Gospel Story Finder

Need an idea for a Super Saturday activity? How about trying what the seminary students in the Thatcher Arizona Stake did? They had notified stake members that they would be coming. Then they spent the morning collecting donations of food and clothing for the homeless and needy.
All in all, the 300 young people who participated collected, sorted, and delivered several tons of usable clothing and bedding, and a ton and a half of food—enough to provide 4,000 meals.
“It made us feel so good inside to know we were doing something to help so many people!” said one of the participants. “It was really neat to see such well-organized chaos,” added another.

When I was a young missionary, I remember when a marvelous missionary that I had come to admire received some devastating news. His mother and his younger brother had passed away in a tragic accident. The mission president offered this elder the option to return home for the funeral. However, after speaking with his father on the phone, this missionary decided to stay and finish his mission.
A short time later, when we were serving in the same zone, my companion and I received an emergency call; some thieves had stolen the bicycle belonging to this same missionary and had injured him with a knife. He and his companion had to walk to the nearest hospital, where my companion and I met up with them. On the way to the hospital, I was grieving for this missionary. I imagined that his spirits would be low and that surely, after this traumatic experience, he would now want to return home.
However, when we arrived at the hospital, I saw this missionary lying in his bed, waiting to be taken into surgery—and he was smiling. I thought, “How could he be smiling at a time like this?” While he was recuperating in the hospital, he enthusiastically handed out pamphlets and copies of the Book of Mormon to the doctors, nurses, and other patients. Even with these trials, he did not want to go home. Rather, he served until the last day of his mission with faith, energy, strength, and enthusiasm.

When I joined the Church, I attended a small branch in the Philippines where the members were very close and worked in unity.
Gradually, the branch grew and prospered. New chairs came, then a new sacrament table. Then we moved to a spacious apartment and even had a new organ. Three years later, some land was purchased for our future meetinghouse.
During this period of growth, the unity of our branch was occasionally tested. After some particularly hurtful gossip reached me, I decided to leave the Church. For the next six Sundays I did not attend any meetings, although I wished I were there. I especially wanted to partake of the sacrament and renew my covenants.
One day I knelt in prayer and asked for strength, courage, and enlightenment. Still on my knees, I caught sight of a book on the floor. I picked up a dusty and neglected volume of scripture and began paging through it, hoping to find some lines that would ease my pain. I stopped at D&C 136:29–30: “If thou art sorrowful, call on the Lord thy God with supplication, that your souls may be joyful. Fear not thine enemies.”
After reading the verses, I felt lighter in spirit, and my courage returned. I would go back to church.
But the next Sunday, as I neared the meetinghouse, I felt apprehensive. Would they welcome me again? Would I hear whispering behind my back? Or would they ignore me altogether? My feet dragged the closer I got to the door.
Then I felt a gentle tap on my shoulder, and before I could turn around, an arm encircled me in a tender embrace. Then another hand reached out to clasp mine. Other friends burst from the door with warm smiles, each one expressing joy for my return.
As we sang the opening hymn, “Though Deepening Trials” (Hymns, number 122), a feeling of peace filled me, and the feelings of hurt and resentment melted away. Warm tears blurred my vision, and I could no longer see the words in the hymnbook. I closed my eyes tightly and gratefully whispered, “Father, thanks for leading me back to the fold.”

