The deer was startled, too. It raised its tail like a white flag and leaped through the bushes. Yippee! thought Bramble. She started running and leaping, faster and faster, after the deer. When she panted to a stop, she had no idea how long she’d been running, or how far. She only knew that she was in a clearing in the forest and that she was very, very tired.
She heard a slight noise and raised her head. The deer was in the clearing, too, and two fawns were with her. Bramble was excited, but she was so tired that all she could do was lie there and watch them. The deer moved about, flicking their tails and their ears. This must be how Teddy feels when he just sits and enjoys the wind, she thought.
At that moment the wind changed direction, and the deer raised their heads in alarm. They smelled dog! With three tails waving, they turned their backs to Bramble and leaped deep into the forest. Bramble had no desire to follow. She was tired and wanted to get back to Teddy and tell him that she thought she knew why he liked to go slowly.
After leaving the baby birds, Teddy ambled back across the meadow, feeling happy and somewhat frisky. So when a rabbit scurried in front of him, he chased it. He felt his muscles stretch and the wind ruffle his fur. The rabbit quickly found its hole and disappeared, but not before Teddy had gotten a good run. His whole body tingled, and Teddy thought that now he knew why Bramble liked to run so much.
Just then he saw Bramble returning across the meadow, walking very slowly. She saw him and speeded up slightly. They met and went through their usual ear sniffing, nose touching, tail wagging ritual. Then they told each other of their day’s experiences. Bramble had decided that Teddy’s way of walking slowly and observing was nice sometimes, but she really preferred speed and excitement.
Teddy had decided that Bramble’s way of chasing and leaping about was nice sometimes, but he really preferred slow, quiet journeys of discovery. He promised to take Bramble to see the baby birds every day if she would be very quiet. Bramble said that she would if Teddy would come with her to the deer grove and play tag on the way there. They both agreed and knew that they had each learned a valuable lesson: They could learn a lot from each other.

Gage stared at the empty old bottle and turned it over in his hands. It was small and misty green, with a cork stopper in the top. Grandpa Russell had given it to him after his baptism.
“What is it?” Gage asked. “I know it’s a bottle—but there’s nothing in it.”
“Oh, it’s full,” Grandpa said.
Gage shook the bottle. “Well, it looks empty to me.”
Grandpa laughed. He pulled out the cork and held the little bottle near Gage’s ear. “Can you hear it?” he whispered.
“Hear what?” Gage whispered back.
Grandpa smiled. “Silence,” he said. Then he put the cork back in the bottle. “In today’s world, silence is pretty hard to find. It’s like medicine, and each drop is as precious as gold.”
Gage said thank you and took Grandpa’s strange gift home. But he didn’t think about it much.
A few weeks later, Gage’s uncle Vince passed away. After the funeral, lots of relatives crowded into the front room at Gage’s house to visit. Gage escaped to his bedroom and closed the door. He could hear the muffled voices of his parents and relatives down the hall.
Gage saw the old green bottle sitting on his desk and picked it up. He turned it over in his hands. Grandpa had said silence was like medicine. Gage needed to find some peace and comfort after Uncle Vince’s funeral.
Gage pulled the cork loose from the bottle and tipped it over his head, pretending to let a little silence pour out. He knew the bottle wasn’t really full of silence. But he knew he needed some quiet time to feel close to God.
He felt tears build up in his eyes. Uncle Vince wouldn’t be there anymore—no more silly jokes, no more wrestling with him. Gage’s heart hurt from missing him.
Then in the silence, Gage felt something warm grow in his heart and soften the pain. He remembered that Uncle Vince wasn’t gone forever; he had just moved on to the next world. Because of Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation, everyone would live forever. Gage knew that someday he could see his Uncle Vince again.
As he held the bottle in his hands, Gage felt peaceful inside. He knew it was because of the Holy Ghost and not the bottle. The bottle had just reminded him to be quiet so he could feel the Holy Ghost. He corked the bottle and set it down.
Then he went back to the front room to be with his family. He could carry the peace and comfort of the Holy Ghost inside of him even outside his quiet room.

