Gospel Story Finder

An example of tobacco’s powerful hold is illustrated in a letter which was written by a mother to the popular columnist and human relations adviser Ann Landers:
“Dear Ann Landers:
“A year ago our two-year-old son, Earl, had difficulty breathing, so we took him to a doctor. We learned Earl is allergic to cigarette smoke. My husband said we both had to quit smoking right then and there. He hasn’t touched a cigarette since. I went back to smoking that same night.
“My husband doesn’t know I smoke. I have to sneak around and smoke in the basement, and it is making a nervous wreck out of me. Do you think it would be wrong if we let a nice couple adopt little Earl—a nice couple who don’t smoke? The only problem is that my husband is crazy about the boy. I love him too, but I am more the practical type. What do you think, Ann?
“/s/ Mrs. E. R. M.
“Dear Mrs. E. R. M.:
“I think a lot of people who read this letter are going to say I made it up. It’s utterly fantastic that a mother would put cigarettes ahead of her own child. Don’t present your wild idea to your husband. I wouldn’t blame him if he decided to keep little Earl and unload you!”

Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa, my two favorite missionaries!
Love,
Abby
Eight-year-old Abby was underlining the word love when her brother, Zac, marched into the living room. “What are you doing?” he asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Finishing my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa. Are you done with yours?” Abby looked up at six-year-old Zac as he dropped a fistful of crayons onto the table.
Zac shook his head. “I don’t really want to make a card for them.”
“Why not?” Abby asked, surprised.
Zac shrugged. “I don’t know. It was strange not having them here for Thanksgiving. I missed Grandpa’s great stories about the turkey hunts he used to go on with his dad. And it didn’t seem the same without Grandma serving her secret-recipe pumpkin pie.”
Abby nodded. “It’s been three months since Grandpa and Grandma left on their mission. We’ve never gone that long without seeing them. I miss them too.”
“I always thought that if people loved you, they wouldn’t want to leave you.”
Abby glanced around the living room at the four red knit stockings hung on the mantelpiece, the garland strung around the kitchen doorway, and the colored lights blinking brightly on the Christmas tree. Suddenly her gaze became fixed on the nativity scene placed on a small wooden table in the corner of the room.
“Come with me,” Abby said, gently tugging Zac’s sleeve. She led him over to the small table. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
“Sure,” Zac said with a puzzled look on his face.
Abby carefully picked up two shepherd figures and three small white sheep from the manger scene. She set them on the floor beside her. “Zac, what if an angel hadn’t appeared to the shepherds, telling them Jesus was born?”
“Abby,” Zac said, upset, “the manger doesn’t look right without the shepherds and the sheep.”
“I know,” Abby said softly. “Help me put these back in place.”
She pressed the two shepherds into his hands. “The shepherds knew about Jesus because someone told them. But, Zac,” she added as he placed the shepherds close to the manger, “there are a lot of people who don’t know about Jesus.”
Zac ran his fingers over the top of the stable. “And Grandma and Grandpa are going to find some and teach them about Him.”
“That’s right. Think what a special Christmas this will be for the families Grandma and Grandpa are teaching the gospel to.”
“I still miss them,” Zac said, almost in a whisper.
“Me too,” Abby agreed.
Zac scooped up his crayons. “See you later,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Abby asked.
“I want to make my Christmas card for Grandma and Grandpa.”
“Show it to me when you’re finished, OK?” Abby called as her brother disappeared around the corner. Her gaze returned to the nativity scene. She smiled and gently touched the small star above the manger. “Merry Christmas, Grandma and Grandpa.”

Children are so capable of learning the significant things of the kingdom. As we listen to them we can better understand how they are applying what they are learning about the gospel. A father explained to his four-year-old daughter that the family had spent most of the day cleaning the house and every room was clean except one.

“Do you know which room is not clean?” he asked her.

“Mine,” she quickly replied.

“Do you know anyone who could help clean your room?” he asked, expecting her to answer that she could.

Instead she replied, “Well, Daddy, I know that any time you are scared, worried, or need help, you can get down on your knees and ask Heavenly Father to help.”

It is interesting to note that as we listen to our children, they can also teach us.

