Gospel Story Finder

In 1989, when Daniel and Thérèse Kola learned about the restored gospel, much of their income came from sales of coffee, tobacco, and alcohol at their café. After accepting the Word of Wisdom, though, they wondered if it was right to market things they wanted to avoid. They debated what to do until the day of their baptism. They decided to give up their old livelihood, like Christ’s ancient disciples.
“In the morning, the decision was made,” Daniel Kola recalled. They sold their shop and were baptised, confident they had done what the Lord would have them do. “We had that joy in our heart because we felt something.”
For the next seven years, Daniel and Thérèse served faithfully as the Church grew in their country. Like others in DR Congo’s first generation of Latter-day Saints, they learned step-by-step. In 1996, Congolese Church leaders were challenged to take the next step in their development. Although Kinshasa was nearly 4,000 kilometres from the nearest temple, in Johannesburg, South Africa, a group of over 20 local leaders were invited to travel to the temple together to be endowed with power from heaven and sealed to their spouses for eternity. It was the first group temple trip in Congo’s history.
The years after the temple trip were vital ones for the Church in Congo. In the late 1990s, stake after stake was organized in the country. Most of the men first called as stake presidents, including Daniel Kola, had participated in that temple caravan.
In 2007, Daniel Kola was called as an Area Seventy. The next year, he travelled to Utah to attend general conference and was blessed to attend the temple an additional five times to perform initiatory, endowment, and sealing ordinances for his ancestors, including being sealed to his own parents. “When I received my endowment, there was a lot I didn’t understand,” Kola reflected. “But today, I understand, and my knowledge is much more profound.”
As he developed a deeper appreciation for the temple, Kola also developed a greater interest in family history. Along with many others, he came to recognize that he lived at a crucial time, when the names and stories of many ancestors were still in living memory but at risk of being lost if they were not recorded. In 2018, Daniel Kola’s nonprofit organization contracted with FamilySearch to travel around the Democratic Republic of the Congo recording oral histories, aiming to gather 400,000 names in 12 months.

Edna Amburo also had difficulty reading the Book of Mormon at first—not just because she found it hard to understand, but because friends told her she was “going to the fire” for reading it. “All my friends told me to burn the book,” she says, “but I decided not to burn it because I felt the Book of Mormon was the word of God.”

Edna was baptized in 1990. Shortly thereafter, she was called to teach the Book of Mormon to seminary students.

“I said, ‘How am I going to teach? I am not an educated woman. I am not a good speaker in English, and I am not a good writer. I left school in grade five.’”

Branch members and the full-time missionaries encouraged Sister Amburo to ask the Lord for help. She took the suggestion seriously and spent a tearful two weeks fasting and praying that the Lord would help her to become an effective teacher.

“I found Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5] and exercised it,” she says. “I saw it was true. I got peace in my heart. I got joy. And I was happy that I was going to teach seminary. I really love the Book of Mormon. I understand it now.”

Sister Amburo attributes her spiritual and intellectual growth to help from her Heavenly Father. In addition to teaching seminary, she teaches Sunday School and serves as a counselor in the Popondetta Branch Relief Society presidency.

“Step by step I came along. The Church has helped me a lot. It is a learning church.”