John Taylor’s youth had prepared him well for a lifetime of dedicated service to the Lord. He sensed even when he was young that a guiding hand was over him, watching and protecting him until he was ready to fulfill his foreordained mission in life. As he left Liverpool in 1832 to join his family and eventually his life’s work in the kingdom, he experienced a severe storm soon after the ship was out to sea. Undaunted, he recalled, “So confident was I of my destiny that I went on deck at midnight, and amidst the raging elements felt as calm as though I was sitting in a parlor at home. I believed I should reach America and perform my work.” (Life of John Taylor, p. 29.) That work and the formative influences of his youth in accomplishing it stand as a remarkable example for us to the present day.

Let me illustrate this with a story from the Church News:
“A group of religion instructors [were] taking a summer course on the life of the Savior and focusing particularly on the parables.
“When the final exam time came, … the students arrived at the classroom to find a note that the exam would be given in another building across campus. Moreover, the note said, it must be finished within the two-hour time period that was starting almost at that moment.
“The students hurried across campus. On the way they passed a little girl crying over a flat tire on her new bike. An old man hobbled painfully toward the library with a cane in one hand, spilling books from a stack he was trying to manage with the other. On a bench by the union building sat a shabbily dressed, bearded man [in obvious distress].
“Rushing into the other classroom, the students were met by the professor, who announced they had all flunked the final exam.
“The only true test of whether they understood the Savior’s life and teaching, he said, was how they treated people in need.
“Their weeks of study at the feet of a capable professor had taught them a great deal of what Christ had said and done.” They learned the letter but not the spirit. Their neglect of the little girl and the two men showed that the message of the course had not entered into their inward parts.

Memory started her research in 1985, when notebooks, pages of pedigree charts and group records were the conventional way of record keeping.
While patience is important in family history work, Memory says that patience is one of the keys to success in all avenues of life, and most especially in family history.
“I had been struggling to get my maternal grandfather’s records for years. And it was only after ten years of thorough research and hard work was I able to add his records to FamilySearch,” she said.
Memory also said her love and knowledge of her ancestors deepened as she spent time researching them.
Despite having submitted over 15,000 of her ancestors’ names, Memory still feels she has a long way to go and encourages those who haven’t started to get going.
“Start by writing down information about your present family and work your way back to your grandparents and their children and then move on to your great grandparents and their children and so forth,” she said. “Ask family members for the names of those who have passed, where they lived, and their birth and death date.”
Memory currently spends hours adding information from notebooks, pages of pedigree charts, and group records onto FamilySearch.
Having laid a firm groundwork, her children, Stephen James Smith, Louise Smith, and Lizanne Ellis, are keeping the family history ball rolling. Stephen is a ward and family history leader in Cape Town, Louise is a ward historian in Centurion, Pretoria, and Lizanne is a ward temple and family history consultant in Auckland, New Zealand.
Memory went on to articulate how accessible family history has become.
“It’s now at the tip of our fingers. Whether it’s on cell phones or computers, it’s an incalculable blessing from our Heavenly Father. The gathering is indeed in progress, as we have been encouraged more recently by President Russell M. Nelson,” she concluded.

My teacher was out of the room, helping other students. Some of the rest of us who didn’t need to use the computers were messing around—walking around, reading, goofing off. I was at my desk, quietly drawing a comic page I had been working on.
Jason* came over and said, “Will you draw this for me?” He pointed to a picture in our social studies book that he wanted to use for an assignment.
When I asked why, he replied, “I can’t draw very well, so can you draw this for me? The teacher won’t know it was you, I swear.”
I thought, What should I do? He knows I’m a good artist, but this just doesn’t seem honest.
“Ehhhh, no,” I said.
“Why not? Please, man,” he begged.
“Because this isn’t right. I don’t want to,” I told him.
“OK, if you can tell me five reasons why it’s not right, I won’t bug you anymore.”
“Look,” I said, “why can’t you do it? Just do your best. It isn’t like he’s going to give you a bad grade for a not-so-good picture. Just try.”
“But …” he started, then trailed off and walked away from my desk.
It was really hard to make that choice. I thought that if I didn’t draw the picture, he wouldn’t like me and I couldn’t be his friend. But now he’s just like normal. I’m glad I made the right choice.
Austin Lee Ballard, age 11Rexburg, Idaho

