Gospel Story Finder

When Joseph saw his brother Hyrum walking toward him, he left the ax buried in the log he was cutting up for firewood. Hyrum was nearly six years older, and just about the best friend that nine-year-old Joseph had in the whole world. Hadn’t he sat with Joseph day and night, holding his leg to ease the pain when it was so sore and swollen! And no one was more fun to wrestle or run with than Hyrum. Joseph challenged Hyrum to a footrace every chance he got, though he still needed a crutch at times and walked with a limp.
“Hyrum, I’ll race you to the house for dinner.”
Hyrum grinned. “Then you’d better take a head start while you have the chance.”
Joseph took off like a duck after a June bug, under the apple tree then right through the corn patch. No use worrying about tromping through the corn, he reasoned. An early frost had already ruined it.
Joseph reached the house and raced right through the open door, shouting, “I beat you, Hyrum!” But he came to an abrupt standstill when he saw his father and mother in earnest conversation. His father looked at the boys for a full half minute before he spoke, as though he were still trying to make friends with an idea. “We’re thinking of moving to Palmyra. It’s a settlement in New York state.”
Hyrum was the first to find words. “It’s because of the drought and the frost killing our crops the past three years, isn’t it?”
“ ’Fraid so. We’ve done the best we could, and you’ve both worked like men to help. If we hadn’t been able to sell a little fruit from our trees, we’d have starved. Caleb Howard says folks are getting forty bushels of wheat to an acre in New York. He’s going to Palmyra right away … said we could go along with him. If I could only arrange our affairs in time …”
“Why don’t you go on ahead, Father? We can follow with Mother and help her,” Hyrum suggested.
Joseph chimed in, “We can help get things ready here.”
Lucy put her arms around her two sons. “With the help of the boys I’m sure I can manage. Sophronia is thirteen now and she can take over the little ones. You go on ahead and find a place for us to live.”
By the time the moon was new once more, Joseph’s father had sent for the family and Mr. Howard was back in Vermont to help them move.
Joseph helped his mother pack their homespun sheets and quilts. A huge hide-covered trunk, bound with metal bands, was filled with clothing. Joseph helped his brothers put this, along with their featherbeds, iron pots and pans, and furniture into the wagon.
“Let’s be off,” Mr. Howard called impatiently, as he climbed onto the wagon.
Lucy and her eight children gathered beside the wagon, for most of them would have to walk. Mr. Howard clucked to the team. Unwillingly, they hunched forward, taking up the slack in the halter. The loaded wagon creaked and groaned like a weary old woman leaving her bed of a morning.
As they moved away from the house, Joseph took a last look at the fruit trees, gnarled and near-barren from years of struggle. And the puny ears of corn left in the garden would have made him laugh if they had not made his mother weep.
Joseph looked at her and knew her thoughts were close on the trail of his own. Trouble had been crowding them for over four years, but now … now they could see nothing ahead but blessings.
As the family walked past the stone wall that marked the end of their property his mother shifted the baby in her arms and took Joseph’s hand. Her mouth eased its hard line into a gentle smile. In spite of his limp he seemed as spry as a cricket.
“We’ve had three years of crop failure and a year of sickness,” she said. “But the Lord has been with us. We need to thank Him for preserving our lives through such tremendous afflictions … more so than if we had seen nothing but health and prosperity.”
Joseph lifted his face and his smile caught the sunlight.
“It’s a new beginning, Mother.”
(To be continued.)

During the height of cross-country season, Heather Frushour, a two-time Utah state champion who graduated last June, used to be so busy that she barely had time to eat. She would wake up at 5:30 in the morning to run three miles with her teammates. After the 30-minute run, she rushed home to get ready for her first class that started at 7:40. Cross-country practice began at 1:00 P.M., and lasted for about three hours. Then it was time for the ice pack on sore muscles. Often Heather didn’t get home until 5:30. And by 7:00 on Mutual night, she was at the church. Then there was homework, and—finally—bedtime at 10:00 or 10:30.
“I may have been busy, but I felt incredibly organized. I definitely don’t feel like I wasted my day,” she says. “I would feel great.”

The boys thought it was fun to pull pranks on the teacher, so Miss Foster was in the habit of shaking out her handkerchief with a loud snap when she took it from the top drawer of her desk to make sure there were no stinkbugs or caterpillars hidden in it. One day when she opened the drawer, a kangaroo rat leaped out in front of her face. She was so startled she screamed and jumped back, upsetting her chair and knocking her off her feet. She fell over backward and sprawled on the floor.
Mr. Stern came in fuming from around the other side of the partition, demanding to know what on earth was going on. He tried his best to find out who was guilty of putting the rat in the drawer, but no one would tell, so he made the whole class practice penmanship during recess as a punishment. We wrote: “I will not play pranks on the teacher” over and over in our best handwriting.

