Gospel Story Finder

The youth I saw confined to a wheelchair was a startling contrast to the boy I remembered from the year before. I remembered him as a happy, 18-year-old Indian boy whose swift, strong legs had carried him up and down the basketball courts. But that was yesteryear. Today he was in a wheelchair. Today his dark eyes and handsome smile caused me to stand in awe of his youthful courage.
I first met Don a couple of years ago and learned that he was a convert to the Church. His widowed mother lived in a remote section of the Navajo Indian reservation, and he was a participant in the Indian student placement program. His school work was excellent; he played the piano skillfully; and with the same slim, brown fingers he could paint beautiful pictures or strum the guitar in accompaniment to his clear soft voice. Don’s personality was pleasant, his standards were high, his testimony strong. He was soon to graduate from high school, and his plans were to spend a short time with his people on the reservation before returning to live with his foster parents, where he would work preparatory to receiving his expected call to the mission field.
Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a pickup with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he poured out the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor broke this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he made his exit, he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was swarming with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.
Although Don was happy to feel the strength gradually return to his arms and hands, he had to fight back the tears when he looked down at his helpless legs.
In these trying circumstances he began to fulfill his desire to be a missionary. He told his roommate about the Book of Mormon and gave him a copy to read. Charles, a Hopi Indian boy, immediately became engrossed in the book, and, when darkness came at the close of the day, he continued reading. He devoured the words of this book for three days and two nights, jealous of the time it took to eat or rest. Finally, when he had turned the last page, he rose from his bed and walked over near Don’s side and asked, “Don, where did you get this book? I have shared in the traditions of my people that we hold to be sacred. Many of our traditions are written in this book. Where did you get it?”
Don happily shared his testimony with this new friend as he told him of the restoration of the gospel and of its special meaning to them as Lamanites, a covenant race and descendants of the Book of Mormon people.
Soon after this Charles was released to go home, anxious to share this new message with family and friends. Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps the lump from my throat.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble petitions to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known good-naturedly as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often lifted his voice in song as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for a hootenanny, and patients joined together with voices raised in song and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name. This new spirit extended into other activities as well.
One of the more dramatic examples was the organizing of a wheelchair olympics.
On the day agreed upon, patients wheeled excitedly from place to place as they marked out a course for the coming events. Wheelchairs were lined up at a starting line, while occupants leaned forward, intently waiting for the starting signal. The signal was given, and they were off in a flurry of wheels and laughter. After a breather and an untangling of wheels, patients were given a chance to challenge another wheelchair. Don looked around, and pointing his finger at one of the chairs, said, “I challenge that chair.”
“Don, you can’t do that,” the astonished attendant replied. “That chair has a motor!”
The competitive young man was undaunted and remained firm; so a course was set and an eager audience waited expectantly for the signal to begin this most unusual race. Soon the signal was given and Don’s hands fairly flew as he propelled his chair toward the finish line. When he had gained full momentum, he ventured a cautious look toward his opponent, only to discover that he was shifting to a higher gear! To complicate matters further, a woven wire fence was stretched a few short feet behind the finish line.
With the heart of a champion, Don ducked his head and gave it everything he had. He crossed the line only inches ahead of his opponent and crashed happily into the wire fence. He was picked up and dusted off amid excited expressions of admiration. He had won!
All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to muster up enough courage to direct the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special hootenanny was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song rendered in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had touched the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.
Upon his return home, Don’s numerous friends were out to greet him and welcome him back into their circle of friendship. Don soon found a job at an LDS mailbox bookstore that enabled him to meet the payments on his car, a vehicle equipped with special controls that would carry him to his work and to the Mesa Community College where he was enrolled for classes.
As I concluded my visit with him, he handed me a letter. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a letter from my physical therapist in Denver,” he smiled in reply.
I unfolded the pages and began to read. “Dear Don,” the letter began, “I don’t know how to thank you. Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I hope I will remember the example of Don. I hope I will remember his parting words when I asked about his future. He looked directly at me and spoke with conviction: “I’ll wipe away my tears and let the winds of discouragement blow. I cannot fail, for God is with me.”

I was told once of a young man who for many years was more or less the brunt of every joke in his school. He had some disadvantages, and it was easy for his peers to tease him. Later in his life he moved away. He eventually joined the army and had some successful experiences there in getting an education and generally stepping away from his past. Above all, as many in the military do, he discovered the beauty and majesty of the Church and became active and happy in it.

