Gospel Story Finder

I would like to illustrate the fulfillment of President Packer’s promise in the life of a Relief Society sister in Fredericksburg, Virginia. This sister was faithful. She joined the Church 18 years ago and believed with all of her heart that she could have a family united in the gospel of Jesus Christ. However, her husband was not prepared to make the necessary lifestyle changes. He supported her decision but would not join. She had two sons who were being influenced by the decisions of her husband. In the course of her struggle, a dear sister gave her a tape of a talk by Elder M. Russell Ballard. From that tape she learned that faith and doubt cannot be in the mind at the same time. She firmly grasped onto this hope that the Lord would support her in her righteous desires if she would be faithful. She told no one but set a goal for her husband’s baptism and the reactivation of her two sons. New ideas kept coming into her mind as to what she could do to bring about this great promise. Slowly but surely she began to see progress. Her husband accepted the challenge to take the discussions again, and her sons felt a new spirit in their home and started reacting positively.
First, both sons became active in the Church again. And finally, her husband was baptized and received the priesthood. Not coincidentally, her husband’s baptism was within three weeks of the date which this faithful sister set as her goal to unite her family in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

After dinner, Casey plopped down next to me on the sofa. “I looked over your geometry chapter,” she said. “I think I remember it well enough to help you study.” It was amazing what a little one-on-one help did for me that night. I don’t know if it was because my brain was clear and quiet, like an erased slate, after the day of emotion, or just the knack Casey had for making things clear. But whatever it was, I finally understood.

Ryan* came through the door and placed his schoolbag on a peg in the hallway. His mother called to him, “Be sure to check out the bathtub. You won’t believe this.”
His curiosity aroused, Ryan walked directly to the bathroom. He didn’t know what to expect, but what he saw made him shudder. In the bottom of the tub were five hairy tarantulas. Each was half the size of a man’s hand.
As Ryan peered tentatively over the edge of the tub, his mom touched him on the shoulder. “I can’t even look,” she said nervously. “The girls promised me that those things couldn’t get out of the tub. I’ll have nightmares for a week over this.”
“Who brought them?”
“One of those things has a tag tied to its leg. That will answer your questions,” his mom said as she turned away.
Getting the tag off the tarantula’s leg took half an hour and occasioned the gathering of several of Ryan’s friends, who thought this was the coolest dance invitation they had seen yet. The house was in an uproar. On one side, the tag read: “Hey, big guy! How about going to the girl’s dance with me? Kim.” On the other: “Don’t hurt the spiders. They’re rented.”
When the last of the visitors had drifted away, Mom said to Ryan, “You don’t seem that excited about the invitation. Is Kim somebody you want to go with?”
Ryan replied after a pause, “Yeah, I guess.”
“She’s certainly a gorgeous girl. I was impressed by her poise and self-confidence,” his mom continued.
“Uh huh.”
“And her friends were very classy. I’ll bet they don’t have any trouble dating the boys they want to.”
“Not much.”
“Is she the person you hoped would ask you?”
“Not really,” said Ryan.
“Tell me about her,” his mom pressed.
Ryan was starting to feel impatient with the conversation. He ended it more abruptly than he meant to by saying, “I don’t think it would be a good thing for me to go out with her. She and her friends are making some bad choices.”
That’s what Ryan did. He just didn’t feel right about accepting an invitation from Kim, no matter how cleverly it was presented. In the end, he chose to do what was right. I hope and pray that you will be faithful in developing the ability to do the same.

When you look at Jason Nicholl’s medical history, it’s no wonder he eventually wants to become a doctor. He’s certainly visited enough of them in his life. Even less surprising is the fact Jason worked as an emergency medical technician before leaving to serve a full-time mission in the Nevada Las Vegas Mission. After being helped for all these years, he figures he needs to start giving back and helping others.
“I’ve always been a klutz. On every Scout campout, I’d do something to hurt myself,” says Jason. Let’s see, there was the time he sliced off the top of his finger while closing a pocketknife. There was the speed-cutting contest where he was chopping with an ax that hit a knot in the log, flew up, and embedded itself in his ankle.
He’d like to remember the time he was night skiing when one of his skis came off, hit him in the face, broke his nose and knocked him out. He spent four days in the hospital, but he’s still a little foggy about that episode.
Besides his nose, Jason has broken two of his ribs, his arm, his hand, and his foot. To this day he can’t tell you how many fingers he’s broken. “Countless,” he says. But as the youngest emergency medical technician for an ambulance company in Salt Lake City, Jason began working toward the goal he’s had since he was six years old. “One day when I was six, I was sitting in front of the TV watching this health channel where they were showing some surgical procedure. It fascinated me,” Jason recalls. “That’s when I decided I wanted to be a doctor.”
Jason knows he has a lot of schooling ahead of him once he returns from his mission. However, he’s already learned much about the body because of the training he has received as an EMT. Many EMTs use their training as stepping-stones to jobs in law enforcement or related medical careers.
In fact, when Jason returns from his mission, he hopes to follow in his father’s footsteps and become a paramedic. While EMTs are trained in basic life support, paramedics know advanced life support techniques and are able to perform emergency procedures EMTs can’t. Jason sees this as the next logical step toward his ultimate career goal.
He knows that after spending two years as a missionary, it will take some time to get his skills back when he returns. But it’s a tradeoff he’s willing to make. “I believe in the gospel and I believe in the work,” Jason says.
Besides, when he gets back he’ll have the rest of his life ahead of him.

