Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Apryl Stott
Last summer I worked for my neighbor. She has a big alpaca farm right next to her walnut orchard. Alpacas look kind of like llamas, only smaller.
My job was to clean out their stalls every day. I liked the work, even if it wasn’t easy.
One hot summer afternoon I showed up and my neighbor was gone. That wasn’t a problem, though. She already told me I could clean the stalls any time I chose, even if she was away.
While I was cleaning, one of the alpacas knocked over a gate. In a few seconds all 14 alpacas escaped into the yard and orchard! I couldn’t believe it! I felt sick to my stomach. How would I ever get them back by myself?
I started scrambling as fast as I could, rounding them up one or two at a time. Fifteen minutes later my heart was pounding from all the running, but the last one finally went back into the stall. Whew!
Then I turned and saw a pregnant alpaca lying down by a fruit tree 30 feet away. Ugh. Still one more to go. I tried scaring her back into the stall, but she wouldn’t budge. Then I tried pulling her with a harness and a rope that I found in the garage. No good. She lay there like a giant pile of bricks. I blew out my breath in frustration. What else could I try?
Then I remembered there’s always a way to ask for help, no matter where I am. I knelt down to pray. As soon as I finished praying, I opened my eyes and could hardly believe what I saw. The alpaca was walking back toward the stall, all on her own. I opened the gate, and she walked right in.
I smiled as I rode my bike home. I knew Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.

Dora Valencia, who had lain four years in the Ajax Ontario Hospital, mustered her courage and fulfilled the desire to attend. From her hospital bed, which was wheeled into the celestial room, she not only basked in the spirit found there, but she also helped to provide that spirit. As I walked past her, upon leaving the room, and gazed at her expression of profound gratitude to the Lord, I bent low and took her hand in mine. Heaven was very near.

Harry de Leyer was late to the auction on that snowy day in 1956, and all of the good horses had already been sold. The few that remained were old and spent and had been bought by a company that would salvage them.
Harry, the riding master at a girls’ school in New York, was about to leave when one of these horses—an uncared-for gray gelding with ugly-looking wounds on its legs—caught his eye. The animal still bore the marks that had been made by a heavy work harness, evidence to the hard life he had led. But something about him captured Harry’s attention, so he offered $80 for him.
It was snowing when Harry’s children saw the horse for the first time, and because of the coat of snow on the horse’s back, the children named him “Snowman.”
Harry took good care of the horse, which turned out to be a gentle and reliable friend—a horse the girls liked to ride because he was steady and didn’t startle like some of the others. In fact, Snowman made such rapid improvement that a neighbor purchased him for twice what Harry had originally paid.
But Snowman kept disappearing from the neighbor’s pasture—sometimes ending up in adjoining potato fields, other times back at Harry’s. It appeared that the horse must have jumped over the fences between the properties, but that seemed impossible—Harry had never seen Snowman jump over anything much higher than a fallen log.
But eventually, the neighbor’s patience came to an end, and he insisted Harry take back the horse.
For years, Harry’s great dream had been to produce a champion jumping horse. He’d had moderate success in the past, but in order to compete at the highest levels, he knew he would have to buy a pedigreed horse that had been specifically bred to jump. And that kind of pedigree would cost far more than he could afford.
Snowman was already getting old—he was eight when Harry had purchased him—and he had been badly treated. But, apparently, Snowman wanted to jump, so Harry decided to see what the horse could do.
What Harry saw made him think that maybe his horse had a chance to compete.
In 1958, Harry entered Snowman in his first competition. Snowman stood among the beautifully bred champion horses, looking very much out of place. Other horse breeders called Snowman a “flea-bitten gray.”
But a wonderful, unbelievable thing happened that day.
Snowman won!
Harry continued to enter Snowman in other competitions, and Snowman continued to win.
Audiences cheered every time Snowman won an event. He became a symbol of how extraordinary an ordinary horse could be. He appeared on television. Stories and books were written about him.
As Snowman continued to win, one buyer offered $100,000 for the old plow horse, but Harry would not sell. In 1958 and 1959, Snowman was named “Horse of the Year.” Eventually, the gray gelding—who had once been marked for sale to a low bidder—was inducted into the show jumping Hall of Fame.
For many, Snowman was much more than a horse. He became an example of the hidden, untapped potential that lies within each of us.

