Gospel Story Finder

Joshua’s mommy was sick. She couldn’t get up to work in her garden or do anything fun.
“I want to help Mommy,” Joshua said.
“Why don’t you pray about how you can help her?” Daddy asked.
Joshua knelt down by his bed. “Heavenly Father, please help me find a way to help Mommy feel better.” He stayed on his knees until he thought of what to do.
He got a piece of paper and some crayons and drew a picture of Mommy’s flower garden.
Joshua made sure Mommy wasn’t sleeping before he went in her room. “I made this picture for you,” he said. “Now you can look at your flowers without getting up.”
“It’s beautiful,” Mommy said. “Thank you.”
Joshua kissed Mommy’s cheek. He was glad he had done something to help her feel better.

A girl’s journal is often a record of her dreams, and Annapurna Guru’s journal held her most cherished desire. “Someday,” she wrote, “I will go to the temple.”
Annapurna was not a member of the Church when she wrote these words. Raised in Hyderabad, India, she had learned something about Christianity as a child in a Catholic school. Then, in 1992, her older brother met Latter-day Saint missionaries and was baptized. Annapurna was 14 when her brother, Murthy, gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon. “Once I read it,” she recalls, “I felt it was true.”
Annapurna found in the gospel answers to her most troubling questions, especially her worry about what happens after death. But just as surely as she knew the gospel to be true, she knew something else: Her parents would not allow her to be baptized in a Christian church.
During her remaining teenage years, Annapurna lived her new faith quietly. She read the Book of Mormon and the Bible. She prayed. She learned all she could. And she began to form in her mind a beautiful dream: Someday she would marry a Latter-day Saint. Someday she would go to the temple. And someday she would give her children the precious gift she lacked: membership in the Lord’s Church.
By the time Annapurna graduated from college at age 20, her parents had begun planning a traditional arranged marriage for their beloved daughter. But Annapurna never considered her dreams to be unattainable because she felt that they were not hers alone. “I had big dreams,” she says, “but actually God had His own plans for me.”
When Annapurna was 21, those divine plans started to become reality—miracle by miracle. First, she met Santosh Murala, a faithful Latter-day Saint visiting his family in Hyderabad. A medical student, Santosh was doing a surgical residency in Chandigarh, two days away by train. When they met, Annapurna and Santosh talked for half an hour. After that brief conversation, Santosh called his friend Neil Twitchell, who was then serving as India Bangalore Mission president, and confided, “She’s gold!” Santosh felt quite clearly that this was the woman he had been looking for. Annapurna felt that Santosh—the first Latter-day Saint young man she had ever met—was the man she had been praying to find.
The two exchanged a few letters, confirming their feelings. Several months later they married. Understandably, Annapurna’s family was upset at first, as was Santosh’s. But Annapurna was legally old enough to marry a man of her choosing.
Annapurna viewed this situation through the eyes of faith. “If I had married to please my parents and other people,” she says, “then my children might never have known about the Church and the whole responsibility for that would have been on my head. This one step has changed life for me and my posterity. For this life my parents may be upset with me, but for eternity they will be happy and proud of me.” In fact, Annapurna’s parents are already more accepting of her marriage. They like Santosh and even get together socially with Santosh’s parents.
Map by Randall J. Pixton
The next part of Annapurna’s dream came true when at last she was baptized. There was no branch in Chandigarh, so the Muralas made the five-hour journey to New Delhi for the baptism. Ironically, now that Annapurna was free to go to church, the nearest branch was far away. “Before I was baptized, the church was very near my house, just on the corner at the end of the road, and I didn’t have the opportunity to go,” she says. “Now the church was five hours away, so we could go only once a month.” Then Annapurna became pregnant, and the five-hour trip was too taxing for her.
But then came another miracle, in the form of two Latter-day Saint families. “God takes care of you,” explains Santosh. A British couple, Brother and Sister Beer, came to Chandigarh, where Brother Beer worked in highway construction. Sister Beer taught institute classes to the Muralas, and the Beers held family home evening with the Muralas every week. A Korean family, the Moons, also moved to Chandigarh, where Brother Moon worked for a construction company. Every Sunday for two years, this little group of Latter-day Saints met at the Moons’ home for sacrament meeting. Shortly after Santosh finished his residency in Chandigarh, the Beers and the Moons moved away too.
In New Delhi, where Santosh is receiving specialized training in heart surgery, there are two branches of the Church. Now Annapurna’s knowledge about the Church is catching up with her knowledge of the gospel. She has learned how to sing hymns and conduct meetings.
On 19 June 2001—Annapurna’s 24th birthday—her girlhood dream of temple marriage came true. The Muralas traveled to the Hong Kong China Temple when their first baby, Neil, was not quite two. During the five full days they spent serving in the temple, the most sacred and wonderful moment came when they were sealed to each other and to their son.
Today the Muralas’ lives are full to overflowing. Annapurna serves as Primary president and Santosh as president of the New Delhi First Branch. Santosh also spends about 100 hours a week at the hospital, working 18- and 36-hour shifts. In order to have Sundays free for Church responsibilities, he works on holidays. So Annapurna spends most of her time caring for their two young children and supporting her husband in his heavy responsibilities.
And she continues to dream. She dreams of sharing the gospel with her parents. She dreams of the day when her own and others’ children—the first generation of children in India to have Primary, seminary, and Young Men and Young Women—will be strong leaders of the Church. She dreams of the time when her children will serve missions. She dreams of the time when they too will go to the temple. And she even dares to dream that that temple might be in India.

