Gospel Story Finder

Nearly one year ago, our daughter Alisa died. She had struggled with cancer for almost eight years, with several surgeries, many different treatments, exciting miracles, and deep disappointments. We watched her physical condition deteriorate as she came to the close of her mortal life. It was excruciating to see that happen to our precious daughter—that bright-eyed little baby who had grown up to be a talented, wonderful woman, wife, and mother. I thought my heart would break.
Last year at Easter time, a little over a month before she passed away, Alisa wrote: “Easter is a reminder of all that I hope for myself. That someday I will be healed and someday I will be whole. Someday I won’t have any metal or plastic inside of me. Someday my heart will be free of fear and my mind free of anxieties. I am not praying that this happens soon, but I am so glad I truly believe in a beautiful afterlife.”
Each of us has physical, mental, and emotional limitations and weaknesses. These challenges, some of which seem so intractable now, will eventually be resolved. None of these problems will plague us after we are resurrected. Alisa researched survival rates for persons with the type of cancer she had, and the numbers were not encouraging. She wrote: “But there is a cure, so I’m not scared. Jesus has already cured my cancer, and yours. … I will be better. I’m glad I know this.”
I long to see my mother again and feel her gentle touch and look into her loving eyes. I want to see my father’s smile and hear his laugh and see him as a resurrected, perfect being. With an eye of faith, I picture Alisa completely beyond the reach of any earthly troubles or any sting of death—a resurrected, perfected Alisa, victorious and with a fulness of joy.
A few Easters ago, she wrote simply: “Life through His name. So much hope. Always. Through everything. I love Easter to remind me.”

Reader E: When people are different from me, sometimes I don’t know how to react. When I was a child, mama used to tell me not to stare or point at people who were different. And when I grew older, if I saw someone coming toward me who had a limp, or no arm, or a purple scar or whatever, I’d look the other way. Or if I had to be close to someone who talked funny or was really old, I’d look at him and smile nervously, because that seemed to be the sophisticated thing to do. But I wouldn’t know what to say. So I’d just smile and feel dumb. Then one time, when I was serving as Laurel class president, a new family moved into the ward. They had a daughter my age, Cheri. Cheri was in a wheelchair. She’d been in a car accident and had brain damage. She wasn’t intellectually retarded, but she couldn’t talk like everyone else. When she first came to our Mutual class, I was real big about it. I practically shouted at her to make sure she understood, [loud and enunciating] “We sure are glad to have you here.” Then she answered back with what looked like a smile, and struggling for each word:
Reader C: “I … am not … deaf … or … or … dumb.”
Reader E: She kind of nodded and smiled again. And I smiled back. But I still didn’t know how to treat her or how to talk to her. A couple of weeks later, I was having a party at my house. I invited all the girls from my Laurel class, except Cheri. I didn’t invite her because I was embarrassed, I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do with a girl in a wheelchair at my party. She’d probably need a nurse I thought, or else we’d all sit around feeling sorry for her and I’d be embarrassed in front of my friends. I don’t think she ever found out she’d been left out, but when I saw Cheri the next Sunday, I smiled extra big to make up for it. Then it happened. Testimony meeting came. I saw Cheri’s mother get the microphone from the deacon. Then she handed it to Cheri whose wheelchair was in the aisle. For a moment I thought, “How can Cheri do that? Isn’t she embarrassed for herself because she can’t talk well? Won’t the whole congregation be uncomfortable for her?” Then Cheri started to talk. I felt nervous. But I listened as she spoke:
Reader C: “And … I … am … thankful … for the … kids … in Mutual. … I … was … afraid … they … would not … accept … me. But they … are … my friends.”
Reader E: I felt guilty. Because I’d been nice to Cheri, but I hadn’t really been her friend. Cheri went on to tell a little about her accident and how hard it was to change her way of life, but that Heavenly Father had blessed her with strength and she had grown to know herself. I began to imagine myself in Cheri’s place, how I would feel, how I would cope. I began to understand her. And the funny thing is, when I understood, I wasn’t embarrassed. When I understood, I wasn’t afraid.