Doing what comes naturally brought top honors to Tracey Keogh, 17, and Brenda Richmond, 18, of Dublin, Ireland. Their school year was spent working to improve themselves and the community, and they received the country’s prestigious President’s Award.
Requirements for the award said they had to spend a certain number of hours each week working on community projects, a personal skill, and a special project. Tracey visited an elderly lady, recycled, and learned to use a personal computer. Brenda volunteered at a hospital, acted in a school play, and ran a small company.
Their projects went hand-in-hand with the Young Women Personal Progress program. Brenda said she couldn’t have done all she did that year without the Church in her life. “The Church, its principles, and its leaders have taught me a lot,” she said.

A cool thing happened today. Mom said maybe I should pray about my question, so I went to my room and asked Heavenly Father to help me understand why boys get the priesthood and girls don’t. I can’t even explain what happened next. I felt warm all over. I think Heavenly Father was trying to tell me that He loves me just as much as He loves Travis or Luke or my brothers—or anyone. I felt so happy! And when I get old enough to have a Church calling, I’ll be using priesthood power too.

Far away from home, Eric wraps himself in a blanket from Ghana as he prays. “The blanket reminds me of my earthly home,” Eric says, “and prayer reminds me of my heavenly home.”
When 21-year-old Eric Ayala of Techiman, Ghana, was 3, he and his mother were at a street-side market when a car veered out of control and struck them.
“It hit my mother first and broke her leg,” Eric says. “Then it dragged me a long way before my body rolled into the gutter. I was pronounced dead and taken to a mortuary. The mortician was preparing my body when he discovered I was still alive. I was rushed to a hospital.”
Now paraplegic, Eric faced challenge after challenge as he grew up without the use of his legs. He eventually obtained leg braces that allowed him to stand, but he soon outgrew them and couldn’t afford replacements. He was given a small wheelchair, but outgrew that too. His legs withered, sometimes shaking with spasms, and his feet became deformed.
In Ghana, those with disabilities are often considered a burden. Eric’s family had little money, not enough to pay for medical treatment. When Eric was about 10, he developed pressure sores caused by lack of movement and by sitting on wood and concrete. The sores festered, oozing constantly, and they smelled terrible.
The open-air shed where Eric lived for years still stands behind the family home.
As a result, Eric lived outside, on a bench in an open-air shed. His mother, Lucy, and his sisters brought him food, washed his clothes, and helped him bathe. Eric was often drenched by rain and shivered from cold in the night. He learned to love morning sunshine because it brought warmth. Too poor to go to school and unable to work, he spent years in that shed, occasionally venturing into the neighborhood on his wheelchair.
Rather than becoming resentful, “I started to love and believe in God,” Eric says. “Nobody taught me about Him, but I could see His creations, and I could see the good and bad in people. Sometimes it is hard to believe in Him when life is hard. But then I would see something good come into my life, and I would say, ‘See, God is here, and it is wonderful.’”
Eric had not been formally taught how to pray, but he began calling upon God. He received answers—when he was sick, an unanticipated opportunity to see a doctor; when he asked for relief from his sores, they went away; when he outgrew his small wheelchair, a kind stranger brought him a larger one. “God did many good things in my life,” he says.
Still, sometimes Eric would get discouraged. He found himself crying when he was in pain and hungry. “I decided if I was going to be happy, it was up to me,” he recalls. “I forced myself to smile. If I didn’t, I was afraid I would turn to something bad.” In particular, he saw friends using alcohol and drugs, and, “my heart told me that was wrong.”
Then, in what seemed a miracle, at age 14, Eric was accepted for school. His mother, by cooking for others, had scraped together enough money to buy him a uniform and pay for books and tuition. At school, “I couldn’t go out and exercise with the others,” he explains, “so I stayed inside and studied all the time.” He amazed his headmaster by receiving top scores in math, reading, and writing.
A nun from the hospital donated a new tricycle that Eric could pedal with his hands, making it easier for him to go to school. But as Eric went back and forth, pressure sores opened again. Infection returned, along with the putrid smell as the wounds leaked. Students complained about flies constantly buzzing around Eric. He was 17 when the headmaster told him to go home and get well, or he could not return to school.
Eric’s father had a tiny farm out in the country. He had taken the family to work on the farm, but Eric remained at home in his shed, alone. Meanwhile, his sores enlarged to huge wounds and infection entered into his bones, a life-threatening condition called osteomyelitis.