Time dulls some memories. Others never die. As a missionary in Kentucky and Tennessee, I had experiences that will live brightly in my mind for many years to come. During the summer of 1972 I had the opportunity of working in the small southern town of McMinnville, Tennessee. Though my stay was relatively short, it was one of the most profoundly significant times of my life.
I vividly recall the night of my arrival in McMinnville. It was early evening, and the early summer heat was stifling. I was excited. I was humble. And I was soon to come to grips with the reality of the harsh world of proselyting. This was a world where great idealism and great hope had to be translated into great faith and hard work. It was a world where baptisms were earned with blood, sweat, toil, and tears, if even then. But the Church was true, and I was excited.
Missionary work in McMinnville was hard, and the first weeks presented us with some real difficulties. The town had been tracted out on a regular basis every six months for at least the past ten years, and we only had two contacts. Fortunately, I was too green and idealistic to be discouraged, and so we went forth. And as time went on, tracting seemed increasingly fruitless. The people for whom we had the most hope seemed to be the first to lose interest. Yet in my heart I had a burning desire to succeed. The funny thing was that I really didn’t know what it meant to succeed. I didn’t know exactly what I was expecting to find, but I did know whatever real success was, that’s what I wanted.
It was early June when we called back at the first house on the right side of Van Buren Street. We had left a Book of Mormon there earlier. The husband answered the door and invited us in. The TV was on, and he returned to his easy chair where an ash tray and a beer can sat on opposite arms of the chair. After he had readjusted himself, he turned slightly and said, “Well, boys, what can I do for you?” (Boys was the common term for a couple of Mormon missionaries in the South.) I remember as I answered him that I had to speak loudly because I was running close competition with the local broadcast of Hee Haw. I explained, as best I could, why we had come: we had left a copy of the Book of Mormon with his wife, and we would like to tell them more about it as it contained a message of beauty and great importance for himself and his family. He told us he and his wife were going out for the evening but that they would be glad to have us back next week. The next week we went back. After a few preliminary introductions we were ready to go. Unfortunately Uncle Fred and his family had decided to pay an unexpected visit and showed up in the middle of the opening prayer, so we were on the road again. The next week we returned and were able to give them the first discussion. It was a rough evening. I didn’t know too much about burning hell, and the fine points of polygamy still weren’t too clear; but we explained the gospel the best we could, promised to find some more scriptural references, and bore our testimonies. Afterwards I asked Mr. Hale how he felt about the things we had discussed. I think his answer was a classic. He said, “Boys, I don’t know whether what you’ve told me tonight is true or not, but I feel like Joseph Smith did when he went to the woods to pray. I want to know the truth. I want to know the truth.” And he meant it.
The next week as we walked in the door to give the second discussion, I noticed that a curious change had taken place. The room was spotless. There were no beer cans or cigarettes this time, and the Hales were waiting for us. And to add to our rejoicing, as we pulled out our lists of scriptures on hell, polygamy, and other subjects he’d asked about, he said, “Oh, let’s go on to something else. I already believe the Church’s teachings on all that now that I’ve had a chance to think about it.” As the discussion progressed, he began asking questions he’d wondered about all his life. What a thrill it was for us to be able to give him the answers he’d been waiting so long to hear. At the end of the discussion, he confided in us that when his fellow workers found out he was listening to the Mormon missionaries they had started giving him a bad time. I asked him if this bothered him. His answer was choice: “There’s always another neighborhood to move to. There’s always another town. But if this is the truth, then that’s all that really counts.” And it was.
We knew these people were special, and more than anything we wanted them to come into the Church. I believe I learned more during that month as I searched out answers to their questions than during any other month in my life. I remember calling my district leader several times to ask for help on some tough questions. This was a particularly desperate move considering those were long-distance calls.
The third discussion was the turning point. That night I bore my testimony with all the fervor of my heart. More than anything else I wanted to touch their lives. Then an amazing thing happened. After we bore our testimonies to them, they bore their testimonies to us. They told us that they knew the Book of Mormon was true because God wouldn’t leave us with just the Bible. They told us they knew we were servants of our Heavenly Father and that the things we told them were true. And the rest—the rest is history. On July 7, 1972, Arthur and Nancy Hale were baptized members of the true church of Jesus Christ.
During their conversion I learned to love those people. In fact I would have given anything I had to see them accept the truth. For one moment I was loving and serving as Christ would love and serve. This was my joy, and my heart was full. As President Harold B. Lee once said, “If you want to love God, you’ve got to learn to love and serve the people.” This was success—to be able to love and serve others with all your heart. To love and to care, to share and to bear, to reach out and experience rebirth—this was true success. This was the answer.
I cried when I left McMinnville. Maybe I’ll go back there someday. But whether I do or not, the lesson in love I learned there will be with me the rest of my life.