Revelation comes on the Lord’s timetable, which often means we must move forward in faith, even though we haven’t received all the answers we desire. As a General Authority, I was assigned to help reorganize a stake presidency under the direction of Elder Ezra Taft Benson. After praying, interviewing, studying, and praying again, Elder Benson asked if I knew who the new president would be. I said I had not received that inspiration yet. He looked at me for a long time and replied he hadn’t either. However, we were inspired to ask three worthy priesthood holders to speak in the Saturday evening session of conference. Moments after the third speaker began, the Spirit prompted me that he should be the new stake president. I looked over at President Benson and saw tears streaming down his face. Revelation had been given to both of us—but only by continuing to seek our Heavenly Father’s will as we moved forward in faith.

When I told my bishop about my pregnancy, he was so helpful. It was a blessing to meet with him regularly. As I talked with him about my options for the baby, he wanted me to know that he was there to represent the Lord in my repentance process but would not tell me what decision to make about raising or placing my baby. As we were studying Doctrine and Covenants 9:8–9, my bishop asked me to pray and tell Heavenly Father what I really wanted—he encouraged me to make a decision and seek confirmation from the Lord.
So I went home and prayed. I told Heavenly Father all the amazing reasons why I would be the best mom for this baby, and I asked to know if that decision was right. The next day, everything in life felt like it was falling apart. For instance, I lost my medical insurance, and my car broke down.
At church the following Sunday, I told my bishop how life seemed to fall apart after I prayed about my decision. Because of what had happened after my prayer, my bishop suggested that I consider a different decision and seek confirmation about it instead.
While working with my bishop, I had considered placing the baby for adoption and had narrowed down the potential adoptive families to two couples. The bishop suggested that I select one of the two couples and pray about that decision to ask if this little guy needed to go with them.
I went home and reluctantly prayed, asking Heavenly Father if the couple I had chosen were the ones my child needed. The next morning, a connection my sister made led to a miracle solution for my insurance. I felt this was a confirmation that adoption was the right path for me, and I remember thinking this child could have so much more with a different family.
I knew that Heavenly Father would help me with this decision. Part of me hoped this choice would be like the story of Abraham and Isaac (see Genesis 22)—that when it came time for me to place my son for adoption, God would tell me I didn’t need to do it anymore. But He didn’t. I needed to place my son with a wonderful family.

As I stood at the base looking up at this immense piece of stone, my mind wandered back in time to the first century A.D. when this land of the Jews was known as Judea and was one of the provinces of Rome. It was at this time, around A.D. 66, that the Jews started a revolt that was to become known as the Great Jewish War against Rome. After bloodshed and fighting that continued for five years, the Romans believed the end had finally come when they took over Jerusalem and destroyed the Jewish temple, the people’s holiest shrine. Thousands of Jews were either slaughtered or taken captive; but a few managed to escape. Eleazar Ben-Ya’ir was the leader of these few, and they were known as Zealots. They had escaped to this remote spot in the desert called Masada. It was the story of these men, women, and children that filled my mind as I looked up at their rock fortress, Masada.

As I began to wander through the remains of the fortress, I could feel the quiet dignity that seems to accompany it. I was surprised to find palaces and elaborate baths but learned that before this Jewish war, Masada was a Roman garrison where Herod the Great had built a fortress in fear that the Jewish people would dispose of him and also in fear of Cleopatra, the queen of Egypt. Herod strengthened and fortified Masada into a mighty stronghold able to withstand a long siege. Ironically Herod never occupied the fortress, and it came to serve the very people he had built it to protect himself from.

The story of Masada gradually seemed to come alive as I walked through the magnificent palaces, Roman baths, storerooms, and water cisterns. The Jews had taken over Masada early in the revolt and were holding it. Not long after the destruction of Jerusalem, the Romans turned their thoughts to the rebels who were still holding out in Masada. They were an embarrassment to the great Roman empire and had to be taken care of. Rome sent out possibly as many as 20,000 soldiers and prisoners of war to lay siege on them, a small group of 967.

Looking down from on top of the cliff, I could still see the clearly visible remains of the Roman camps circling around me and could imagine the feeling of the Zealots after months of being surrounded. The Romans built a siege wall and camps all about, but with the help of their supplies and water cisterns, the Zealots withstood the siege for two years. Then came the tragic fall of Masada.