The sun hung low against the blue-white horizon of the Wasatch Mountains. It was late in the afternoon. The temperature was dropping, and to the west, storm clouds drew a dark curtain of gray. In a small basin near the top peaks a line of backpackers on snowshoes crossed through a maze of snow-feathered trees. It was December, months past the season for backpacking and camping in the mountains. A deep layer of snow, hardened by the cold and polished by wind, covered the earth and low bushes. The sound of backpackers walking in the crusted snow echoed in the basin.
The backpackers, members of Sandy Utah East Stake’s Summiteers, an advanced camping program for girls, stopped in a clearing. One of the girls, Susie Bigelow, wearing sun glasses for protection against snow glare, looked around and took off her pack.
“This looks like a good place,” she said.
Dallan Sohm, a priesthood adviser for the group and the husband of one of the Young Women leaders present, looked the area over.
“The snow’s deep enough for the shelter,” he said. “But we’ve got to hurry and get it built before dark.”
As they worked, shadows of frosted-white pines grew long and silver-gray in fading light. Icicles hanging from the trees caught the last rays from a pale sunset and sparkled like polished topaz. The temperature dropped with the sun. The girls’ cheeks were bright red in the freezing air.
They dug a rectangular pit in the snow, arched their snowshoes over it, and covered them with sheets of plastic. They added pine poles for additional strength. Tunnels were dug on both sides for entrance and ventilation. The shelter’s floor was covered with plastic, then with foam pads, and sleeping bags were laid out on top.
Finally the shelter was ready. It wasn’t very comfortable or even very warm, but it was warm enough to keep the group from freezing.
Above the basin, high winds tore clouds that fogged the mountain and left them ragged. In the basin there was no wind, and only the girls’ voices broke the cold stillness.
Looking back to the west the girls, all between 16 and 18 years old, knew the stillness in the basin wouldn’t last. The high wind was moving the storm east, toward their camp. They knew that before morning there would be snow falling in the basin—deep, fresh, powder snow. It was snow that would send cross-country skiers and snowmobilers down the mountain to warm cabins. The Summiteers stayed. This was why they had come high into the mountains in December, to learn winter survival and winter camping. They were ready for the storm and the cold.
One member of the group, Koryl Thornwall, later explained that the Sandy Utah East Stake follows the camp certification program developed for the Young Women organization of the Church. This program includes a four-year camp training program and a fifth Summiteer year for those who want further camping experience.
“The Summiteer program is for those who want to develop advanced camping skills. The winter camp is the climax in the program,” she explained.
The girls in the winter camp were all experienced campers. During the previous summer they had gone on a hundred-mile canoe trip down Idaho’s Snake River.
“We know what it is like to be out in the rain and wind,” Koryl said. “But winter camping is something new for us.”
Months before the winter campout the members of the group began preparing for the trip. They held classes on winter survival, learning about the dangers of cold weather and how to prepare for it. They learned how to prevent frostbite, hypothermia (a rapid drop in body temperature), and snowblindness, how to build simple shelters, how to dress to keep warm and dry, and what foods to eat.
During the campout they put what they had learned into action. After building the shelter and after a meal of high energy foods and hot chocolate, they crawled into their sleeping bags. Night came fast and dark. A small but icy wind started and grew in intensity. Inside the shelter it was crowded, but all were protected from the freezing night air.
In the morning they woke to find several inches of fresh snow, bright, sparkling, and satin white. After brushing it off their equipment, they cooked hot oatmeal for breakfast. Afterwards, they took the shelter apart, loaded equipment and supplies into their packs, and started down the mountain. By late afternoon they reached the road. Several parents were waiting with cars. The winter campout was over. The Summiteers had learned some new camping skills and grown closer to each other in the process. And once again they had come to appreciate the magnificence of their Father’s creations and the depth of his love for them.
They packed their equipment into the cars and were ready to leave. Then one of the girls looked back up the mountain and said, “Hey, next month how about a cross-country ski trip?”

This terror of performing would follow me into adulthood. When I was still in the early years of my public accounting career and had two small children at home, I was called as the Relief Society pianist.

The first week was a disaster. I lurched through some prelude music from the back of the Children’s Songbook (chosen for its simplicity) and then practiced a little deep breathing to calm down during the announcements. Then it was go time. I began playing the first chords of the opening song, but before I could make it through the intro, I plunked a sour note, and, unsurprisingly, my hands rapidly retreated from the keys. Panicked for a measure or two, I desperately tried to get back into the groove. As usual, the chorister led everyone through all of the verses. The longer they sang, the worse I played, until I was reduced to picking out just the melody line for the last verse.

This little episode played out like an old rerun each week until, fatefully, someone in the presidency asked if I would like a key to the church so I could practice. I politely declined, explaining that I actually had a piano at home. I was released within the month.

To this day, even when I am home alone practicing in complete solitude, I cannot play “Sweet Hour of Prayer” (Hymns, no. 142)—the simplest of hymns—without stopping, unless I have the unlikely good fortune to get through it with no mistakes. For this reason I try not to call attention to my piano training (cat’s out of the bag now, I guess). I am so paralyzed by my mistakes that I am of no practical use at the piano.