Bishop Brown’s relationship with his family is one of respect and love, of understood meanings, and of honest and helpful criticism. Joanne, Bishop Brown’s oldest daughter, remembers that when she went to BYU there was a lesson given in her student ward about loving your parents, and the counsel was given to the new students at BYU to write their parents and tell them of their love for them. Joanne said, “In our home we didn’t say I love you, we just loved each other.” But Joanne followed instructions and wrote her father and mother telling them how much she really did love them. When Bishop Brown received that letter he called his daughter immediately. Joanne says she will always remember how touched and grateful her father was for her expression of love to him.

The town is part of the Villa Verde Ward in the La Romana Stake, but because of its remote location, until recently the missionaries hadn’t been able to spend time there. Last summer the sisters serving in the Villa Verde Ward (Sisters Aguilar and Largespalda) noticed an increase in references to Guaymate, so they spoke with their bishop in a ward council about getting some help to reach out to these interested individuals. The bishop spoke with the stake president. They decided on a specific Saturday to do a blitz and invite any interested individuals to a local special sacrament meeting in a member’s garage. This blitz involved returned missionaries from several of the wards in the stake, and the special sacrament meeting had about 20 individuals in attendance.
From there the ward started sending a private bus to transport 15–20 people each Sunday from Guaymate to the ward in Villa Verde. There was such a positive response that the bishop contacted President Luis Chavarri, the Santo Domingo East Mission president, asking if he would place missionaries in this town because of the interest they were seeing.
On August 5, 2024, President Chaverri, along with George Mármol, the La Romana Stake president, his counselor Emmanuel Jerez, Bishop Jose Aponte, and his counselor Jeffrey Collado of the Villa Verde Ward visited Guaymate to look at the possibilities for opening full-time missionary work in the area. President Chaverri was hopeful, but they had yet to see any baptisms. He assigned some elders to spend two to three days a week traveling to Guaymate to see if they could find anyone who was serious about baptism.
That was when the first miracle happened. It started with one young man who had a strong desire to be closer to Jesus Christ and be baptized, and he shared it with a friend, and they shared it with another friend. These three young men were the start of the new growth in this area of the Lord’s vineyard. But the elders knew they needed families to lay a solid foundation and establish the Church in Guaymate, so they fasted and prayed to be led to a family ready to learn about the gospel.
One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.
We met Julian and Carmen a few months after they were baptized when we visited their home with President Chaverri and the same missionaries who had taught and baptized them. We sat on their front porch, listening to their amazing conversion story as the rain sprinkled around us.
The Spirit was strong as Julian retold his story. Shortly before their baptism, Julian told the elders about a dream he had the night before that first day they met. In his dream, two young men in white shirts walked down his street. When they passed his house, he went out to invite them in and fed them yuca. He thought the dream strange but forgot about it until he saw these young men in their white shirts walking down his street just as they had in his dream. As he learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ, he knew the dream was a significant sign from God, and he felt grateful he had followed the prompting to invite them in for yuca.
Today, Julian, Carmen, and their family are part of the new Guaymate group that is meeting in an apartment below where the elders live. This little group is evidence that the Lord is involved in the details of all our lives. He loves us and wants us to make eternal covenants with Him.

The fourth element of the framework is to recognize what God has already revealed to you personally, while being open to further revelation from Him. If God has answered a question and the circumstances have not changed, why would we expect the answer to be different? Joseph Smith stumbled into this problematic scenario in 1828. The first portion of the Book of Mormon had been translated, when Martin Harris, a benefactor and early scribe, asked Joseph for permission to take the translated pages and show them to his wife. Unsure of what to do, Joseph prayed for guidance. The Lord told him not to let Martin take the pages.

Martin requested that Joseph ask God again. Joseph did so, and the answer was, not surprisingly, the same. But Martin begged Joseph to ask a third time, and Joseph did so. This time God did not say no. Instead, it was as though God said, “Joseph, you know how I feel about this, but you have your agency to choose.” Feeling himself relieved of the constraint, Joseph decided to allow Martin to take 116 manuscript pages and show them to a few family members. The translated pages were lost and never recovered. The Lord severely rebuked Joseph.

After I returned home from serving in the Guatemala Guatemala City Mission, I also traveled to Provo, Utah, to attend BYU. I was grateful for the kindness and support of so many people to help get me there. However, money was still going to be short.