I walked slowly beside the outer wall of the fortress as what I knew of the fateful day came to my memory. The lonely wailing of the wind around me seemed to cry from the dust. I looked over the edge of the cliff to where the Romans had built a ramp and had finally broken through the outer wall surrounding the fortress. The defenders had quickly improvised an inner wall that could withstand the battering ram, but the Romans soon flung fiery arrows onto the wall, and the wooden staves began to burn. A gust of wind came up behind me as I was remembering that moment. The Jewish rebels too had been surprised by this strange, lonely wind. Just at the moment their wall was about to be burned, the wind suddenly changed direction and blew the flames into the faces of the Romans. The defenders of Masada thought they had been delivered, but just as suddenly as before, the wind changed back and the fire continued its destruction of their wall. The Romans descended from the ramp and returned to camp to prepare for the dawn when they would finally conquer Masada. The power of their numbers assured them of victory over their enemies, the rebel Jews.

Eleazar, the rebel leader who had lived so long on top of the mountain in spite of the thousands of soldiers Rome sent against him, faced the defeat that would come with the rising sun. He called together all of his followers and in a powerful, moving speech cried to them to choose death rather than surrender to the slavery that would follow defeat. These are the words he spoke that night on the top of Masada, with the blaze of the burning wall behind him and his enemies waiting below for the dawn to come:

“My loyal followers, long ago we resolved to serve neither Romans nor anyone else but only God, who alone is the true and righteous Lord of men: now the time has come that bids us prove our determination by our deeds. At such a time we must not disgrace ourselves: hitherto we have never submitted to slavery, even when it brought no danger with it: we must not choose slavery now, and with it penalties that will mean the end of everything if we fall alive into the hands of the Romans. For we were the first of all to revolt, and shall be the last to break off the struggle. And I think it is God who has given us this privilege, that we can die nobly and as free men, unlike others who were unexpectedly defeated. In our case it is evident the day-break will end our resistance, but we are free to choose an honourable death with our loved ones. This our enemies cannot prevent, however earnestly they pray to take us alive; nor can we defeat them in battle.

“Let our wives die unabused, our children without knowledge of slavery: after that, let us do each other an ungrudging kindness, preserving our freedom as a glorious winding-sheet. But first let our possessions and the whole fortress go up in flames: it will be a bitter blow to the Romans, that I know, to find our persons beyond their reach and nothing left for them to loot. One thing only let us spare—our store of food: it will bear witness when we are dead to the fact that we perished, not through want but because, as we resolved, we chose death rather than slavery.

“If only we had all died before seeing the Sacred City utterly destroyed by enemy hands, the Holy Sanctuary so impiously uprooted! But since an honourable ambition deluded us into thinking that perhaps we should succeed in avenging her of her enemies, and now all hope has fled, abandoning us to our fate, let us at once choose death with honour and do the kindest thing we can for ourselves, our wives and children, while it is still possible to show ourselves any kindness. After all we were born to die, we and those we brought into the world: this even the luckiest must face. But outrage, slavery, and the sight of our wives led away to shame with our children—these are not evils to which man is subject by the laws of nature: men undergo them through their own cowardice if they have a chance to forestall them by death and will not take it. We are very proud of our courage, so we revolted from Rome: now in the final stages they have offered to spare our lives and we have turned the offer down. Is anyone too blind to see how furious they will be if they take us alive? Pity the young whose bodies are strong enough to survive prolonged torture; pity the not-so-young whose old frames would break under such ill-usage. A man will see his wife violently carried off; he will hear the voice of his child crying ‘Daddy!’ when his own hands are fettered. Come! While our hands are free and can hold a sword, let them do a noble service! Let us die unenslaved by our enemies, and leave this world as free men in company with our wives and children.” (Flavius Josephus, “Wars of the Jews,” The Works of Flavius Josephus, book VII.)

The defenders first slew their own wives and their children, then drew lots, leaving ten to execute the rest of the men. Each man went near the place where his family lay and willingly waited for the ten to carry out their job. Finally lots were cast for one of the ten to execute the other nine, leaving only one man to examine the masses of bodies to see if any needed his hand, then set fire to the royal palace. Then this one man, very much alone, with all the strength he had left, drove his own sword into his body and fell dead beside his friends.