When he was 18, Eric saw his friend Emmanuel Ofosu-hene speaking English with an obruni (white man). The obruni was a Mormon missionary, Elder Old. “I only spoke Twi, but Emmanuel interpreted for me: ‘I am so sick I think I will die. Can you help me know what to do so I can go to heaven?’
“Elder Old and his African companion sat with me and taught me. For some reason, they started with the Word of Wisdom. I knew they were speaking the truth because I already knew coffee and tobacco were bad.” They also gave Eric a brochure about the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and invited him to church.
“When I went, I saw this Church was different,” he says. “It was reverent.” Even though it took him an hour to push himself to church in his wheelchair, Eric loved the meetings. “I wanted to go up front and be with people,” he says. “But I stayed at the back because I knew I smelled bad.”
Eric told the missionaries, “What I am learning is true.” He also told them he wanted to be baptized, but doctors had warned him not to get his wounds wet. “I will rely on God to provide answers,” he said. He attended church for about a year and then became too ill and weak to wheel himself there.
Eric’s mother, Lucy, met the missionaries, studied the gospel, and was baptized in 2015. But because her broken leg had never been properly set, it was painful for her to walk. Attending meetings was a challenge for her, as well.
Eventually, Eric was taken to the hospital again. In Ghana, patients have to provide their own water, food, bedding, medicine, and bandages. If they have no money, they are not treated. Eric’s mother and sisters did what they could. Eric received food and medical attention infrequently, so he grew weaker.
Then Eric received some unexpected visitors. Missionaries, Sister Peprah and Sister Nafuna, had seen his photograph at the church and came to see him in the hospital and brought him food. It had been a year since he had been to church, but he told them he still wanted to be baptized.
A few days later, Eric’s sister visited him and found him very ill. She ran home and told their mother. Though their mother had suffered permanent leg damage in the accident with Eric, she walked to the hospital, wincing with every step. “You must come home,” she told Eric. “If you’re going to die, I at least want you near.”
The next morning, the sister missionaries came to the house. “You weren’t at the hospital,” Sister Peprah said. “So we came here.” With them were Elder and Sister Wood, senior missionaries from New Zealand. They took inventory of needs and promised to return.
A few days later, Eric’s father took the family back to the farm—except Eric, who found himself alone again and without food or water. When Elder and Sister Wood returned and discovered Eric alone and hungry, they brought him food and water. They returned the next day and noticed fluid running down his leg and found a huge open ulcer on his thigh. They immediately took Eric back to the hospital.
The Woods learned of a medical humanitarian team from the United States that would be coming to Ghana. The team would perform surgery for Eric without cost. The surgeon treated the ulcer on Eric’s leg. But when he saw the severity of Eric’s wounds, as well as the osteomyelitis, he determined he could not do all the necessary procedures in Ghana. Based on his recommendation, the humanitarian organization initiated a process that would eventually bring Eric to the United States to receive additional treatment and permanently close his wounds. In addition, a shelter in Winneba, Ghana, run by members of the Church, agreed to have Eric live there when he returned so that he could attend school and complete his education.
While in Utah for surgery, Eric visits the reflecting pool near the Salt Lake Temple. Eric says he loves the feeling of peace he finds at the Salt Lake Temple.
Elder Wood, an engineer by profession, rebuilt Eric’s hand-pedal tricycle. He performed a similar overhaul on his wheelchair. He also counseled with President Cosgrave of the Ghana Kumasi Mission, a medical doctor. They felt Eric could be baptized if proper precautions were taken.
Eric shows his tricycle to his mother and siblings after senior missionaries repaired it.
“Elder Wood wrapped my body in plastic, with tape around the plastic,” Eric explains. “Then he carried me into a font filled with water treated with disinfectant. I was baptized on June 26, 2016.” Eric had relied on the Lord, and the Lord had provided a way.
Today, Eric is studying to become a computer technician. But also feels he can influence others through music—he likes to rap in Twi. His upbeat message talks about how God rescued him. One of his favorite scriptures says, “Look to God and live” (Alma 37:47). And he still says, “I see God in everything.”
He adds, “I don’t want anyone to think the way Heavenly Father has blessed me is identical to how He will bless them. But He will bless those who trust Him. When you have to deal with hard things, pray and trust God.”
Eric looks forward to a bright future. He’s studying to be a computer technician and also feels he can inspire others with music.