Soon after I arrived in Provo, Thelma and I reviewed our financial situation. We both concluded that even with my working part-time, we did not have enough money to pay my rent and hers for the entire school year. Thelma never doubted that we would make it through that trial though. She trusted that the Lord would provide a way. Less than a week later, Thelma received a letter from BYU’s Spanish department. As she opened it, she turned to me and exclaimed, “This! This is how we are going to pay your rent!” The letter informed her that she had been accepted as a teacher’s assistant, which would increase her income.

The youth of the Idaho Falls Idaho Eagle Rock Stake (left and below) shared their talents and their testimonies as they performed a musical called One Life to celebrate the Prophet Joseph Smith’s birth and life. The musical was so successful that they performed it multiple times for audiences in Idaho.
Krista Klingler, 14, who participated in the ensemble, said, “Doing this play was one of the best experiences of my life. It showed me how great a man Joseph Smith truly was. I am still amazed that at 14 years old he acted upon the principles Heavenly Father revealed to him. From birth to death he lived a remarkable life.”

For a while when he was 14, Aleksey Kulikov was a man without a country.
Though his mother was from St. Petersburg, she had taken work in Nuremberg, Germany. While there, she and Aleksey met the missionaries, studied the gospel, were baptized, and became active Latter-day Saints.
Now they had to leave Germany. The government said noncitizens on work visas must return to their homelands. To make matters worse, Aleksey and his mother were told their papers were no longer valid in Russia.
“Officially,” Aleksey explains, “we had no citizenship anywhere.”
Things seemed pretty dark, but Aleksey and his mother knew about faith.
“I remembered what the missionaries taught me,” Aleksey says. “If you have problems, then pray about them. So we asked Heavenly Father to bless us.”
From then on, the trip became easier. “We found out we did have Russian citizenship. When officials found out we were carrying all we owned, they waived the luggage restriction. At the Lithuanian border, some kind soldiers took pity on us and kept us from being forced off the train. They even called ahead to the next border and asked them to let us pass. So we came without trouble to St. Petersburg.”
After six years, they were home. But what would the city be like, now that the Soviet Union was gone? What would the Church be like, compared with their wonderful friends in Nuremberg?
“We were delighted with what we found,” Aleksey remembers. “The city had a happier feeling. Some beautiful buildings were being renovated. But best of all, we found there is a new dawn of the Church in St. Petersburg. We knew the gospel had been restored, but now we know it’s been restored here too.”
Aleksey is now 17, a member of the Nevsky Branch. His greatest desire is to serve a full-time mission, “perhaps in Germany.” But it doesn’t matter where he’s called. “I know there’s gospel light to share wherever you go,” he says.

Five-year-old Wesley Larsen of Layton, Utah, lies in a hospital bed surrounded by balloons, posters, get well cards, and large stuffed animals. But the thing he keeps closest to him is a small, homemade, brown double knit teddy bear. The bear is a gift from the paramedics, but Wesley does not know the bear is also a gift from the West Point Utah Stake Young Women.
Wesley tosses his red hair as he tells about the day three weeks earlier when a little girl chased him and tackled him during recess. He becomes sad when he talks about how bad his leg hurt. His freckled face shows surprise as he exclaims, “I didn’t know a girl could be that strong.”
Wesley tells about the paramedics who came to school to take him to the hospital and gave him the small bear because he was “brave.” The humble bear gave the little boy something else to think about instead of his fractured left femur. During the weeks he spent in traction, the bear was never far from his side.

A true story from the USA.
“Can we go draw with chalk?” Quinn asked Mom.
“Sure!” Mom said. “Let’s go.”
Quinn and his little brother and sister ran outside.
“I want blue!” yelled Quinn.
Kade and Chloe grabbed chalk too. They sat down and started drawing on the sidewalk. Mom picked up some red chalk and started writing.
“What are you doing?” asked Quinn.
“I’m writing happy words for the school kids when they walk home today,” Mom said.
Quinn could see the school from his front window. He liked waving to the kids as they walked by.
“What messages can we write to make them smile?” asked Mom.
Quinn read over Mom’s shoulder. “You’re …”
“Awesome!” Mom finished.
Quinn smiled and kept reading. “You rock. You can do it!”
Then Quinn got an idea. He started drawing a long line at one of Mom’s messages. He drew a line to the next one. Then he looped over to another.
“What are you doing?” Mom asked.
“I’m making a line for the kids to walk on,” Quinn said. He started running on the line. “See? I’m showing them where to find all the happy words.”
“I think that’s a great way to make everyone smile,” Mom said. And that made Quinn smile even bigger.
Illustrations by Asya Aizenstein