On the dawn of the next morning, the Romans reached the top as the sun was rising over the quiet waters of the Dead Sea. They found the fortress destroyed, with only the faint crackling of fire, the smell of ashes in the air, and the bodies of nearly a thousand men, women, and children. Surely they must have asked themselves, “Who are the victors here?” It was an empty victory.

Although the defenders all died believing that none remained, two women and five children were found hiding in a water cistern. They lived to tell the story to the Romans.

Masada is a universal symbol of dedication to a cause. It symbolizes men, women, and children who chose death rather than slavery. It is a heritage that its defenders have handed down from generation to generation. It would be unwise to suppose that all the qualities of the defenders of Masada were to be admired or that what they chose to do was the only solution, but they were surely a people of great strength and courage, and that is important for us to know.

When I was camping with my dad, we shared a moment I’ll never forget. We hiked up the side of a mountain late one night and found a spot to sit together. As we looked across the night sky, we were surrounded by the most brilliant stars I’d ever seen. We sat together for a long time, naming planets and constellations one by one.
Looking out at the universe in front of me, I felt pretty small and unimportant. I couldn’t even imagine how many other planets are out there—“worlds without end,” right? What was I compared to all that?
I asked my dad if there was other life out there in the universe, already feeling overwhelmed at the thought. He must have read my thoughts, because he simply said: “Here’s what I know. Heavenly Father has a lot of creations, as you can see. But of all His creations, He loves you individually.
“He sees everything you go through and wants more than anything to be a part of your life. He wants to bring you joy and help you get back to live with Him forever.”
I still felt small under the huge night sky, but I believed my dad’s testimony. I mattered to Heavenly Father. And He wanted to be in my life.

On June 27, 1844, shortly after 5:00 P.M., a mob rushed up the jail stairs to the room where the prisoners were being held. The culprits tried to break through the door, but were unable to. Shooting through the door, they hit Hyrum, who fell, saying, “I am a dead man.”

Joseph went to the window where he was shot twice from inside the building and twice more from outside. He fell out of the window to the ground and died. John Taylor was shot four times and lay under a bed, severely wounded. Willard Richards was not injured during the shooting.

How can we develop a good attitude of cooperation? One wise stake president counseled priesthood and Relief Society leaders to determine their actions by asking, “What would the Savior do?” rather than “What has been done before?” With this idea in mind, ward leaders examined their “policies” in working together. Several ward “traditions” came under examination—the first, when the ward budget was presented for approval to the men in priesthood meeting, but not to the women in Relief Society.
“Would the Savior do that?” priesthood leaders wondered. They decided that he wouldn’t, and then they consulted the General Handbook of Instructions, which indicates that proposed budgets should be discussed with all ward members in a special meeting. That tradition was changed, and the sisters in the ward are much more supportive of ward activities now that they are included in the planning.

My sister has Down syndrome. I try to help her and love her. One thing that helps me spend even more quality time with her is reading the New Era with her. We have lots of fun reading the articles, and she points out her favorite pictures. She sees things in them that I had never seen before. I love my sister, and I love the New Era. Thank you for the time and effort that is put into every wonderful issue.Kalia Robinson, Aurora Ward, Springfield Missouri Stake

I received my subscription to the New Era last year as a surprise Christmas present from a very dear ex-bishop, and I can never thank him enough. So many articles touch my heart so deeply. I just finished reading the June issue, and the question and answer section was so beautiful that I cried the whole way through. A temple marriage is very important to me, and I have a sincere testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. I plan on following my ex-bishop’s example and enriching my friends and relatives’ lives by sending them a subscription to the New Era.
Sharon GlinesOgden, Utah

Kandace Lim, age 18, of the Woodlands Ward helped by taking multiple roles, including being a member of the costume committee, the choreography committee, the photography committee, and also by singing a solo. About her many responsibilities, she said, “It was my mum who inspired me to take on these assignments. She taught me that if there’s a chance to serve, just go for it. If you accept the task and put in your best effort, the Lord will definitely help you get through any difficulties you might face.”