Now, once you receive it, be obedient to the promptings you receive. I learned a sobering lesson as a mission president. I was also a General Authority. I had been prompted several times, for the good of the work, to release one of my counselors. Besides praying about it, I had reasoned that it was the right thing to do. But I did not do it. I feared that it would be spiritually harmful to a man who had given long service to the Church.
The Spirit withdrew from me. I could get no promptings on who should be called as a counselor should I release him. It lasted several weeks. My prayers seemed to go no further than the room where I offered them. I tried a number of alternate ways to arrange the work, but to no avail. Finally, I did as I was bidden to do by the Spirit. Immediately, the gift returned! Oh, the exquisite sweetness to have that gift again. You know it, for you have it, the gift of the Holy Ghost. And the brother was not harmed, indeed he was greatly blessed and the work prospered.

Nita Blackwing dragged her bleating one-year-old sheep across the corral. “You’re going to get your first shearing,” she told him. “But don’t be afraid—it won’t hurt.”
Mother and Granny were shearing the whole flock that spring day. Some of the sheep belonged to Nita’s older brothers and sisters. This was Nita’s first sheep. With a pair of big hand shears Granny expertly sheared the wool from Nita’s sheep in one whole piece.
“How skinny he looks!” Nita declared. “Poor thing!” She wished she could wrap his woolly coat around him and make him a baby lamb again.
Feeling a bit sad, Nita walked home with Granny as the glowing sunset turned the earth and rocks of the Navajo reservation red.
Running ahead of the older woman, Nita shouted, “The cactuses are in bloom, Granny!” Nita kept a safe distance from the spiny pads of the prickly pear cactuses as she stroked the dark pink petals of a colorful blossom. They were big and as shiny as wax. “I wish I could take one home,” she said.
“A cactus flower lives only a short while,” Granny cautioned. “Let it turn into a fruit that we can use.”
The Blackwing hogan was a round house made of logs and bark, plastered with mud the same color as the rocks around it. The boys helped their father with the horses and ponies and the crops of corn and squash. The girls herded the sheep and helped prepare the wool for weaving. Mother wove good blankets and rugs, but Granny was known far and wide as one of the best weavers among the Navajos.
Nita and her sisters spent the hot summer days in front of the hogan, beating the wool with sticks to make the burrs and dirt fly out. Then they carded it into strands by combing it with metal-toothed paddles. Nita carded her own sheep’s fleece especially well so that Granny would want to use it in her rug.
Every night Nita watched Granny spin the wool into yarn on a spinning stick. “Why do you whirl it around so many times?” she asked.
“The more you spin, the finer the yarn,” Granny explained. “The finer the yarn, the better the rug.”
Mother, who liked new ways and bright colors, bought the dye for her yarn in paper packages at the trading post. One night when they were all snuggled down under their sheepskins, the children chose the colors they wanted for their wool.
“Turquoise!” said Maria. “Like the sky.”
“Yellow!” said Jolie. “Like the sun.”
“Red—bright red!” Ben shouted.
Those three colors would go into Mother’s rug.
“My sheep is black, so I don’t have to choose,” said Ramon.
“I want mine to stay white,” said Johnny. “And my wool will be twisted with Ramon’s to make gray.”
Both Mother and Granny used the three natural colors—black, white, and gray. But Granny wouldn’t use dyes from the trader. She made her own by boiling roots, bark, fruit, and leaves from plants.
“I guess you’ll have to choose brown, Nita,” said Maria. “That’s about the only color Granny ever makes.”
But brown was dull, and Nita liked bright colors too.
One day Nita went with Granny to the nearby mountains to find plants for making dye. The trees and shrubs were turning red and yellow in the frosty air.
“What a pretty tree,” said Nita as they dug up roots of a mountain mahogany with reddish bark and leaves. “Does this make red dye, Granny?” She hoped it did.
But Granny replied, “No. Brown.”
On the way home they came to the prickly pear cactus, now bearing dark red fruit. “We’ll pick some of these to make rose-colored dye,” said Granny.
“You’ve never woven a rose-colored rug before!” Nita said excitedly.
“I mix it with brown to make a good Indian color—the color of the earth that takes care of us.”
Nita looked toward the hogan framed against the rocks. It was a kind of rosy brown in the setting sun. “Like that?” she asked, pointing.
“Yes, I see a design in my head that has many squares of the Indian earth color at sunset.”
“Then I want that for the color of my sheep’s wool,” Nita declared.
When the snow came and the coyotes howled, Nita sat in front of the loom and watched Granny weave her rug. It had a gray background and a black border and a design in squares and rectangles of white and black and the rosy Indian earth color.
When the frozen ground thawed and the snowstorms were replaced by dust storms, Granny took the rug off the loom and laid it on the floor. Nita touched the rosy brown squares.
“There is my sheep’s wool,” she said. “And there are the colors from the prickly pear flower and the mahogany tree.”
Granny began to roll up the rug. “Now I must take it to the trading post. We need flour, sugar, and canned food, and some cloth for blouses and skirts.”
Tears came into Nita’s eyes as she thought about the beautiful rug that must be traded for supplies.
“Come,” said Granny. “Your father will drive us to the trading post in his truck. The trader will give you a peppermint stick.”
Nita smiled. “It’s almost time for the ewes to have new lambs, isn’t it? Will I get to choose another one to be mine?”
“Of course,” said Granny. “You will have a new lamb, and your old sheep will have new wool. The cactus will bloom again, and we will go again to the mountains for our plant dyes. That is how the earth takes care of us.”
“And I will learn to weave rugs full of beautiful things like yours,” said Nita.