About 30 years ago I met a man whom I will call Thomas. He was 45 years old when I met him. Twenty years earlier his parents had joined the Church. Thomas had no interest in his parents’ new religion. But his parents loved him, and they treasured the hope that someday their son might be brought to know the truth of the restored gospel. As the years passed, they tried many times to persuade him to at least meet with the missionaries and hear their message. He refused again and again, and he mocked his parents for their religious faith.

One day in desperation his mother said, “Thomas, if you will take the missionary discussions one time, then I will never again talk to you about the Church.” Thomas decided this was a good bargain and agreed to meet with the missionaries. During the first three discussions, he simply sat there full of pride, occasionally making fun of what the elders were teaching.

During the fourth discussion, about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the first principles of the gospel, Thomas said nothing but grew unusually silent and listened closely. At the end of the lesson, the elders bore their testimonies of the Savior. One of the missionaries then felt prompted to open his Bible and read these words:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matthew 11:28–29).

Without warning, Thomas burst into tears. “Are you trying to say that Christ can forgive me of my sins?” he asked. “I have lived a terrible life. I am haunted by the memory of my sins. I would do anything to be freed of the guilt I feel.”

His pride had been a facade that hid a soul captive to sin and guilt. The elders assured Thomas that Christ would forgive him and free him from the burden of guilt if he would but repent and be baptized and confirmed. Then they bore testimony of the power of the Atonement. From that moment on, everything changed in Thomas’s life. He had much to repent of and to overcome, but through the blessings of the Lord, he qualified for baptism.

More than 20 years later, as I sat in the chapel of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, a gray-haired man in front of me turned around and said, “Aren’t you Elder Porter?” To my great joy, I recognized Thomas—a man freed from bondage by the power of Jesus Christ.

The Gestewitz family has a great love for missionary work. In early 1987 the missionaries knocked on the door. Daniel’s mother, Tracy, answered it and was very curious about the young men and their message. She had seen the young men walking up and down the street in front of her home and had often wondered who they were and just why they were out on foot in the middle of the winter. So she invited them to come back when her husband, Kenneth, would be home. At the end of April Daniel’s parents were baptized and became members of the Lancaster Pennsylvania First Ward. A year later, when he was four years old, Daniel’s family was sealed in the temple.

All of a sudden something flashed through my mind. I was reminded of another time when I had looked in a mirror and was concerned about the way I looked. And I started to laugh.
When I was sixteen years old, I had an opportunity to go to a dance. This was the first time I had ever worn a tuxedo. It was exciting. I had just turned 16 and had asked a special girl to go with me. It was the first time I was to take a girl out to dinner. I was so concerned. I remember that I didn’t want to be late, so I started getting my tuxedo on at 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon. Just as I was putting on my bow tie, I noticed something happening on my chin. No, not now! I ran to the mirror. Right there on the left side was a blemish. I can remember how angry I got. Why did it happen today? Why couldn’t it have happened tomorrow? Any day but today. Pictures will be taken. In my attempt to correct the problem, I made it bright red.
By the time I went to get my girl friend, I had to position myself so that my right side faced her and my left side faced away. All through the dance, she kept asking who I was looking at. I was so embarrassed by the way I looked. We went to the restaurant. I asked to be seated at a large table for 10 so that I could sit on her left side and she wouldn’t look at my blemish.
Now here I was in the hospital remembering how silly I had been. Here I was having fought for my very life and having fought for everything I had, even though it didn’t look very good. In fact, it didn’t look good at all. Yet, I knew I could see. I took a little moment to say a prayer of thanks to my Father in Heaven because he had answered that prayer. There really had been no chance that I would see again. But I’ll never forget how silly I was about that blemish.