I could almost feel the jar of the wagon wheels as they crunched the rocks and churned the dust in the deeply rutted trail. It was an evening like many others during my teenage years in Paris, but on this particular night I was absorbed in a French television documentary about the Mormon pioneers. I had never seen anything like it before, and I marveled at the similarities between the Mormon trek and the exodus of ancient Israel from Egypt. The courage and suffering of the Mormon pioneers touched something deep within me.
I had never heard of the Mormons before, and I became interested in learning about them. But I soon became distracted by my busy life as a student and forgot the soft stirrings within me. Besides, I was only intellectually curious, or so I told myself. Little did I know then how the turning of those pioneer wagon wheels would change my life.
My mother worked in a fashion boutique in Paris and liked the Americans she met there. She grew to love the English language and encouraged me to study English even as a young child. During the summers, she sent me to England or Scotland to stay with English-speaking families. One year she encouraged me to get involved in an American summer camp exchange program. Through this program I became a camp counselor in Sharon, Vermont—the birthplace of Joseph Smith. Perhaps the Lord, even then, was trying to turn the wheels once more. Unfortunately, I heard nothing of Joseph Smith or the Mormons while I was there.
Several years later, however, the wheels turned again, with great power. I was studying English, with a specific focus on American culture, at Paris’s Sorbonne University. As I began thinking about a master’s thesis topic, I remembered the documentary about the Mormon pioneers. I asked my adviser if I could do something on them. No one at the Sorbonne had written a thesis about the Mormons, and so my adviser thought the subject might prove interesting. But he insisted that I pick an aspect of Mormonism that was unique.
After doing some preliminary research, I discovered that there was not enough information about the Mormons in the university library. I concluded I would have to talk to them. By then I had learned that the official name of the Mormon Church was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. With that information, I located the headquarters of the Paris Mission and boldly knocked on the front door. I asked the missionary who answered, “Is there someone here who can tell me about the Mormons?”
The surprised young man managed to stutter, “Yes, yes, come in!”
As my research at the mission home progressed, I learned that Latter-day Saints believe in ordinances performed for dead ancestors. The more I read about temple work for the dead, the more I wanted to use that topic. The title I finally chose for my thesis was enough to make even long-time members of the Church pause: “Genealogy and the Mormon Church.” That’s how I became known in the Paris Mission as the “Genealogy Girl.”
It was at this point, just two months after my first visit to the mission home, that I met my future husband. He was a freelance American photographer and writer traveling in France. The missionaries told him about me, and he decided to interview me for a possible article for the Church magazines. After talking with me about the Church, he asked if I had ever considered joining. I shrugged my shoulders and said, “I’m really just curious.”
But as an afterthought, I reflected, “There is something unusual about your church. I always feel a sense of peace when I come to the mission home. Actually, I welcome reasons to come back.” Still, I insisted that my interest was only academic curiosity.
A few months later I decided to continue my thesis research by visiting the famous genealogical facilities in Salt Lake City. I arrived in Utah the day before President Joseph Fielding Smith’s funeral, and I went to the public viewing with an LDS girl I had corresponded with while I was in France. I was impressed by the lack of despair at the services.
During this time, the photographer I met in Paris returned to Salt Lake City, and we became reacquainted. I asked him to help proofread my thesis, and as time went on, he noticed my comments in the thesis becoming more and more positive—starting with “the Mormons believe …” and later expressing, without my realizing it, “We believe …”
One evening, he asked if I would like to take the missionary lessons. I hesitated and gave my former response, “I’m only curious.” But there was less certainty in my voice, so he suggested, “What have you got to lose?”
I smiled and said, “Well, nothing, I guess. OK.” Three weeks later, I was baptized, and the wagon wheels turned again as I became a pioneer myself—the only member of the Church in my family. Soon I would be privileged to give many of my ancestors the opportunity to choose to become members of the Church of Jesus Christ.
A year and a half after my baptism, the photographer and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Little did he know when he met me how the wagon wheels shown in a French documentary would affect his life.
Now it is 1997, the 150th anniversary of the pioneers entering the Salt Lake Valley, and as I tell my story I truly do feel the jar of the wagon wheels as they crunch the rocks and churn the dust in a deeply rutted trail. It is a day like many others, and I am pulling a handcart as part of the 1997 Sesquicentennial Mormon Trail Wagon Train on the old historic pioneer route near Big Sandy Crossing, Wyoming. During this reenactment, I am playing the part of an actual pioneer girl from France who joined the Church in Italy and came to Zion in the 1850s. It seems incredible that I am walking the same trail, breathing the same dust, and hearing the same sounds as she and so many other pioneers did so long ago.
As I walk, I remember the documentary I saw when I was a young girl in France, and I can feel the presence of the many Latter-day Saints who lived and died along this trail. However, the part I am playing is not just a story from our pioneer past, it is also my story—for I am a pioneer, too.