My husband and I had a hard time getting married in the temple—and not because we didn’t want to! There were many things that kept preventing us from making this sacred covenant.
But through this journey of hardship, growth, and love, I have gained a greater testimony of the temple and the blessings that sacred place can bring into our lives.
Things were hard soon after we got engaged. For a while, a lot of unfortunate circumstances prevented us from moving forward to marriage in the temple. So after what seemed like forever, we finally set our endowment and sealing dates for May 2020. Almost everything was planned out. This was finally the time!
But then the world was hit by the COVID-19 pandemic, and our country, South Africa, went into full lockdown.
Once again, the temple and our marriage were postponed.
I started to think I wouldn’t ever be able to enter the temple. And I wondered if it was even worth all the effort. My husband and I still hadn’t even received our endowments, and I felt discouraged because after preparing for most of my life to be worthy to go, things still weren’t working out.
But I thought of everything that prophets had taught about the importance of attending the temple and the many blessings we receive when we make covenants with the Lord. President Russell M. Nelson taught that “the supreme benefits of membership in the Church can only be realized through the exalting ordinances of the temple.”1
So I was still determined to go when the time was right.
Over the next few months, my husband and I fasted, prayed, and exercised faith that we would remain worthy and be able to get married in the temple. And miraculously, in September 2020, the Johannesburg South Africa Temple had a limited opening that allowed my husband and me to receive our endowments.
Words can’t express how much closer I felt to Heavenly Father and the Savior inside the walls of the temple. It was a spiritually intimate moment that I will never forget. And it was worth the wait.
Soon after, my husband and I were finally able to get sealed for time and all eternity in the Lord’s house.
Our sealing day was so sacred. We were the only couple in the temple at the time, making that eternal covenant to each other and the Lord. I was beyond happy. I felt as if the Savior were sitting beside both of us, saying, “I’m pleased with your faith—you finally made it!”
And we are excited to start a new journey together, in which we can return to the temple again and again.

He said that a granduncle of his, who was an abbot in the Catholic Church, had asked on his deathbed that Derteano gather the family’s genealogical records. Derteano promised to do so, although he thought that the request was only the irrational talk of a dying man. But he had made a promise, and so, after some time had passed, he began to research the Derteano records. He had to spend considerable time, effort, and money to gather the information. Many times he felt like abandoning the project. On one occasion, when he decided to stop the work, he dreamed his uncle came to him and reminded him of the promise.
He carried on the research for thirty years, locating Derteanos in many parts of the world. Apart from fulfilling a promise to a dying man, Derteano never knew why he was gathering the information. He said he was working blindly, hoping that some day he would understand the reason for it all.
I said that I could provide the answer for him. I told him about the Church and the purposes of the vicarious work for the dead in the temples. I read to him 1 Peter 3:18–20 [1 Pet. 3:18–20], which tells of the Savior preaching the gospel in the spirit world. Then I shared with him parts of Doctrine and Covenants 138 [D&C 138], emphasizing the joy the spirits feel when they receive the gospel and their hope that their descendents would remember them since they cannot progress without us.
Derteano was overjoyed at hearing the reason behind his search. Now, sixty-three years old, he finally felt free of his obligation to his granduncle.
He gave me copies of all the birth and marriage records he had and also the names and addresses of other Derteanos in other parts of the world. My joy and feelings overflowed when together we found a common ancestor in the records, and thus I was able to connect my family tree to his.
Derteano gave me one of his books in which he wrote, “To Luis Roberto Derteano and Rosa Liliana, relatives I had been seeking throughout my life. Without a doubt something brought us together. Kepa De Derteano y Basterra.”

I love whole wheat pancakes. On my mission in Brazil, I bought a nice nonstick frying pan to cook them in. I also made sure that I had a plastic spatula so as not to scratch the pan.
About this same time, I received my first junior companion. One of the first things I did was show him my frying pan and plastic spatula, with specific instructions on how to use them. I didn’t mind him using them to fry an egg or something, but I didn’t want my pan ruined.
On our next preparation day, I heard my companion stirring something in the kitchen. I soon realized that he was frying an egg. I decided to peek in to see if he was following my instructions.
When I turned the corner, I just about had a heart attack. There he was, with the frying pan in one hand and a metal spoon in the other, trying to flip the egg. He was scraping and scratching, trying to get underneath the partially cooked egg, all the while destroying my frying pan.
Before I could yell, it hit me. It was an honest mistake. With help from above, I was able to calmly walk over to the drawer, pull out the spatula, and hand it to him, saying: “Here, use this. I think it will work better.” He thanked me and went on frying his egg.
Back in our room I realized that, as strange as it sounds, I had been “worshipping” that frying pan. For days, it had been more important to me than many other things, including my relationship with my new companion. It had been affecting the spirituality of our companionship. It had become my idol.
I’m so thankful that my Heavenly Father taught me an eternal truth through this small but powerful experience. I’ve come to better understand what the Lord meant when He said, “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3)—including the nonstick kind.