Marisol Pedraza Espinosa, now Sister Pedraza, was 26 years old when she received a life-altering diagnosis of ovarian cancer. A young woman from Tizayuca, Hidalgo, Mexico, she dreamt of completing a master’s degree in tourism business management and starting her own travel agency. However, her aspirations were put on hold when she experienced severe pain in her right ovary, leading to a medical consultation that revealed a 15-centimeter tumor requiring immediate removal.
After undergoing various tests and surgery to remove the tumor, she thought the worst was over. Unfortunately, that was not the case. “Twenty days after the surgery, when I received the pathology results, the doctor informed me that the tumor was malignant—a high-grade cancer with only one year left to live,” she says with tears in her eyes.
The bleak prognosis sent Sister Pedraza searching for a second opinion at several hospitals, only to receive even worse news. “They told me that during the tumor removal, there was a problem, and the cancer had metastasized. They had to perform another surgery to remove my right ovary and uterus, so I underwent many additional tests before the new surgery.”
Confused, devastated, and terrified by this new reality, Sister Pedraza was on the verge of losing hope. She thought, “Why me? No one in my family has ever had cancer. I’m too young to die, and I won’t be able to have children anymore!’”
During this difficult time, her family’s unwavering support became her refuge. “My mother accompanied me to all my medical appointments, and my brothers and father kept an eye on me.”
In the midst of her struggle, Sister Pedraza’s life took an unexpected turn when she met Keyth Suderio, a former missionary. Keyth taught her that through the priesthood in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, she could receive a blessing of health. Although she wasn’t entirely clear about what they were offering, she was willing to try anything to regain her health.
“Sidney Suderio, Keyth’s dad, gave me the blessing; his wife, Rosangela Ribeiro, and daughter, Keyth Suderio were there. I sat in the middle of the room, he placed his hands on my head, and I felt so much peace. As I listened to every word that came out of his mouth… I felt hopeful that everything was going to be okay,” she says.
A few days later, as she prepared for her upcoming surgery, the gynecological oncologist delivered astonishing news: her medical tests had shown no signs of cancer in her body. Overwhelmed by the good news, Sister Pedraza cried with gratitude when she saw the miracle that was happening in her life.
It’s been two years since Sister Pedraza has been cancer-free. Seeing God’s hand in her life made her interested in learning about the Church and she joined a year and six months ago. “I wanted to thank God for a new life and decided to get closer to Him and to serve Him,” she says with great emotion.
“It wasn’t in my plans to become a missionary; however, I felt a strong impression to leave everything behind and go out and invite people to come unto Christ. To let them know that Heavenly Father loves all of us and to share my testimony that miracles do not cease. I want to help people strengthen their faith and remind them that we have a loving Heavenly Father who wants the best for us.”
That’s how she came to serve in the Dominican Republic Santo Domingo West Mission.
“I know that Jesus Christ lives, I know that He healed me, and I know, without any doubt, that through the blessing of health that I received by priesthood power, the cancer disappeared. I know that my Heavenly Father loves me and gave me a new chance to live,” she concludes, with a twinkle in her eyes and strength in her words.

“One night when I was sixteen years old, Father gave a Christmas party for his own children and their families and the nearest neighbors. We danced. My brothers were the musicians. We knew it was Father’s aim to end the party at ten o’clock, which he did right in the middle of a square-dance by ordering the musicians to stop. But Father didn’t know that my brothers had lifted me up to the clock many times that night. Each time I turned it back thirty minutes. It must have been past midnight when the party broke up.”

From Christian Olsen family records, in Carter, Our Pioneer Heritage, 15:199.

Let me share one of our family secrets, found in this family photo taken some years ago, before the advent of social media. Were this taken today, it likely would be posted, presenting a family of four lovely, color-coordinated, well-behaved boys enjoying a harmonious family photo opportunity together. Would you like the real story?

I still remember the phone call from my wife. “Gary, where are you? We’re here at the photographer’s outdoor studio. We’re all ready to shoot. It hasn’t been easy getting the boys all dressed, coordinated, and ready. Are you nearly here?”

Well, I had forgotten and hadn’t left the office yet! I was half an hour late, and things had not gone so well in my absence, bordering on chaos.

What had happened? Well, my oldest son had been running through the yard and had found an apple tree, picked some apples, and begun throwing them at the other boys. He hit our third son in the back with an apple and made him fall down, and so he started to cry.

Meanwhile, as that was happening, my second son sat down and his pants went up a little bit. The other kids saw that his socks were white athletic socks, not the church socks his mother had laid out for him to wear. She asked him, “Why didn’t you wear your church socks?”

He said, “Well, I don’t like them. They’re scratchy.”

And while she’s talking to him, our two-year-old son was running through the yard, tripped on something, fell down, and bloodied his nose. Now there is blood dripping onto his white turtleneck shirt, and it’s stained. This is when I showed up. The only way to salvage the picture was to reverse the turtleneck and put it on backward, hiding the blood stains from the camera.

As it turns out, while our oldest son was running around and throwing apples, he fell down and got a large grass stain on his knee. So, in the picture, his arm is strategically placed, covering up the grass stains.

As for our third son, we had to wait for 20 minutes so his eyes were no longer red from crying.

And, of course, the bloodstains are now on the back of our youngest son’s shirt.

Now, our second son has his hands placed strategically over the top of his white athletic socks so that everything matches.

As for me, I am now in the “doghouse” because it was my late arrival that was the trigger for all of this.

So, when you see this beautiful picture of our family and lament, “Why can’t we get things together and be a picture-perfect family like theirs?” you all know better!

“This has been a great day,” said new Eagle Scout Sam Southam of the Arapahoe Colorado Stake. “It was a real honor to sit at dinner with an astronaut, to spend the day with great Church and Scout leaders, and to be with friends who set a goal to become Eagles and who did it.”