Mom slumped onto a kitchen chair and sighed.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Megan asked.
“Oh, I’m just frustrated,” Mom said. “I keep trying to visit teach Sister Raymond, but I can’t even get past the front door.”
“Why not?” Megan asked.
“Sister Raymond’s husband isn’t a member of the Church, and he doesn’t like it when we visit his wife. Sometimes she talks to us through the screen door for a few minutes, but today she wouldn’t even do that.”
Megan gave Mom a hug. She didn’t like seeing her so sad. Then she ran to the kitchen and brought back a warm sugar cookie for Mom.
“Thanks, sweetie. You always know how to make people feel better.”
On Saturday morning, Megan walked into the kitchen just as Mom was hanging up the phone.
“That was the Relief Society president,” Mom said. “She just heard that Sister Raymond had an operation yesterday and has to stay in the hospital for a few days. She wanted to let me know since I’m Sister Raymond’s visiting teacher.”
“Are you going to go visit her?” Megan asked.
“Yes, this afternoon. I’m going to pick some flowers from the garden to brighten up her hospital room.”
As Mom went outside with the clippers, Megan thought about poor Sister Raymond. Then she thought about Sister Raymond’s husband, having to sit alone in an empty house every night. Suddenly she had an idea.
That afternoon, Megan followed Mom into the hospital room. A tired-looking woman was sitting up in bed, and a man with a sad, serious face sat next to her.
“Hello, Sister Raymond,” Mom said. “This is my daughter, Megan. We hope you’re feeling better.” She handed her a pink and red bouquet.
“Oh, how nice!” Sister Raymond said. “I love flowers. This is my husband, Charlie,” she said, squeezing his hand.
“Then these are for you,” Megan said, giving him a covered plate.
“For me?” he asked. He peeked under the foil. “Sugar cookies!”
“I thought you might not feel so lonely if you knew someone was thinking of you.”
“Thank you, Megan. That’s very kind,” he said. And he smiled.
On Tuesday they went back to the hospital. When they got to Sister Raymond’s room, Charlie grinned and said, “There’s our little cookie maker! I was hoping you would come see us again.”
Megan kept the Raymonds laughing with stories about fifth grade; her pet rabbit, Mr. Twinkles; and her little brother, Ian. When it was time to go, Charlie put his hand on her shoulder.
“Megan, I hope the two of you will stop by again soon,” he said.
“But you’ll be leaving tomorrow,” Megan said.
“So come to our house!”
“Really?”
“Of course. Thoughtful young ladies and their moms are always welcome. And thank you again for the cookies. They were the best I’ve had in ages. What’s the secret ingredient?”
“There isn’t one,” Megan said, but she smiled to herself. Maybe a little love made cookies sweeter.
“Well, they were delicious. But, you know, my favorite are chocolate chip,” Charlie said with a wink.
Megan smiled. “Then I guess I’ll be baking again soon!”

As a freshman in our country’s best university, I felt pressure to do my best. Persecution came, and I started to question my belief in the gospel as many of my professors expounded on what they professed to be “reality.” Many of my classmates were affected. This environment made it difficult to uphold Christian values. I thought of quitting but decided it was better to stay. I reasoned that if there were only a few who qualified to enter this university, and among those few were only a few Latter-day Saints, then I should stay and stand for truth.
My biology professor, a self-professed atheist, taught science without any belief in a Supreme Creator. Yet the more I heard, the more it reinforced to me that there is a Supreme Being—God, our Father—who created all these things. Others argued that this idea didn’t make any sense. Our discussions got more intense. I was anxious to raise my hand and explain I believe in God as the Creator.
The time came to give comments. At my school, it was normal for people to applaud, yell, or boo at those who presented their ideas. I stood boldly and said plainly to the opposing side: “Believing in God may not make any sense to you at the moment, but the day will come when it will all make sense to you as clearly as it does to me now.”
Since that time, I’ve never received any boos when standing up for my beliefs. From that time forward, I progressed academically, socially, and spiritually. I started to become active in student activities, and I was elected to several school offices.
I learned that standing for truth even once greatly affects our future decisions.
Vince A. Molejan Jr., Mindanao, Philippines