This story happened in the USA.
Knock, knock.
Maddie ran to the front door and opened it. She smiled when she saw Brother Clayton. He was their family’s ministering brother.
“Hi, Maddie, I’m here to see your mom and dad,” Brother Clayton said.
Mom joined Maddie by the door. “Thanks for coming. Please come in.”
Brother Clayton followed Mom and Maddie into the living room.
Dad set a chair in the middle of the room. “Brother Clayton is here to give your mom and me a priesthood blessing,” he told Maddie.
“Why?” Maddie asked. She knew that people asked for priesthood blessings if they were sick or starting school. But why did Mom and Dad need a blessing?
“You know how our family has been going through a hard time? Dad and I want Heavenly Father’s help and guidance,” Mom said.
Maddie knew that Mom was often stressed. And Dad was worried about money. It had been very hard on the whole family.
“Priesthood blessings aren’t only for when you are sick,” Dad said. “They can also be for when you need comfort or strength.”
“Can I stay and listen?” Maddie asked.
Mom smiled. “Sure. Can you sit quietly? We want to be reverent so we can feel the Holy Ghost.”
Maddie nodded and sat on the couch. Then she folded her arms and closed her eyes. She listened to Brother Clayton give Dad and Mom each a blessing. She felt warm and hopeful as Brother Clayton said loving words from Heavenly Father.
When they were done, Maddie stood up. “Can I have a blessing too?”
“Of course,” Dad said.
Maddie sat in the chair, and Brother Clayton placed his hands on her head. She felt good inside. But she wondered what words Heavenly Father had for her. She knew the problems her family had were big—too big for her to fix.
“Maddie, your Heavenly Father wants you to know that you have the gift of joy,” Brother Clayton said. “He loves you and wants you to be happy. And He wants you to share your happiness with others.”
Maddie listened carefully. She felt peaceful. She might not be able to make the big problems her family was facing go away. But she could help her family be happy.
When Brother Clayton finished, Maddie jumped up from the chair and gave Mom and Dad a big hug. Then she shook Brother Clayton’s hand. “Thank you,” she said.
Later that night, Maddie sat on her bed. She thought about her priesthood blessing. How could she help her family feel happy? She looked around her room at her picture books, stuffed animals, and art supplies.
Then she had an idea. She grabbed some paper, scissors, and crayons. She began to cut the paper into small squares.
Maddie picked up a red crayon. “You can do this!” she wrote on the first paper. On the next she wrote, “You are loved!” Maddie thought of more happy things to write. She kept going until all the papers were filled with happy words.
When she was done, she put the notes around the house—one by the front door, one by the soap next to the sink, and one by the laundry room.
Over the next few days, she smiled when she saw her family reading the notes.
“Thank you for the notes,” Mom said with a big smile. “They make me happy. And you make me happy too!”
Maddie gave her mom a hug. Heavenly Father was helping her use her gift to help her family.
Cut out this note and leave it for your family to find!
You are loved!
Illustrations by Annie Poon

“Our first night out after starting on our journey, we camped on the prairie; Father had unyoked the cattle and turned them out to feed on the grass. He had to look after them to keep them from straying away. We had picked up enough fuel to make a good fire and Mother was getting supper, when all at once there came up a most terrific thunderstorm. The rain poured down in torrents and we were all drenched. Although we got into the wagon as soon as we could, the wind blew the rain with such force that the wagon was very little protection. Of course, the fire was put out and it was cold comfort for supper that night. However, the next morning the sun shone bright, everything got dry, and we jogged on our journey.”

Among those who remained in France were Louis and Marie Gaston of Nice. In 1950, Louis, searching for Christ’s church, systematically attended each local church. However, it was his wife who told him of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after she had learned of it from a friend at the market. Marie was touched when she heard the words “the church of Jesus Christ.” They rang true to her because she had often heard Louis say that the church of Jesus Christ must be on the earth.

The Gastons attended church the next Sunday. The meeting place was only a small room. Besides the Gastons and the missionaries, two other members were present. Louis’s heart was touched when he heard each member bear testimony of the Savior. After the meeting he stood on the sidewalk in front of the building and, with great emotion, said to his family, “This is the true church of Jesus Christ.”