Sometimes it’s difficult to find the time to talk. If that’s the case, try some creative approaches. One young missionary told me, “I always wanted to talk to my mom. Oh, we talked about lots of things but never about anything serious or personal. We had a good relationship—we got along well—but we never really talked.
“There was so much that I wanted to tell her, so many questions I wanted to ask her before I went on my mission, but I just couldn’t do it.
“So I wrote her a letter, a long letter, and left it on her dresser. That really opened things up for us, and we had a couple of great talks before I left.”

I just started reading the New Era and it helps me answer a lot of questions. I will share two. I wondered what Joseph Smith did with the plates after he was done with them. “What Did the Golden Plates Look Like?” (June 2007) said that he returned the golden plates to Moroni. My second question was about which group should I hang out with. One group got in trouble a lot, and the other group never got in trouble. After reading the New Era, I chose to go to the group that never got in trouble. It was hard for me because I had friends in both groups. I am happy with my choice.Sydney Y., North Carolina

“Finished!” Mom said as she put the last of nine candles on the cake.
Tomorrow Maren’s friends were coming for her birthday party. There would be pizza, games, and best of all, presents!
“I can’t wait for the party,” Maren said. “Ella said she might get me a computer game, and Kisha told me I would love her present.”
Mom looked at Maren. “There is something you can do at your party that will be even better than opening gifts.”
Better than getting presents? Maren thought. What would that be?
“In family home evening we’ve been learning about Jesus and how He treated others,” Mom said. “Can you remember some things He did?”
“He was kind to others,” Maren said. “He healed them and took care of them. And He loved them all, even when they made mistakes.”
“That’s right,” Mom told her. “And if Jesus came to the party tomorrow, what do you think He might do?”
Maren thought for a minute. “Well, He would probably pay attention to everyone, not just some people. And I think He would try to help everyone have a good time.”
Mom smiled. “I think you’re exactly right,” she said. “And I think He would like being kind to everyone more than getting lots of presents.”
Maren nodded her head slowly. “Maybe.”
Mom gave her a hug. “Why don’t you try it and see for yourself?”
The next day was sunny and beautiful, just right for a party. Soon Maren’s friends arrived. Maren tried to do what Mom had said. She helped serve the pizza, and she held her baby brother for a while without complaining until Mom could take care of him. She thought that was what Jesus would have done.
After they ate, it was time to open presents. Maren was excited to get the new computer game and other fun things. She remembered to thank each of her friends. Then she noticed Riley sitting very quietly and looking at the floor. She realized Riley hadn’t brought a gift.
After all the gifts were opened, it was time to go outside for a candy hunt. The girls each grabbed a small bag and raced outside. But Riley stayed back and looked sad.
“Are you OK?” Maren asked, sitting next to Riley.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you a present,” Riley said quietly. “My family doesn’t have enough money right now.” Riley looked like she might cry.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter!” Maren said quickly. “I’m just glad you could come to my party, and I want you to have fun!”
Riley looked up. “Are you sure?”
“Of course!” Maren said as she put her arm around Riley. “Friends are way better than presents. Now let’s go find some candy!”
Riley smiled. “OK!” She and Maren grabbed their bags and ran to join their friends.
Maren felt good inside. She thought she had done what Jesus would do.
“That was a fun party,” Maren told Mom after her friends left.
“What was your favorite part?” Mom asked.
Maren thought for a minute. Then she said, “I really liked getting all my presents. But when I helped Riley feel better and made her smile, I felt so happy! That was the best birthday present of all.”

Susan was eight years old. She had just been baptized. She was playing out in the yard with her sisters and some friends, and she went into the house to get a drink of water. Her mother said, “Susan, dinner’s ready. Will you please call your sisters to eat?” So she went to the door and called to them.
They really didn’t want to go in, so they argued and said, “Oh, no, it isn’t time for dinner. You are just teasing us.” And they accused her of not telling the truth.
Well, she gathered herself up in all of her eight-year-old dignity, put her hands on her hips, and said, “It is dinnertime. I’m telling you the truth, and you can believe me because I have been baptized.”
She knew that her baptism required of her a certain standard of behavior. Her choice was that she would tell the truth, and she was willing to commit to that.