Eight-year-old Maggie stretched forward to better talk to her parents in the front seat of the car. A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Mom, do I have to go to Aunt Alice’s house?”
Maggie’s parents had been planning this temple trip for weeks. They had arranged for Maggie to stay with her great-aunt, who lived in the same town as the temple. Aunt Alice was quite old and lived alone.
Mom turned in her seat to ask, “Don’t you want to go to Aunt Alice’s house? She’s very kind and will take good care of you.”
“I know. It’s just that, well, what if there’s nothing to do? Sitting around all day could get really boring. Maybe I should have stayed home and spent the night at Anna’s house.” Anna was Maggie’s best friend.
Mother looked deeply into Maggie’s worried eyes. “It’s true, we could have left you at Anna’s house, but Dad and I wanted this to be a special trip for the whole family. We have been preparing Grandma and Grandpa McCallister’s records for a long time so that we could do their temple work. You never knew Grandma, but you’re like her in many ways. We thought this trip would be a good chance for you to feel close to her.”
Grandma McCallister had passed away when Maggie was only a baby, and Grandpa had died just last summer. Maggie knew that Mom was anxious to have their temple work done so that they could be a part of her family forever. Maggie slumped back in her seat. She knew that this day was important. She just wasn’t sure about spending it with Aunt Alice.
When they stopped in front of a small brick home several hours later, butterflies fluttered around in Maggie’s stomach.
“Grab your bag, sweetie—this is it,” Mom said.
Maggie picked up her backpack and slowly climbed out of the car. Her legs were stiff from the long trip, and she dragged them reluctantly up the front walk.
“Come on, honey. Dad and I have to get going.” Mom stopped at the front door and put her arms around Maggie’s drooping shoulders. “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be just fine. You might even enjoy yourself.” Mom smiled.
It was comforting to see the familiar twinkle in Mom’s eyes. Maggie perked up and smiled back.
Just then the front door opened, and the familiar aroma of chocolate chip cookies met Maggie’s nose.
“Well, look who’s here!” Aunt Alice exclaimed. “Maggie Magpie! I haven’t seen you since you were a baby!”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Maggie Magpie?”
“Oh, that’s what we used to call your grandma when she was a girl. Her name is Margaret, too, you know.”
Maggie barely heard her mother’s good-bye as she stepped into the house with Aunt Alice.
“Come and have some cookies while we get reacquainted, Maggie Magpie.”
Maggie looked around as she walked through the front room toward the kitchen. She stopped in her tracks when her eyes came to rest on a tall display cabinet full of fancy porcelain dolls. “Wow! Do you collect dolls?”
“Sure do. Do you like dolls?”
“I do! I have a collection, too. Well, it’s not as big or fancy as yours, but I really like dolls.”
“You know, your Grandma McCallister liked dolls, too. In fact, I may have something of hers that you can take home with you.”
