Gospel Story Finder

It must be my destiny to be a loner. I was walking to an assembly with Melinda and Denise, who are on the basketball team too. We passed a girl just standing there, looking lost. She also looked like a total nerd. Besides her clothes being all wrong, her hair was like my grandma’s. She was obviously new, and my heart ached for her. I knew just how she felt.
I said, “Are you going to the assembly?” When she nodded, I said, “It’s this way.” Melinda and Denise looked at me like, “You know her?”
She began following us, and Melinda muttered, “Get rid of her.”
But I couldn’t. She needed a friend. She followed us up the bleachers and sat down next to me. Melinda and Denise gave me a disgusted look and moved over to the next section.
Good-bye, Melinda and Denise.

"What were you assigned to bring?” Melissa asked Clara as they walked to Sister Wilson’s house for their Achievement Day activity.
“Four cups of flour,” Clara answered. “How about you?”
“Some yeast.”
“I wonder what we’re doing today. Hannah is bringing flour, too. Sister Wilson has kept it such a secret.”
“I know,” Melissa agreed. “All she would say was that it’s going to affect many ward members this Sunday.”
Still talking about the mystery, the girls soon came to Sister Wilson’s house. Before Clara could knock, Sister Wilson opened the door and invited them in. Tina, Jenny, and Susan were already sitting on the couch. A tape of Primary songs was playing softly in the background. Just as Clara and Melissa sat down, Hannah arrived. Now all the girls were present, and the mystery project would soon be revealed.
Sister Wilson offered the opening prayer, asking that they might understand the importance of the great sacrifice Jesus Christ made for them. She also prayed that the food they would prepare might be blessed for the sake of all who would eat it.
After the prayer, they made their way to the kitchen with their assigned ingredients. A couple of bowls and a mixer waited on the counter.
“Let’s see,” Sister Wilson began, “who was assigned to bring the yeast?”
“I was.” Melissa stepped forward.
“Good. We’re going to put the yeast into some warm water and let it dissolve. Meanwhile, we’ll put some of the other ingredients into this larger bowl. Who has the flour, sugar, and salt?”
“I do,” Clara, Hannah, and Jenny answered together.
As the girls worked, they visited, laughing and giggling. Amidst the chatter, Clara asked, “What are we making, and how will it affect the ward members?”
“Does anyone have any idea?” Sister Wilson asked.
“Are we making cookies?” Susan asked.
Sister Wilson smiled. “No, we are making the bread that will be used for the sacrament.”
The giggling stopped suddenly, and the girls spoke almost in whispers as a quiet reverence filled the room. They weren’t making bread just to learn how, but for use in a sacred ordinance!
When the yeast was dissolved, Susan poured in the milk she had brought and Tina added her oil. Then the girls combined the liquid and dry ingredients and mixed them together. They took turns kneading the dough on a flour-dusted counter. When it was smooth, the dough was covered with a cloth and allowed to rise. Then it was punched down, divided in half, shaped into loaves, and placed in loaf pans. While the dough rose a second time, they went into the next room for a lesson on the sacrament.
“Can anyone tell me what the bread and water represent?” Sister Wilson asked.
“The flesh and blood of Jesus Christ,” Melissa answered.
“That is right. Shortly before His crucifixion, Jesus gathered His Apostles around Him in an upstairs room. He knew that He was going to die, and He wanted the Apostles to always remember Him so that they could be strong and faithful to His teachings. He blessed bread and broke it into pieces. He gave it to His disciples to eat in memory of His body. He blessed wine and gave it to them to drink in memory of His blood.
“When we partake of the sacrament, we renew the covenant we made when we were baptized. Can anyone tell me what we promised to do?”
“I know,” Clara said. “We promised to keep the commandments.”
“We promised to remember Jesus Christ,” Jenny added.
“Very good,” Sister Wilson said. “We also promised to take upon us the name of Jesus Christ. The way we act, the things we do, the words we say should let others know that we are followers of Christ. The Lord promised us that if we keep our covenant, we will always have His Spirit to be with us.
“Is there anything special we should do during the sacrament service?” Sister Wilson continued.
Hannah raised her hand. “My mom always tells us that we should be reverent.”
“She’s right. We should also be prayerful and think of the Atonement. We need to examine our lives, looking for ways to improve ourselves and become more like Christ. And we should think about the promises we are renewing.”
After more discussion about the sacrament, the lesson ended. By then the dough had risen again, and it was time to put the pans into the oven. While the bread baked, the girls planned upcoming activities.
When the loaves were taken from the oven, they were a golden brown. “After they cool, I’ll slice them. Then I’ll give them to Bishop Carmichael. He’ll make sure they are used on Sunday.”
On Sunday, as the girls sat with their families in sacrament meeting, they sang the sacrament hymn reverently. They listened carefully as a priest blessed the bread, and when they said “amen,” they really meant it. Then the deacons passed the bread. When Clara took a piece from the tray, she was suddenly filled with gratitude for all the Savior had done for her. She thought about the Last Supper and what Jesus had taught His disciples about the sacrament. She knew that there were things she could do better to show that she was trying to keep the commandments.
Clara glanced quickly at Melissa out of the corner of her eye. From the look on her friend’s face, she knew that the sacrament had touched her heart, too.
After the meeting, the girls stopped in the foyer to talk a moment before going home. “I’m glad Sister Wilson let us help make the sacrament bread,” Jenny said.
“I thought it made the sacrament extra special,” Tina added.
“It wasn’t just the bread that made it special for me,” Melissa replied thoughtfully. “It was really thinking about the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and what the sacrament means in my life.”
Clara smiled. “I felt the same way. It wasn’t the bread that made the difference. It was the Savior.”