Sam was referring to the day he and his fellow Eagle Scouts spent at the North American Aerospace Defense Command, where most of the man-made objects in space are tracked. They also toured the U.S. Olympic training facility, all as part of a reward their stake president promised them last June when he challenged all the Life Scouts in his stake to become Eagles by the end of the year.

Thirty-five Scouts rose to the challenge and practically flew to the Cheyenne Mountains, where they spent the day learning how others fly—pretty appropriate for a flock of Eagles.

May I remind you of something that occurred some 15 years ago at BYU-Provo. As President Howard W. Hunter was standing up to speak, a man claiming to have a bomb jumped onto the stage and threatened to explode it right then and there. President Hunter did not flinch but showed great courage. He helped the security guards subdue the assailant. He then walked to the podium and spoke: "Life has a fair number of challenges in it-as demonstrated. Indeed, You may be feeling that you have more than your share of problems ... These concerns may be global difficulties, such as devastating famine we see in Africa ... or the incessant sounds of war ... these past few years we have seen our fair share of economic difficulties and recession in every nation. Sometimes these economic difficulties get translated into very immediate problems for college students and those trying to earn a living, and perhaps start a family ... Contrary to what some might say, you have every reason in this world to be happy and optimistic and to be confident. Every generation since time began has had things to overcome and problems to work out ... I promise you in the name of the Lord whose servant I am that God will always protect and care for His people" (BYU, February 1993).

The glistening morning sun cast its warming rays over the dilapidated old barn, transforming it into a painter’s dream. On the sagging barn door was a large poster—
STRAY-ANIMAL AUCTION
June 10, 1894—10:00 A.M.
All critters sold to highest bidder
CASH ONLY
Clouds of dust rose from all the roads leading to the barn as a colorful crowd began to gather. There were cowpunchers in worn chaps and ten-gallon Stetsons, sitting cross-legged in their saddles, and be-whiskered farmers in bib overalls and straw hats, tying their horses and wagons to fence rails. A sprinkling of better-dressed townsfolk arrived in black-top buggies. A pair of Navajo Indians had taken up squatter’s rights beside the barn, hoping to trade one of their bright handmade blankets for a goat or a sheep.
Wow! thought nine-year-old T. J. as he scrambled to the top of the high pole fence and stared down at the corral filled with animals churning about. This is better than a circus. He opened his little, ragged purse and counted his coins for the umpteenth time, “Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two cents. It’s not much, but I don’t care. I’m going to bid anyway!”
The old auctioneer chided him, “Back again, T. J.? Are you going to buy yourself a horse today?”
He’s just poking fun at me, T. J. thought and gave him a disgusted look. “I’ll show you,” he muttered to himself. “I’m really going to bid today.”
In the corral beneath T. J. were several large horses, three old milk cows, a young steer with long horns, two nanny goats, and four sheep.
The auctioneer climbed on top of the auction box. Just as he was about to speak, T. J. lost his balance and plunged headlong into the corral, landing on the back of the steer. The startled animal took off, kicking and bellowing. T. J. grabbed hold of its horns and managed to stay on top as it bucked and plowed in and out among the other frightened animals.
Everyone clapped and hollered, “Hang in there, T. J.” “You can do it.” “Whoopee!”
Suddenly the steer stopped, and T. J. sailed off, landing sprawled out in the dust of the smelly corral. Everyone cheered.
“Humph,” grunted the auctioneer. “Now that the show’s over, we’ll get started.”
A big, bay mare was led out for inspection. “How much am I bid for this fine mare?” the auctioneer asked.
Before anyone else could say anything, T. J. waved his arms wildly and shouted, “I bid sixty-two cents!”
Everybody snickered, and one of the men hollered, “Well, kid, I’ll just have to bid ten dollars and sixty-two cents.”
T. J.’s hopes were dashed. The horse was eventually sold for eighteen dollars and sixty-two cents. Then the next horse was brought forward.
“How much am I bid for this fine gelding?” the auctioneer queried.
Once again young T. J. bravely shouted, “I bid sixty-two cents!”
This time the crowd really laughed and hooted. After several bids, the gelding sold for twenty-two dollars and sixty-two cents. Still determined, T. J. bid unsuccessfully on the third horse.
For a change of pace the auctioneer sold two milk cows and a sheep. Soon there was only one horse left, another mare. As she was led out for display, T. J. could see big, shiny patches of hide here and there between dust and dirt where she had been rolling around in the smelly corral. “All she needs is to be brushed and wiped down,” T. J. sighed. “She’s just beautiful, and I want her.”
As he longingly gazed at the mare, he heard the auctioneer roar with feigned admiration, “I’ve saved the best for last! How much am I bid for this beauty?”
T. J. was shocked to hear Old Pete sneer, “The best? Why she’s the worst-looking critter I’ve seen in all my life. She must be sick, and you must be crazy!”
Pete’s son added, “Yeah, Pa! Worse still, I hear that she’s a stumpsucker.”
Someone else volunteered, “Besides that, I know for a fact that she has a mean streak a mile wide.”
Then they all stopped talking and looked at T. J. The boy felt sorry for that horse; he even loved her. And he didn’t believe one word of what he’d just heard. But he’d given up all hope of being able to buy a horse with sixty-two cents. He just sat there, staring sadly at the horse he wanted so badly. Then he heard a farmer say, “Tell you what—I’ll bid five cents for the nag.”
Somebody else hollered, “I’ll go you one better, Jake. I bid twenty-five cents!”
Old Pete jumped up and shouted, “I’m going to get that mare for fifty-five cents!”
T. J. came to life and wildly waved both arms and shouted, “I bid sixty-two cents!”
Dead silence followed. The auctioneer was very disgruntled to have the bidding go sour. In fact, he was furious. “I have a high bid of sixty-two cents. How about ten dollars and sixty-two cents?”
Not a single word was spoken; not a single head nodded.
“Then how about five dollars and sixty-two cents?”
When no one offered to up the bid, he exploded, “Well, I’m not going to sell this horse for sixty-two cents, and that’s final!”
“Oh, yes, you are!” Old Pete yelled. “You’ll sell to the highest bidder, or none of us are paying for our animals.”
The other men shouted in agreement.
Realizing that the men meant business, the auctioneer meekly declared, “I have a high bid of sixty-two cents. Do I hear any more bids? Going once, going twice, …” Down went the gavel. “Sold to T. J. for sixty-two cents.”
The crowed went wild. They whistled and clapped and threw their hats into the air and slapped each other on the back. T. J. was speechless. He scrambled down off the fence and reached into his pocket for his purse—but it was gone! “I’ve lost my money!” he wailed. He scurried under the fence and ran frantically in and out among the startled animals.
“Hold on, everybody. T. J.’s lost his purse!” shouted Old Pete as he jumped down and began to help T. J. search. Soon there were as many men in the corral as there were animals, all running hither and thither. Dogs were barking, cows were bellowing, and sheep were bleating.
All at once T. J. spied his purse in the muck under the hoof of a cow. “I’ve found it! I’ve found it!” he screamed.
“Hurray!” shouted the men as Old Pete lifted T. J. over the fence.
T. J. counted out his sixty-two cents for the gatekeeper. The gatekeeper gave him a leg up, and there sat T. J. astride his very own horse. “I’m going to call her Beauty,” he proudly announced, lovingly stroking her tangled mane, “‘cause she’s the most beautiful horse in the world, and she’s all mine.”