Let me tell you what I mean by that. Brother Goo and I often have opportunities to visit with BYU-Hawaii alumni either when they come to our home to visit or when we are visiting in their home countries. It is always a joyous occasion to renew our acquaintances with them. And in most cases, they would tell us how amazing it is that it doesn't matter where they go in the world, they run into BYU-Hawaii alumni. One would be walking down the crowded street in MongKok in Hong Kong, or in Bangkok, Thailand and lock eyes with someone walking toward him and he knew that somewhere he has seen that person before but could not put his finger on where and when. And when he passed that person he would look back to meet the eyes of that person who is looking back also, after which both would stop and point at each other "BYU-Hawaii?"
They would shake hands, embrace and they would strike up a conversation. "What are you doing here?"He replied "Oh, my company is sending me here for two years.""Is your family coming?""Yes, they will come as soon as I find housing.""Well, I will be happy to help you look for housing and in fact, come over to dinner at my house and let us see what we can do to help you."
And from there these two former BYU-Hawaii students renew their friendship and one became the mentor to the other. What a wonderful feeling of love and friendship.

Eric was different from the other kids and he knew it. But he wasn’t sure whether he liked being different. He often thought about it when he woke up early in the morning and had to stay in bed and be quiet so he wouldn’t wake up his brothers. Sometimes he would turn on his lamp and read. Other times he would lie in the dark and listen to the cars and trucks whizzing by on the turnpike or to the rooster crowing. Then he would think about how far away the cars and the rooster were and why he could hear them so well in the morning, when he never even noticed them in the daytime while he played.
Sometimes Eric would think about his curly red hair and how the other kids called him “Red, Red, the Fire Head” and how he had to share a room with his three brothers instead of having a room all by himself like his friend Andy Rogers. Those were times he didn’t like being different.
It wasn’t just his red hair and waking up early that made Eric different. And it wasn’t just having seven brothers and sisters when his friends had only one or two. Eric was the only one in his school class who went to Primary and the only one in his neighborhood who couldn’t play boisterous games on Sunday.
Most of the time Eric didn’t like being different, but lately he was thinking about something else. In two weeks it would be his birthday and he’d be eight years old. Sometimes when he’d wake up in the mornings, he’d think about being baptized. He tried to imagine how it would be when he put on the white clothes and walked down the steps into the water. He could picture his dad standing in the water waiting for him and holding out his hand for Eric to take. This thought made Eric feel good.
One day on the way home from school Eric talked to Andy about being baptized. “Are you going to be baptized when you’re eight?” he asked his friend.
“I don’t think so,” Andy replied. “I don’t know much about that stuff.” Boy, Eric thought, different again!
Then Andy asked, “Will you be baptized when you’re eight?”
Eric looked at Andy for a moment and decided, Andy won’t tease me if I tell him about it because he’s a good friend. “Yes, I will,” Eric answered. “In two weeks it will be my eighth birthday. And that’s old enough to be baptized. I can hardly wait.”
Then an exciting idea came to Eric. “Say, Andy,” he asked, “would you like to come to my baptism? My dad’s going to do it. I get to wear all white clothes and sit on the front row with my dad. You could come and bring your dad, too, if you want to.”
When Eric’s baptism date finally came, his whole family went with him. Andy and Mr. Rogers were there too.
Before the baptism all the people participated in a brief service. First there was a song and then a talk about Jesus being baptized and about the importance of following Him.
Jesus was different too, Eric realized. It was a very comforting thought.
When it was time to be baptized, everything happened just like Eric had imagined. But now he could really feel Dad’s strong hand reach out for his. He could feel the cool water pushing softly against his waist. For a few moments Eric didn’t think of anything at all except the sound of his dad’s voice and the warmth of his dad’s hand and the cool water all around him.
After the baptism and after he and Dad had changed clothes, Eric shook hands with everyone, and his mother gave him a tight hug. Then Eric and his dad walked to the back of the room to see Andy and Mr. Rogers, who were both looking pleased. Dad shook hands with Mr. Rogers and said, “Thanks for coming, Frank.”
Mr. Rogers waited a moment before he answered. “It was my pleasure,” he said. “It was a lot different than I expected. I’m glad we were here to see it.”
Then he turned to Eric and shook his hand. And Eric knew that something very important had happened not only to him but to Andy and his father too. And then Eric knew that in some ways it was good to be different.