My dad is not a member of the Church. Since my mom, brothers and sisters, and I are all active in the Church, we are sometimes at odds with him. There was a time in my life when my father and I just couldn’t seem to get along because he was unkind about my beliefs and I was angry at him for not agreeing with me.
In an effort to smooth things over between us, my mom tried to help me see things through Dad’s eyes. “How would a person without the gospel see this situation?” she asked me gently.
Since that time, I have thought a lot about what she said. I have tried to be more patient and forgiving, and I am trying to improve my relationship with my father.
It has helped me to know that Heavenly Father will not give me anything I can’t handle. It has also helped me to know that my earthly father loves me, even though we may not always agree.
I still pray for my father to join the Church, but he now knows that I love and respect him no matter what.

Allow me to share with you an experience from my own boyhood. When I was 11 years old, my family had to leave East Germany and begin a new life in West Germany overnight. Until my father could get back into his original profession as a government employee, my parents operated a small laundry business in our little town. I became the laundry delivery boy. To be able to do that effectively, I needed a bicycle to pull the heavy laundry cart. I had always dreamed of owning a nice, sleek, shiny, sporty red bicycle. But there had never been enough money to fulfill this dream. What I got instead was a heavy, ugly, black, sturdy workhorse of a bicycle. I delivered laundry on that bike before and after school for quite a few years. Most of the time, I was not overly excited about the bike, the cart, or my job. Sometimes the cart seemed so heavy and the work so tiring that I thought my lungs would burst, and I often had to stop to catch my breath. Nevertheless, I did my part because I knew we desperately needed the income as a family, and it was my way to contribute.
If I had only known back then what I learned many years later—if I had only been able to see the end from the beginning—I would have had a better appreciation of these experiences, and it would have made my job so much easier.
Many years later, when I was about to be drafted into the military, I decided to volunteer instead and join the air force to become a pilot. I loved flying and thought being a pilot would be my thing.
To be accepted for the program I had to pass a number of tests, including a strict physical exam. The doctors were slightly concerned by the results and did some additional medical tests. Then they announced, “You have scars on your lung which are an indication of a lung disease in your early teenage years, but obviously you are fine now.” The doctors wondered what kind of treatment I had gone through to heal the disease. Until the day of that examination I had never known that I had any kind of lung disease. Then it became clear to me that my regular exercise in fresh air as a laundry boy had been a key factor in my healing from this illness. Without the extra effort of pedaling that heavy bicycle day in and day out, pulling the laundry cart up and down the streets of our town, I might never have become a jet fighter pilot and later a 747 airline captain.

Jacob Spori, the first principal of the Bannock Stake Academy, which later became Ricks College, and now BYU-Idaho, invoked the image of a mighty oak tree when he prophesied concerning the academy: "The seeds we’re planting today will grow and become mighty oaks and their branches will run all over the earth."
Jacob Spori was a highly educated Swiss immigrant and served as principal of the academy from 1888 until 1891. The academy struggled financially in its early years. During one of those early years, Brother Spori applied his salary to the debt of the school and took an additional job with the railroad. The salary he made with the railroad was then used to pay the teachers at the academy. He was an example of sacrifice and service, and never lost sight of his vision for this place and students that attend. Jacob Spori was a “mighty oak.”

I visited a ward in the Altiplano of Bolivia. It is a very poor area. The people speak Spanish and Quechua, but most of them do not know how to read either language because they have never had the opportunity to learn. After the meeting, I talked with an eleven-year-old boy. On the wall of the building were pictures of the members of the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. This young boy pointed to each of the Brethren and named every one of them. Then he said to me, “Will you please tell President Benson that I am reading the Book of Mormon?” He was learning to read by reading the Book of Mormon. I said to him, “Let me see if you really know how to read by reading 1 Nephi 3:7.” [1 Ne. 3:7] He turned to it quickly and said, “I can read it, but I don’t need to because I know that scripture by heart.” He then recited it perfectly.

I think, for example, of the great story of Stephen Markham, who joined the Church in the East, sold his property, and came out to Nauvoo with a bag of gold. He listened to the Prophet admonish the people that the Lord wanted them to complete the Nauvoo Temple and urge the people to give of their means, that the temple might be built. At the close of the meeting Stephen Markham came forward and put the little bag of gold upon the rostrum: “Use this for the temple.”