Likewise, trusted family members, leaders, and friends can be helpful in our efforts to change. When I was eight years old, my older brother, Lee, and I would spend time with our friends playing in the branches of a neighborhood tree. We loved being together in the fellowship of our friends in the shade of that tree. One day, Lee fell out of the tree and broke his arm. Having a broken arm made it hard for him to climb the tree by himself. But life in the tree just wasn’t the same without him there. So some of us steadied him from behind while others pulled on his good arm, and without too much effort, Lee was back in the tree. His arm was still broken, but he was with us again enjoying our friendship as he healed.

Annie Clark Tanner wrote this about her mother’s needlework: “Mother was an accomplished artist at needle work. Her industry in this line, as she plied her needle when crossing the ocean in a sailboat, attracted the attention of the captain and his wife for whom my mother sewed, and thus she enjoyed the best accomodations on board. When she was traveling across the plains to the Salt Lake Valley, she made yards of fine muslin embroidery with which she trimmed her first baby clothes. I noticed a small mark of yellow on the embroidery and asked her what it was.
“‘That mark,’ she said, ‘is a little iron rust from a wire on the bow of the wagon where I tied my work when crossing the plains.’”

I have seen that promise fulfilled in my own life and in the lives of others. A friend of mine served as a mission president. He told me that at the end of every day while he was serving, he could barely make it upstairs to bed at night wondering if he would have the strength to face another day. Then in the morning, he would find his strength and his courage restored. You have seen it in the lives of aged prophets who seemed to be renewed each time they stood to testify of the Lord Jesus Christ and the restored gospel. That is a promise for those who go forward in faith in their priesthood service.

“A friend in high school, Bernard Vergano, asked about my beliefs,” Christine relates. Bernard was apparently impressed with Christine’s standards. “When our other friends decided to watch an obscene movie,” Bernard recalls, “she immediately separated from them, and that made me find out more about her.”

Bernard’s best friend, Richard Becerro, also noticed that Christine always carried and read some religious books. “I was curious that someone so young as her knew a lot of Bible verses,” says Richard, “and that she would even quote them to us when we got together after classes.” Bernard and Richard then found out that Christine was an active member of the Church.