One winter’s night during a particularly nasty snowstorm, there was a serious automobile accident in a small Idaho town not far from the Utah border. A young child was critically injured. I was an air ambulance pilot in the Salt Lake City area and was dispatched in a fixed-wing aircraft to pick her up and bring her back to Salt Lake.
The closest airport to the accident was in Pocatello, Idaho. While it would take us only about 45 minutes to fly from Salt Lake City to Pocatello, it would take the ambulance crew nearly three hours to transport the girl from the accident site to Pocatello because of hazardous driving conditions. Even though the air transport team would arrive well before the ambulance crew, the doctor in charge wanted us there early to transfer the little girl from the ambulance to the airplane without any delay, getting her on her way to a major trauma center.
The weather was bad; these were the absolute minimum conditions we could land in. A small commuter airliner was also on approach to Pocatello, about 10 minutes ahead of us. I listened intently to the other pilot’s radio communications, knowing we would encounter the same conditions. His approach was routine, until he should have been able to see the runway. It wasn’t visible, however, and he had to give up the approach and go around.
Now it was our turn. I was very concerned—what if we couldn’t get in and had to return without the injured girl? I quickly said a silent prayer. I told Heavenly Father if He wanted us to pick up that little girl I would need His help.
I began the descent. It seemed to take forever. I couldn’t see a thing except gray cloud and snow blowing horizontally past the windshield. I was quickly approaching the point where, like the commuter airliner, I would have to break off the approach. I waited until the last possible instant, and then suddenly the runway lights came into view. They were dim but good enough. I reduced the power and landed and offered a silent prayer of gratitude for the miracle I had just experienced.
As I taxied to our parking spot, two things were obvious—the storm wasn’t going to let up, and the company that usually provided us with deicing service and a hangar to protect the aircraft from the weather had closed for the evening.
A few minutes later the commuter airliner landed safely. Immediately the control tower closed and the controllers went home. After the passengers and crew of the commuter plane left, the ground staff locked up the airport terminal building and went home too. My colleagues and I were left with no way to deice the airplane or to put it in a hangar, and the snow was beginning to fall even harder. There was a very real possibility we would not be able to leave until the next morning.
The transport team and I decided it would be best to wait and see what conditions were like when the ambulance arrived. As I looked out the plane’s window, I could see the snow starting to stick to the commuter airliner, parked not far from where we were. Knowing it would be unsafe to attempt a takeoff with any amount of snow or ice on our airplane, I went outside. The snow was falling very hard and beginning to stick to our wings. I walked around to where I would be out of view and offered another prayer.
Time seemed to pass very slowly that evening. Occasionally I would look out at the snow accumulating steadily on the commuter plane, but I avoided going outside again to check our own wings.
After nearly two hours the ambulance arrived with the little girl. I opened the cabin door and got out. The commuter plane was covered with snow and ice. I turned around to see what condition our plane was in. Although I had tried to have faith and be optimistic, I am ashamed to say I was astounded by what I saw. Tears of gratitude welled up in my eyes as I walked around the airplane. It was clean and dry—absolutely no snow or ice anywhere on it. It looked as if it had just come out of a heated hangar. The snow had also stopped falling, and visibility had improved to the point where it would be possible to take off.
Heavenly Father had provided the miracles we needed that night to get a little girl to the hospital. It was a very humble pilot who bowed his head in gratitude that evening for the great blessings he had received.
The flight back to Salt Lake was completely routine. Certainly my prayers and the prayers of that girl’s family and friends had been answered. I never did hear what the little girl’s final outcome was, but my testimony of the overwhelming love and compassion our Father in Heaven has for His children was strengthened that winter night.

My Quaker great-grandmother was named Rachel. Joseph Smith taught her. She had to reverse her notions from the past that there was little or no room for singing or dancing or playfulness or humor or for turning fasting into feasting. But on the theme of cultivating the inner light, she found in the fulness of the gospel confirmation of her earlier faith. Widowed nine days after the birth of her only son, she toiled her way through nagging poverty. She forced the bishop to take her tithing when there were six pans on the floor catching the leaks from the roof. And, brothers and sisters, in this day of growth in the Church, just count Chile and the Philippines only and you have a million Latter-day Saints who are living pretty much with a tin roof and a dirt floor and the 23rd Psalm on the wall.

Rachel served for 35 years as a Relief Society president. Even while hurting, she helped those who hurt more. During those years she was completely deaf and therefore more sensitive to the Light or its absence in those around her. She could not believe the promise made her by a patriarch that as Rachel of old she would have a worthy posterity. She had only one son. Her own portraits and the fading photographs are a study of clear eyes and serenity—she had the face of a saint. Last night we attended the 100th family reunion of her posterity. There are 700, and they are all of them in the world and of the world of Jesus Christ.

I remember when I was young, I had a stutter and had difficulty reading and writing, but my mother always expressed confidence in my ability to overcome these challenges. Her belief in me led me to enter a speech contest for youth held at church. To my surprise, I came in first place among the boys and second overall out of 14 youth in the contest. To this day, I still remember that speech. I was able to do this because I felt the confidence of my mother and leaders to do what was hard for me. I never would have imagined that I would be where I am today, speaking at conferences or writing articles for Church magazines. Our youth need us to believe in their ability to do difficult things as they turn to God and live in a higher and holier way.