Construction work on the Quezon City Chapel progressed fairly well. However, I encountered a little problem—the construction approach and methods used in the Philippines varied from the construction approach and methods I was used to in the United States. For instance, it was hard for me to get used to seeing so much timber set up prior to actual digging of the foundations but I learned soon that I cannot change the methods used and expect to get chapels constructed, at least right away. But one method that I insisted the contractors use is the use of pumped concrete to the ridged frames so that there will be a monolithic pour and not have any cold joints in the truss structure. The workers were not familiar with this method but later on the men worked well in handling the moveable pipes for the flow of the concrete.
About five months after construction work on the Quezon City Chapel started, work on another chapel—the Caloocan Chapel, began with the same contractor. The aesthetics of the chapel site and the chapel itself can be classed as possibly the best in Asia at that time.
Even before the Caloocan Chapel was finished we bid another chapel—the Clark-Angeles Chapel in 1972. Engineer Avelino V. Tanjuakio was the contractor who won the bid. Ground breaking was held on June 6, 1972 on the very day that the big flood of 1972 started. Construction work started on September 1972. This chapel became a landmark to travellers going to Baguio and the northern parts of the Philippines. It is located along the national road and people now are able to see a Mormon chapel springing up in their midst.
In 1973 President Carl D. Jones became the President of the Manila Mission. Plans to build more chapels were placed on the drawing board. We were also beginning to purchase more chapel sites.
After Clark-Angeles Chapel was completed, work on the Cavite Chapel started. It was interesting to note that laborers digging the foundations of the Cavite Chapel were always digging in one meter of water because the water table was almost ground level and we had two pumps constantly pumping out the water so that steel could be set and concrete poured. I respected those laborers for the way they worked and the conditions under which they worked. I had to learn tolerance to a greater degree than I had known before.
Members have now become excited with the building program. Until the Quezon City Chapel was constructed there was only one chapel in the Philippines. It is the Buendia Chapel which was reconstructed in 1974 due to the deterioration of the laminated trusses. A Stake office was also built within the chapel compound. The tremendous growth of the Church by now demanded the construction of more chapels. When the Cavite Chapel was finished and the reconstruction of the Buendia Chapel was accomplished, we planned the construction of chapels in the southern regions as all of the chapels so far built were in the Manila area.
In 1975 chapel construction was started in Davao, Bacolod and Cebu and they were completed in 1976. At this time the Marikina Chapel and Los Baños Chapel were constructed.
The Cebu Chapel was a construction challenge due to its location, being on the site of the last resistance of the Japanese in World War II and the hill it was constructed on had many tunnels which had to be sealed and filled. Because of its split level type of construction and its aesthetics, people from far and wide acclaim the Cebu Chapel as the best in Asia. It is a very prominent looking edifice which also serves as a missionary tool in proselyting.
By this time nine chapels were constructed and one rebuilt—the Buendia Chapel. In 1977 four more chapels were constructed for Pasay Ward, Manila Ward, Santa Mesa Ward and Baguio Branch, making a total of 13 chapels built and one rebuilt. At present there are a total of eleven chapels now to construct and/or ready for ground breaking. There are approximately 25 additional chapel sites and a Stake office to build, new Mission offices, building to be remodeled in Ozamis, and the remodeling of the Manila Mission office.
But with all these construction works, the highlight of my stay in this country is seeing the baptism of two fine men who worked with me—Juanito Gutierrez, my first contractor who is now Bishop of the Marikina Ward, and Engineer Avelino V. Tanjuakio who is now Governor Elect of the Kiwanis of Luzon. I will cherish my association with many wonderful people and friends especially my efficient secretary, Miss Nilda Austria.
My family and I will go home with our hearts full of love for the Filipino people and will long remember our experiences here in building chapels for the Lord. I have constructed many buildings in the million dollar bracket but I can say without reservations that the last eight years in the Philippines have been the greatest challenge of my life. Truly, the best eight years of our life have been well spent in the Philippines.
Since we arrived my family has increased three more. I now have two sons, David and Daniel, ages 5 and 8, and a daughter Rebecca Rachel, 3 years old. This is an actual fulfillment of our patriarchal blessings. Certainly, we will leave with mixed emotions when the time comes. My daughter LaVonne said, “Papa I don’t know anything except in the Philippines, I grew up here.” I think we all did a little.