A bright orange sun was sinking low on the horizon as we parked our van near our campsite. There were nine of us on the Scout outing plus our two leaders. I was 14 and was nearing Eagle rank.
Like most boys my age, I had exciting plans for the future. Little did I know what terror the next 24 hours held for me and how much my future lay in jeopardy.
Before breakfast the next morning I did my blood sugar testing to see if there was any excess sugar in my system. I’ve been diabetic since I was seven, so it was a daily habit for me to take care of my testing and insulin injections.
The test showed my blood sugar was in the lower range of normal. I prepared a syringe with insulin and gave myself a shot in my leg about eight inches above my knee. It was a daily routine and not much fun, but I was used to it.
“Time to get this camp straightened around,” our Scoutmaster shouted.
We all pitched in and set things in order. Then we gathered near the fire for a breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash brown potatoes, and hot chocolate. I went easy on the hot chocolate figuring a small amount would be okay since my sugar level was low that morning.
It’s hard to pass up goodies all the time. My doctor told me often that the only time diabetics should really have sugar is to bring them out of insulin reactions, and then they need to have it fast.
I felt great after eating breakfast. Along with the other guys, I jumped into the van for a drive along the bay and around the peninsula to the Pacific shore. We hiked in farther than we had planned, and some of the guys went for a swim.
I began to feel something I’d felt a few times before. It was a feeling of tiredness and dizziness, and I knew an insulin reaction was coming on. I’d taken too much insulin that morning and then done more exercise than usual. I had some orange juice in my canteen and drank it right away hoping there would be enough to correct the problem. I hated being different and didn’t want to tell anyone about the reaction.
Our Scoutmaster had to hike back to get the van. He gave us instructions about walking the short distance to the campsite and said to walk together. The guys decided to enjoy the beach for a little while longer before heading back. I still had not told anyone about my insulin reaction. The orange juice seemed to have done the trick.
Within 15 minutes, however, I started feeling dizzy again. I wished I had brought some sugar cubes with me like I usually did. I knew I had to get something sweet or the reaction would be worse. I decided to go back to camp to get what I needed.
Leaving the group was a big mistake. We had all been told by the Scoutmaster which direction to go. However, in my confused state I figured it would be quicker to head inland a few hundred yards and then cut directly across to the campfire. It was one of the most foolish decisions I ever made.
Feeling dizzy I headed over the bank of dunes and, all of a sudden, I was alone. There were sand dunes everywhere—miles and miles of sand. I knew I couldn’t wander around or I’d be lost. So I picked a course and tried to stay with it. I worked to keep my fear under control, but I started to shiver even though it wasn’t cold.
As the minutes passed, I became more and more tired. It wasn’t long before I fell, and I didn’t want to get up again. It seemed as though I lay there for a long time trying to fight off sleep. For a while the shivering stopped, and I dozed. When I opened my eyes, I felt frightened again and wondered if I should stay where I was until someone came looking for me. I needed help. All the teaching and training I’d had made me kneel and pray.
“Heavenly Father, please help me. Let me live through this. Please give me the strength to make it.”
I looked around for the highest dune and climbed to the top of it. From up there I was excited to see beach houses that didn’t look far away.
At least four or five dunes lay between me and the houses. When I climbed back down, I couldn’t see the houses anymore. I started wondering if my imagination had played tricks on me—if I had seen the houses at all. My thinking was getting more confused. It had been hours since I’d eaten, and I was in real trouble. The feeling suddenly came over me that I was going to die.
Once again I prayed with more feeling than I ever had before, and a comforting feeling came over me. I could hear a voice saying, “Keep going, Barry. No matter what, you must keep going.”
My feet dragged in the sand, but I felt as if I had help. I slid down the dunes because, if I walked, I knew I’d fall. And, if I fell down hard, I was afraid I might never get up again.
I kept listening to the faint voice that told me to keep moving, and somehow I got to the edge of the dunes. Birds were chirping there, and I saw the houses in the distance. I headed for them.
Dizzy and staggering I fell on the sand. My arms wouldn’t support me, and I fell on my face and felt sand in my mouth. Through the blackness of my fear, I prayed once more with all my heart. And suddenly I heard a seagull call. The sound made me look up. As my eyes shifted from the bird, I saw something moving. The form was fuzzy because my eyes weren’t focusing very well. It was our assistant Scoutmaster, and I called out to him. At first he didn’t see me, and then he turned and ran toward me waving his arms. When he reached me, he gave me a big bear hug and pounded me on the back.
“Gee, it’s good to see you, Barry. You had us scared to death. What happened?” he asked. “How did you get lost?”
“Had to get sugar,” I mumbled. “A reaction … trying to get back to camp.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured me. “I’ll help you. Just lean on me.”
He put his arms around me, and I half-walked and was half-dragged, leaning against him. Just as we were both nearing exhaustion, we saw a man by one of the houses. We yelled to him for help.
He called an ambulance then ran to help us. He picked me up and carried me the rest of the way to his house. His wife ran to the kitchen, returning with sugar and some root beer. She got some into me, and then everyone just waited and watched.
Pretty soon I began to come out of the reaction even though I still felt dazed.
The man at the house told us other people had been lost in the dunes. “There are 13 square miles of them out there in this one area alone,” he said. “Barry’s lucky to have found his way out.”
“It seemed like a miracle to me,” the assistant Scoutmaster said. “There were a thousand different directions I could have gone to look for Barry. The chances of finding him so quickly seemed slim. But I seemed to walk straight to him.”
I didn’t say anything as they talked on. I was thinking about my fervent prayers to my Heavenly Father. It was with deep gratitude that I knew those prayers had been answered.