Photo illustration from Getty Images
Dorothy knew the end was coming. Every day she lost something more—not tangible things, but abilities. The ability to shower herself. The ability to fix her own meals. The ability to walk to the bathroom without falling. The ability to unlock the back door and pick up the paper. The ability to write a note to a loved one.
Some things she hadn’t lost yet, though. Her spunk. Her wit. Her gratitude. Because of that, being with Dorothy brought joy. Her home seemed to welcome guests from both sides of the veil.
One night, I was the ward Relief Society guest staying with her—supposedly helping her. A spring storm arose, and the power went off about 11:00 p.m. We discovered the power was out when I tried to turn the lights on so I could help her to the bathroom. I flipped the switch, but nothing happened. Dorothy was prepared, however. She pulled a tiny flashlight from a pocket on her walker, and somehow with that meager light we managed to stumble down the hall. After the slow walk back to her chair, she smiled and said, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
Illustration by Carolyn Vibbert
The same night, about 12:30 a.m., something woke me. I heard the prompting: “Dorothy needs her portable oxygen.” I noticed that the bubbling of Dorothy’s regular oxygen machine had stopped. The power was still off. I hurried to get her portable oxygen. I put it on her, trying not to wake her. As I placed the tubes around her face, she looked up and again said, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
Fortunately, when I texted our Relief Society president at 1:00 a.m., she answered. “The power isn’t off at my house,” she said. “I’ll call the power company.” Her call must have done the trick, because at 1:30 a.m., trucks arrived and men began restoring electricity to Dorothy’s home. When she awoke at 2:30 a.m. to make another slow, flashlight-guided walk to the bathroom, she looked through the kitchen windows. She saw all the workers and said, “I hope they know how grateful I am.”
The workers left at 5:30 that morning, just as the battery ran out on her portable oxygen. But the lights were back on. After another slow trip to the bathroom, we saw that her regular oxygen machine was bubbling once again. I helped her safely settle back into her chair. Before she closed her eyes, she told me about three other visitors she had seen during the night—family members who had come to bring her comfort and peace. Then she whispered once again, “Do you know how grateful I am?”
I left Dorothy’s home at 8:00 a.m. on Saturday morning when another sister from our ward arrived to be with her. As I sat in my car, tears started to form. I felt such love for Dorothy, such thankfulness for the tender moments I had spent with her.
I found myself offering a prayer of thanks as her words came tumbling from my heart: “Heavenly Father, do You know how grateful I am?”
Even though Dorothy was advanced in age and in need of assistance, her simple example of gratitude blessed me that night. And it continues to bless me. Though she has passed on, I often find myself thinking, “Do people know how grateful I am?” And whenever I do, I try to express that gratitude.
Learn More
Read about taking care of yourself while giving care to others in the April 2021 Liahona—one article in print (“While Caring for Others, Take Care of Yourself”) and another digital only (“Caregiver? Take Care of Yourself Too”).

In The Gambia, Samuel and his friends met often in the home of his friend Charles Amoah to partake of the sacrament and teach one another. This was in 1994. Sometime during the latter part of 1994, they met the Endecotts. Michael Endecott was a member of the Church from the United States and was living in The Gambia with his family. The friends met in the home of the Endecotts on a couple of occasions till the Endecotts travelled back home to America. During that time, two of the Endecotts’ sons were baptized in The Gambia.
Later all the friends, except Albert Frederick Alexander, left The Gambia. Some travelled back home to Ghana whilst some travelled abroad. Charles Amoah travelled back to Ghana and is currently serving as a counsellor in a mission presidency in Cape Coast; Stephen Amoah travelled to the United States and lives in Utah with his family. Ernest Arko sadly passed away in Cape Coast after a brief illness during one of his visits to Ghana. Samuel Amoah lives in Ghana.