Maggie followed Aunt Alice into the kitchen, wondering what she might have for her. Aunt Alice poured Maggie a glass of milk and set out some cookies. “Help yourself, honey. I’ll be right back.” She climbed a creaky flight of narrow wooden stairs to the attic. A few minutes later, she returned with an old shoe box.
“Just before your grandma died, she gave me this box. She asked me to keep it for you until you were old enough to take care of what’s inside.” A smile filled Aunt Alice’s face. “I think you’re old enough now. Want to see?”
Maggie nodded eagerly.
Aunt Alice took off several rubber bands, then carefully lifted the cardboard lid. Very gently she peeled back layers of faded tissue paper. Maggie leaned forward to see what lay inside. Beneath the folds of paper lay the most beautiful doll Maggie had ever seen. The eyes blinked open in the pale porcelain face as Aunt Alice lifted the doll out of the box. “Do you want to hold it?”
Maggie could barely breathe as she carefully took the doll into her arms and rocked it tenderly.
“Your grandma called her Bessie, or sometimes Miss Bess. She has the same beautiful dark red hair that you have and that your grandmother had.”
As Maggie gently smoothed the pale blue dress and white lace pinafore and patted the shining curly hair, she imagined another little redheaded girl holding this very doll a long time ago. She felt a new love for Grandma and began to believe that maybe she knew her a little bit after all.
An unexpected tear slid down Maggie’s cheek as she looked into Aunt Alice’s beaming face. “Thank you, Aunt Alice. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”
“I know you will, Maggie Magpie,” Aunt Alice said. “You’re a lot like your grandma, you know.”
Maggie smiled lovingly at Grandma’s doll. She was glad that she was a lot like Grandma. And she was grateful that her parents were at the temple doing Grandma and Grandpa’s temple work. She wanted them all to be a family forever.

President George A. Smith (1817–75) of the First Presidency illustrated this when he told this Chinese fable:
“A man, traveling through the country, came to a large city, very rich and splendid; he looked at it and said to his guide, ‘This must be a very righteous people, for I can only see but one little devil in this great city.’
“The guide replied, ‘You do not understand, sir; this city is so perfectly given up to wickedness … that it only requires one devil to keep them all in subjection.’
“Traveling on a little farther he came to a rugged path and saw an old man trying to get up the hill side, surrounded by seven great, big, coarse looking devils.
“‘Why,’ says the traveler, ‘this must be a tremendously wicked old man, only see how many devils there are around him.’
“‘This,’ replied the guide, ‘is the only righteous man in the country and there are seven of the biggest devils trying to turn him out of his path and they all cannot do it.’”5

I couldn’t focus on my homework today. Mom asked what was wrong. I guess I’m still wondering about the priesthood. She said when she has a question that doesn’t have a clear answer, she puts it on the “back burner” of her mind. She doesn’t ignore the question, but she doesn’t let it crowd out all the things she DOES understand. She has the faith to wait for answers, and she trusts that Heavenly Father knows what’s best. That’s OK, I guess, but I hate waiting.