On my sixth birthday my parents gave me a Book of Mormon with their testimonies written inside the front cover. They challenged me to read it before my eighth birthday and baptism. As part of my bedtime routine, I read the Book of Mormon every night. Sometimes I read it while driving around or at the beach. The more I read, the better I became at reading. When I was seven and a half years old, I finished the Book of Mormon. It strengthened my testimony, and I know that the Book of Mormon is true. I feel prepared for my baptism and am excited for it. I have started to read the Book of Mormon again.
Lana B., age 7, Hawaii, USA

In our home we have a Christmas tradition of decorating the house by the end of October or the beginning of November so that the spirit of Christmas comes sooner and remains longer. But in 1993 it certainly didn’t work this way.
In October I discovered I was pregnant. I already had two children—a four-year-old daughter and a two-year-old son—and we were experiencing a very difficult financial situation. “How will we support another baby?” I wondered. When the beginning-of-pregnancy nausea started, I found myself arguing with the Lord, complaining, murmuring, and failing to pray. I didn’t decorate the house as in other years. I didn’t want to remember the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. For me there wouldn’t be Christmas that year.
Every year my mother holds a special banquet on 25 December to bring the family together. But that year as I sat down at the table with everyone else, I couldn’t eat. Everything made me sick. I was so sad and filled with such bitterness that I hardly participated in the family conversations, and I soon returned home.
Some hours later my brother ran to my house to tell me my father was feeling sick. I hurried to my parents’ house and saw that my dad could hardly breathe; he had a tingling in his arm and a horrible pain in his chest. It was a heart attack! I urged my brother to take my father to the emergency room.
I went back home and asked my husband to pray that my father would not die. He told me I was the one who should pray. But I had not prayed for many, many days and felt Heavenly Father would not hear my prayer. Wisely, my husband told me it was time for me to ask His forgiveness.
I knelt, weeping bitterly. My father was dying on his way to the hospital, and I implored our Father in Heaven not to let him die that Christmas. In desperation I implored the Lord for forgiveness, and a voice whispered in my ear, “Read your patriarchal blessing!” How could I think about my patriarchal blessing at a time like this? But the prompting continued, strongly urging me to read the blessing.
I stood up, found a copy of my patriarchal blessing, and began to read it. And then something amazing happened. I realized that several times the blessing mentioned that I am a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father and of my earthly parents and that if I honor my parents on earth, He will prolong their lives, they will have the opportunity to see my children grow, and they will rejoice with me in our posterity.
As I read, an understanding came to me. My father hadn’t yet seen my unborn child, neither had he seen this child grow. He wouldn’t die at that moment, I realized. My blessing was my answer that day. I knelt once again, this time thanking our Father in Heaven for the very special child—my son Guilherme—I was carrying.
Sometimes we are so blind, so selfish! And Heavenly Father, in His kindness and love, allows us to learn and grow from our trials. I thank Him for each day He allows me to live with my family—with my three dear children, my husband, and my parents. I know that God lives, that Jesus Christ lives, and that They love me and have great patience with me.