He started again from scratch and, with the aid of his neighbors, built himself a fine home in Nauvoo. Two years later he heard that the Prophet Joseph was in debt. He was running a store. There were no funds to support the Presidency of the Church. The members of the Church were taking advantage of him. They were getting goods on credit and not paying their debts, knowing the Prophet would hardly sue them. Hearing this account, Stephen Markham sold his home, moved his family into a tent, and came and laid the proceeds in the Prophet’s hands, saying, “Pay off your debts. We need you as a prophet of the Church.”

I do not like to see people getting teased or laughed at. I feel bad for them when that happens, because I know I wouldn’t like it if that happened to me.
One day I was walking home from school with a friend. As we got to our street, a boy named Mark* was just getting off the school bus. Mark lives nearby, but he goes to a different school. He is overweight. My friend started to call him rude names, like “Chunky” and “Chubby.” Mark pretended not to hear and just walked more quickly toward his house. After he was out of sight, I told my friend that calling him names was not nice. After I got home, I was still upset about it. Even though I had not called him names, I had stood by and let someone else do it.
Early the next morning I went over to Mark’s house and apologized to him for my friend’s calling him names and my not stopping it. After I had apologized to him, I felt much better inside. I hope it made him feel better too.

For Naea Bennett, that is both a great blessing and a big problem. Everyone in Tahiti knows the story of his father, Erroll Bennett. As a young man, Erroll was the best soccer player in Tahiti, maybe the best player in the South Pacific. He was taught about the Church and wanted to be baptized. The missionaries taught Erroll about keeping the Sabbath day holy, but all of Erroll’s soccer games were on Sunday. He felt that if he and his wife were to be baptized then he would have to five up playing soccer. He felt that if he committed his life to the Lord, then he would have to follow the Lord’s instructions to keep the Sabbath day reserved for spiritual matters.
Erroll Bennett’s decision did not go unnoticed. After all, soccer was by far the most popular sport in Tahiti, and he was the star of the top team. He had pressure from his extended family, from his teammates, and from those who ran organized sports. But once Erroll was baptized and told his team that he wouldn’t be playing on Sunday anymore, sports officials began to make changes to make it possible for Erroll to continue playing. They rearranged sports schedules, moving the Sunday games to nights during the week. It turned out that his teammates appreciated having Sundays off to spend with their families too, and the team performed even better with their star player able to play. Erroll became the most prolific scorer on the team. Because the best team in Tahiti would not play on Sunday, the finals for the Tahiti Cup were changed to Saturday. Even the finals of the Pacific games were changed. One man who made a stand changed the sports habits of a nation.
That man, Erroll Bennett, now the stake president of the Pirae Tahiti Stake, is Naea’s father. And because of his father, Naea does not have to play on Sunday. He has not had to make the hard choice his father made. Neither do the other 11 Mormons on Naea’s team. Nor do Naea’s sisters have any Sunday basketball games. Everyone in Tahiti knows not to even bother asking if a Mormon will play on Sunday.
How does Naea feel about the decision his father made? “I’m very proud of him,” Naea says. “It was a good decision. It is known in all of Polynesia.”

The account of a homecoming as related by successful prison warden Kenyon J. Scudder brings to the surface tender feelings held in the heart:
A friend of his happened to be sitting in a railroad coach next to a young man who was obviously depressed. Finally the young man revealed that he was a paroled convict returning from a distant prison. His imprisonment had brought shame to his family, and they had neither visited him nor written often. He hoped, however, that this was only because they were too poor to travel and too uneducated to write. He hoped, despite the evidence, that they had forgiven him.
To make it easy for them, however, he had written to them asking that they put up a signal for him when the train passed their little farm on the outskirts of town. If his family had forgiven him, they were to put up a white ribbon in the big apple tree which stood near the tracks. If they didn’t want him to return, they were to do nothing, and he would remain on the train as it traveled onward.
As the train neared his hometown, the suspense became so great that he couldn’t bear to look out of his window. He exclaimed, “In just five minutes the engineer will sound the whistle indicating our approach to the long bend which opens into the valley I know as home. Will you watch for the apple tree at the side of the track?” His companion said he would; they exchanged places. The minutes seemed like hours, but then there came the shrill sound of the train whistle. The young man asked, “Can you see the tree? Is there a white ribbon?”
Came the reply, “I see the tree. I see not one white ribbon, but many. There is a white ribbon on every branch. Son, someone surely does love you.”
In that instant, all the bitterness that had poisoned a life was dispelled. “I felt as if I had witnessed a miracle,” the other man said. Indeed, he had witnessed a miracle. (See John Kord Lagemann, “Forgiveness: The Saving Grace,” The Reader’s Digest, Mar. 1961, pp. 41–42.)