Recently Rachel had the opportunity to teach the gospel through her singing. The branch in Marshall, Minnesota, where the Cheadles go to church, decided to perform a special musical concert of church hymns and narration for their friends who were not members. Brother M. Michael Suzuki, professor of choral music at Southwest State University in Marshall, was the director, and Rachel and her brother Joseph were the youngest members of the choir.

In the concert, Rachel sang a solo of “I Am a Child of God.” She was especially happy that all four of her grandparents and also her great-grandparents were able to come. A lot of other people were there as well, but Rachel wasn’t afraid to sing in front of such a large audience. “I thought it was fun to sing in a big choir.”

Sometimes when I feel grouchy, I try to get rid of the grouchiness by reminding my mom and dad that I love them. I sneak up on them and give them a great big hug and a great big smile and say, “I love you!” They always smile back and say they love me, too. It makes me feel really good, and Mom and Dad say it gives them warm fuzzies. Jesus taught us to love others and to honor our parents.Ethan Fisher, age 4, with help from his family

Genealogical research has always been difficult for me because I didn’t have the necessary information about most of my family members. However, that didn’t stop me from getting the booklet “My Family: Stories That Bring Us Together” and writing down my information about my parents and two grandmothers, who are still alive. My grandmothers also helped me gather the necessary information about my two deceased grandfathers and other important names.
I still felt like I didn’t know much about my family and couldn’t find the answers because I didn’t know who to ask without upsetting anyone. In Haitian culture, asking about relatives who have passed away can make people feel suspicious or angry. Often, the closest family members think you’re only asking so you can get something, like an inheritance, from the person who died.
For about four years, I had to make do with only the information I had while constantly thinking about how to find what was missing. Then I received a miracle that changed everything.
On September 12, 2024, I enrolled in a family history institute class, hoping to find answers to some of my genealogical questions. A few weeks later, one of our cousins visited our family. He was a distant cousin on my maternal side, and we only met him a year before, after a family member created a WhatsApp group.
During this brief visit, I talked with him and exchanged a few thoughts about spirituality. That’s when he told me he was a Latter-day Saint and was already familiar with the principles I was teaching him. I was so happy to know that I had a distant family member who had also received the blessings of the gospel. Even though he also told me he had distanced himself from the Church in recent years, I didn’t lose hope that he might one day return.
As we talked, he started telling me stories about family members I had never heard of—stories that gave me exactly the information I needed for my family history research. He also mentioned that someone in the family had written a full document about all the generations in our family. He said it had everything needed to really understand our family’s past and present.
I was both happy and surprised to discover that such a document existed in our family. However, despite my excitement, I was hesitant to ask him for the PDF version of the document, fearing I might be misunderstood. After he left, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I felt the Spirit prompting me to ask my cousin for access to it.
After several minutes of reflection and prayer, I contacted him and asked for the PDF version of the family document he had mentioned during his visit. I reminded him that it would help complete my genealogical research, which we Latter-day Saints hold in such high importance. He replied quickly and enthusiastically, saying he remembered this sacred work and was happy that I was asking for the document. Less than five minutes later, I received it.
I was amazed to find the 259-page document more complete than expected. It had all the information I needed about a key branch of my mother’s family. While reading, I saw a familiar last name: my BYU–Pathway missionary’s name. On a whim, I messaged him to ask if the names were part of his family too. He said yes, and as we talked more, we discovered we were first cousins.
The following week, I shared this with my institute class. I felt deeply grateful—not only for the family names and details but also for reconnecting with a Church member and missionary who had once helped me with school.
This experience strengthened my testimony of the power of family history work, the ongoing gathering of Israel, and the truth that God always prepares a way for those who have faith to accomplish what He commands (see 1 Nephi 3:7). With faith, I also know that God will help me find the missing information on my paternal line so I can continue completing my family tree.

A few years later I met some missionaries for the first time. My parents had warned me about the young Christians who were going around preaching. As I was walking home, a tall American missionary with a kind smile stopped me. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would talk about his church. If he had, I might have run the other way! All he asked was how to find the post office. I told him and then walked home.
As I walked away, I felt something. If I see the missionaries again, I thought, I will talk to them.
Not long after that, I ran into a different set of missionaries. I was shocked that God would hear and answer the prayers of a boy like me, until I read about Joseph Smith. I had read in the New Testament to pray always, but God appearing to a man? It felt both radical and right. Rather than run away, I set up an appointment to have them teach me.
A month into meeting with the missionaries, they invited me to be baptized. I didn’t want to turn them down, but I was hesitant to leave the tradition of my parents and everyone around me. There were two paths before me, and I knew there was only one way to know which one to take—I had to pray like Joseph Smith. I asked Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, if the things the missionaries had been teaching me were true.
That was my turning point. From then on, I knew for myself that the restored gospel is true. No one could take that knowledge away from me. I knew which path to follow, and nothing could change that.
I had many questions when I was younger. I learned that I am a child of God, He loves me, He has a plan for me, and He wants to answer my prayers. This knowledge changed my entire perspective on life. I learned that who I am and what I do is significant.
Before I learned that I was a child of God, I wanted to blend in with everyone. I was afraid of standing out. But after I learned that I am a child of God, I realized I can stand out; I can be different.
Praying and realizing that I am a son of God gave me the courage to explain my feelings to my parents, but they didn’t quite understand. They thought I was rebellious and too immature to make the decision to be baptized. They were embarrassed that their son was following this strange religion rather than their traditions. I knew who I was and what I wanted, but I also wanted to honor my parents and hoped they would honor my religion.
I explained my situation to the sister missionaries. They had an idea—they could come talk to my parents so that they would feel better about this religion. I told them I was afraid my parents wouldn’t want to talk to them. Then one of the sisters suggested that we fast together.
When I didn’t eat breakfast, my mom was worried. “Why didn’t you eat?” she asked. I explained that I was fasting, and that made her even more concerned.
“First you are going to this no-man’s land of religion, and now you are not eating. I’m worried. I’m shocked! I’m going to call those missionaries.”
She did call the sisters, and somehow they got themselves invited to our house for dinner!
We had a great time. The missionaries taught my parents the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301), and we sang it together. My father loved that. After dinner with the sisters, neither of my parents was worried about me going to church. And I felt I was able to honor them by living the gospel because it really encompassed everything they had taught me. I thought if I loved them long enough and treated them kind enough, eventually they would understand. It took 35 years after my baptism, but my mother was baptized and went through the temple just a few years ago!
Knowing that I’m a child of God has impacted many of my life decisions. I also know that as we follow the Spirit and do what Heavenly Father asks of us, even when it seems hard, He will bless us. That is always the best choice.