I was 12 years old when my dad was called to serve as a mission president in Mexico. It was fun to be in a new country, but I was also sad to leave so many friends and family members, especially when Christmas came around.
In my homeland of Argentina, all of my extended family would gather together for Christmas, and I was sad that we wouldn’t get to be there. But I decided I was going to be open to creating new traditions and memories. After all, I love new adventures.
Because my sister and I were on Christmas holiday, we accompanied my parents on a tour of the mission. Seeing all the missionaries, I realized I wasn’t the only one who was going to be celebrating Christmas far away from home and family. That year, I learned that no matter where we are, the most important thing to do on Christmas is remember our Savior. The missionaries were dedicating their time to the Lord, and I thought that was one of the best things to be doing during this time of the year.
For the next three years, my family created new traditions, and my favorite one soon became spending Christmas Eve with the missionaries. We would sing and listen to Christmas songs while we made blankets to give to people in need. Our night was based on service and remembering Jesus Christ. I will never forget spending Christmas in Mexico and how close I felt to God.
Sofia S., Buenos Aires, Argentina

Stephen wanted to make such a counteroffer. He admitted to his bishop that he and his wife were not happy together and wondered if they should get a divorce. After assuring himself that there was no transgression requiring Church discipline, the bishop reminded Stephen of his covenants—that he had vowed in the temple not only to remain married for eternity but also to be a Christlike husband.

Stephen was unhappy with his bishop’s reaction. Saturated by conditional morality and self-absorption, Stephen tried to tell the bishop of his wife’s shortcomings and of his need to be happy. But the bishop simply challenged Stephen to spend the next twelve months living his covenants before considering the matter of divorce again.

The bishop did not do much counseling; he simply reminded Stephen of his solemn oath before God. Prompted by the Spirit, he plainly but kindly told his brother what was right and wrong. And fortunately, Stephen had retained enough integrity to recognize that he had made a covenant with the Lord—a covenant that he could not take lightly.

For twelve months Stephen honored his covenants, trying to treat his wife in a Christlike manner. Rather than worrying about whether she was alluring enough to make him happy, he concentrated on honoring his priesthood. At the end of the year, Stephen reported to the bishop that he had developed an appreciation and love for his wife that had far surpassed his expectations.

For Stephen, individual obedience led to blessings in his marital relationship. Repenting and submitting himself to such rigorous self-discipline was not convenient or easy. But as he grew in personal righteousness, he gained a healing peace that was far more tangible, complete, and enjoyable than the so-called “happiness” he had sought. And his long-suffering wife gained a loving companion who had learned to nurture rather than undermine her.

After learning of the deaths of the Prophet Joseph and the Patriarch Hyrum, Wilford Woodruff reports his meeting with Brigham Young, who was then the President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, as follows: “I met Brigham Young in the streets of Boston, he having just returned, opposite to Sister Voce’s house. We reached out our hands, but neither of us was able to speak a word. … After we had done weeping we began to converse. … In the course of the conversation, he [Brigham Young] smote his hand upon his thigh and said, ‘Thank God, the keys of the kingdom are here.’”