Since I was baptized I have tried to participate in missionary work. Today I am serving full time in the Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission. I am grateful for the privilege I have had of sharing the gospel with many people. The counsel of the Lord’s inspired servants has always helped my companions and me in this work.
I am grateful for everything we receive from the Lord through the living prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley. I was very touched to read his words in the April 1999 L’Ètoile (French) on the essence of missionary service (see “Words of the Living Prophet,” Liahona, April 1999, 19). I am grateful for these inspired words, for they have helped me understand many things about the work we are engaged in.
Elder Timothèe Buanga,Democratic Republic of Congo Kinshasa Mission

I wasn’t expecting a letter from my dad. I was away at college, just trying to keep up with my studies, when it arrived. It wasn’t my birthday or any other special occasion, so I thought the envelope just held some insurance information or some other document I had forgotten at home.
Instead, when I opened the letter, I found a short, three-paragraph note from my dad. He had written it during his free time on one of his business trips. It was his way of showing his love, but the words he shared also taught me a valuable truth I have never forgotten.
Dad told me a little about his trip. He also mentioned how he appreciated me. It made me feel so special that I had been on my father’s mind during his busy days of travel and work.
Then, in the last few lines, he wrote these simple words: “I am really excited to be going home to be with your mother. I haven’t seen her since Tuesday, and I miss her. She makes me better when I am around her. I hope the person you choose to marry makes you that way.”
My throat tightened and I got teary-eyed as I read this. I was so grateful for my dad’s love and appreciation for my mom. Their marriage has been the best example I could have on dating and relationships. I also was glad for dad’s subtle advice to me to associate with young men who help me to be a better person. It was a great reminder to me of what I really should be looking for and focusing on in my relationships.

When my father left for the war, I was almost seven years old. I couldn’t understand why he went—it had something to do with slaves. I thought about him a lot, mostly at night when the fire crackled on the hearth. Mother would sit in her chair, mending or knitting. We didn’t talk much in the evenings, but I knew she was thinking about him too.
Sometimes I tried to remember what he looked like. I knew he had black hair and strong, thick eyebrows, but maybe that’s because of his picture on the mantel. One thing I remembered for sure was picking plums together.
The meadow had high grass and as soon as we reached the trees, he’d swing me up onto his shoulders. When I think about it really hard, I can still feel his strong hands clasped around my ankles, balancing me. He never dropped me, and I felt safe and really tall up there.
“Pick the juicy ones, Tyler,” he’d laugh. “Make sure they’re firm.”
I’d stretch higher with one hand on his head, jiggling. I’d grab a plum, pull, and then throw it down into mother’s outstretched apron. She’d catch it and laugh. Those were happy times.
Now, after four years, a father I could barely remember was coming home.
It was a bright, sunny morning and I knelt on the soft brown dirt, thinning carrots. Mother was at the washtub behind the house. I pulled a carrot from the ground and drew it through my hand, rubbing off the loose soil. Then I plopped it into a willow basket beside me. Beads of sweat rolled down my face, so I paused to push back my hair.
I glanced once toward the road … then looked again. Can it be my imagination? I wondered. Nowadays hardly anyone comes along our road. I cautiously picked up the basket and, without taking my eyes off the road, headed for the house.
“Mother,” I said quietly. “Someone is coming.” I placed the basket on the bench by the table and nodded toward the road.
She swept her hand across her forehead and placed the other on my shoulder. As the figure drew nearer, she shielded her eyes and squinted into the sun. “Tyler,” she said, “get the rifle.”
I ran into the other room and lifted the rifle down from its place over the fireplace. Mother removed her apron and smoothed her hair. Carefully, I loaded the gun while she went to the window.
“It could be friend or foe,” she said quietly. “These are hard times. Show the rifle, Tyler, but don’t shoot unless need be.”
We walked to the door and my hands began to sweat against the wooden stock of the rifle. I wiped them on my trousers as we stepped out onto the porch. Whoever it was walked with the aid of crutches, and one pant leg was pinned up.
“He’s crippled,” Mother whispered. “Still, be on your guard.”
My heart pounded wildly. The cripple hobbled closer and at last paused at our gate. He stood panting with his head down, and his tattered blue uniform heaved with every gasp for air. Slowly Mother and I walked toward the gate. As we did so, the man raised his head. Tears were streaming down his dust-covered cheeks, and a weary smile lighted his face.
Mother suddenly gasped, then, with a deep sob, she rushed into the man’s outstretched arms. He rocked back and forth on the crutches as they swayed in a close embrace. My mouth dropped open and my grip relaxed as I lowered the heavy rifle to arm’s length.
Mother turned toward me and held out an arm. “Come, Tyler, your father’s home.”
Later that night Father sat in the chair by the fireplace, and Mother sat on a stool near his side. I curled up against the side of the mantelpiece, where I watched him from the shadows. Father’s hair was sprinkled with streaks of silver, and his face was like the rest of him—thin and shrunken. I couldn’t imagine how he had ever been able to swing me up onto his shoulders. And though I am ashamed to admit it, I almost wished he hadn’t come back. I excused myself early and left them to each other.
The following day I went about my usual chores. How can someone have changed so much! I wondered incredulously. Mother and I have gotten along well without him. Now he’s back with crutches and shoulders that droop like an old man’s. I kicked at a clump of dirt and looked up to see him swinging toward me across the grass. He was smiling, palely, weakly.
“Morning, Tyler,” he called.
“Morning, sir,” I mumbled.
He took a deep breath. “You’ve done well,” he said and nodded approval as he surveyed the plot with a sweeping glance. “Now that I’m home, we can grow more.”
I glanced up at him with blazing eyes. A one-legged planter! I thought.
He smiled as he eased himself down onto a fallen log. “Come on, son, sit here. Let’s talk. You and your mother have had a rough time while I was gone. For that, I’m sorry, son,” he began quietly. “Perhaps you don’t understand why I had to leave, but sometimes you have to stand up for what you know is right. Sometimes you have to fight. A lot of men lost their lives; I only lost a leg.” He patted the stump of his leg. “I was lucky. And I’m home now, Tyler. Can’t we be as we were?”
“I don’t even know you anymore!” I replied harshly. “Why did you leave us?”
“To fight for freedom, Tyler.”
“We were free!” I insisted.
“Only when all are free can any be. There were slaves, Tyler—whole families who were owned by other people. No one has the right to own another person. God made us all free, and if we don’t stand up for our brother’s freedom, how can we ever expect him to stand up for ours?”
“You’re not much good at standing now!” I lashed out. Then I saw the hurt in his eyes. I was sorry I had spoken so quickly and without feeling. “Father,” I began.
But he touched my arm and smiled. “It’s all right, Tyler. I know you resent how I look and what I’ve become. It was hard coming home like this, but I am your father and I love you very much. Please try to see beyond what I lack and look instead at what I want to be.”
My chin quivered and I turned abruptly to bury my face in his shoulder. “I do love you, Father,” I sobbed. “And I’m glad you’ve come home.”
“I’m glad too, Tyler. I was away a long time. But my love never changed,” he said.
We sat quietly talking, then Mother called, and he reached for his crutches.
“Here, Father,” I offered, “let me help you.”