After they interviewed and baptised six people at the first branch, Elder Toa and Elder Nalin headed to Saetsiwi, an isolated area tucked high in the mountains. They had no way to contact the Saetsiwi Branch president but knew he was expecting them at some point, so the missionaries drove their truck as far as they could then continue on foot for the remaining 3-hour trek. When they finally arrived, the branch president was nowhere to be found. The elders had hiked all that way in vain.
Then the big rain fell. Everyone in Saetsiwi knows that when it starts to rain hard, getting off the mountain is treacherous. Elder Toa and Elder Nalin rushed back to their truck, knowing every second counted before the local rivers swelled and became impassable. They made it to the truck in time to drive through the first and second rivers, but they knew the third river would be a challenge.
Sure enough, their truck got stuck partway. They tried to push it—no luck. They called the district president, and soon help arrived, but the truck still wouldn’t move. The river rose and flowed so swiftly that the helpers had to get out and move to safety. Then, Elder Nalin spotted something else that worried him. He saw that the waters in next river over—which converged with this river—had become torrential and threatened to break through.
In his mind, it seemed to Elder Nalin that an invisible force was holding that third river back, as though buying time for them—but he knew it wouldn’t be for long. The torrent was racing.
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin are examples of the finest possible young men from Vanuatu—responsible and excellent in every way. To them, a truck is of almost incomprehensible expense, especially in a country where families can barely afford to educate their children, much less buy a vehicle. The elders were determined to preserve the Church’s truck at all costs, but now the water was up to its door handles. They called their mission president and asked, “What should we do?”
President Messick’s response was: “Thank you for calling. Now get out of the truck and save yourselves. I don’t care about the truck; I care about you.”
As they rushed out of the truck, Elder Toa climbed into the back seat to grab their scriptures and the 114 interview papers they needed for the baptisms. He couldn’t see them anywhere. Then a voice yelled, “The water is coming! Get out of the truck!” and Elder Toa slipped out of the back door just as the truck was swept downstream.
As soon as the elders realised that their scriptures and the 114 interview papers were still in the truck—which was now well out of sight—they used the power of the priesthood and commanded the truck to protect their precious documents. “That’s what you can do with the priesthood,” the young men said later, with absolute confidence. “You can command.”
Elder Toa and Elder Nalin managed to pull themselves out to safety, and there by the side of the river, they knelt and prayed. As they prayed that the truck would be safe and that their scriptures and interview papers would stay dry, the missionaries felt a peaceful assurance that all would be fine. Then they walked the rest of the way off the mountain.
The next day, the elders received a call from the district president. Saetsiwi’s branch president had found their truck, 250 meters downstream. When the Elders arrived to retrieve it, they discovered not a dent or a scratch on the body of the vehicle, despite its journey in the river, past trees, rocks, and debris.
The inside of the truck wasn’t so fortunate. It was drenched. The engine suffered electrical damage, and everything in the cab—pamphlets, manuals, books—was soaked beyond repair, except for the Elders’ scriptures and the 114 interview papers. These sat in plain sight above everything else, completely dry.
While the truck was being repaired, Elder Toa and Elder Nalin resumed their tour on foot. At their next stop, they interviewed and baptised 48 candidates before continuing right across Tanna Island. “When you get tired of walking,” one of them told a fellow missionary, “You walk with your heart.”
Their hearts and a priesthood miracle helped these faithful elders reach and bring all 114 candidates safely into the Church of Jesus Christ.

Our personal testimony usually begins with someone else’s testimony. My sister shared her testimony with me after her baptism. I felt a desire to hear more about what my sister had testified. Then missionaries came and testified about Jesus Christ, His gospel, and the restored Church. It was so powerful that it completely changed my life. In an instant, an atheist had become a believer who wished to follow the teachings and example of Christ. In the same way, our testimony can change someone else’s life. Because of our testimony, someone can come to know Christ whom they did not know before.