For example, let me give you a brief incident from a family history in Hawaii. It involves sacrifice and temple blessings and true eternal perspective.

In the early 1900s, a young father and his family joined the Church in Hawaii. He was enthused about his new-found religion, and after two years of membership both he and his eldest son held the priesthood. They prospered and enjoyed the fellowship of the little branch. They anxiously looked forward to being sealed as a family for eternity in the temple soon to be completed in Laie.

Then, as so often happens, a test crossed their path. One of their daughters became ill with an unknown disease and was taken away to a strange hospital. People in Hawaii were understandably wary of unknown diseases, as such diseases had wrought so much havoc there.

The concerned family went to church the next Sunday, looking forward to the strength and understanding they would receive from their fellow members. It was a small branch. This young father and his son very often took the responsibility for blessing and passing the sacrament. This was one such Sunday. They reverently broke the bread while the congregation sang the sacrament hymn. When the hymn was finished, the young father began to kneel to offer the sacrament prayer. Suddenly the branch president, realizing who was at the sacred table, sprang to his feet. He pointed his finger and cried, “Stop. You can’t touch the sacrament. Your daughter has an unknown disease. Leave immediately while someone else fixes new sacrament bread. We can’t have you here. Go.”

How would you react? What would you do?

The stunned father slowly stood up. He searchingly looked at the branch president, then at the congregation. Then, sensing the depth of anxiety and embarrassment from all, he motioned to his family and they quietly filed out of the chapel.

Not a word was said as, with faces to the ground, they moved along the dusty trail to their small home. The young son noticed the firmness in his father’s clenched fists and the tenseness of his set jaw. When they entered their home they all sat in a circle, and the father said, “We will be silent until I am ready to speak.” All sorts of thoughts went through the mind of this young boy. He envisioned his father coming up with many novel ways of getting revenge. Would they kill the branch president’s pigs, or burn his house, or join another church? He could hardly wait to see what would happen.

Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes—not a sound. He glanced at his father. His eyes were closed, his mouth was set, his fingers clenched, but no sound. Twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes—still nothing. Then he noticed a slight relaxing of his father’s hands, a small tremor on his father’s lips, then a barely perceptible sob. He looked at his father—tears were trickling down his cheeks from closed eyes. Soon he noticed his mother was crying also, then one child, then another, and soon the whole family.

Finally, the father opened his eyes, cleared his throat, and announced, “I am now ready to speak. Listen carefully.” He slowly turned to his wife and said, meaningfully, “I love you.” Then turning to each child, he told them individually, “I love you. I love all of you and I want us to be together, forever, as a family. And the only way that can be is for all of us to be good members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and be sealed by his holy priesthood in the temple. This is not the branch president’s church. It is the Church of Jesus Christ. We will not let any man or any amount of hurt or embarrassment or pride keep us from being together forever. Next Sunday we will go back to church. We will stay by ourselves until our daughter’s sickness is known, but we will go back.”

This great man had proper eternal perspective.

The daughter’s health problem was resolved; the family did go to the temple when it was completed. The children did remain faithful and were likewise sealed to their own families in the temple as time went on. Today over 100 souls in this family are active members of the Church and call their father, grandfather, and great-grandfather blessed because he kept his eyes on eternity, because he used his priesthood to bless his family, and because he recorded his feelings. How the heart of this father turned to his children, and how his children’s hearts turned to him.

A few years ago I had the assignment of supervising several students who were completing internships in New York City. Included among the interns were photographers, graphic designers, illustrators, and studio artists. They were working with some very prestigious individuals in their respective fields—individuals of considerable influence and notoriety. Part of my responsibility was to follow up with each of the internship providers and see how our BYU interns were performing. It is sometimes tempting for the interns to try to fit in and do the kind of work that is frequently seen in the world, and they are counseled to be true to their culture and upbringing and to “be just who you are and you’ll stand out and be noticed.”

As I contacted the various mentors, I received almost the same response: “They are so refreshing. They are so culturally solid. We love having these BYU interns. Send us more.” I recall one very important and highly respected photographer—one who we felt had given us a gift by accepting a BYU intern—thanking me for sending the intern and saying, “He is so non–New York. He is so refreshing. He has changed us.” He said it three times: “He has changed us.” He then added, “And we think we’ve changed him a little as well.”