Jude comes from a family of ten children. Two of his siblings have passed on and he was able to submit their names via FamilySearch and take part in performing their proxy baptisms, as well as for many others, in the Preston England Temple on 16 January 2025. He relates his experience:
“I must say I was overwhelmed with excitement at the thought of visiting the temple and the excitement continued upon my arrival. Aside from the welcoming ambience, the inside was heavenly, with workers in completely white suits and a warm smile welcoming you into the temple. I felt a bit out of place with my coloured suit. But on getting into the baptistry, clothed in a completely white suit, I felt the presence of the Holy Ghost. I knew instantly: “This is truly a house of God. This is where I’ve always wanted to be.” I felt a greater peace like I’ve never felt before. It was like I was home again.
Performing my first baptism was an experience I would never forget in my entire life. I think I wasn’t too sure of myself or something, but as I went on, I felt this unusual boldness within and I carried on and didn’t feel like stopping one bit. I was a bit reluctant to leave. I believe that was the power of God working within, and not me.
To be honest, I’m lacking the right words to express my feelings and the miracle I received. It’s just amazing what one can do when you’ve got the Spirit of God within you. When you feel its presence it’s just wonderful. I’m already planning on going back to the temple for a week. I felt I didn’t get enough in just a day or few hours. And I can confidently say that God dwells in our hearts, just as in the temple.”