I remember one particular day when my commitment to those principles was put to the test. I was 14 years old; I loved to swim and dreamed of swimming in the Olympics. I did not compete on Sundays, but still I progressed. Finally, as the Olympics in Mexico City were approaching, a coach invited me to participate in special training.
The training, however, was every Sunday morning during Sunday School. I rationalized that I could go to practice and miss Sunday School because I would be back at church in time for the evening sacrament meeting. I saved for the bus fare and planned everything. The Saturday before the first training, I told my mother of my plan.
I saw the sadness and disappointment in her eyes, but her only reply was that the decision was mine and I had been taught what was right. That night I could not get the words to “Choose the Right” (Hymns, no. 239) out of my mind. The words sounded in my head like a broken record.
On Sunday morning, I had my swim bag in one hand and my music bag in the other, hoping to lead my mother to believe I was going to church. I went outside to the bus stop. It so happened that the bus stop going to the swimming hall was on my side of the street and the one going to the chapel was on the opposite side. While I waited, I became irritated. My ears were ringing with the music of “Have I Done Any Good?” (Hymns, no. 223)—the hymn planned for Sunday School that day. I knew from experience that, with the difficult rhythm, complicated lyrics, and high notes, this hymn would become a disaster without strong accompaniment.
As I was deliberating, both buses approached. The bus to the swimming hall stopped for me, and the driver of the bus to the church stopped and looked at me, puzzled because he knew I always took his bus. We all stared at each other for a few seconds. What was I waiting for? I had chosen the Lord (see “Who’s on the Lord’s Side?” Hymns, no. 260). I had promised to go where He wanted me to go (see “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go,” Hymns, no. 270). My decision to keep the commandments had been made long before (see “Keep the Commandments,” Hymns, no. 303).
Before my brain caught up with my heart, my body took over. I made a mad dash across the street and waved the other bus driver on. I paid the fare and went to the back of the bus headed to the church, watching my swimming dreams drive in the opposite direction.
Everyone thought I cried that day because I felt the Spirit. But really I cried because my childhood dream had just come crashing down and because I was ashamed that I had even entertained the idea of swimming on the Sabbath. But that Sunday, like those before and after, I fulfilled my calling.

Joan smiled and flashed her crossed fingers at Bob and Drew as she entered class. The three had completed a special class on how to take tests just in time for midterm exams. It came as no surprise when Mr. Smith, their history teacher, announced the midterm. Joan turned to section one of her notes from the test class: “What You Should Know about a Test.” Her hand flew into the air.
“Mr. Smith, what kind of test will it be?” she asked. “I mean, like true-false or multiple choice.”
“Multiple choice,” he replied.
“How many questions will there be?” Joan pressed.
“Fifty even,” responded the teacher.
Joan followed her outline. “What will the test cover—what chapters in the book? And will it cover our class notes, too?”
“The test will cover chapters one through five in the text and a handful of questions on your notes,” he replied.
“Can you be more specific about the class-note questions?” Joan persisted.
“There will be about ten questions from your notes, and they will cover the same period as your chapter on the revolutionary war through the civil war. Any more questions?” Mr. Smith asked with a smile.
“Yes,” Joan broke in. “Will we have the whole class period for the test?”
“No, we’ll take a little break for roll call,” Mr. Smith quipped.
Everyone laughed, but Joan continued, “You didn’t tell us when the test will be.”
“Right,” answered Mr. Smith. “You haven’t given me a chance! The test will be on Monday, one week from today.”
Bob groaned out loud. That was the same day as his English midterm. Drew Stevens tapped Joan on the shoulder. “Way to go,” he whispered. “Mr. Smith has never been pinned down like that before!”

My first few months of being a new member of the Church were rough ones—especially for my friends. On one hand, I was excited about what I had found, the feelings of inner peace and the joy I felt in my close relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
On the other hand, in my excitement to share my new understanding of the restored gospel and its teachings, I started to regularly tell my non-LDS friends when they did something I thought was wrong.
Of course, I was about as subtle as a bull elephant on a charge.
One evening in the early summer, I finally realized how judgmental and self-righteous I had become. About five months after my baptism, I went to an outdoor concert with a good friend. As we walked around the grounds trying to find a spot to eat our picnic before the concert began, I noticed many of the people around us had brought wine to share with their dinner. Not one to pass up an opportunity to show how much wisdom I had acquired by being a member of the Church, I hissed to my friend, “Look at all those people drinking wine—that’s disgusting!”
My kind and patient friend turned to me and said, “I’m sure that when Jewish people go into a restaurant, they don’t walk around and criticize everyone with ham on their plates.”
I finally had the good sense to be silent for a little while and ponder what he said. I realized that in all the lessons I had been taught, there had been no mention of members going forth and judging their neighbors. As a matter of fact, the terms “silent example” and “loving nature” had been used a lot.
Embarrassed, I thanked my friend for his wisdom and apologized for my lack of consideration.
I am happy to report that his message came through loud and clear. I stopped demanding changes from my friends and started demanding change from myself. I still stand strong for the things I believe in, but in a polite way—a way that, happily, has made my friends comfortable in talking to me about the Church.

Said President Marion G. Romney, “It is an easy thing to believe in the dead prophets, but it is a greater thing to believe in the living prophets.” And then he gives this illustration:
“One day when President Grant was living, I sat in my office across the street following a general conference. A man came over to see me, an elderly man. He was very upset about what had been said in this conference by some of the Brethren, including myself. I could tell from his speech that he came from a foreign land. After I had quieted him enough so he would listen, I said, ‘Why did you come to America?’ ‘I am here because a prophet of God told me to come.’ ‘Who was the prophet?’ I continued. ‘Wilford Woodruff.’ ‘Do you believe Wilford Woodruff was a prophet of God?’ ‘Yes, sir.’
“Then came the sixty-four dollar question, ‘Do you believe that Heber J. Grant is a prophet of God?’ His answer, ‘I think he ought to keep his mouth shut about old-age assistance.’
“Now I tell you that a man in his position is on the way to apostasy. He is forfeiting his chances for eternal life. So is everyone who cannot follow the living prophet of God.” (Conference Report, April 1953, p. 125.)