“What do these scriptures teach us?” asked Daddy as he closed his Book of Mormon.
Four-year-old Tyler piped up, “Jesus said we should always pray.”
“That’s right, Tyler,” Daddy said. “Do you think that you can have a prayer in your heart all day today? Besides just praying for yourself, look for others who need blessings and pray for them. We’ll pray again for them when we have family prayer tonight.”
Mommy stood up. “It’s time to get the breakfast dishes done and for Daddy to go to his office.”
As Daddy walked to the front door, Tyler followed and grabbed his hand. “Daddy, I promise to find someone today who needs my prayer.”
Daddy picked up Tyler and gave him a hug. “Good! I knew that I could count on you.”
Later that morning, Tyler went with Mommy to take books back to the library. He looked for people who might need his prayer. He saw a lady holding a baby. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, no matter how the lady tried to soothe him. Tyler prayed quietly, “Please, Heavenly Father, bless the baby to be quiet and happy.”
After lunch, Tyler went outside to ride his tricycle. The people who lived next door were getting into their car. They waved to him. Tyler saw Mr. Radcliffe helping his wife climb out of her wheelchair and into the car. “Heavenly Father,” Tyler began to pray, “I like the Radcliffes. Please bless Mrs. Radcliffe to get well.”
That afternoon the doorbell rang. The piano tuner had come. Tyler loved to watch him use his tools on the piano. Tyler asked Heavenly Father to bless the piano man to do a good job.
Before Tyler’s bedtime, his family gathered again for family prayer. “Did you find anyone in need of blessings today?” Daddy asked Tyler.
“I found three people who needed my prayers—a baby, Mrs. Radcliffe, and the piano man.”
Mommy said, “That’s wonderful, Tyler! You followed the words of Jesus. You prayed for others. Heavenly Father heard your prayers, and He will answer them.”
Daddy said, “Tyler, will you say the family prayer now, please?”
As Tyler prayed, he remembered to ask another blessing on the people who had needed his prayers that day.

On his thirty-third birthday, Wilford Woodruff was preaching in the town of Hanley, England. He was extremely successful in that location, and so he was surprised when the Lord inspired him to go southward, where he was literally directed to the John Benbow farm just outside of Birmingham. A group known as the United Brethren had banded together and were praying for the Lord to send messengers with the fulness of the gospel.
From this group alone, Elder Woodruff baptized 45 preachers and 160 members of the congregation. One of the policemen who was sent to arrest Elder Woodruff for preaching the gospel joined the Church himself after listening to this dynamic missionary speak. Two local officials from the Church of England who went to spy on the meetings also ended up asking for baptism at his hand.
Wilford Woodruff brought 336 people into the Church in the year 1840. Then, responding to the call of President Joseph Smith, he and the other Brethren set sail for home, bringing with them a boatload of converts.

When I was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood, I was called to be secretary of my deacons quorum. I prepared the records I kept very carefully, for I wanted to do my very best in that calling. Doing all I can, to the very best of my ability, has been my goal in every calling I have ever held.
One day the bishopric asked me to take the sacrament to a man who could not leave his house. That special Sunday morning, when I knocked on Brother Wright’s door, I heard his weak voice call, “Come in.” I went into his humble home. His room was filled with the Spirit of the Lord.
I went to Brother Wright’s bedside and carefully placed a piece of sacrament bread to his lips. I then held the cup of water so that he could drink. As I left, I saw tears in his eyes as he said, “God bless you, my boy.” And God did bless me. He helped me appreciate the sacred emblems of the sacrament and the priesthood that I held.

Some years ago while serving in the office of public affairs of the Church in Mexico, we were invited to participate in a radio talk show. The purpose of the show was to describe and discuss the different religions of the world. Two of us were assigned to represent the Church in responding to questions that might be asked during this type of a program. After several commercial breaks, as they say in radio parlance, the program director made this comment: “We have with us this evening two elders from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He paused and then asked, “Why does the Church have such a long name? Why don’t you use a shorter or more commercial name?”

My companion and I smiled at such a magnificent question and then proceeded to explain that the name of the Church was not chosen by man. It was given by the Savior through a prophet in these latter days: “For thus shall my church be called in the last days, even The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (D&C 115:4). The program director immediately and respectfully responded, “We will thus repeat it with great pleasure.” Now, I cannot remember how many times he repeated the significant name of the Church, but I do remember the sweet spirit that was present when we explained not only the name of the Church but also how it makes reference to the members of the Church—the Latter-day Saints.

Mountain Born The newborn black lamb was still, stiff, and cold, but with the old shepherd’s special touch and Mother’s loving care, Biddy was soon a spirited pet for Peter. But she was more than that. One time, for example, Biddy appeared at the farmhouse door, her side dripping blood. She led Peter, his father, and the old shepherd back to the flock in the mountains so that they could save it from the wolves that had attacked her.Elizabeth Yates8–11 years

Don’t think of all the things you need to get done in your lifetime; think of what needs to be done now. You do your best, and Heavenly Father will make it work. For example, while I was preparing to teach a seminary lesson about President Thomas S. Monson, I was wondering how I could keep seven kids (all of whom are older than me) listening, learning, and interested. I decided to try and get as much participation as I could. It turned out fine! So just do your best at the work right in front of you.
Bethany F., 15, Kentucky, USA

Another week we had a rough time at church; the children were more restless than they should have been, especially during the sacrament. The next night we talked about the sacrament in family home evening. We discussed its purpose and how we should behave as the sacrament is being passed. I asked the children what they thought about during the sacrament. Our 10-year-old, Sharanne, commented that she thought about the life of Jesus Christ and the words from “The Living Christ.” Nothing more needed to be said.