On 22 December 1950, the entire family was baptized in the Turkish baths in Nice. Eight months later, Louis was ordained an elder, and in the fall of 1951 he was called to serve as branch president. He talked about the gospel to everyone who came into his scales repair shop. Marie cared for those who were old or alone or ill. Her service and loving spirit also helped spread the gospel. Within two years, more than 100 people were attending the branch in Nice.

Jeff stood in his room, admiring his newest first place archery trophy. It was the third one he had won this year. He was thinking about how much he enjoyed archery—it had no pushing or shoving, like football did, and no need to be a good jumper or runner, like in basketball. There was just quiet practice until you were good at hitting the bull’s-eye.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard his mother coming down the hall. “Jason and I are going to clean up the frog pond,” he said. “We won’t be gone long, Mom.”
“Are you sure you feel up to it?” Mother asked. “You still have a bump from yesterday.”
Jeff rubbed his forehead and felt the egg-shaped bump. He had gotten it in a fight with a new boy in the neighborhood, but he had told his mother he had fallen off his bike. Now he felt ashamed about lying to her. “Mom,” he said.
“Yes, Jeff?”
“Mom, I feel OK, but I didn’t really fall off my bike.” He lowered his head. “I got into a fight with that new boy down the street.”
“I see. Well, I was sort of wondering if that would happen.”
“You mean you thought I’d get into a fight with him?”
“Well, I hoped that you wouldn’t, but when some of the other mothers in the neighborhood told me that he’d picked fights with their sons, I figured that sooner or later he’d get around to you.”
“I didn’t even do anything to him,” Jeff began to explain. “I just told him that I didn’t believe that his father had been a general in the Army during the war. Why did he punch me for that?”
Jeff’s mother sat on his bed so that she could look him right in the eye. She spoke softly. “Some people hurt inside themselves almost all the time. And many times these people make up stories, thinking that they will help the hurt go away. Then when someone else points out that the stories aren’t true, they feel hurt and embarrassed, so they fight. Do you understand?”
“Yeah, I think so. But what does that have to do with the new boy?”
“I think that maybe the new boy is hurting inside and feels that no one likes him. About two years ago, his mother and father died. Since then he’s lived with seven or eight different families. He’s staying with the Wilsons now, and although they hope to adopt him if things work out, I think that having lost his parents, and all that moving around between foster homes, makes him feel that no one wants him.”
Jeff could feel a hard lump in his throat as he thought about how bad he would feel if his own parents died.
His mom reached over and gave him a hug.
“Mom, what can I do if he keeps wanting to fight me?”
His mother thought a minute. “Well,” she began, “I’d say you should show him that you don’t want to hurt him, that you’d like to be his friend.”
“How do I do that?”
“I’m not sure, but there must be some way. Why don’t you pray about it? And if you see him today, you could invite him over for some cookies. I’m going to be baking some right away.”
Mom left, and Jeff was just getting up from his knees, when someone knocked on the front door. “That’s Jason,” he called to his mother. “We’ll be home for lunch.”
“You still have the lump, I see,” Jason said, pointing to Jeff’s forehead as the two boys headed towards the frog pond.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry—we’ll get that kid. Billy’s going to meet us at the pond. If that new kid’s there, we’ll get him.”
“I don’t know, Jason. Maybe we should try to be his friend.”
“His friend? I’m not going to be his friend. Not after the way he’s been beating people up.”
“Maybe that’s because he doesn’t have any friends.”
“Well, he won’t get me for one.”