For example, I have a sweet Aunt Beryl Hollindrake. She told me that when she was just three or four years old that my great-grandmother, her Grandmother Featherstone, would hold her on her lap and tell her about the Savior, all the beautiful stories. Then she would recall how my great-grandmother would tell her about the Savior’s trial and how they beat him and cursed him and spit upon him—how they dragged him and forced him against the cross and drove huge spikes into his hands cruelly. She said, “As my grandmother would tell me these stories, tears would stream down her cheeks.” And she said, “It was on the lap of my grandmother that I learned to love the Savior with all my heart and soul.”

On February 29, 1828, a baby girl was born in Petersham, Massachusetts. She was the seventh child of David and Diadama Woodward. Named Emmeline, the child soon showed a talent for writing and a desire to learn, so her parents enrolled her in grammar school. Even after Emmeline’s father died, her mother made sure that Emmeline attended school. Later Diadama remarried, and the family moved to nearby New Salem. This move benefited Emmeline greatly. There her mother was able to raise the money needed for tuition to send Emmeline to a good private school, the New Salem Academy.
While Emmeline was away at school, an elder from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to New Salem and converted several people. Among them were Emmeline’s mother, her two younger sisters, and a half brother. When Emmeline returned home from school, her mother encouraged her to join the Church too. Despite the objections of Emmeline’s friends and her older brothers and sisters, she was baptized in the Old Morse Creek on March 1, 1842.
After finishing school, Emmeline began teaching in Orange, Massachusetts, for $1.50 a week. However, her teaching career was soon cut short. Fearing that her daughter, standing alone, might not be able to withstand the persecutions against the Church, Diadama arranged a quick marriage in July 1843 between Emmeline and James Harris, a son of the local branch president. The youngsters were both fifteen years old at the time.
In April 1844 Emmeline left Massachusetts with her husband and his family for Nauvoo, Illinois. Upon their arrival in Nauvoo, Emmeline had the privilege of meeting and shaking the hand of the Prophet Joseph Smith, who was cruelly martyred just a few months later.
Times were hard for the Saints, and James’s parents wanted to leave the Church. They entreated their son and his pregnant wife to join them, but the young couple refused. Emmeline and James’s child, a son, was born in September 1844, but he died several weeks later. After losing their child, James left to find work and never returned.
Grieving and alone at the age of sixteen, Emmeline decided to remain in Nauvoo and teach school. She became acquainted with Bishop Newel Whitney, and on February 14, 1845, they were married. In 1848, Emmeline traveled with Newel and his family to Salt Lake City, Utah. Within two weeks of their arrival in the Valley, Emmeline gave birth to a girl.
After living in Salt Lake Valley for two years, Newel died. Once again Emmeline was left alone, and again she turned to teaching. She taught sixty-five children in a log house without desks, blackboard, or books.
Emmeline’s teaching career ended in October 1852 when she married Daniel H. Wells, a prominent Church leader, who later served as a counselor to Brigham Young for twenty years. Daniel and Emmeline had three daughters, and Emmeline was a devoted wife and mother. Secure in her marriage, Emmeline was able to use many of her talents, especially her writing. She wrote letters and poems to friends and relatives. Writing had become for her a “solace in times of trouble and sorrow, something to turn to for relief, and in a way a pasttime.”
Emmeline’s talent for writing soon led her to contribute to the Woman’s Exponent. Later she became its assistant editor and then editor in 1877. She served as an editor for almost forty years. This nationally recognized publication was the second woman’s magazine to be created in the United States and the first one in the West.
While editor of the Woman’s Exponent, Emmeline felt that its major purpose was to educate women about all subjects and to encourage them to be active in public affairs, particularly politics. Women were encouraged to write their thoughts down and to submit them to the magazine.
Through her work Emmeline became known to the national leaders of the suffrage movement. In Utah she was elected vice president of the Women’s Suffrage Association. Emmeline became a personal friend of Susan B. Anthony and corresponded with her regularly. She attended several conventions in Washington, D.C., and met several presidents of the United States, never passing up an opportunity to speak out for women’s right to vote. In an interview with the associated press in Washington, D.C., she said, “For one, I am proud of Utah’s record in dealing with her female citizens. I look forward with eager hope to the day when woman suffrage shall become universal.”
President Brigham Young also knew the power of the written word and the importance of women in the Church. In September 1876 he met with Emmeline in his office and said to her: “I want to give you a mission, and it is to save grain. … I want the sisters to save the grain and I want. … you to begin by writing the strongest editorial that you can possibly write upon this subject.”
In 1876 Emmeline’s first editorial encouraging all women to save wheat appeared in the Woman’s Exponent. A central grain committee was established with Emmeline as chairman. Money was raised to buy wheat, fields were gleaned, and wheat was saved. Children helped the sisters too. During the first year of the program over 10,000 bushels of grain were saved! In subsequent years the wheat was given to the poor as well as to people in southern Utah who suffered from a drought. Flour was sent to San Francisco after the earthquake and fire in 1906, and a year later China received help from the Church during a famine. During World War I, the Relief Society sold more than one hundred thousand bushels of wheat to the United States government.
Emmeline wrote several songs, including “Our Mountain Home So Dear.” In 1896 she published a book of her poems entitled Musings and Memories. She also wrote for the Deseret News, Juvenile Instructor, Millennial Star, and national newspapers and magazines. Emmeline founded two literary societies in Utah.
No matter what Emmeline was doing in her life she always felt that she was serving the Church. At the age of eighty-two Emmeline was called to be the fifth general president of the Relief Society. She served faithfully in that capacity for eleven years. In 1921, three weeks after her release as president, Emmeline died. For the first time in Utah, flags were flown at half-staff to honor a woman—Emmeline B. Wells.