Andrei and Valentina Dudka of the Vynohradars’kyi Ward were introduced to the gospel by neighbors in 2003. After meeting for several weeks with missionaries, the couple decided to join the Church.
Although the Dudkas were excited to learn gospel truths such as the need for latter-day temples and the potential of having an eternal family, they gradually slipped into inactivity. “We just found reasons not to go to church,” Sister Dudka says. “We let things come up—like we were just too tired or there was a show on TV we wanted to watch.”
The Dudkas’ lack of activity adversely affected their happiness. “We started to see a real difference between Church life and worldly life after we left the Church,” Brother Dudka says. “We weren’t happy.”
After about four months of not attending church, Sister Dudka reached her breaking point. “A certain Sunday came, and I said, ‘If I don’t go today, I might not survive,’” she says. “I was like a person who had gone days without water. I needed that water.”
After returning to activity, Sister Dudka patiently prayed for and encouraged her husband to come back to church with her. About half a year after she returned to church, so did her husband.
“My wife’s prayers affected me,” Brother Dudka says. “I realized that as a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, I had the responsibility to be an active member. I recognized that without God, I could not do anything.”
After the Dudkas returned to the Church, their thoughts returned to the saving ordinances of the temple. The couple joined with other Ukrainian Latter-day Saints in rejoicing in the temple groundbreaking in 2007.
“After they started building the temple, we would often come by and just look at the work being done,” Brother Dudka says.
“I jumped so high when I saw them lay the first stone,” Sister Dudka adds.
When the angel Moroni figure was placed on top of the temple, there was a lot of hugging and tears among the Saints and particularly among the Dudkas.
“When they finally finished building the temple, there was such relief that we knew we were worthy to enter,” Brother Dudka says.
The Dudkas say being sealed in the temple has built in them a stronger eternal perspective on life. “You understand that your family is no longer just you and your husband—now the Lord is part of it too,” Sister Dudka says. “We now look at each other with eternal eyes.”

Clay, Ron, and Dean proved themselves to be young men of action and compassion as they rescued a young woman from her burning car.
Returning home from a movie, the trio discovered the burning, wrecked car on the freeway exit. The driver was seriously injured, unable to move, and calling for help. Bystanders were doing nothing.
Ignoring personal risk, Clay approached the car and was forced back. “I backed off once,” he said. “I was afraid it was going to blow up. She was kind of groggy and she said, ‘Help me, please, someone help me.’
“The second time, I just said to myself, ‘It’s for her good. If it blows up on me, that’s it.’” With that thought, Clay helped the badly injured woman out of her car. With a compound ankle fracture, she relied on Clay to carry her to the curb.
Meanwhile, Ron used the fire extinguisher from his car to attack the flames. When that and another extinguisher provided by a bystander failed to completely douse the fire, Ron and Dean ran to a pay phone and called for paramedics. Arriving police and firemen completed extinguishing the fire.

As early Saints reached Utah, President Brigham Young issued calls to some of them to serve missions to many nations of the world, to others to colonize areas outside the Salt Lake Valley. George Careless was prepared to accept any call he received.
“Brother George,” President Young said, “I have a mission for you. … I want you to take the Tabernacle Choir … and lay a foundation for good music in Utah.” Brother Careless accepted the call.
Born in London on September 24, 1839, George displayed musical talent early in life. His father, a woodcarver, berated his son for “wasting time” with music and told him to learn a trade. George went to work in a shoemaking company, but his heart wasn’t in it. The plant foreman, a music lover who collected violins, loaned him one of them, and George soon learned to play it.
When he was ten years old, he was offered a place in a London choir school, where boys earned their academic and musical education by singing in a church or cathedral. It was a wonderful opportunity, but George turned it down. He had recently joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was eager to participate fully in it.
George’s father never accepted his devotion to music and told him to either give it up or leave the family. So when he was thirteen, George left home.
Later, the shoe factory foreman loaned George the money to attend the Royal Academy of Music. After graduating in three years rather than the usual four, he was hired as a member of an orchestra that gave concerts in the Crystal Palace, England’s showplace for the arts. With his first earnings, he repaid the foreman.
At the same time, George worked to improve the musical activities of the Church in England. He directed a London Conference choir, earning it such a high reputation that it was invited to perform at several of London’s leading concert halls.
His career was progressing so well that Elder William C. Staines encouraged him to move to Utah before he became so famous that it would be almost impossible to leave those who went to hear him. Six weeks later, George sailed for America. On his ship, the Hudson, he led a choir composed of Saints who were immigrating to Utah. He arrived in New York City on July 19, 1864. From there he suffered illness and hunger much of the rest of the way.
Arriving in the Salt Lake Valley, George was given the depressing news that the few professional musicians already there were unable to make a living with their music. Even so, he was determined to teach music even if he starved. By the end of the next month, he had twenty-four paying pupils. The going rate for a series of lessons in the Salt Lake Valley was a hundred pounds of flour.
When President Young called him to his musical mission, George replied, “I will do the best I can with the material I can get.”
The prophet responded, “You will have to make that.”
Organizing a choir in the rough conditions of frontier living took determination and grit as well as talent. At his first rehearsal of the choir, only forty members were present. The Tabernacle, still under construction, had no heating or lighting. Choir members held a candle in one hand, their music in the other.
On October 8, 1873, the Salt Lake Tabernacle Choir joined with choirs from fourteen surrounding communities to perform at General Conference. Some of the choirs had to travel several days to reach Salt Lake City.
When Brigham Young died in 1877, George assembled a 220-member choir to perform a hymn he composed for the funeral.
After serving eleven years as director of the Tabernacle Choir, George resigned his post in 1880. His mission was to continue, though, when President John Taylor asked him to head a committee to write music for all the hymns to be included in The Latter-day Saints’ Psalmody, published in 1889. The Psalmody contained 330 hymns, three-fourths of them set to music by Mormon composers. One of Brother Careless’s compositions is the well-known sacrament hymn “He Died! The Great Redeemer Died.”
George Careless fulfilled his mission to lay a foundation for good music, not just in Utah but in the whole Church.