By this time, the boys had arrived at the small band of trees that surrounded the frog pond. By looking between the trees, they could see that the new boy was indeed there, his back to them. They could see him standing on the bank of the pond, holding a bow and arrow. As they watched, he suddenly set them down, gathered a bunch of large rocks, and started chunking them into the frog pond.
“What’s he doing?” Jeff asked.
“I don’t know,” Jason answered.
Billy came up behind them. “What’re you guys watching?”
“Shhh,” Jason told him. “It’s that new kid. He’s throwing rocks at frogs or something—we can’t see what.”
The three boys continued to watch, hidden in the trees. Pretty soon the new boy reached down and pulled a small green and yellow turtle out of the pond. Jeff felt sick as he watched the turtle wildly wave its legs in a useless struggle to get away.
“What’d he do that for?” Billy asked.
“I don’t know,” said Jason, “but let’s get him!”
Before Jeff could say anything, his two friends were scrambling through the trees toward the new boy. When he caught up with them, Jason and Billy had backed the new boy up to a tree.
“Why’d you grab that turtle?” Jason demanded.
“Yeah,” Billy added. “It never did anything to you.”
“It’s none of your business. It isn’t your turtle, is it?”
Jason jumped towards the boy and snatched the turtle out of his hand.
“Give it back,” the boy demanded.
“Make me,” Jason challenged as Billy moved over next to him.
Jeff saw traces of tears starting in the new boy’s eyes and thought about what his mother had said: “Try to show him that you don’t want to hurt him.” But how could he do that? He had an idea, but he wasn’t sure it would work. One thing he did know, though he would never help by doing nothing. He took a deep breath and stepped between Jason and the other boy.
“Let me just explain something,” he began. “It’s not our turtle, but we don’t like to see helpless things getting hit by rocks. Besides, you have a bow and arrow—why not try to hit something worthless”—he looked around for something he felt the boy could hit—“like that plastic milk jug over there?” Jeff pointed to a jug about twenty feet away.
“That? That’s easy. Watch this.”
The boy fit his arrow to the bow, took careful aim, and let the arrow fly. It hit the jug almost dead center.
“There! What’s so hard about that?”
“Well, it’s harder than throwing rocks at turtles, isn’t it?”
“Maybe, but I wasn’t throwing at the turtle, just near it so I could catch it for a pet. Anyway,” he said, pointedly changing the topic, “I bet you couldn’t hit the jug at all, let alone dead center.”
Jason and Billy, who had been watching this exchange with some questioning in their eyes, now erupted in laughter. “Jeff is the best shot in the neighborhood. He has his own target in his backyard. He could shoot better than you with his eyes closed!”
The other boy quickly glanced at Jeff, and Jeff could see the distrust in his eyes. “Well, I do have my own target, but that doesn’t make me the best shot. Besides, we came over to clean up the litter, not use it for target practice. If you want to have a contest, though, let’s go to my house and do it there. Besides, my mom’s making some cookies right now, so we can get some while they’re warm. How about it?”
Jason and Billy didn’t say anything. They were still trying to figure out what was going on.
“I don’t know,” the boy replied. “What kind of cookies are they?”
“I’m not sure,” Jeff answered. “We’ll have to see when we get there.”
The boy thought a minute as he looked first at Jeff, then at Billy, then at Jason.
“OK,” he finally said. “But if I don’t like the cookies, I might leave.”
When Jason heard this, he started to say something, but Jeff spoke up quickly, “That’s OK—you can stay or leave or whatever you want.”
The other boy nodded his approval, Jason took the turtle back to the pond, and they all started off toward Jeff’s house.
Somehow Jeff knew that no matter what kind of cookies they were, the new boy would stay. And he had a feeling that there would be four boys cleaning up the frog pond that afternoon—as friends!