Thirty frightened girls packed their meager belongings in their scarves and trudged through the streets of Seoul, South Korea, to the home of Whang Keun-Ok. The house wasn’t really big enough to hold so many people, and the girls didn’t know what life would hold outside the comparative security of the orphanage where they had grown up. But they wanted to follow the woman they loved and trusted like a mother. They also wanted to participate in the church her example had led them to: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The pilgrimage on that November night in 1969 marked the beginning of Sister Whang’s Tender Apples Home—only one of the charitable projects which she considers her life’s mission.
In the meantime, the girls had learned that Stan was a Latter-day Saint. “Some of us had never heard of Mormons before, and some of us thought they were pagans,” says Jini. “But the only thing that seemed weird about Stan was that he was so tall. One day we said to him, ‘You’re such a nice person. It’s hard to believe you’re Mormon.’
“‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Your superintendent is a Mormon.’”
Jini was translating for the group, and she remembers sitting there stunned as the other girls begged her to tell them what Stan had said. Since the orphanage was sponsored by another religion, Sister Whang had agreed not to discuss her beliefs. The girls had known she was Christian, but that was all.
From the animated reaction, Stan knew he had said something he shouldn’t have. But it was too late. The girls started asking Sister Whang about her church. When the orphanage’s sponsoring religion found out, authorities told Sister Whang she would either have to convert to their church or find a new job.
It was then that Sister Whang decided to start an orphanage of her own—the Tender Apples Home. Those girls who were interested in the Church received permission to come and live with her.
Funding the orphanage was a constant challenge. Stan worked in the United States to raise money and find sponsors for the girls, and he says Sister Whang was constantly trying to find financial supporters. “She was good at opening people’s hearts and getting them to believe in her work,” he reports. “I think it was because she was so sincere.”
Eugene Till, who served as president of the Korea Seoul Mission from 1974 to 1977, believes that Sister Whang’s persistence also played a major role. “She would tell you what she needed, and she would accept nothing less than total fulfillment,” he says. “She never took her eye off a goal until it was accomplished. You can understand that kind of determination when a person is going to gain something from her work. But when the results of Sister Whang’s efforts came—clothing, money, food—she didn’t keep any of it for herself.”
Equally as important as supporting her girls temporally was giving them opportunities to feel the Spirit. Jessica Lyon Ohn spent three years in the Tender Apple Home, beginning in January 1975. She remembers that days started for the girls at 6:00 A.M.. with hymn singing, prayer, and scripture study. Sister Whang got up before the girls so she could pray and study the scriptures, then stoke the fires so the house would be warm when the girls woke up. Monday evenings were set aside for family home evening, and Sister Whang made sure the girls had money for bus fare so they could attend church each Sunday.
Sister Whang taught her girls to help spread the gospel. When President Till arrived in Korea in 1974, he learned from a survey that only 10 percent of the people in Seoul were aware of the name of the Church. During his three years as mission president, he and his missionaries concentrated on changing that. With Sister Whang’s permission, President Till assigned several elders—who formed a singing group known as “New Horizon”—to work directly with the Tender Apples choir to put on a musical show that would introduce the people in Korea to the gospel.
The group became immensely popular. Through it all, President Till remembers, Sister Whang “taught the girls that they shouldn’t be too proud of themselves, because they were just doing what they were supposed to do.” At the end of three years, more than 70 percent of the people in Seoul recognized the Church’s name.
One of Sister Whang’s major goals was to place as many of her girls as possible with Latter-day Saint families. Of the eighty-four children she brought up over a period of nearly twenty years, thirty-three were adopted into Latter-day Saint homes in the United States. Twelve have married in the temple, and nine have served full-time missions.
Also of utmost importance to Sister Whang was that the girls learn responsibility and be treated as equals. They were each assigned chores around the home—preparing food, washing clothes, and cleaning—and they were each expected to use the home’s resources wisely. Jessica remembers a time when one of the girls threw away a blouse that could have been repaired. When Sister Whang found it in the garbage, she lectured the girls on not wasting. Then, at the next home evening, she gave everyone a plastic sewing box full of needles and thread and taught them how to mend.
Even though the girls grew up and no longer live with her, Sister Whang cares about them still. Rosemarie Slover, former matron of the Seoul Korea Temple, says that when she and her husband, Robert, returned to Provo two years ago, Sister Whang asked them to check on her girls who lived in Utah, especially one who had just left Korea and would be homesick. Sister Whang corresponds with many of her girls, and her small, sparsely furnished room—she now rents the rest of her house in Seoul—is filled with pictures of them and their families.
And the girls feel a similar concern for their “mom.” In October 1990, she went to the United States to escort several children who were being adopted by U.S. families. Many girls who had sung in the Tender Apples choir gathered from far and near to see her. President Till speaks of watching her greet her “children,” with a broad smile on her face and tears in her eyes. As each woman arrived, often accompanied by a husband and children, Sister Whang would gather the group in a massive hug and hold on as if she would never let go.
“I’ve never seen Sister Whang show such emotion,” remembers President Till. “It was especially touching when I thought of what might have happened to those girls without her. A couple of them probably wouldn’t have survived. The rest of them probably would have ended up as servants or living on the street. Sister Whang truly provided physical salvation for those girls—and gave them the opportunity for spiritual salvation by introducing them to the gospel.”
But Sister Whang’s selflessness extends beyond her girls to everyone she meets. “She has a heart big enough for the whole world,” smiles Jini. “She can accept and love anybody.” Jini saw this illustrated vividly three and a half years ago when Jini went to Korea to find her brother, from whom she had been separated twenty-eight years earlier. He was now an alcoholic, both mentally and physically ill. He had no home, no money, no job—nothing but the tattered clothes on his back. Jini was forced to place him in a government institution.
Since family members were required to provide patients’ personal items, Jini called Sister Whang. Could Jini leave money and have Sister Whang phone the institution occasionally to see that her brother had the things he needed? Sister Whang promptly agreed. But instead of calling, she traveled to visit the man each week. By then she was the principal of a large preschool and kindergarten. But she regularly took nearly a whole day off work to bake him treats, ride the bus to the institution, then sit with him and hold his hand—even though he could give her little response.
“I couldn’t believe she did that,” says Jini. “She had never even met this guy. But she said, ‘I look forward to it every week.’”
“If there ever was a ministering angel, she’s one,” says Stan Bronson. “I believe with all my heart that she was raised up by the Lord for these purposes.”
Through it all, Sister Whang—one of Korea’s gospel pioneers—has done all she can to help build God’s kingdom on earth. She served for many years as district and stake Relief Society president, and she has been a temple worker since the Seoul temple opened in 1985. She asked to officiate two days each week instead of the normal one, reports Robert Slover, former temple president. Why? “She says it’s the Lord’s work,” explains Suzette Marble, “and she would do anything for Him—and be happy to do it.”
Sister Whang’s example has changed the lives of all who know her. “She never talks about what she has done, but she just goes about her work in her own small, quiet way,” observes Sister Slover.
“I think of her every day,” says Jini, “and I use her as a role model. She has taught me that one person can make a difference.”