One day Bernard asked Christine if it was okay for a Mormon to go out with someone who is not LDS. “Sure, it’s okay,” Christine replied, “but it’s better if the person is a Latter-day Saint.” A few days later, Bernard was sitting with Richard on a school stairway when Christine happened to pass by. Still mystified about Christine’s beliefs, Bernard asked her about the unusual classes she attended after school. Christine invited both of them to attend those unusual classes—seminary.

They didn’t think twice about attending. Soon the two friends became super-active seminary students, and that started a remarkable chain of conversions. Christine referred Bernard and Richard to the missionaries, and both agreed to be baptized. However, it wasn’t an easy decision.

“A Catholic school was offering us a college scholarship as long as we didn’t change our religion,” says Richard. And not only that, Bernard’s parents were reluctant to give their consent.

But so great was their desire to join the Church that they gave up the scholarships. And when she saw the positive changes in her son, Bernard’s mother gave her consent. The two friends were baptized, and with encouragement from Christine and other ward youth, they set good examples to everybody. And look what happened.

Bernard’s younger brother, Roger, saw the changes in his older brother, and he agreed to be visited by the missionaries. He was eventually baptized. Then, “my classmate, Mario Baniaga, got interested in the Church also,” Roger relates. Mario was baptized, and that, in turn, aroused the curiosity of Vicky, Mario’s sister. She was baptized too.

In between basketball games, Bernard introduced the gospel to another friend, Larry Rodelas. “I was wondering what got him to change his beliefs,” says Larry, who also agreed to listen to the missionaries. Soon Larry, his mother, Linda, and sister Eunice all joined the Church. But Bernard did not stop there—his other best friend and basketball chum Richard Virrey also joined the Church.

Richard Becerro, on the other hand, was such a good example to his family that his mother, Carmelita, and sisters Arlene, Irene, Crismilita, and Grace were all converted. “I became happier when I joined the Church,” Irene adds, “and I wanted my best friend to feel that kind of happiness, too.” That best friend, Flor Antido, was baptized, along with Naty Cruz, a friend of Richard’s mother whom she referred. And although Richard’s father did not become a Latter-day Saint, his good friend George Alegado did.

Doing things together has helped make this amazing link longer. As stake missionaries, Bernard and Richard visited with Brother and Sister Bangkong, a less-active couple. “We did a lot of fellowshipping with them,” says Bernard, “and we never stopped inviting them back to Church,” adds Richard. The couple came back to the Church and had their children Isaiah, Althea, and Desiree baptized.

The link also created new twists. Two of Christine’s cousins, Sharon and Shailani Realigue, noticed the special kind of friendship between their cousin and her two friends. Christine introduced the Church to them, they were baptized, and the two cousins started to help reactivate less-active young women. They visited with Margie Paragoso, and that led the way for the baptism of Margie’s mother, sister-in-law, and cousin. “I really think this wouldn’t be possible were it not for my cousin’s example,” Sharon says.

Many of these converts hold callings where they serve faithfully. Some are working with the youth also; Roger Vergano and Richard Virrey serve in the Young Men presidency, while Irene Becerro serves in the Young Women presidency. Many of them are also referring other friends and relatives to the missionaries.

The chain’s links are still expanding, this time in an even more interesting way. Bernard and Richard are now serving missions and in fact entered the mission field on the same month and are serving in the Philippines Cagayan de Oro and Philippines Davao Missions.

“When I share how it is to feel the Spirit to a family we’re now teaching,” shares Elder Vergano, “I can’t help but think of how I felt when Christine introduced the missionaries to us.” And, says Elder Becerro, “I always relate to our investigators how our family became closer after we joined the Church, because I know it can help them make the right decision.”

Right now Christine is serving in the ward Young Women presidency, and she continues to inspire other youth in setting good examples. “Before he died,” Christine recalls of her father, who served as a stake patriarch, “my dad would always encourage us to live the gospel in such a way that we could be a light to others.”

All of the Siton siblings are trying to do just that, with Christine leading the way. Looking at all the people who were baptized, she simply smiles. “Nothing can compare with the happiness I feel in knowing that I have become a part of somebody else’s life for good,” she says, “and I know that it all starts with living the gospel.”