“If I weren’t a Mormon” seemed to be my favourite phrase this month. If I weren’t a Mormon I wouldn’t be getting up at 5:30 in the morning, braving 6° C. and less temperatures just to go to seminary. If I weren’t a Mormon I’d be more accepted at school, and I’d have fun going to “all weekend” parties with friends, and I wouldn’t have to put up with all those jokes aimed at my religious beliefs. If I weren’t a Mormon life would be so much easier.
When I finally reached school that morning I was cranky, depressed, and tired. I wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t a Mormon, I thought. I missed the bus because Dad likes long family prayers. And Mum couldn’t drive me because she had to go to some Relief Society meeting.
I was late for class so I took a shortcut through the back of the library where I saw my ex-boyfriend embracing a “perfect 10” blonde. We had stopped going out because I wasn’t willing to compromise my standards. Seeing those two together was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I ran into a nearby empty room and cried.
When I finally made it to class I slipped into my seat just before I was marked absent. The daily notice sheet was read out loud reminding us of the upcoming long weekend and the camp planned at The Entrance, a coastal holiday town about five hours north of Sydney, Australia. That’s just what I needed. I wondered if Dad and Mum would let me go? No, they wouldn’t because I have to go to church Sunday and I have to go to family home evening Monday.
I was so bored in maths that I calculated how much more pocket money I’d have and all the things I could buy if I didn’t have to pay tithing.
The next morning the alarm went off at 5:30 as usual. Time to go to seminary again. Why should I have to go? Why get up at 5:30 every morning? Then I heard Mum’s cheery voice telling me that if I didn’t get up I’d be late.
The topic that morning was, “What has Joseph Smith done for you?” I could answer that easily. If it weren’t for Joseph Smith I wouldn’t be a Mormon.
“Will you read Doctrine and Covenants, section 122, verses seven and eight, please?” my teacher asked.
Wearily, I took out my scriptures and started reading. At first I was not really listening, but then something made me start to pay attention to the words.
“And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.”
I choked out the last verse, tears brimming. “The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?”
A few days later I was standing on the balcony of the Opera House, watching the boats on the water under the harbour bridge. I couldn’t remember why I had felt so restricted because of my religion. My problems seemed pretty small and insignificant compared to those of Jesus Christ and Joseph Smith. I felt selfish as I asked myself, “Art thou greater than he?”
I was standing on a balcony overlooking the greatest harbour in the world in the greatest country in the world. The lights of Sydney seemed to be towering and challenging the stars above. “I’m so proud of my country,” I said to myself. “It’s so full of unique beauty, people, and culture. I thank God for our beautiful flora, fauna, and freedom. And I’m proud to be a part of the ever-growing and only true church in the world.”
My favourite phrase still is, “If I weren’t a Mormon,” but in a different way. If I weren’t a Mormon I wouldn’t have such a wonderful family, such great friends, and such a clear understanding of the purpose of life.
By the way, I calculated how much tithing I have paid, and when I look at how much God has given me, there’s no comparison.