The Book of Mormon is of seminal importance. There will, of course, always be those who underestimate the significance of or even disparage this sacred book. Some have used humor. Before I served a mission, a university professor quoted Mark Twain’s statement that if you took “And it came to pass” out of the Book of Mormon, it “would have been only a pamphlet.”

A few months later, while I was serving a mission in London, England, a distinguished Oxford-educated teacher at London University, an Egyptian expert in Semitic languages, read the Book of Mormon, corresponded with President David O. McKay, and met with missionaries. He informed them he was convinced the Book of Mormon was indeed a translation of “the learning of the Jews and the language of the Egyptians” for the periods described in the Book of Mormon. One example among many he used was the conjunctive phrase “And it came to pass,” which he said mirrored how he would translate phraseology used in ancient Semitic writings. The professor was informed that while his intellectual approach based on his profession had helped him, it was still essential to have a spiritual testimony. Through study and prayer he gained a spiritual witness and was baptized. So what one famous humorist saw as an object of ridicule, a scholar recognized as profound evidence of the truth of the Book of Mormon, which was confirmed to him by the Spirit.

On one extremely cold Saturday night during the winter of 1983–84, Sister Monson and I drove several miles to the mountain valley of Midway, Utah, where we have a home. The temperature that night was minus 24 degrees Fahrenheit (–31°C), and we wanted to make certain all was well at our home there. We checked and found that it was fine, so we left to return to Salt Lake City. We barely made it [a] few miles … before our car stopped. … We were completely stranded. …
Reluctantly we began walking toward the nearest town, the cars whizzing past us. Finally one car stopped, and a young man offered to help. … This kind young man drove us back to our Midway home. I attempted to reimburse him … , but he … indicated that he was a Boy Scout and wanted to do a good turn. I identified myself to him, and he expressed his appreciation for the privilege to be of help. Assuming that he was about missionary age, I asked him if he had plans to serve a mission. He indicated he was not certain just what he wanted to do.
On the following Monday morning, I wrote a letter to this young man and thanked him for his kindness. In the letter I encouraged him to serve a full-time mission. …
About a week later the young man’s mother telephoned and advised that her son was an outstanding young man but that because of certain influences in his life, his long-held desire to serve a mission had diminished. She indicated she and his father had fasted and prayed that his heart would be changed. … [She] wanted me to know that she looked upon the events of that cold evening as an answer to their prayers in his behalf. I said, “I agree with you.”
After several months and more communication with this young man, Sister Monson and I were overjoyed to attend his missionary farewell prior to his departure for the Canada Vancouver Mission.
Was it chance that our paths crossed on that cold December night? I do not for one moment believe so. Rather, I believe our meeting was an answer to a mother’s and father’s heartfelt prayers for the son they cherished.