In April 2010, Evelyn Vigil was concerned that her husband, Amado, was losing his faith. He had not attended any church for 11 years, having arrived at the conclusion that the true Church did not exist. Meanwhile, Evelyn had never stopped believing in God, and she went from one church to another, yearning to hear His word but never satisfied with what she heard. Some mornings she awoke in tears. On such days, she pled for guidance from her Heavenly Father. She asked Him why she never felt right in any of the churches she attended, even though she wanted so desperately to learn of Him. She also prayed that her family would someday find unity in one church.
“Our story began,” Amado recalls, “when we found a pair of elders—rather, when they found us. We were leaving the home of Evelyn’s parents, and we were carrying shopping bags. We noticed that the elders had seen us and were crossing the street toward us. One of them kindly asked if they could help us.
“They also asked if we would allow them to visit us. I said yes, mostly out of curiosity. Up to that point, I didn’t know much about the Church—only comments I had heard from other people.
“After I agreed to let the elders visit our home, I told my wife, ‘Don’t get too excited about this. Don’t get any illusions about me deciding to join a church. I’m just curious to see what they have to say.’
“The elders started visiting us. I was ready to politely tell them to go away if they said anything that didn’t seem right to me. But they were so kind, and I was impressed that they never said anything bad about other churches. They taught with such love and diligence, and they were patient when I asked many questions. They quickly endeared themselves to us.”
Bit by bit, Amado and Evelyn prepared themselves to be baptized and confirmed members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Evelyn’s biggest challenge was the Word of Wisdom. She was saddened by the realization that she would need to let go of her desire for coffee. Amado didn’t need to let go of any bad habits; he just needed to learn to grab hold of the truth. He believed what the missionaries were teaching, and he even recognized many doctrines and practices that he and his wife had felt were missing from other churches, such as eternal families, baptisms for the dead, and fellowship and organization in the Church. But he hesitated to commit to be baptized. He worried that he would join the Church only to find that he had made the wrong decision.
These concerns soon faded. Evelyn prayed for help and overcame her coffee habit, saying, “I’m not going to let this keep me from receiving blessings.” After about two months of indecision, Amado committed to be baptized. Now, according to Evelyn, he frequently says, “We need to embrace the doctrine.”
Amado, Evelyn, and Michelle were baptized and confirmed in early July 2010. “From the time that we were baptized,” Evelyn says, “I could feel that everything started to change. My family was united in the Church. We had found the restored gospel. We have had trials and sickness since then, but our Heavenly Father has poured many blessings on us.”
Amado observes: “The first change I noticed was unity in our family. It’s not that we were dysfunctional before, but we started to unite more. The doctrines of the gospel helped us. As Church leaders taught us about the sacredness of the family, we thought more about the value we should place on our family.”

He said, “I have a book that will help you prepare, and I want you to have my copy.” It was a book by another Apostle in the Church called A Marvelous Work and a Wonder.
I studied that book along with the Bible. Through this study, I got answers to many questions, as well as a desire to pray. Based on what I’d read about Joseph Smith (see Joseph Smith—History 1:5–19), I felt sure that God would also answer my prayer.
I knelt by my bedside and called out to God with all my heart and soul. I told Him that I was seeking the truth, and then I waited for my heavenly messenger. Nothing happened. I tried again. Still nothing. Finally, I simply asked God if the things I was reading and studying were true.
After my prayer, I began thinking of all I had learned. While reading the two books my LDS friends had given me, I had discovered answers. That felt good. Ever since I went to Israel, I’d wanted to know more about Jesus. Now I did. That felt good, too. Suddenly I realized God was answering my prayer. He loved me enough to send friends and books to tell me about the Restoration of the gospel, and I felt good. How would I feel if the Lord had literally told me the same thing? I would feel the same way. That was my answer.