Rain poured from the sky as Katie dashed from under the awning of Fitzgerald’s. She vaulted into the passenger seat of the car waiting at the curb with her brother, Mike, at the wheel.
“It would start to rain as I get off work,” Katie said dismally, flipping down the visor mirror to stare at her sodden hair.
Mike laughed at the face she was making and pulled into traffic.
“Oh! I almost forgot,” Katie said. “Fitzgerald’s is having a sale on men’s white dress shirts—in case you need a few more for your collection.”
“I think Mom bought three or four dozen. Do you think 10 ties is enough?”
“I’d better send you some for Christmas.”
“Don’t forget socks,” Mike reminded her. “And cookies.”
“They’ll be stale by the time they get to Brazil.”
“I can’t go two years without chocolate chip cookies.”
Katie said softly, “I can’t believe you’re going to be gone in a week.”
Mike pulled into their driveway. The rain kept falling. “Gotta make a run for it,” he said.
Katie reached out a hand. “No, Mike, wait. You know, this might be our last chance to talk.”
“You mean you’re never going to speak to me again?” Mike asked in mock horror.
“You know what I mean. Tomorrow Dad’s taking you fishing. Sunday is the farewell, Monday is the good-bye party, and Tuesday you drive to Utah while I work.”
Katie’s eyes blurred as she looked through the drumming rain. She and Mike were only 11 months apart and had grown up practically like twins. They had run track together, fished, camped, had the same friends, and gone to Saturday night dances together. When no one else would listen, Mike always did. But now it was hard to express what she wanted to ask him.
“What’s up, Katie?”
“It’s just … why are you going on a mission?”
“Well,” he began, “I’ve taken the missionary prep class, gone on splits with the full-time elders, saved my money …” He stopped. “I guess that doesn’t really answer the question, huh? I’m going because I’ve got a testimony of the gospel. Does that sound too spiritual?”
Katie shook her head. “You really have a testimony? No doubts, nothing?”
He looked at her questioningly. “I’ve never had doubts; neither have you. Hey, you’ve been Laurel class president.”
“Being the Laurel class president doesn’t automatically give you a testimony.”
Mike stared at her in disbelief. “We’ve been together our whole lives: church, seminary, sunrise testimony meetings; of course you have a testimony.”
Katie’s voice shook. “No, I don’t Mike.” I’ve never told this to anyone, but I really don’t know. How can people say they know?”
“I can’t believe you’re saying this,” Mike said softly.
“Don’t look so shocked, Michael. It’s not the end of the world.”
“How can you go on a mission or get married in the temple? All the big things, I just don’t get it.”
“I’m not planning on getting married next month.”
Mike shook his head. “Your testimony is the most important thing in the world.”
“But what is a testimony?” she challenged.
Meeting the rise in her voice, he quickly said, “A knowledge and belief that the Church is true.”
“How do you get it?”
“Through study, prayer, fasting.”
“The usual, typical answers. Is that how you got it?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know?”
“I just felt it. I’ve always known.”
“But what does it feel like?”
He sighed. “I don’t know how to explain.”
“No one can tell me. Not my seminary teacher, not my leaders, and not you.”
“I thought I knew you better than anyone else, and now it’s like I don’t.”
Katie bit her lip. “You’re not helping me. You’re only making me feel bad.”
“But you have to have a testimony,” he insisted.
“Right.” She opened the car door. “Out of everybody in this world, I thought you’d be the one to listen and understand. I wish I hadn’t brought it up.” Katie got out of the car and slammed the door.
The next morning, Katie stayed in bed until after Dad and Mike had left for the lake. When she came downstairs, she found her mother at the kitchen table eating breakfast.
“I’m just wondering what’s up between you and Mike?” Mom said.
Katie became wary. “Nothing.”
“Actually,” Mom confessed, “Mike told us about your conversation last night.”
Katie set down the milk. “He had no right to tell you that! I confided in him.”
“You’ve been so close. I think he was very shaken by what you told him,” Mom said soothingly.
“Now my whole family thinks I’m apostatizing.”
“I never knew you had concerns about your feelings. I wish you had come to Dad and me.”
“It seems like everybody has a testimony, except me. I thought I was weird or something.”
Mom was thoughtful. “There are probably more people in your shoes than you realize, especially teenagers. We’re not born with a testimony. It takes time, lots of prayer, and seeking for the Spirit. Growing up in the Church can make it harder because it’s always around you. From the time you’re in nursery, it’s something you hear about and learn about every day. It might be harder to recognize because it’s so much a part of you.”
“You’re probably right,” Katie admitted.
Mom leaned forward. “Of course, I don’t recommend going out in the world and ignoring your standards just to see how other people live. Your father and I did that before the missionaries came to our door 20 years ago. We had even decided not to have children.”
“I didn’t know that,” Katie said.
“It’s a sad way to live. When I felt the Holy Ghost bearing the truth to my heart that what the elders were telling me was true, it was so different from anything I’d ever felt, I didn’t have any doubts it was from God.”
“I wish I could have that,” Katie said. “But sometimes I don’t think I feel anything.”
“You might be feeling more than you realize. It just takes careful listening. Having a desire to know is the first step. It will come if you seek it. Jesus Christ himself told us that.”
Even after talking with her mother, Katie had a hard time feeling forgiveness toward Mike. She felt like he’d betrayed her deepest feelings. On Tuesday morning she stood barefoot in the damp grass and saw her family off. She hugged Mom and Dad, then stood awkwardly as Mike put his arms around her and squeezed her.
He whispered, “Please don’t be mad anymore. I need your love to make it the next two years. Write to me, okay?”
She nodded, unable to speak. The car pulled away, and Dad tooted the horn.
She was alone. Even though she had to work every day until her parents returned, the next few days would be time by herself. Time to really think, meditate, read, pray and hopefully get some answers.
She went into the house and grabbed her scriptures. A testimony of the gospel, of the Church. It sounded trite, somehow, and that had always bothered her. There were so many doctrines to have a testimony of. What did it really mean?
She turned to the Topical Guide under testimony and testify and read until she had to get ready for work. The basic foundation was a testimony of Jesus Christ, which made sense. That’s where she needed to start.
A few minutes after Katie checked in at work, she was throwing a pile of newspapers out when a headline in the metro section caught her eye: “Top 10 Reasons People Pick Their Church.” She put it in her purse.
The words ran through her mind. How could there be more than one or two reasons people decide which church to join? Wasn’t the church’s beliefs and doctrine the most important thing?
After her shift, Katie spread open the article. A journalist had conducted a local survey among members of various churches and asked them to list the reasons they had chosen the church they currently attended. The results had been listed in order of the most popular.
The church had a good day-care center close to work.
The church had a good preschool or private school.
The church was close to where they lived.
Their friends attended that church.
They liked the beauty of the church.
The church had a good choir they wanted to join.
The church had a youth program.
They had grown up attending that church.
They liked the minister.
They agreed with the doctrines or beliefs.
Katie set down the paper. Incredible. What she had assumed to be the number one reason was actually the last reason people in her community picked their church.
Had she been going to church because of social reasons and not because of a testimony? But it wasn’t because she didn’t want a testimony. She did. It just seemed like such an elusive thing. She almost felt guilty that she would be going to BYU without a testimony.
Every night that week she lay in bed thinking about the Savior, the scriptures she had read, and her pleading prayers for answers. After several days Katie finally felt the troubled, worried feelings disappearing. She knew she was beginning to feel peace. Her testimony would come, just as Mom said it would. She had to have confidence in the Lord.
Katie sat up and switched on the lamp. She picked up her scriptures and went back to section 9 of the Doctrine and Covenants. She’d read the verses about having a burning in her heart so often she had it memorized. Why couldn’t she have that burning?
Slowly she turned the pages, reading verses at random. Section 6 caught her eye. The Lord was speaking to Oliver Cowdery. “Cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things. Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23).
Katie sank back against the pillows. She knew she had felt peace. And now she knew it was from God. She glanced down at the page and another passage seemed to strike at her heart: “Be faithful and diligent in keeping the commandments of God, and I will encircle thee in the arms of my love. Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God” (D&C 6:20–21).
Oh, to feel the love of the Savior as if she were encircled by his arms! Tears came to her eyes as she thought about Mike. She shouldn’t have let him go without telling him she loved him. She thought he had betrayed her, but now she realized that she had deserted him also.
It was almost midnight, but she couldn’t go to sleep. She grabbed her pen and started to write.
Dear Mike, I’ve finally had some questions answered. Probably the best person answered them, too. The one that counts. Maybe I wanted to be struck by lightning or have a revelation or something. But it was even better than that. Now I can know deep inside my heart, where it will never leave.
I’m sorry for how I acted when you left for Utah. I guess I was angry with you for breaking my confidence, but now I know I hurt you also and I wish I could go back and re-do all your last days at home. Would you please forgive me? I do know that you’re going to be a great missionary, and I’m rooting for you! With all my love, Your sis, Katie.
She folded the letter, got in her pajamas, and went to find her brother’s address.