Illustration by Adam Howling
“Hey, Trace, where did Mom go tonight?” I called out as I walked through the dirty kitchen. It looked like a tornado had blown through—dirty dishes were all over the place.
“I don’t know. She and Dad went to a dinner party with some friends,” replied the youngest of my 11 brothers and sisters as he watched a basketball game.
“So, is this food up for grabs?” I asked, hoping to find something in the pots and pans.
Wesley, number 10 of the 11, came bounding down the old, battered stairs, and as he ran to see the latest basketball score, he said, “Mom made it for us and left for the party. She said she’ll be back late and to not make too much of a mess.”
“Too late for that,” I mumbled. “Man. Good thing it’s not my night to clean up.”
The Christmas season was in full swing, and having our whole family in town made for a heavy amount of stress that seemed to wind up in Mom’s shoulder muscles. That’s when the idea came to me. It had been a while since I’d done anything but dirty the house—so why not surprise Mom and make it less dirty for a change?
After having a bite to eat, I tried for a miracle. “Wes, Trace, what do you think about cleaning this place up for Mom?”
“You can do what you want. I’m watching the game,” Trace said. He sounded bugged by the mere thought of trading dishes for the game.
“I knew it was pointless to ask you two,” I grumbled, feeling annoyed. The giant mound of dirty dishes was daunting, but someone had to do the job.
Usually when Mom asks me to clean the kitchen I whine for at least five minutes before grudgingly carrying out her wish. I typically react to her pleas for help with pride and selfishness. So this time, at first I started cleaning because I was looking for her praise. But soon I felt a joy that I can’t explain in doing the work without being asked.
As I began to slosh dishes around in the sink and squeeze the pineapple-scented dish soap into the steaming water, something unexpected began to happen.
Slowly, as if trying to hide the fact that he was even thinking of helping, Wesley wandered in and said, “I’ll dry if you wash.” Not wanting to scare him off, I nodded without looking at him.
“OK,” I said, “but the element of surprise is everything, so let’s move fast.”
Two minutes later, Trace walked sheepishly into the kitchen and said, “I’ll wipe the counters and sweep, but that’s it. And if I miss anything cool in the game, I’m going to be mad.”
“No prob,” I answered. “The faster we go, the faster we’ll be done. If Mom could only see us now, I think she’d have a heart attack.”
“Yeah,” they both said in unison.
“I was just thinking. What if we did the math?” Wes said. “There are 365 days in a year, times 13 of us, and then add three meals a day. I can’t even work those numbers. I’m just glad I’m not Mom.”
“It’s 14,235,” declared Trace triumphantly.
“Oh, and then times it by each utensil and cup on the table. I’m beginning to feel depressed. I don’t even know how Mom handles us all.”
“Hurry, here they come!” Trace yelled just as we caught sight of the car’s headlights. “Quick, hide!” I ran to my position at the top of the stairs, just out of eyesight, listening intently for Mom’s response to the sparkling countertops. As I waited, I sat thinking about what had just happened. We’d sacrificed half an hour that would have been wasted in front of the TV. How simple it was to give so little and have it mean so much.
The hum of the car’s motor cut out. The car doors opened and thumped shut. As the kitchen door swung open with a burst of icy winter air, we heard these rewarding words, “Oh! Heavenly angels have been at work!”

Phoebe Carter was similarly led 750 miles (1,200 km) from Scarboro, Maine, to Kirtland, Ohio, in 1835. Phoebe was 28 years old when she determined to gather with Church members, even though she had to make her trek alone. As she later reported: “My friends marvelled at my course, as did I, but something within impelled me on. My mother’s grief at my leaving home was almost more than I could bear; and had it not been for the spirit within I should have faltered at the last. My mother told me she would rather see me buried than going thus alone into the heartless world. … ‘Phoebe,’ she said, impressively, ‘will you come back to me if you find Mormonism false?’ I answered thrice, ‘Yes, mother, I will.’ … When the time came for my departure I dared not trust myself to say farewell, so I wrote my good-bye to each, and leaving them on my table, ran down stairs and jumped into the carriage. Thus I left my beloved home of childhood to link my life with the Saints of God.”6

At that point Phoebe had no idea that her footsteps of faith would lead her on a journey much longer than the 750 miles (1,200 km) to Kirtland. She would marry Wilford Woodruff and join with him in journeying through Missouri to Nauvoo and then on the 1,350-mile (2,170-km) trek through wilderness lands to the Great Salt Lake Valley.

In my early computer career, while living in Utah with my wife and three young sons, the events of September 11 left me without a job for ten months. After almost a year of fasting, praying, and job searching, I received a phone call. A job was available for me. However, it would require us to move to a place I wasn’t quite ready for. My wife is going to kill me, but well--the job was on Molokai. I had nightmares of that nine-passenger plane again, the slow-paced life, everyone asleep by 8 pm, no movie theaters, no McDonalds, no cable, and no ESPN, not to mention taking a HUGE pay cut. But, the more we prayed about the decision, the answer was VERY clear. Moloka’i was where the Lord needed us to be. It was during our life there that my children developed tender bonds with their grandparents. They experienced the beauties of a simple life, raising animals, hunting, diving, and utilizing their surroundings for daily living.

It was also during this time that I was called to serve as a high councilman for the Kahului stake, which required me to fly to Maui three Sundays a month to fulfill my assignment with the Kahului Second Ward. This was hard for me. I left on the first flight out on Sunday morning and returned on the last flight home. My wife was left to wrestle three rambunctious boys in church and the entire Sunday until I returned home. But I grew so much in this calling. I was rather young, and this was my first true involvement in church leadership and administration, and this served as a great training ground for when I would be called to serve as a Bishop years later, here in La’ie.