Almost 11 years ago when President Spencer W. Kimball, President N. Eldon Tanner, and President Marion G. Romney held different Church positions than they do today, they played an important role in the establishment of the Unified Social Service system. This agency was created to place under one program and leader all of the related social services departments. Included were the Indian student placement program, adoptions, detained youth, prisoners, drug addicts, unwed mothers, and foster-care children, alcoholics, the emotionally distressed, and others. These areas of concern and interest are presently an important part of the Church’s total Welfare Services program.
When I was called at the outset to direct this department, I found it to be most challenging and stimulating. To work full time with those with social and emotional problems was a new era of personal service for me.
Besides his continuing extreme interest in the Indian student placement service, President Kimball, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, continually expressed his concern in our relationships with prisoners. He was anxious for us to do more in assisting them in their rehabilitation processes both while they were still confined in prison and also after their release. It was under his encouragement that the present, very successful family home evening program at the Utah State Prison was started. Regular Sunday worship services and week-time activities of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints continue beneficially in the institution today, thanks to his total endorsement and assistance. Similar programs have been made available to LDS and other inmates in prisons in the United States and in the world. Great amounts of good have been and continue to be accomplished in improved lives and conduct.
It seems to me that during the time I directed the prison program for the Church and later when I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve, which necessitated giving up my direct relationship with the department, President Kimball continually wanted to go to the prison with me to visit. Because some inmates at the prison are unpredictable, I always discouraged President Kimball from going there to visit. I was grateful that he always respected my judgment in regard to his safety and well-being and did not insist he go to the prison over my protest.
Early in March of this year, with the prison’s interdenominational chapel well under construction, the thought came to me that that was the right time to take President Kimball to the prison for his long-awaited visit. He could visit on the outside without undue concern over dangers within the prison walls. I asked him if he would like to go the morning of March 10 to see the new chapel, the wardens, and some inmates. He was delighted with the invitation and cleared his heavy schedule to make the 20-mile trip from the Church Administration Building. As we rode together in the car, President Kimball’s questions about prison facilities, the chapel, the guards, the wardens, and the general atmosphere at the institution were rapid and pointed.
After a short visit with the prison administrators, at President Kimball’s encouragement two prisoners were brought in for interview. They were moved by President Kimball’s warmth and friendliness. “Where is your home?” “What are your special jobs here?” “Are you working on the construction of the new chapel?” These were some of his questions—all of which were free of criticism or embarrassment. He let them and others know immediately he was there because he cares.
With this short visit over, we were to make our way to the chapel. When asked if he wanted to ride or walk the two-block distance, President Kimball responded with “I would like to walk.” With the wardens, the two prisoners, and a few others of us, we walked in the 10:00 A.M., 40-degree temperature into the minimum security facilities where the new chapel was being constructed. For security reasons, only the wardens knew of our visit plans, so when we arrived in the visiting area adjoining the chapel, the presence of President Kimball surprised not only the media, but Utah’s Governor Scott M. Matheson and Salt Lake City Mayor Ted Wilson as well as other committee members who had been invited there for a review of chapel construction progress.
The highlight of the inspection tour came after brief remarks by President Kimball which included, “This facility will help prisoners find their way back.” Two inmates were invited to stand at the side of the prophet for pictures. As he shook their hands warmly and later put his arms around them, he said, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you.” They were obviously touched by the comment. Others of us again saw the greatness and stature of the one we loved so much. Respect and human dignity were witnessed. He is the foe of sin, but the friend of the sinner. The scripture found in Doctrine and Covenants 50:26 came forcefully to my mind: “He that is ordained of God and sent forth, the same is appointed to be the greatest, notwithstanding he is the least and the servant of all.” [D&C 50:26]
Impressive also was President Kimball’s public statement regarding the interdenominational chapel, which included, “The Church is happy to be a participant in any and all community projects that are worthy.”
One inmate rushed up to me as we were leaving and said, “I didn’t get a chance to shake President Kimball’s hand, but would you please tell him we love him?”
As we walked back to the car to return to Salt Lake City, this choice experience with the prophet brought to mind the writing of Parley P. Pratt when he and the Prophet Joseph Smith were in a prison together in Richmond, Missouri. The situation was much different, but the same witness of true dignity and majesty was enjoyed. I, too, saw true majesty when a prison visitor performed and spoke under God’s authority.
During the tour of the new chapel and the walk between the buildings, Warden Morris and Deputy Warden Shulsen were always nearby to assist and respond to President Kimball’s questions. After hearing President Kimball refer to me a number of times as “Marv,” Warden Shulsen was impressed to say, “Isn’t it kind of neat to have President Kimball call you ‘Marv?’” I responded with, “Yes, it is, and it is especially neat to know President Spencer W. Kimball is a prophet of God.” I had again seen him in action.
I am glad the time and conditions were right for President Kimball to visit two of his friends in prison, one a member and one a nonmember. As they stood with him for their picture to be taken, President Kimball had on one side a prisoner serving time for theft and burglary and on the other a man in prison for manslaughter. His greeting during the handshake, “It is an honor for me to have my picture taken with you,” rings in my ears. “I was in prison and ye came unto me.”