On a visit to London, Stephens first stumbled over his future in the form of Descriptions of an Ancient City, by a Capitán Del Rio, who had visited a strange, ruined city in Mexico called Palenque. He later learned of a second lost Mexican city, Uxmal. In 1835, he eagerly pounced upon a professional journal describing a ruined Honduran city, Copan.
Palenque, Copan, Uxmal. His mind now stirred with visions of nebulous civilization that had existed in Central America. Amazingly enough, he seemed the only one interested. “Instead of electrifying the public,” he wrote, “little notice was taken [of the Copan article].” Nonetheless, he announced his intention to search for those lost cities.
“Nonsense!” roared scientists and public alike. Indians had never progressed beyond savagery. Americans of that age could believe in almost anything other than an “Indian” civilization, in spite of evidence from the conquest. Such proofs were either ignored or downgraded as Spanish public-relations puffery. Scholars and historians held fast to their antiquated beliefs and scorned Stephens’ efforts.
There was, in truth, little documentary evidence to counter what scholars supposed. Joseph Smith’s detractors would vilify him for plagiarism, for example, when there was nothing to plagiarize. Even in 1839, the very well-educated—and rich—Mr. Stephens had great difficulty scraping up any real evidence of an ancient American culture. His meager references were poor in detail. And in Joseph Smith’s time, records were even poorer—or nonexistent.
This dearth of information made even the irrepressible Stephens a bit skeptical, but he had high hopes. In company with a kindred spirit—and accomplished artist—Frederic Catherwood, he set sail for Central America.
Their first goal, Copan, was a sickly village of mud-walled huts. But discovery loomed near. A native guide led them through the jungle to a riverbank. Opposite reared a hundred-foot-high stone wall—the edge of ancient Copan and of a new era in history. Quickly crossing the river and scaling the wall, they found themselves amid the fallen relics of a forgotten civilization.
“Working our way through the thick woods,” Stephens wrote. “we came upon a square stone column, about fourteen feet high … sculptured on all four … sides … in very bold relief … they were works of art … some equal to the finest monuments of the Egyptians.
“America [said historians of the 1830’s] was peopled by savages; but savages never built these structures, savages never carved these stones. When we asked the Indians if they knew who made them, their dull answer was ‘Quién sabe? [Who knows?]’”
The scholars and historians of the Western world could not have answered any better. Copan—and the Mayas—surged to their lofty level of art and culture while Europe descended into the gloom of the dark ages. They conquered the jungles and strung their cities through Yucatan like sparkling gems on a jeweled collar. But for the Old World, their deeds and histories were as quiet as the silent jungle they lived in.
Sometime before A.D. 900, however, the Mayas abruptly and mysteriously stepped off the stage of history. For a thousand years, Copan lay buried by the thick, heavy Honduran jungle until disturbed in 1839 by Stephens and Catherwood.
The pair could not see it all—the jungle was too thick. They concentrated on the unburied “idols,” or stelae. These were huge, thirty-ton monoliths carved with an incredible profusion of figures, flowers, and animals. Erected on set dates to commemorate events unknown to us, they climaxed the Mayan genius.
In a two-year journey, Stephens and Catherwood discovered and rediscovered Copan, Palenque, Uxmal, Chichén Itzá, and forty other ruined Mayan sites. The mystery deepened, and Stephens’ reactions were rhapsodic. At Palenque, he said:
“Here were the remains of a cultivated, polished, and peculiar people, who had passed through all the stages of the rise and fall of nations; reached their golden age, and perished entirely unknown. The links which connected them with the human family were severed and lost, and these were the only memorials of their footsteps upon earth … In the romance of the world’s history, nothing ever impressed me more forcibly than the spectacle of this once great and lovely city, overturned, desolate, and lost; discovered by accident, overgrown with trees for miles around, and without even a name to distinguish it.”
The dedication of the two explorers in uncovering these mysteries baffles the modern mind. In an age when gentlemen stayed at home, these two suffered hunger, malaria, myriads of insect attacks, extreme physical discomfort, and near brushes with death. To accomplish what?
History judges Stephens among the great. His contribution is rated equal to Jean Francois Champollion (1790–1832), French Egyptologist who discovered a stone that had writing in three languages. From the stone, he was able to decipher ancient Egyptian writing; or to Heinrich Schliemann (1822–1890), German archeologist, who excavated the city of Troy in Anatolia, proving this legendary Greek city actually existed.
From our point of view. Stephens’ importance is momentous: John Lloyd Stephens and Joseph Smith never met, but the Book of Mormon’s cry in the wilderness was now reinforced as Stephens’ physical testimony of Lehi’s people swept over the world.