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

Alfred Nobel held his breath as a workman delicately lifted the glass bottle of nitroglycerin from its packing crate of wood shavings soaked in water. It was a cool morning, and he had to work fast before heat from the sun caused the temperature to rise above eighty degrees Fahrenheit.
The workman gently carried the bottle by the tips of his fingers. He could not clutch it in his hands because even his body heat would raise the temperature above the danger level. Nitroglycerin was the most powerful explosive known in 1860, and one bottle could destroy anything or anyone within a radius of one hundred feet.
Alfred Nobel was a Swedish chemist and engineer who traveled to the United States as a young man. What he saw there convinced him of the need for a safe and dependable explosive in that vast country that needed a great deal of work done—bridges built, tunnels cut, canals dug. Why, plans were already being made for one of the greatest construction projects of all time—a transcontinental railway system to connect California with the eastern states! To make that possible, a way would have to be carved through the great Rocky Mountains by the daily toil of human muscle power so that tracks could be laid. There must be a better way, Alfred decided.
Returning to Sweden, the young scientist eventually perfected nitroglycerin. He believed that a single explosion of nitroglycerin could do work that required days if men just dug with picks and shovels.
He went out on construction sites to make sure that the workmen handled the new explosive properly. On most occasions they did, but some were not as careful as they should have been. Each year a score of men were killed because they failed to follow the directions that Alfred Nobel, who manufactured the explosive, packed with each shipment.
As time went on, increasing numbers of workmen failed to handle it as directed. One man greased the axle of his wagon with it. Others threw unused amounts of it into the fire. Some simply did not understand nitroglycerin’s great power and stood too close when it exploded.
Soon people began pointing a finger at Nobel, blaming him for the deaths of careless workers. And in 1864 Nobel’s own factory exploded, killing his brother. Immediately production was suspended until Nobel had a floating laboratory built in the middle of a lake to prevent any unintentional explosion from injuring anyone but himself. Some substance that could be safely substituted for nitroglycerin had to be found.
In 1867, after nearly four years of experimentation, Nobel solved the problem. When nitroglycerin was absorbed by sticks of compressed diatomaceous earth (a porous material made of the skeletons of tiny one-celled sea animals), the result was a safe, dependable explosive.
He tested the sticks and was delighted to see that the explosive force remained but that the sticks were practically impossible to set off unintentionally. He called the new invention dynamite, from a Greek word meaning abundant power.
Nobel could hardly wait for his discovery to be put to use. It was safe, and it would save lives. Soon dynamite was being shipped all over the world.
In the United States the West was largely tamed by railroads that required large amounts of dynamite to clear the way for solid railbeds. Bridges, foundations for buildings, tunnels, mines, canals, and dams were all constructed with the help of this new and safer explosive.
But Nobel’s jubilation turned to horror when he learned that the new explosive was also being used by nations at war. He was heartsick. People began to think of him as a mad scientist who made his fortune by manufacturing death for warring nations. Newspapers called him a murderer.
Nobel became a millionaire, then a multimillionaire. But he was not seeking money, and above all else he dreaded to be remembered as a merchant of destruction.
Will my name be forever connected with death and war? he wondered.
In 1896 a saddened Nobel prepared a handwritten will that provided for the awarding of large cash prizes to humanitarians who worked toward peace and to people who made outstanding contributions in the fields of physics, chemistry, physiology or medicine, and literature. In 1969 an additional prize was established in the field of economic science.
Today, the world listens when the winners of the Nobel prizes are announced. It is a great honor for one who, as Nobel stated in his will, “during the preceding year, shall have conferred the greatest benefit on mankind.”
Some Nobel prizewinners have been: Wilhelm Roentgen in 1901 for the discovery of X rays; Theodore Roosevelt in 1906, the peace prize; Albert Schweitzer in 1952, the peace prize; Sir Winston Churchill in 1953 for literature; John Enders, Thomas Weller, and Frederick Robbins in 1954 for developing tissue culture for polio viruses; John Bardeen for his work with transistors. Marie Curie, who was awarded Nobel prizes in both physics and chemistry, was the first person to receive honors in more than one field.
Today few people remember Nobel as the inventor of dynamite. Instead, they eagerly await the announcement of Nobel prizewinners, especially the one for peace.

So when Steve Sargent failed to receive an athletic scholarship, his life came apart, right? Wrong. He had another dream beyond that of athletic stardom. He wanted to serve the Lord on a mission. He had already completed four years of seminary. He had read the scriptures, maintained his personal worthiness, and tried to save some money. Now he was ready to fine tune himself before the big event.

Attending BYU on an academic scholarship, he took a missionary preparation class. His parents recall, “When he wrote home from the Y he would say, ‘I can hardly wait to get out. I wish I were in the mission field!’ That was six months ahead of time. When they extended missionary service from 18 months to two years, we thought he might be a little disappointed, but he just said, ‘Boy that’s great!’ There was also a lot of hard personal prayer. And a lot of discussion with his roommates and others who were preparing for missions.”