I also owe much to my forebears. All eight of my great-grandparents were converts to the Church in Europe. Each of these stalwart souls sacrificed everything to come to Zion. During subsequent generations, however, not all my ancestors remained so committed. As a result, I was not raised in a gospel-centered home.

I adored my parents. They meant the world to me and taught me crucial lessons. I cannot thank them enough for the happy homelife they created for me and my siblings. And yet, even as a boy, I knew I was missing something. One day I jumped on the streetcar and went to an LDS bookstore to find a book about the Church. I loved learning about the gospel.

As I came to understand the Word of Wisdom, I wanted my parents to live that law. So, one day when I was very young, I went to our basement and smashed on the concrete floor every bottle of liquor! I expected my father to punish me, but he never said a word.

As I matured and began to understand the magnificence of Heavenly Father’s plan, I often said to myself, “I don’t want one more Christmas present! I just want to be sealed to my parents.” That longed-for event did not happen until my parents were past 80, and then it did happen. I cannot fully express the joy that I felt that day, and each day I feel that joy of their sealing and my being sealed to them.

I finally finished reading First Nephi when I was fourteen years old. Perhaps I did it partly so that I could say in Sunday School class “yes, I’ve read the Book of Mormon.” But beyond that, I felt within me that this was an important book that would have a significant impact on my life. My parents and others spoke of how they loved the book. I wanted to feel the same way and sensed that I’d feel that way sooner through my own reading than through listening to others.
For several “readings” I got a new copy each time, and was probably as interested in marking passages in red as I was in just reading. I loved opening it when someone was looking—in a couple of copies the passages that weren’t red stood out. Gradually, I found my pride in marking being replaced by a love for what was in this sacred book. I felt I knew some of the people, and I enjoyed going back again and again to be with them and to learn from them.

Emily tried hard all summer. She didn’t dig up any more carrot seeds, even when the green tops popped up along the row. But she did weed the garden while she waited. And she swam and ran and played. She even learned to wait for other things—for ice cubes to freeze in the freezer, for her turn to ride on the back of a camel at the zoo, and for lots of other things. She even learned to wait to talk to Mom or Dad when they were busy.
While Emily waited, the plants grew in the garden. When it was time, she helped to pick pea pods and yellow beans, and tall green onions. At last it was time for the carrots.
Dad showed her how to loosen the dirt around the carrots and then how to hold the green tops and pull out the carrots one by one. Emily filled her basket with long, fat carrots. Then she ran to the house to show Mom. “Look how big they grew!”
“Yes, they did,” Mom said, “and so did you!”
“Did I get taller?” Emily asked.
“You grew taller and wiser.”
“Wiser?” Emily asked.
“Waiting made you wiser.”
“Waiting made me want to eat carrots,” Emily said, “so I’m going to eat one right now!”
“Wait until I wash one,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She took a big carrot and washed it herself. “Now I will eat the best carrot I have ever eaten,” she said. And she did.

When he was President of the Church, he visited Nauvoo in 1906 and reflected on a memory he had when he was just five years old. He said: “This is the exact spot where I stood when [Joseph, my uncle, and my father, Hyrum] came riding up on their way to Carthage. Without getting off his horse father leaned over in his saddle and picked me up off the ground. He kissed me good-bye and put me down again and I saw him ride away.”2
The next time Joseph F. saw them, his mother, Mary Fielding Smith, lifted him up to see the martyrs lying side by side after being brutally murdered in Carthage Jail on June 27, 1844.

A few years ago, I counseled a man who had very strong political opinions and was very educated about his viewpoints. Because of his knowledge, he had become very prideful. This pride had crept into the way he interacted with everyone in his life, and he would often seek out conflict with others just to prove them wrong. Unsurprisingly, his relationships with coworkers, friends, and family members were falling apart, which caused him to finally seek help.

One of the first areas we focused on to help him work toward healthier relationships was to examine the end goal he had in mind when interacting with others. He recognized that his pride was causing him to focus on his desire to be right. When he decided to stop giving in to that desire and to manage his pride, he was able to have more peace in his relationships. Here are a few key questions we discussed in our meetings that may be helpful to you as you seek to overcome pride:
Are you being driven by compassion and understanding?
Are you wanting to cause hurt and stir up angry feelings?
Are you arguing for the sake of being right?
Are you focused on building a healthy relationship with the other person?
Are you having conversations where the Spirit can be present?

Taught gospel principles to ministry students.
Lorenzo Snow first heard about the Church while he was still a young man. At first he had no desire to be baptized, even though his sister Eliza (the same Eliza R. Snow who wrote many Latter-day Saint hymns and served as the second general president of the Relief Society) had eagerly embraced the gospel. He did, however, find the Church’s doctrine very interesting. When Lorenzo began to attend college in Oberlin, Ohio, he would often share Church beliefs with the students who were training to become Protestant ministers. Although he hadn’t yet committed to be baptized, he presented the gospel so well that many of the students at Oberlin admitted the possible truth of the restored Church.