When the phone rang Sunday morning, Missy answered it.
“My father’s taking us to the water slide,” Karen said. “Can you come?” Missy looked down at her good dress and shiny black shoes and sighed. “I’ll ask,” she said, “but I know my parents won’t let me go on Sunday.” Missy loved the water slide more than any other place on earth.
As she feared, Dad said no.
“It isn’t fair,” Missy told him. “There are too many rules. I’m always so busy following rules that I never get to have any fun.”
When she came home from school the next day, Missy found a mysterious envelope on her bed. Inside was a note in her mother’s handwriting:
“Dear Missy,
There is a wonderful treasure to be found if you can follow the clues that lead to it. It comes from far away, from someone who loves you. You will find the next clue somewhere in your room. Happy treasure hunting!
Love, Mom.”
Missy glanced around. Everything looked the same as she had left it that morning. The second clue must be hidden. She felt a tingle of excitement as she began searching for it.
She started with her desk, wondering what in the world the treasure could be. Maybe it’s money, she thought as she rifled through drawers. Or a new bike, she hoped, looking under the blotter. But after a thorough check, she found nothing.
She looked in her dresser, on her bulletin board, and under her bed. When all those places turned out to be clue-free, she plopped herself onto her bed in frustration. She was about to ask for help when she felt something hard under her pillow.
She pulled out a small silver box. Inside was another note:
“Congratulations on finding the second clue. Keep it in this box along with the other clues. In a room that’s dark and deep, the next clue lies buried.”
“This one’s easy,” Missy said aloud. “The deepest, darkest room in the house is the basement, and it’s the only one with a dirt floor.”
As she went down the basement stairs, she saw Dad’s shovel against one wall. She could tell that the dirt beneath it had been recently disturbed. She dug down a few inches and hit an old tin can with a plastic lid. Inside was the third clue.
This game is starting to be a lot of fun, Missy thought as she pulled a note out of the can. This one said:
“You’ve found number three; you’re halfway to the treasure! Number four waits where flowers bloom.”
Missy put the third clue into her silver box and ran outside. The next clue must be in the garden, she told herself. And she was right. She found an old leather wallet lying between a rosebush and some tulips. The note inside read:
“Well done! You’ve found all but the last clue. Look where dinner is cooked.”
Missy hurried to the kitchen and went to the stove. She couldn’t see anything on the top, so she opened the oven door. There it was—a small brown box with the fifth clue inside. Missy read the note aloud.
“Congratulations! You have discovered the fifth and final clue. The treasure is above your room, moving to and fro.”
Hmmm. This one’s a little strange, Missy thought, adding the last clue to the silver box. But I know that the only room above mine is the attic! She took the attic stairs two steps at a time but was stopped at the door by a strange creaking sound. It frightened her a little, but she wasn’t about to quit, so close to the prize. She opened the door and stepped into the attic.
In the middle of the floor was Grandpa’s old rocking chair, moving back and forth. And on the seat was an envelope. Missy opened the envelope and gasped in surprise. Inside was an airplane ticket to Florida and a letter from Grandma. Missy quickly read the letter and began to jump up and down. Grandma had invited her to come for a visit.
Just then, her parents stepped out of the shadows at the back of the attic.
“Oh, Mom, Daddy!” she exclaimed happily. “Grandma wants me to visit her.”
“We know,” Dad said. “That’s wonderful, and we’re sure you’ll have a great time. But sit down now, and let’s have a talk.”
“Did you like our little game?” Mom asked.
“Oh yes, it was fun!”
“We’re glad you enjoyed it,” Dad said. “But we also hope it will help explain why we have rules to follow.”
Missy looked puzzled. “What are you talking about?”
“Look at your ticket, dear,” Mom said. “Is there a date?”
Missy examined the ticket. “It’s for this Friday.”
Dad took the ticket and hid it behind his back. “What if we’d just said, ‘There’s a treasure in the house. Find it and you can have it.’?”
“I’d have searched until I found it.”
“Of course,” Dad said. “But would you have found it by Friday?”
“Oh.” Missy’s face grew serious as she thought it over. “You and Mom would have helped me find it on time,” she finally said.
“Why?” Dad asked.
“Because you’re my parents, and you love me.”
“Right again,” Mom said. “That’s why we gave you the clues. But it was up to you to follow them.”
“Your Father in Heaven is your parent, too,” Dad said, “and He loves you very much. He has also sent you on a treasure hunt. The treasure is to become like Him and to live with Him again.”
“And He has also given you clues to follow,” Mom added. “They are clearer than our clues were, and they are much more important—but not always so easy to obey.”
Missy smiled. “I think I understand—Heavenly Father’s clues are the commandments, and if I want the treasure, I have to follow them.”
Missy thought about the treasure hunt as she sat next to Mom in the airplane on her way to Florida. She knew she wouldn’t have wanted to miss this treasure. She didn’t want to miss Heavenly Father’s treasure, either.

Frans and his family were part of a small group from Soweto who had embraced the restored gospel during the 1970s. At first they attended the Johannesburg Ward. Frans’s son Jonas remembered getting up on Sundays at 4:00 a.m. so the family could catch an early train into Johannesburg and then make the long walk to the chapel before the services started at 9:00 a.m. The family was always early—though sometimes it was difficult for the children to stay awake through Primary!