Emma pressed her thin, ten-year-old body against the rough boards of the signal shack. She covered her ears with her hands and closed her eyes against the sight and sound of the puffing and panting steam engine. Emma was sure that someday it would jump right off the track.
Father came over and laid a comforting hand on Emma’s shoulder after he replaced the signal flag on a hook. “Now, Mouse, there’s nothing to fear,” he said.
Mouse! How she hated that name. Why couldn’t he call her Emma? It was a perfectly good name. In fact, it had been her grandmother’s and nobody had called her Mouse. Emma knew it was not because of her sleek brown hair and bright brown eyes that she was called Mouse but because of her fear of so many things.
“Too scared to say good-bye, Mouse?” teased her brother Tom a short time later as he lifted the suitcases and started toward the train.
Emma sighed. Her older brother wasn’t afraid of anything. He was leaving for boarding school, and Emma knew she’d miss him in spite of his teasing.
“Now look after each other,” said Mother, who was also boarding the train. She kissed Emma and Father good-bye. “I’ll be back Saturday.”
As the engine chugged away, Emma and Father started along the path that led through the woods to their cabin.
“Tom’s awfully brave to go away alone to school, Pa. I never could.”
“You could be brave if you had to, Mouse,” Father replied, “just like Grandmother Emma was brave. Once, when she was no bigger than you, she chased off a bear that was after the chickens.”
Emma hung her head and scuffed her shoes in the dirt. “She couldn’t have been afraid like me then, Pa.”
“You haven’t needed to be really brave yet, Mouse. You will be when you have to be,” Father comforted.
When they came out of the woods, he paused. “I’d better get to work on that barn tomorrow. It’s in need of a new roof. And some of the bracing is beginning to sag.”
The next day as the sun slipped behind the dark pines that stood like sentinels along the lane, Emma was setting the supper table. Suddenly the air was torn by the sound of a tremendous crash, followed by shouting. Emma flew to the doorway and stood rooted to the spot, still clutching a plate and gazing in horror. One whole section of the barn had settled into a pile of boards, with a few beams slanting crazily upward supporting parts of the roof. The air was filled with a heavy dust.
“Pa! Pa!” Emma screamed as she ran toward the tangled wreckage. At first she could see nothing for the dust, and then her eyes fastened on the still figure of her father, half covered by rubble.
“Oh, Pa,” she breathed as she knelt beside him and wiped the dust from his face with her apron. “Please, Pa, please don’t be dead.”
Pa groaned and opened his eyes, only to cry out and shut them again. Relief flooded over Emma to know he was still alive. “Didn’t make it, Mouse,” he moaned feebly as she pulled frantically at the boards.
“Lie still, Pa. I’ll get you out,” soothed the little girl. It was strange to be comforting her father, who had always before been the one to comfort her. But no matter how she tugged and pushed, her strength was not enough to free him.
“No use … get help,” Pa said faintly.
“I’ll run to the Bartons, Pa. It’s only a mile.”
“Gone away … flag the train, Emma. You can do it.” Then he was unconscious again.
Emma felt desperately alone. The birds were twittering sleepily, and the last rays of sunset streaked the darkening sky with pink. Emma shivered in the chill. She was too frightened to walk through those woods and flag the train by herself.
But someone has to help Pa, she thought. Pa said I could do it. He even called me Emma! He’s depending on me, and if I don’t get help soon, Pa might die. It’s all up to me.
Emma sped back to the cabin. She glanced at the clock ticking away steadily on the mantel as though nothing had happened. If she ran, there would be just enough time to stop the train. She’d have to use a lantern, though, because it was getting too dark for the signal flag to be seen.
Snatching up a blanket, the lantern, and a tin box of matches, she ran back to the barn. Her father lay motionless. Tucking the blanket around him, she whispered, “I’ll do it, Pa. I’ll get help. You’ll be all right.” There was no answer.
Moving quickly through the darkening woods, Emma felt a moment of panic when she heard the sad howl of a wolf. But at last she reached the shack and set the lantern on the ground to light it. The evening breeze snuffed out the first two matches, but her trembling fingers managed to light the lantern with the third.
Emma heard the thin wail of the train whistle. Grasping the lantern tightly in both hands, she stepped into the middle of the track. Shivering with fright, she slowly swung the lantern back and forth, back and forth. Far down the track she could barely see the gleaming eye of the train in the dusk.
The thunder of the wheels became a rushing, deafening roar. And as the train came near, the ground shook beneath her feet. Emma gritted her teeth. She was so frightened that it was all she could do to keep from jumping off the track and running. Only the thought of Pa under the rubble held her there. Oh, please stop! she agonized.
Abruptly the signal came—two short blasts of the whistle. Thankfully, Emma leaped off the track and in a few seconds the train ground to a halt with an earsplitting screech and a shattering blast of steam.
Soon men from the train had Pa on a stretcher, his broken leg in a splint, and they were carrying him through the woods back to the train. Emma walked by his side holding his hand. He was conscious now and managed to squeeze her hand and whisper, “I knew you could do it, Emma. It was your time to be brave.”