The scriptures are a ready source of family home evening lessons. When Sister Fortunata Mandalari of the Reggio Calabria Branch, Calabria Italy District, took a vacation to visit her daughter’s family, she turned to the scriptures for a family home evening lesson.
“I prepared a piece of paper for each of the seven family members,” she says, “and I wrote on it: ‘For the next family home evening, come prepared with your favorite scripture and a comment. You will have five minutes.’
“On Monday, when we sat down at the table, there was already a peaceful feeling. I knew everything was going to go well. Each family member spoke of a different scripture, and everyone had a chance to speak up and learn from one another. We were so happy with this format that we used it for the remainder of my vacation.
“After I returned home, my daughter told me that her family still enjoys this approach for family home evening. Everyone studies, speaks, and listens. There is no time for boredom.”

Not long ago I was assigned to a stake conference—and I shall not mention where because an uncle or grandfather of someone here probably presides there. The stake president’s home where I was to stay—as we General Authorities normally do on weekends—was a very modest home. The family consisted of seven children and, of course, the two parents; the house had three bedrooms and one bath; then here came a General Authority visitor. In order to make room and a little privacy for the visitor, they evicted three children out of the one bedroom adjacent to the only bath. In the group of three there was a little seven-year-old boy; he went along with the arrangement, but you could tell that he was not all that excited. He did not say a whole lot on Saturday. Recognizing, with my military training, that it would take a little organization the next morning, I got up extra early and slipped across the hall into the only bath. There standing in the hallway was my little seven-year-old friend. He did not say a word, but just looked at me—then he put his hands on his hips and said, “Boy, I’ll sure be glad when you go.”