Many years ago I heard the story of the son of King Louis XVI of France. King Louis had been taken from his throne and imprisoned. His young son, the prince, was taken by those who dethroned the king. They thought that inasmuch as the king’s son was heir to the throne, if they could destroy him morally, he would never realize the great and grand destiny that life had bestowed upon him.
They took him to a community far away, and there they exposed the lad to every filthy and vile thing that life could offer. They exposed him to foods the richness of which would quickly make him a slave to appetite. They used vile language around him constantly. They exposed him to lewd and lusting women. They exposed him to dishonor and distrust. He was surrounded 24 hours a day by everything that could drag the soul of a man as low as one could slip. For over six months he had this treatment—but not once did the young lad buckle under pressure. Finally, after intensive temptation, they questioned him. Why had he not submitted himself to these things—why had he not partaken? These things would provide pleasure, satisfy his lusts, and were desirable; they were all his. The boy said, “I cannot do what you ask for I was born to be a king.”

Illustration by Mark Robison
Bobby bounded down the stairs to his toy chest full of building blocks. It was Friday. That meant there was only one day left of freedom before Saturday.
Bobby didn’t like Saturday mornings. Every Saturday his family had to do their chores. There was mopping and dusting, vacuuming and scrubbing. They even had to clean their bedrooms!
Bobby sat down beside his block chest and started building The Tallest Block Tower in the Universe. He knew it was important to get the house ready for Sunday, but what was the point of a weekend if you spent so much time working?
As Bobby continued building, he heard someone talking in the kitchen.
“But, Mom,” his older sister Charlotte said, “my birthday is on Saturday. Working tomorrow morning will ruin the whole day! Can I do my chores today instead?”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Mom said.
Charlotte left the kitchen and walked upstairs. Bobby stopped building to watch her go. Tomorrow was Charlotte’s birthday. Good thing she could get her chores over with now.
He turned back to his tower, then stopped. He set his blocks down. Maybe she doesn’t have to do her chores at all, he thought.
Bobby raced up the stairs to see Charlotte wheeling the vacuum cleaner down the hall. Before she could plug it in, he ran over to her.
“Stop! Don’t do your chores!” Bobby cried out.
Charlotte shook her head. “I can’t stop,” she said. “If I don’t do them today, then I’ll have to do them on my birthday, and that’s no fun.”
She started to plug in the vacuum cleaner, but Bobby stepped in front of her. “But I want to do them for you!” he said. “I’ll do both of our chores. You don’t have to do any of them.”
Charlotte looked up, surprised. “You would do that for me?”
Bobby winced a little inside. He knew it was going to be a lot of work. There would be two bathrooms to scrub and two rooms to clean. He looked over at The Tallest Block Tower in the Universe. There might not be time this weekend to finish it after all.
But he looked back at his sister and smiled. “Yes. Happy birthday!”
A huge smile spread across Charlotte’s face. She gave Bobby a big hug. “Thank you!” she said as she ran happily down the hall.
Bobby looked over at the vacuum. Plugging it in, he started working on the first of Charlotte’s Saturday chores. His sister was worth it. The tower would have to wait.

Lately I have been falling into a “spiritual slump.” I had not been saying my prayers or reading the scriptures like I should. I was also letting some of the negative attitudes from school affect how I was treating my family and how I judged things. Then, in the New Era, I saw the scripture Doctrine and Covenants 19:28: “Thou shalt pray vocally as well as in thy heart; yea, before the world as well as in secret, in public as well as in private.” I was curious why we should pray vocally. I had always known I should have a prayer in my heart, but I had never heard of praying vocally besides at church or during family prayers.
I was curious, and something told me I should pray out loud. The next day, when everyone else was gone from the house and I was alone, I went up to my room to try it. I cleaned my area of the room so I could kneel down and think of the Savior and my Father in Heaven. I started my prayer by thanking Heavenly Father for my blessings. Praying out loud was kind of awkward at first, so I stumbled over my words and felt a little silly, only hearing my voice.
I repented for the little things and then opened my mind a little more and started repenting for being disrespectful to my parents sometimes. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I knew I hadn’t obeyed the Lord and was not keeping His commandments to the best of my abilities. I opened my mouth and prayed for forgiveness more earnestly than I had ever done before. I asked to be forgiven for all the times I had not said my prayers because “I was too tired” or “it was too late at night,” for the times I hadn’t read my scriptures for the very same reasons, for not keeping my mind and my heart clean so I could be worthy to be an example to others, and for not being as kind and loving to my family as they are to me. Realizing all I had done, I began to cry. I felt warm inside. I knew the Lord had forgiven me, I knew He loves me, and I knew that He wants to comfort me and have me feel of His love.
I continued my vocal prayer and thanked Him for the many blessings He has given me. I had realized just how important the Atonement of our Savior Jesus Christ is. It is in His name that we communicate with our Heavenly Father as much as we want (see 3 Nephi 18:18–20). We can turn to Him whenever we need guidance, help, or comfort.
I know that my Father in Heaven loves me and wants me to return to Him. And I can—as long as I just hold on.