During the pandemic, Newport Gwent ward offered a ray of light to their community by supporting three local charities and hundreds of people’s lives.
Bishop James Hayes offered support to the ‘Helping Caring Team’ (HCT) a local charity who collect food donations from various local shops and restaurants and then deliver packages to the homeless and vulnerable of Newport. Soon HCT were asking if they would be able to utilise the church building for collection and packing of the food packages.
The ward also supports Sesame Counselling Services: a charity who specialise in providing discounted counselling services. Sesame Counselling was unable to use their regular meeting place so a member asked the Bishop if they could help, Bishop Hayes arranged a visit to the chapel to showcase their space. The head of the board of trustees was heard to say, “Isn’t there a restful atmosphere here,” “It’s peaceful here” and “There’s a nice atmosphere here, a feeling of safety.”
The final group it supports is the Gwent Family History Society. The group were looking for somewhere to meet, someone suggested asking the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Gwent Family History use the computers and run a zoom link from the building which is recorded and shared on their social media pages. There have been many blessings that have come to both the Newport Gwent Ward and to the charities. Bishop Hayes remarked, “In some ways it is missionary work like you have never known it.” The groups even promote the Word of Wisdom notes Bishop Hayes because “the groups have asked us what they are able to provide on the premises for their clients and we explain the Word of Wisdom to them and why we believe it is important, they then accept our belief and subconsciously they explain it to their patrons, allowing more people to become aware of our beliefs without us having to proselyte to them.” Elder Hyrum Little stated, “Watching the joyous faces of those who are selflessly giving of their time and talents, gives me a greater sense of joy through my own service and it increases my desires to magnify my own mission efforts.” Elder Samuel Jaccod commented, “Whenever service is done to anyone who is in need, the service is not just a blessing to their lives but blesses those who are helping them too. Finding true happiness in your life will come as you strive to increase the joy in the lives of those around you.” Both Elder Little and Elder Jaccod have been able to witness the blessings that have been brought to those who use the chapel, but also to the members and missionaries of the Newport Ward through the selfless, compassionate and loving service of those who have come to use the chapel.

About a year ago, our youngest daughter and her husband were preparing to welcome their very first child, a sweet baby girl. They were excited beyond belief. Just a few days before the delivery date, the baby stopped moving, and the doctors couldn’t detect a heartbeat. A day later, little Charlotte Faith was delivered stillborn. Never before had we experienced that kind of grief. Every part of our soul wanted to scream in anguish. Lucia and I hurt deeply for our daughter and her husband. All we could think of was all the whys and what-might-have-beens— all the joy we would have experienced with this little one. Why did this happen? Why didn’t we see it coming? Why? Why? Why? Well, I still don’t have answers to those questions. They’re currently in the box, and I think the answers will take some time— maybe a long time. But our faith and trust is in the Lord. We will wait on Him. We miss little Charlotte! The faith of our daughter and her husband has never wavered. Their hearts are healing. And they recently welcomed a little boy, Peter Abram, into their family. That’s what it looks like to move forward with faith.

Thirteen-year-old Lynnette Thompson wondered why the dogs kept barking and running around in circles in the yard. Then the fence she was standing by started to rattle, and her dad, who had just climbed down from the roof of the house, yelled at her to stop shaking the fence. She started to protest that she wasn’t doing anything to the fence, when the rock wall by the house started to crumble. “Then everything started jumping around. I saw the flagpole fall over, and the roof of the house jumped up several inches and came back down.”