Young Women in the Shoreline Ward, Richland Washington Stake, found an unusual way to learn about genealogy research. They pieced together a history of a six-day-old baby that had been buried in their city’s cemetery in 1909.
Not much was known about the baby’s family, and the grave didn’t have a headstone. Starting with the name “Baby Boy Lair” and a few fragments of information about the baby’s life, the girls and their adviser, Maureen Hales, found living family members (a nephew and his children and grandchildren), got information for a small headstone, and made arrangements for a short graveside service. The service was open to the public and all the youth in the stake were invited. The youth say that doing the project has changed their ideas about doing genealogy.
“At first, the baby seemed like a story from a book. Finding some of the details about the baby’s family and learning about his short life made it more realistic. There were no pictures of the baby, and I wonder what he looked like,” says Laurel Mindy Lee. “I’m now working on learning about my own ancestors, especially my great-grandmother.”

Paul Ewing, 11, ignored his own broken leg to swim to the aid of an unconscious man after a boating accident.
Paul, of Phelan, California, was boating with his father and friend when they collided with another boat. The two men were injured and semiconscious. Even though Paul had a broken leg, he heard calls for help from the other boat. He dove into the water and started to swim to the drowning man.
Paul’s father revived and, seeing his son in the water, thought he was injured and swam to assist his son. Paul pointed out the drowning man to his father before swimming back to his own boat while his father pulled the unconscious man to safety. All four were taken to the hospital.
Paul was awarded the Honor Medal for Lifesaving from the Boy Scouts of America. This honor is considered the highest award given in Scouting.
Paul is a member of the Phelan Ward, Victoria California Stake.

When I was 15 or 16, I was deeply self-absorbed and, like many of us in our adolescence, unsettled, uncertain, and vulnerable. I felt lost, self-conscious, and awkward. It didn’t help that my parents lived far away in Saudi Arabia while I was at boarding school on a desolate bit of coast in England. In terms of the school, Hogwarts with Snape would have been more welcoming.
Bad weather was common along that coast, but one winter a particularly formidable storm blew in across the Irish Sea with hurricane-force winds. Around 5,000 homes were flooded, food was running out, and people were left cut off without electricity or any means of heating and lighting their homes.
As the flood started to subside, we were dispatched by the school to help with cleaning up. I was astonished to experience such a natural disaster close up. Water and mud were everywhere. The faces of those whose homes had been flooded were ashen and gaunt. They hadn’t slept in days. My fellow schoolboys and I went to work, moving waterlogged belongings to upper floors and pulling up ruined carpet.
But what struck me most was the camaraderie that developed. There was just a wonderful, good-natured feeling among people united in a worthy cause under challenging circumstances. I later reflected that all those insecure feelings that usually consumed my teenage thoughts left while I was involved in this great effort to assist our neighbors.
The discovery that helping others was the antidote to my gloomy, self-obsessed state should have been transforming. But it wasn’t, because the discovery didn’t sink deep enough, and I failed to reflect more thoughtfully on what had taken place. That understanding came later.