The bump in the freeway wasn’t supposed to be there. At least that was my big brother’s excuse. Andy might have been driving a little too fast, if you ask me.
“I hope Lehi’s ship is tied tight,” I grunted as our truck sailed over the bump.
“No problem, sis,” said Andy.
But just then, Lehi’s ship broke loose and sailed out of the back of our truck.
“Our ship is sunk!” yelled my seven-year-old brother, Tony, who is never without words.
“There goes the main prop for our Primary play,” I moaned to myself.
Cars screeched. I scrunched down between my brothers, waiting for a crash, but it never came. All the screeching tires behind us stopped before running into the prop or each other.
Andy steered our truck to the side of the road. “How could this happen?” he groaned as he stumbled out of the truck. Tony leaped out too. I stayed scrunched in my seat, not wanting to see our once-beautiful ship.
“Wow, will you look at this!” cried Tony. “Lisa, come look.”
I slid out. There, spread over all three lanes of the freeway, was the ship we had lovingly worked on for weeks.
“It isn’t all broken,” said Tony. “Maybe we could put it back together.”
“No way,” I said with a scowl. “The play starts in four hours.”
“I bet there’s a way. If I had a hammer, I could do it,” Tony argued.
Cars were lining up behind Lehi’s ship faster than we lined up for lunch at school. High in the sky, I could see a traffic report helicopter. I could hear a nearby car radio blaring, “I’ve never seen anything like this before, but it looks like an old sailing ship has washed ashore on the west freeway. It’s blocking all northbound lanes.”
Cars were honking. People were leaping out of their cars and marching toward us. I was so embarrassed that I wanted to hide.
A young man in a white uniform was the first to reach us. “It looks like you left your ship behind, too,” he drawled. “I left mine over in the Navy yard. I didn’t think I’d be running into another ship quite so soon.”
“Are you in the Navy?” exclaimed Tony.
“Sure am, son.”
A big man who looked like one of those football players Dad watches on TV ran up beside us. “That thing really went flying. I’m glad it didn’t hit me.” He motioned to Andy. “Look, if you’ll pull your truck right around here, I think a few of us can load it for you.”
Another man was peering dumbfoundedly at the wreckage through his thick glasses. “What is this thing, anyway?”
“It’s Lehi’s ship,” piped up Tony.
Oh no! I thought. I hoped Tony wasn’t going to give his Book of Mormon discourse right here on the freeway.
The young sailor scratched his short-cropped red hair. “Lehi’s ship?” he said thoughtfully. “It seems like I’ve heard of that somewhere before.”
“It’s from the Book of Mormon,” answered Tony.
“That’s it!” The sailor snapped his fingers. “Isn’t he the guy who sailed across the ocean with a bunch of sons who were always fighting?”
“Yeah, that’s kind of how the story goes,” said Tony.
“I knew it!” said the young man. “One of my shipmates told me the whole story. He gave me that book to read.”
I didn’t say a word.
By the time Andy pulled his truck up beside our broken ship, the crowd had heard practically the entire Book of Mormon—both Tony’s version and the sailor’s version.
At least a dozen people crowded around to help hoist the prop back into the truck. Tony bounded into the back of it. “Up this way a little,” he directed.
I stood there with a long face. One man looked down at me as he held the ship. “It’s tough luck about your ship. I heard your play is supposed to start—”
Everyone stopped talking and even moving. Wailing down the other side of the freeway were flashing red and blue lights. Two highway patrol cars crossed the median strip, then swung around to where we were. It was the only way they could reach us. Officers from the cars jumped out. One of them scowled as he approached the group surrounding the ship. He seemed oblivious to the fact that they were holding the biggest section of the ship in midair. “Who owns this truck?” he snapped.
“I do,” Andy said glumly.
I felt a little bit sorry for him.
“Young man, do you know what time of day it is?” asked the officer.
“Yes, sir. It’s rush hour.”
I avoided looking at Andy by watching the officer’s thick mustache twitch up and down as he spoke.
“Do you know that you have traffic backed up for over two miles down the freeway?”
“This is no time for a lecture, Jerry,” said another highway patrolman. “They need help.”
The first officer looked around, then nodded, his scowl lessening. With the help of the highway patrol officers, Lehi’s ship was quickly lifted back into the truck. Everyone, including me, scurried across the lanes, retrieving the rest of the wreckage.
Suddenly a short, wiry man trotted up beside me. “My car is trapped way back there,” he panted. “I just heard on the traffic report that you Mormons were having a big play tonight but that your ship got smashed on the freeway. I just wanted to tell you that I’m a carpenter and, well, maybe I could help. I don’t live too far from your church, and I could get my tools. …”
“That’s very kind,” I said, embarrassed by all the attention. “But we’ve already caused you—”
“I think that would be great!” Tony interrupted.
“Terrific! I’ll come over as soon as I get home.” The carpenter waved as he trotted back to his car.
Finally Andy, Tony, and I climbed back into the truck. Andy turned the key in the ignition. The word Mormon jumped out at us from the radio.
“Those Mormons are supposed to be performing tonight,” said the traffic reporter, “but I think they’ve put on a bigger show this afternoon on the freeway.”
I slunk down in my seat, and Andy groaned. Tony gloated, “Hear that! We’re famous.”
When we turned into the church parking lot, Lehi’s ship was not the only thing trailing close behind us. Car after car turned into the parking lot. The big burly man came. The redheaded sailor came. Even the highway patrol officer with the mustache followed us. The parking lot was filling up with our friends from the freeway. When the carpenter arrived, everyone began hammering as fast as they could.
When it was time for the curtain to go up, Lehi’s ship still wasn’t quite finished. “Don’t worry,” said the sailor. “I wouldn’t want to miss sailing across the ocean with Lehi.” He got up on top and held a big timber in place.
The big burly man and the highway patrol officer steadied both ends of the ship, and the carpenter played a Nephite still at work.
When the play was over and the curtain was coming down, the applause was very loud. I peeked through the curtains. Never had I seen the cultural hall so crowded! People I’d never seen before were lining the walls and peeking through the doorways.
Suddenly someone crawled under the curtain and faced the audience. It was Tony! “Please clap real loud for the people on the freeway. They helped us put Lehi’s ship back together again.”
This time the crowd stood up and clapped for a long time. Tony grinned at me, and I wasn’t even embarrassed.
Afterward, instead of leaving, people rushed up to the stage. “Can you tell me more about that story?” they asked.
I noticed one lady tug on the sleeve of the redheaded sailor. “Do you know where I could get a copy of that book—what’s it called?”
“Why, sure!” exclaimed the sailor. “It’s called the Book of Mormon. It’s wonderful. I happen to be reading it now, myself. Let me tell you more about it.”
“We’d both be glad to tell you all about it,” Tony chimed in.