The teaching of Mary Bommeli touched more than those women around the loom and the judge. My father, her grandson, talked to me during the nights as he approached death. He spoke of joyous reunions that were coming soon in the spirit world. I could almost see the bright sunlight and the smiles in that place of paradise as he talked about it with such assurance.
At one point I asked him if he had some repenting to do. He smiled. He chuckled softly as he said, “No, Hal, I’ve been repenting as I went along.” The doctrine of paradise that Mary Bommeli taught those women was real to her grandson. And even the doctrine Mary taught the judge had shaped my father’s life for good. That will not be the end of Mary Bommeli’s teaching. The record of her words will send true doctrine to generations of her family yet unborn. Because she believed that even a new convert knew enough doctrine to teach it, the minds and hearts of her descendants will be opened, and they will be strengthened in the battle.

“My name is Omar Interdonato,” the e-mail began. “I’m the son of Fiorella Italia. I hope you still remember her baptism.”
Thirty years before, my missionary companion and I had been assigned to the island of Sicily and were serving in Siracusa, a beautiful city on the Mediterranean coast. On Sundays we met with the few Latter-day Saints in the area in an old villa, holding sacrament meeting in the villa’s living room.
Missionary work was difficult, and we had few baptisms. Sixteen full-time missionaries labored in the city, which had been tracted over and over. But as my companion and I studied a map of the city one day, we noticed a small village located a few miles from our apartment on the edge of the city.
We hiked through the fields to this village, knelt on the edge of a ridge overlooking a valley, and offered up our hearts and souls to God. We then began tracting in a group of tenement-type buildings that made up most of the village.
We were eventually greeted at a door by a woman in her 40s dressed all in black—a tradition in Italy following the death of a loved one. We changed our door approach to emphasize the plan of salvation. The woman invited us in, and we met with her, two of her teenage daughters, and one of their friends. We learned that the woman was recently widowed and had four teenage children to care for. We showed the filmstrip Man’s Search for Happiness and were invited to return the following week.
The mother, along with her oldest son and two teenage daughters, their grandmother, and their friend were eventually baptized. Following my mission, I kept in touch with the family, but until I received the e-mail, I had wondered what had happened to Fiorella, the daughters’ young friend.
“My mother has been faithful to the gospel all her life and in 1983 married a good Church member from the Messina Branch and got sealed in the temple,” her son wrote. “I was born in 1984 and my sister, Veronica, in 1987. We are all active in the Church. I served a mission in the Italy Rome Mission from 2005 to 2007, hoping to repay the Lord for all the struggles of two missionaries who decided to preach the gospel in the small town of Floridia!”
There were times during my mission when I wondered if the two years of sacrifice were worth it. But how great is my joy (see D&C 18:15–16) to learn that Fiorella’s life was changed forever because my companion and I made the decision to go forth and forget ourselves in the service of others on the island of Sicily.

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.