A stake president was scheduled to meet with a young man to interview him and help him complete his mission application. The young man was a bright student and had saved money for his mission. He attended church regularly and was worthy of a temple recommend. Still, the stake president had one concern: The young man was drinking 12 energy drinks a day! In their meeting, the stake president suggested that he break the energy-drink habit before they submitted the application to the Missionary Department.
“No problem, President,” said the young man. “It’s not a habit. I can quit anytime.” They scheduled another interview a week later and the young man left. The following day he found out just how much of a habit his non-habit had become. His body was craving the drinks, and it was difficult to say no to himself. By midweek he called the stake president for a blessing. “I guess I really was more addicted than I thought,” he said. “This is really hard.”
The blessing was given, and the stake president continued to meet with the young man and monitor his progress. The process actually took months, but finally this young man felt ready to submit his application. His advice to others: “Don’t be fooled. Just because something isn’t specifically mentioned in the Word of Wisdom doesn’t mean there aren’t negative consequences.”
When the stake president asked the young man to break his dependence on energy drinks before beginning his mission, the young man found it difficult. After several months of hard work, that missionary entered the MTC and wrote the following in a letter to his stake president: “I want to thank you for all your help preparing me to serve. This place is incredible. The Spirit is so strong in all the classes and devotionals. You can even feel it when you are walking down the halls. This feeling is better than any energy drink!”

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor by the Japanese on December 7, 1941, the United States entered World War II. Shortly thereafter, President Franklin D. Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the removal of anyone of Japanese ancestry from regions on the United States West Coast to internment camps located farther inland. Both of my parents’ families were relocated because of this order; all but two of them were U.S.-born citizens.
My mother, June Kazuko Takiuchi, was nine years old at the time she and her parents were ordered to gather their belongings (only what they could carry) and report to an assembly center in San Jose, California. They and other Japanese families were then transported to Tanforan racetrack, where they lived in horse stalls for several weeks until the construction of the relocation camps was completed.
Their final destination was a camp called the Topaz War Relocation Center, located in a desolate region of west-central Utah, just north of the town of Delta.
June, at age 10, with her father, Tadao Ernie Takiuchi, and mother, Tsugiyo Bessie Takiuchi
Surprisingly, my mother had some fond memories of being “in camp.” My mom shared how she learned to ice-skate “in camp.” I found it weird for someone to learn ice-skating “in camp,” thinking she was referring to just your average yearly summer camp. It wasn’t until I learned about WWII and the internment camps that I understood what she meant by “in camp.”
As I was growing up, she openly shared what she remembered from her camp years, and several times she mentioned the love and kindness of her “Mormon schoolteacher,” Mrs. Westover. I later learned that Mrs. Maurine Westover went above and beyond to love and serve her students. She gave them gifts during the holidays and planned parties with the understanding that all her students were of different faiths, including Buddhism.
June Takiuchi’s fourth-grade class at the Topaz internment camp. June’s teacher, Maurine Westover (far right), was a member of the Church. (You can watch a video in which Sister Westover shares her memories of the camp at westoverfamilyhistory.org/the-spirit-of-receiving.)
My mom and her parents endured a difficult three years, but whenever they spoke of camp, they always spoke with praise and gratitude for the members of the Church who worked in the camp, and of the compassion and empathy that they had for the Japanese people.
I believe it was the seeds of charity, service, and empathy that fostered such great feelings of appreciation and respect for the Church in my family. I know that their praise led to my desire to learn more about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints; about our Savior, Jesus Christ; and about His wonderful plan for families. It may have taken over 40 years for the seeds that were sown in desolate Topaz to take root, but I’m grateful for the opportunity that I will have to someday reap eternal rewards with my family.

Part of being worthy to enter the temple is obeying the Word of Wisdom. Seth Robinson, a teacher from Reno, Nevada, decided to share the benefits of the Word of Wisdom as part of his Eagle Scout project.
Seth—at left with fellow Scouts Greg Handlon and Caleb Sumrall—set up a display on the dangers of tobacco in a busy shopping mall near his home. He then talked specifically to teenagers walking through the mall, answering questions and distributing information.
“Meeting with the general public made me aware that many people think the use of tobacco will not harm them,” says Seth, who spent a lot of time telling people that nothing could be farther from the truth. “I think this project was a success.”

When Isabelle was a young girl, her dad worked in the French military. Their family moved around a lot. When she was eight, they moved to the Sahara Desert. There were no other Church members nearby, so they got permission to have the sacrament in their home.
Every Sunday, Isabelle and her family gathered in the living room and sang hymns they had memorized. Her dad blessed the bread and water for the sacrament. Then her parents and siblings took turns giving talks.
This showed Isabelle how important it was to live the gospel. Since they lived far away from other Church members, no one would have known if they stopped having church at home on Sunday. But they chose to do the right thing.
Two years later, they moved back to France, where there were more members of the Church. Isabelle was able to be baptized. Seeing her parents live the gospel in the Sahara Desert helped her testimony begin to grow. It gave her faith in God to do the right thing, even when no one was watching.