This year marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of John Rowe Moyle. John was a convert to the Church who left his home in England and traveled to the Salt Lake Valley as part of a handcart company. He built a home for his family in a small town a valley away from Salt Lake City. John was an accomplished stonecutter and, because of this skill, was asked to work on the Salt Lake Temple.
Every Monday John left home at two o’clock in the morning and walked six hours in order to be at his post on time. On Friday he would leave his work at five o’clock in the evening and walk almost until midnight before arriving home. He did this year after year.
One day, while he was doing his chores at home, a cow kicked him in the leg, causing a compound fracture. With limited medical resources, the only option was to amputate the broken leg. So John’s family and friends strapped him onto a door and, with a bucksaw, cut off his leg a few inches from the knee.
In spite of the crude surgery, the leg started to heal. Once John could sit up in bed, he began carving a wooden leg with an ingenious joint that served as an ankle to an artificial foot. Walking on this device was extremely painful, but John did not give up, building up his endurance until he could make the 22-mile (35-km) journey to the Salt Lake Temple each week, where he continued his work.
His hands carved the words “Holiness to the Lord” that stand today as a golden marker to all who visit the Salt Lake Temple.
John did not do this for the praise of man. Neither did he shirk his duty, even though he had every reason to do so. He knew what the Lord expected him to do.
Years later, John’s grandson Henry D. Moyle was called as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve and, eventually, served in the First Presidency of the Church. President Moyle’s service in these callings was honorable, but his grandfather John’s service, though somewhat less public, is just as pleasing to the Lord. John’s character, his legacy of sacrifice, serves as a banner of faithfulness and an ensign of duty to his family and to the Church. John Rowe Moyle understood the meaning of “lift where you stand.”

In the final years of young Brother Uchtdorf’s high level training as a pilot, he was flying solo with an instructor “on his wing” in another aircraft, directing his maneuvers and giving instruction. In one particular maneuver he was to represent an emergency landing by making an abrupt approach to the runway, requiring a sharp, steep embankment of the airplane before leveling out just in time to land. As young Dieter made the maneuver and attempted his steep, angular descent, the steering control of his airplane did not respond. He had, in airplane parlance, a “stuck stick.” The result would be a continuing roll of the airplane, leading to a crash landing upside down. “Bail out!” the instructor called. “Bail out!” But the man with “the courage of a bull,” as one of his Brethren described him, reversed the stick away from the extremity he had put it in and tried again to land. Once again the mechanism froze. “Bail out,” the stern command came again, this time with genuine concern in the instructor’s voice.

Determined that he be in charge of the aircraft, not the other way around, this future Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ wrestled physically with the steering, somehow breaking it free of the earlier resistance, made his sharp descent as prescribed in what was now not an imagined but very real emergency landing, and walked away grateful for divine help in times of need. “Man könnte sich darüber ärgern, aber man ist nicht verpflichtet dazu.” Such will be Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf’s determined and faithful service to the holy apostleship he now holds. He will give his all for the Lord Jesus Christ, His gospel, and His Church. In doing so he will lead untold legions of others on to new horizons.

To get ready for the Primary program, I learned the songs and memorized my part. But when it was my turn to speak into the microphone, I was scared by all of the people watching me. My Primary teachers tried to help me, but I was still too scared to say anything. Then my dad came up and held my hand. I didn’t feel scared anymore, and I said my part just right. That must be like how Heavenly Father helps all of us.

One reader who was having a similar dilemma wrote to us: “Many of my friends were involved in alcohol and drugs. I wasn’t doing these things with them, but I knew I was putting myself in Satan’s path. It was very difficult to change friends, but I made myself very busy with church activities and went out with my friends from church on the weekends. When I did this, I didn’t have time to be in the wrong places with my other friends. I also spent a great deal of time praying and reading the scriptures so I could receive help, guidance, and strength from my Heavenly Father.
“It is still hard for me to hear my old friends say that I must not like them or that they must not be good enough for me, but through fasting and prayer the Lord has blessed me with the strength to handle this. The change was slow and even painful at times, but I don’t feel I have offended anyone, and my life has been richly blessed because of the choice I made.”

Two decades have now passed since we joined the Church, and we have been blessed in many ways. Two more children were born into our family. The year 1996 was especially wonderful. Luciano went on a mission to Italy, and our eldest grandson was baptized. And if that was not enough, Heavenly Father touched my husband’s heart concerning the Church. In December 1999 our family was sealed in the Sydney Australia Temple.