Sonia Patrick describes herself as a mouse with a tail on fire running through a dry field. On the streets of Barbados—where the culture swings to a Caribbean beat—she makes sure everyone at the bus stop hears her testimony.
“God comes first,” she said. “I carry Him with me everywhere I go.”
Sister Patrick is among a growing number of members in the Christ Church Branch who have felt the fire of temple and family history work. They have learned firsthand what Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Anywhere you are in the world, with prayer, faith, determination, diligence, and some sacrifice, you can make a powerful contribution.”
Sister Patrick joined the Church in 2008 after meeting the missionaries, who offered to wash her car for free. She is now known as the “bold one” in her branch on this sunny island in the West Indies.
“I grew up Christian,” she said. “I felt a spiritual pull to accept the missionaries’ offer to attend church.”
Tragedy struck three years after her baptism when her only son was killed. Suddenly, she said, “family history became very important to me.”
Opportunities for family history research and temple work were limited at the time on the island. Computers were scarce, and travel to the nearest temple was expensive and difficult.
Sister Patrick arranged for the proxy baptism of her son but remained patient over the next years. She stayed busy “doing what she was supposed to do” until a series of events came together to provide more help for her family history work.
Wheels were set in motion when Sister Jennilyn Stoffers arrived in 2022 to serve in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission office. Her call to Barbados came as a last-minute surprise. For months, she had made preparations with Church leaders to serve in Ireland, where the wet and cold of northern Europe were more conducive to her health. She had her bags packed for Ireland until she read her mission call, sending her the other direction—to the heat and humidity of Barbados.
Sister Stoffers replaced her warm wools with breezy cottons and soon arrived in Barbados. “There was a lot of adapting,” she said of the weather, the Bajan dialect, the culture, the food—just about everything.
“It was easy to fall in love with the members and their pure faith in God,” she said. “Everyone should experience a fast and testimony meeting in Barbados. Members know the scriptures. They are strong in their faith. They face persecution from family and society. Many are the only members of the Church in their families.”
Before long, the branch president asked Sister Stoffers to teach a class on temple preparation and family history work, a subject that fires her imagination and devotion.
A spark was struck among several members. They lingered after meetings, huddling around the branch computer, where Sister Stoffers helped them discover the richness of family history work.
Margaret Haynes was among the first to taste the spirit of the work.
“Imagine how my ancestors are reacting,” she said in reflection. “One day I will meet them. I have always felt a special feeling of being watched over by them. It brings me joy to unite my family. I feel their yearning to make covenants.”
Enthusiasm spread, and more members joined in the weekly gatherings.
“They get after it,” Sister Stoffers said. “If they need permission to perform an ordinance or need data like a birth date, they call a relative right then. There’s no waiting for a more convenient time.”
The laws and culture in the Caribbean make researching family records a challenge. “Yet,” said Sister Stoffers, “members of the branch deal with the frustrations and have now submitted more than 500 ordinances to the temple.” And more are coming.
As Church members unearthed their ancestral past, Sister Stoffers began wondering how they might experience the joy of serving in the temple on their ancestors’ behalf, given the expense of traveling to the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
Considering her resources, she remembered the youth and adults in her home ward near Ogden, Utah, USA. With their enthusiasm to serve, could they fill the gap and help their brothers and sisters in Barbados?
Sister Stoffers’s home-ward bishop liked the plan and rallied the support of youth and adults. Soon, names from Barbados were being shared instantly on FamilySearch.
Now, as often as their schedule permits, a battalion of youth converge on the Ogden Utah Temple, where Bishop Rob Smout pulls from a stack of ordinance-ready printouts to divvy among the youth. The talkative youth grow whisper quiet as they contemplate the unusually spelled names of people with whom they have no connection but feel a spiritual kinship.
Participation has been widespread across the ward. On certain Saturdays, a family of five boys arrives early at the temple to enjoy the sunrise over the Wasatch mountains before performing baptisms.
“It’s become a ward quest,” said Bishop Smout. “It has united the ward. Many have become involved and take names routinely, including those who haven’t attended the temple in years. Others have come back into activity to participate.”
Many members in Barbados, meanwhile, have had unique experiences that motivate them to gather their families.
“As we work together, we feel a family connection,” Sister Stoffers said. “We feel a saintly joy. It is hard to describe, except that it seems to resonate in others beyond.”
This enthusiasm to discover ancestors has now spread beyond the branch and across the Caribbean to members on neighboring islands. Proselyting missionaries assist by meeting with members in their homes. To guide those in the far reaches of the mission, Sister Stoffers conducts virtual training sessions.
This effort on a small island in the Caribbean began with love and a desire to bless ancestors. Then came the means to learn how. The branch discovered that the work is spiritual, requiring what Elder Scott called “a monumental effort of cooperation on both sides of the veil, where help is given in both directions.” They proved that even in remote Barbados, a small number of devoted members can make a great contribution.