Six months ago at the April general conference, I was excused from speaking as I was convalescing from a serious operation. My life has been spared, and I now have the pleasant opportunity of acknowledging the blessings, comfort, and ready aid of my Brethren in the First Presidency and Quorum of the Twelve and other wonderful associates and friends to whom I owe so much and who surrounded my dear wife, Ruby, and my family with their time, attention, and prayers. …
The evening of my health crisis, I knew something very serious had happened to me. Events happened so swiftly—the pain striking with such intensity, my dear Ruby phoning the doctor and our family, and I on my knees leaning over the bathtub for support and some comfort and hoped relief from the pain. I was pleading to my Heavenly Father to spare my life a while longer to give me a little more time to do His work, if it was His will.
While still praying, I began to lose consciousness. The siren of the paramedic truck was the last that I remembered before unconsciousness overtook me, which would last for the next several days.
The terrible pain and commotion of people ceased. I was now in a calm, peaceful setting; all was serene and quiet. I was conscious of two persons in the distance on a hillside, one standing on a higher level than the other. Detailed features were not discernible. The person on the higher level was pointing to something I could not see.
I heard no voices but was conscious of being in a holy presence and atmosphere. During the hours and days that followed, there was impressed again and again upon my mind the eternal mission and exalted position of the Son of Man. I witness to you that He is Jesus the Christ, the Son of God, Savior to all, Redeemer of all mankind, Bestower of infinite love, mercy, and forgiveness, the Light and Life of the world. I knew this truth before—I had never doubted nor wondered. But now I knew, because of the impressions of the Spirit upon my heart and soul, these divine truths in a most unusual way.
I was shown a panoramic view of His earthly ministry: His baptism, His teaching, His healing the sick and lame, the mock trial, His Crucifixion, His Resurrection and Ascension. There followed scenes of His earthly ministry to my mind in impressive detail, confirming scriptural eyewitness accounts. I was being taught, and the eyes of my understanding were opened by the Holy Spirit of God so as to behold many things.
The first scene was of the Savior and His Apostles in the upper chamber on the eve of His betrayal. Following the Passover supper, He instructed and prepared the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper for His dearest friends as a remembrance of His coming sacrifice. It was so impressively portrayed to me—the overwhelming love of the Savior for each. I witnessed His thoughtful concern for significant details—the washing of the dusty feet of each Apostle, His breaking and blessing of the loaf of dark bread and blessing of the wine, then His dreadful disclosure that one would betray Him.
He explained Judas’s departure and told the others of the events soon to take place.
Then followed the Savior’s solemn discourse when He said to the Eleven: “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).
Our Savior prayed to His Father and acknowledged the Father as the source of His authority and power—even to the extending of eternal life to all who are worthy.
He prayed, “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.”
Jesus then reverently added:
“I have glorified thee on the earth: I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do.
“And now, O Father, glorify thou me with thine own self with the glory which I had with thee before the world was” (John 17:3–5).
He pled not only for the disciples called out from the world who had been true to their testimony of Him, “but for them also which shall believe on me through their word” (John 17:20).
When they had sung a hymn, Jesus and the Eleven went out to the Mount of Olives. There, in the garden, in some manner beyond our comprehension, the Savior took upon Himself the burden of the sins of mankind from Adam to the end of the world. His agony in the garden, Luke tells us, was so intense “his sweat was as … great drops of blood falling … to the ground” (Luke 22:44). He suffered an agony and a burden the like of which no human person would be able to bear. In that hour of anguish our Savior overcame all the power of Satan.
The glorified Lord revealed to Joseph Smith this admonition to all mankind:
“Therefore I command you to repent. …
“For … I, God, … suffered … for all, that they might not suffer if they would repent; …
“Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, …
“Wherefore, I command you again to repent, lest I humble you with my almighty power; and that you confess your sins, lest you suffer these punishments” (D&C 19:15–16, 18, 20).
During those days of unconsciousness, I was given, by the gift and power of the Holy Ghost, a more perfect knowledge of His mission. I was also given a more complete understanding of what it means to exercise, in His name, the authority to unlock the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven for the salvation of all who are faithful. My soul was taught over and over again the events of the betrayal, the mock trial, the scourging of the flesh of even one of the Godhead. I witnessed His struggling up the hill in His weakened condition carrying the cross and His being stretched upon it as it lay on the ground, that the crude spikes could be driven with a mallet into His hands and wrists and feet to secure His body as it hung on the cross for public display.
Crucifixion—the horrible and painful death which He suffered—was chosen from the beginning. By that excruciating death, He descended below all things, as is recorded, that through His Resurrection He would ascend above all things (see D&C 88:6).
Jesus Christ died in the literal sense in which we will all die. His body lay in the tomb. The immortal spirit of Jesus, chosen as the Savior of mankind, went to those myriads of spirits who had departed mortal life with varying degrees of righteousness to God’s laws. He taught them the “glorious tidings of redemption from the bondage of death, and of possible salvation … [that was] part of [our] Savior’s foreappointed and unique service to the human family.”1
I cannot begin to convey to you the deep impact that these scenes have confirmed upon my soul. I sense their eternal meaning and realize that “nothing in the entire plan of salvation compares in any way in importance with that most transcendent of all events, the atoning sacrifice of our Lord. It is the most important single thing that has ever occurred in the entire history of created things; it is the rock foundation upon which the gospel and all other things rest,”2 as has been declared.

Those years brought Dallin opportunities for great growth in Church service. He was called to be stake mission president for the Chicago Stake in 1961. His law practice had him working nights, and he wondered how he would be able to fulfill the responsibilities of the new calling as well, Sister Oaks recalls, but he took it on faith. As he committed himself to the calling, the way was opened many times for him to finish his legal work early, or to achieve more than he thought was possible in the time allotted.