One day I went to the library to get some books. One of the books was really good until I got to the third or fourth chapter. That’s where I started not to like it because the words got bad and mean. And then there was violence and lots of bad stuff. I stopped reading it. When I got the book, it looked good because of the cover and the award it got. I think that when you get a terrific-looking book, you should read the first few chapters and then think about whether it’s good or bad.

In April 1973, my parents and I traveled from our native Argentina to be sealed in the temple. Since there were no temples in all of Latin America at the time, we flew more than 6,000 miles (9,700 km) each way to be sealed in the Salt Lake Temple. Although I was just two years of age at the time and do not recall the entirety of that special experience, three very distinct images from that trip were fixed in my mind and have remained ever since.

First, I recall being placed close to the airplane’s window and seeing the white clouds below.

Those beautiful, bright clouds endure in my mind as if they had been gigantic cotton balls.

Another image that has remained in my mind is that of a few funny-looking characters at an amusement park in the Los Angeles area. Those characters are hard to forget.

But of much greater importance is this brilliant and unforgettable image:

I clearly remember being in a sacred room of the Salt Lake Temple where sealings of couples and of families are performed for time and for all eternity. I remember the beautiful altar of the temple and recall the bright sunlight shining through the room’s exterior window. I felt then, and have continued to feel since, the warmth, safety, and solace of the gospel light of truth and love.

Similar feelings were reaffirmed in my heart 20 years later, when I entered the temple to be sealed once again—this time as my fiancée and I were sealed for time and for all eternity. However, on this occasion, we did not need to travel thousands of miles because the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple had since been built and dedicated, and it was just a short drive from our home.

Twenty-two years after our wedding and sealing, we had the blessing of returning to the same temple, but this time with our beautiful daughter, and we were sealed as a family for time and for all eternity.

As I’ve reflected upon these very sacred moments of my life, I have been overwhelmed with profound, enduring joy. I have felt and continue to feel the love of a compassionate Father in Heaven, who knows our individual needs and our heartfelt desires.

This story happened in the Romania.
Patrik stared up at the ceiling as he lay sprawled on his bed. He was bored. He had already read his animal books, jumped on the trampoline, and rode his bike around the neighborhood. What could he do now?
Patrik got up and walked to his older brother Daniel’s room. “Will you play with me?” Patrik asked.
“Sorry, I can’t. I have to study,” Daniel said. He didn’t even look up from the book he was reading.
Patrik felt his heart sink. Daniel was always studying. Couldn’t he take a break?
Oh well. Daniel was busy, but Patrik could ask his other brother, Simion. “I’m bored. Can you play with me?” Patrik asked.
“No, not today. I’m going out with friends.” Simion put on his jacket and walked out the front door.
Patrik was so mad! His heart beat faster. His older brothers were always too busy for him. He ran to his bedroom and slammed the door.
It’s not fair! Patrik thought.
He stomped his foot and flopped onto his bed. His chest felt tight. He was so bored! But he felt too mad to think of something to do.
Then he remembered something he learned at school. His teacher taught them that taking deep breaths could help them feel calm.
“It’s hard to fix anything when you feel angry,” she had said. Maybe if he was calmer, Patrik could think of a way to solve his boredom problem.
So Patrik took a big, deep breath. Then he took another. After a few more, his chest didn’t feel so tight anymore. But he still didn’t know what to do.
He sat up and looked at the picture of Jesus Christ on his wall. What would He want Patrick to do?
Patrik got down on his knees. “Heavenly Father, please help Daniel as he studies,” he said. “Help Simion to have fun with his friends. And please help me to not be so bored.”
When he finished his prayer, Patrik had an idea. He raced down to Daniel’s room.
“Daniel, when you’re done, can we play together?”
Daniel looked up from his book at the clock on the wall. “I can take a break in about 30 minutes. Then we could go outside. Do you want to do that?”
“Yes!” Patrik smiled and ran back to his room. He found an animal book about tigers he liked looking at. After reading it for a while, he played with blocks. Soon the time had passed, and he and Daniel headed toward the woods near their house.
“Do you want to play warriors in space or explorers in the jungle?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t care. I’m just glad we can spend time together. It’s a lot better than being bored,” Patrik said.
Daniel grinned. “Well, playing with you is a lot more fun than studying for a test.”
Patrik felt happy as he and Daniel crawled through the grass. Calming down had helped him to think more clearly so he could solve his problem. And Heavenly Father had helped him to be more like Jesus Christ. It was turning out to be a good day after all.
Illustrations by Linh My Nguyen