What can the young elder do to help in the creation of eternal families? He may be about to go into the mission field. He can pray with all his heart that he will be able to find, teach, and baptize families. I still remember a handsome young man with his lovely bride and their two beautiful little girls sitting with me and my missionary companion one day. The Holy Ghost came and testified to them that the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored. They believed enough that they even asked if we could give their two little girls a blessing, as they had seen done in one of our sacrament meetings. They already had a desire for their children to be blessed, but they did not yet understand that the higher blessings would be possible only in the temples of God after they had made covenants.
I still feel pain to think of that couple and those little girls, probably now grown old, without the promise of an eternal family. Their parents had at least an inkling of the blessings that could be made available to them. My hope is that they somehow, somewhere may yet have the opportunity to qualify to be an eternal family.

In January 1844, Joseph Smith announced his candidacy for President of the United States, but on June 27, Joseph and his brother Hyrum were killed in Carthage Jail. The next morning their bodies were placed in two wagons, covered with branches to shade them, then driven to Nauvoo. They arrived in Nauvoo about three o’clock in the afternoon and were met by huge crowds of silent people. It was the saddest day Nauvoo or the Church had ever known.
John Taylor, who was with Joseph at Carthage, wrote, “Joseph Smith, the Prophet and Seer of the Lord, has done more, save Jesus only, for the salvation of men in this world, than any other man that ever lived in it” (D&C 135:3).
Many of the anti-Mormons thought that Joseph’s death would bring an end to the Church, but it did not. The Saints knew that the Church was God’s Church, not Joseph’s, and so they carried on God’s work. Instead of dying out, the Church continued to grow. What the mobs did not understand was that the faith of the Saints was much stronger than their fear.

David O. McKay was also warned in youth of his future responsibilities. As a young missionary he had been homesick and dejected. Discouragement was about to overcome him when he reached a turning point in his own life. During one missionary meeting, an especially rich outpouring of the Spirit of the Lord had been evidenced. The presence of angels had been detected in the room by the mission president, and by the spirit of prophecy he testified to young Elder McKay, “Brother David, Satan hath desired to have you that he may sift you as wheat, but God is mindful of you.” Then he added, “If you will keep the faith, you will yet sit in the leading councils of the Church.”
This was all, but it came at the end of a long and vital search on the part of young David, and it was enough of a warning to the missionary in his early twenties that it was sufficient to buoy him up and help him during periods of discouragement in his life. Eventually, like the others, he was chosen as spokesman for the Lord.