Finally, his papers came. He went shopping, visited the doctor and dentist, spoke at a marvelous farewell, hugged his hugs, and said his goodbyes.
The MTC was wonderful, all except for getting up at 6:30, but Steve mastered that as he had mastered the spiral pass and the jump shot. Then came the mission field and the realization that missionary work is tough. As tough as football or basketball.
“I’d say it’s harder,” Elder Sargent insists. “Maybe not physically, although physically it wears you down sometimes too. But mentally it’s a lot tougher. You need to put out more effort to be a good missionary than to be a good quarterback.
“Everybody says in their homecoming talk how great it was, so I always expected to spend 24 hours a day on a spiritual high. I soon found out that it isn’t like that. There’s a lot of hard work involved, but when you see the results it’s worth it.”
And then, there was always the language barrier. “The first two weeks I thought they were speaking Chinese.” But his ear soon adjusted, and his tongue got used to its new assignment. “I feel that the Lord’s really helped me a lot in picking up the language.”
The initial hard times brought Steve closer to his family. His dad says, “You suffer with him when he’s down, and you just want to be there and put your arms around him and say, ‘It’s okay.’ We’ve drawn closer to Steve through the hard times than through the good. We know that he has to go through the refiner’s fire in order to learn. We want him to learn to struggle and sacrifice, but at the same time, we pray that the Lord is gentle with him so that it’s a positive struggle after all is said and done, so that he progresses in his testimony and understanding of people and love and commitment to them.”
Brother Sargent’s prayers have been answered. Steve found that every sacrifice was more than matched by a blessing. If the mission field was harder than he expected, it was more rewarding too. The letters he writes home make glad reading for his parents. “I’m really feeling a lot more love for my Father in Heaven and for Jesus Christ. I set a goal to focus my thoughts on Christ when I’m down and thinking about other things. I know that I will grow to love him even more as my mission goes on. When I think about it, I just get warm all over and feel great. There are still plenty of rough times, but I know whom I can always rely on.”
But after all is said and done, there still aren’t any newspaper clippings. Isn’t missionary work a little boring after athletic stardom? “Missionary work is awesome! The rewards are far greater than the rewards of athletics. A touchdown is thrilling, but it doesn’t compare to a baptism.”
There has been personal growth too. Some of it Steve probably can’t even see because he’s too close to himself. Some of it he can. “I can see life a lot clearer. I know why we’re here. I can see the plan that our Father in Heaven has given us in order to be able to live with him again and become like him. It’s neat to finally see that plan come into focus and really understand what he has done for us.
“I’m a much different person than I was just a few months ago. If I hadn’t come on a mission I’d still be thinking sports were the most important thing in life. I might have learned this in time anyway, but it comes a lot faster on a mission.”
Of course Steve still loves sports too. “I’m sure they’ll have athletics in the next life,” he says.
Steve’s love has grown along with his understanding. He wrote home: “This last week I actually started to enjoy my mission. It happened after I got the tape from home. And I’d been praying quite a bit. I really realized how much my family means to me. I’m just overjoyed to be alive. Our family is so special, and I love you all so much. I realize that the love I feel for you is the thing I need to share with these people.”
As an athlete, Steve prepared carefully for each game, and afterward he would evaluate his preparation so he could do better next time. How does he evaluate his mission preparation? “I think we should prepare when we’re younger. I thought I was pretty well prepared, but our preparation can never be equal to the importance of the task. I wish I had saved more money too, because I feel that I could have placed less of a burden on my parents. I especially wish I’d studied the scriptures more. They are so great.”
Steve has expressed the bottom line on mission preparation. It’s impossible to prepare as well as the calling deserves. Still, mission president Eduardo Ayala is pretty pleased with Elder Sargent just as he is. “He’s one of the most impressive missionaries I’ve ever seen. He is always enthusiastic. He is an excellent companion. He works very hard. Nothing discourages him. And furthermore he lives the law of consecration in every sense. It’s a pleasure to work with him.”
Nice words, but don’t look for them in the newspaper. Don’t look for any of Steve’s hard, wonderful mission in the newspaper. Look for it in the smiling faces of those to whom he brings the gospel. Look for it in the person he becomes. Look for it in all the good he does throughout his whole life and beyond. Look for it when the sports clippings have all turned to dust, and you will find it. Because it will be written in the hearts of people, and people last forever.

Connecting 150 generations was not easy. Like many others who are involved in searching out their ancestors, the Wu family acknowledges that they had help.
After going back 26 generations, they got stuck.
“About all we had was a nickname,” Sister Wu says.
On the final day of the Chinese New Year, Sister Wu had plans to attend a holiday celebration after serving in the temple. But when a friend on the shift mentioned she was going to stop by the family history center located on the temple grounds, Sister Wu felt impressed to go with her.
She went to a book containing information on people with the surname of the ancestor the family couldn’t find. When she opened the book, it fell open to a page that listed information on this particular ancestor. With that information, they were able to connect to other lines that led back many generations.
“It was a very special experience for me,” Sister Wu says. “I can feel that our ancestors are very anxious to have their ordinances done.”