Six-year-old Alma Elizabeth Mineer looked around the dark insides of the huge sailing ship, where a flickering oil lamp served as a night-light. In the shadows she could barely see some of the other passengers asleep in their berths.
She liked to listen to the night sounds. As the ship gently rocked from one side to the other, its big wooden beams creaked and groaned. Mothers sang softly to quiet their children. Although Alma could not always understand the words, she discovered that English and German and Swedish and Norwegian and Danish babies all cried in the same noisy language! Sometimes before falling asleep, Alma felt sad thinking about her home and friends and village in Sweden that she had left behind.
During the daytime Alma Elizabeth liked to climb up the stairs and walk out on the deck. At the front of the ship she would look and look, trying to see America. But day after day all she could see was the Atlantic Ocean in every direction.
Alma Elizabeth liked to watch the huge canvas sails puff full with the wind. She wished she could climb up the ropes like the sailors did. New friends often invited her to play games with them. Occasionally she tried out new English words. When they reached Utah, she knew she would have to speak English instead of Swedish.
Sometimes Alma Elizabeth crept into the part of the ship where the sailors lived. She became a favorite of the crew’s cook. He often gave her special treats, and she liked that because her family’s meals were not too tasty. They could cook only five meals each week. And the sea biscuits were so hard that she had to stomp on them with her shoes to break them open.
For five weeks in May and June of 1861, their ship, the Monarch of the Sea, sailed across the Atlantic. When it finally docked in New York harbor, little boats took the Latter-day Saint immigrants ashore. They all stayed overnight in a giant hall called Castle Gardens.
That night while the children tried to sleep on the floor of the building, Alma Elizabeth’s brother August discovered some sacks of brown sugar right next to him. One had a small hole in it and was spilling its contents. Alma Elizabeth and August had tasted no sugar or candy during the ocean voyage. So August found a spoon. Soon they had had a grand feast. But by morning they were sick!
Alma Elizabeth, with her family and the other Saints, took a long train trip to Iowa. There they joined wagon trains going to Utah. She walked the entire way, except when she got into a wagon to cross a deep river.
Alma Elizabeth’s father had trouble walking. In Sweden he had been a concert violinist and an orchestra director. Then rheumatism crippled him. Slowly he learned to use his hands and feet again, but it was difficult and painful. Elizabeth’s father was unable to keep up with the wagon train, and he insisted that his family go on ahead, promising to catch up with them.
Her father struggled on until he spotted a light. It was a camp of soldiers on their way to the Civil War. One soldier spoke Swedish. When they learned that Alma Elizabeth’s father was a musician, they found a violin and he played it for them. In the morning they took him on horseback and caught up with the wagon train.
When Alma Elizabeth’s family reached Utah they settled in Mount Pleasant. As a pioneer she worked hard. She learned how to card and spin wool, weave carpets, milk cows, knit and crochet, make gloves out of buckskin, weave hats out of braided straw, stack hay, and bundle wheat.
One time she collected wheat left in the fields after the harvest and sold it for $10. With some of the money, she bought ten yards of calico for her first party dress.
The day Alma Elizabeth turned eight years old she saw some elders baptizing people in a nearby creek. Her folks did not know about the baptismal service, so she ran home to tell them. With their permission she, too, was baptized in the creek. Afterward she walked to the meetinghouse to be confirmed. But after the confirmation, she felt very tired and fell sound asleep on a seldom-used church bench where people could not see her. When the meeting ended everyone went home. Alma Elizabeth’s family became concerned about her long absence, and they sent her big sister Helen to search for her. She found Alma Elizabeth still asleep in the now empty meetinghouse.
On a hot July day when Alma Elizabeth was ten years old, she went to a ward meeting. The people felt very discouraged because their crops needed rain. President Brigham Young came to the meeting, and she listened carefully when he rose to his feet and spoke. He promised the people that if they would listen to his words, the Lord would open the heavens and send the rains.
The words hardly left the prophet’s lips when Alma Elizabeth noticed the gathering clouds. Soon they filled the sky, and rain poured down in torrents. On that day she received a great testimony of the gospel that she remembered all her life.

I had a similar experience in Idaho some years later. I was attending a stake conference. After the Sunday morning session one of the bishops brought his aged mother up to see me. I had been referring to the Book of Mormon during my sermon and was still holding it in my hand.
She took the book from me, opened it, read a paragraph at random, and then returned the book. I wondered why. Then she said that at the previous stake conference the visitor had been Elder Thomas E. McKay, one of the Assistants to the Council of the Twelve.
She asked me if I knew Elder McKay and of course, I responded that I did. Then she said, “Will you please tell him that I read a paragraph in your book? When he was here at our last conference, my son brought him to my home and had him administer to me. I was blind. Please tell him that I read from your book.”

A young missionary who transferred from a teaching assignment to a service assignment struggled with some personal challenges that left him needing Christ’s healing power. Consecrated service brought that power into his life. He said, “I felt that when I was struggling, I could feel Christ lifting me up. There is something special about seeing Him bless people through a food pantry, in the temple, and through His gospel.”

This elder began to feel deeper joy, and his newfound enthusiasm blessed him and his entire family. The Spirit entered their home more abundantly, they attended the temple together more regularly, and Christ became a greater focus in their family. This missionary believes that Christ saved his life and blessed his family through service.