Then, after several years, he returned to the town of his youth. Most of his generation had moved on but not all. Apparently, when he returned quite successful and quite reborn, the same old mind-set that had existed before was still there, waiting for his return. To the people in his hometown, he was still just old “so-and-so”—you remember the guy who had the problem, the idiosyncrasy, the quirky nature, and did such and such. And wasn’t it all just hilarious?

Little by little this man’s Pauline effort to leave that which was behind and grasp the prize that God had laid before him was gradually diminished until he died about the way he had lived in his youth. He came full circle: again inactive and unhappy and the brunt of a new generation of jokes. Yet he had had that one bright, beautiful midlife moment when he had been able to rise above his past and truly see who he was and what he could become. Too bad, too sad that he was again to be surrounded by a whole batch of Lot’s wives, those who thought his past was more interesting than his future. They managed to rip out of his grasp that for which Christ had grasped him. And he died sad, though through little fault of his own.

It’s a weed, that’s what. If you’re really interested, air potatoes are a member of the yam family that get their interesting name from their distinctive, miniature potato-like appearance. They’re non-edible plants that invade native vegetation by out-competing them for sunlight and water, and they eventually take over.
Approximately 50 youth and leaders from the Pompano Beach Florida Stake came together last November for a community service project to remove the invasive weed from Barwick Park in Delray Beach Florida. These young men and women got to know the air potato up close and personal in the process of removing enough of the noxious weeds to fill a dump truck.
“It was fun helping the community,” said Maria Claudia Cabrejos, a Laurel in the West Palm Beach Ward. After picking weeds for over four hours, the youth ended the project with a pizza luncheon in the newly cleaned park—no potatoes on the menu, they had seen enough of those for one day.

Elder Ballard: I remember a time when one of our daughters came home and I had a dialogue with her. I don’t remember the subject, but afterward she went up to her room. Later Sister Ballard came to me and lovingly said, “I don’t think you realize the impact of what you said to her. You’ve hurt her feelings.”
I said, “I did? How did I do that?” I didn’t have a clue, so Sister Ballard explained.
I went upstairs and sat down with my little girl. She was on her bed, crying. We had another family council. I asked her to forgive me. It was a great moment for us, and it was all done as we counseled together.

I remember many years ago, during a particularly trying period, I felt as though specific attacks were being made on my family, on my health, and on my integrity. I was fasting, praying, seeking counsel, and still feeling acute anxiety over how, when, and if the serious challenges would be resolved. The thing that brought the most relief during that difficult time was reviewing in my mind the words to the hymn “Be Still, My Soul.” I memorized all the verses and recited them at least once a day. The words that provided the most solace and comfort were:
Be still, my soul: The Lord is on thy side;
With patience bear thy cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In ev’ry change he faithful will remain. …
Be still, my soul: Thy God doth undertake
To guide the future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
I’ll never forget the blessing these words and the music were to me when they were sorely needed.

My parents came to Laie in 1969 to access my mother’s academic scholarship out of Liahona High School, the Church-owned school in Tongatapu. They only had enough for their one-way fare to Hawaii, so we were left in the care of our grandparents. They naively assumed it would take only a few months to earn enough to send for all three of us. Little did they know the money they’d make dancing at the PCC was intended just to cover their most basic needs – food, electricity, and water. It took them an entire year to save for my one-way fare, so I came alone in 1970. My siblings didn’t come until 1972, so they hadn’t seen my parents for over three years.
Initially, we lived in a little home my parents rented in Hau’ula. One vivid memory I have of that house is that my mother had small, empty Gerber baby food jars all over the house filled with coins. They literally saved spare change to help in our immigration – but I suspect the reason my mother had those jars out so visibly throughout the house was to entice visitors to also share their change. My mother was incredibly smart.
But my dear mother, who passed away about seven years ago, would soon be faced with a dilemma that haunted her for the rest of her life: Choose between her children and her education.
My mother’s dream was to graduate with a teaching certificate, return to Tonga and teach at their alma mater, Liahona High School.
My father had other ideas. He wanted to stay in the States and pursue the American Dream. He prevailed on my mother to drop out of school, apply for resident alien cards, otherwise known as “Green Cards,” immigrate to the Mainland and work to bring my younger siblings from Tonga.
So here was my dear mother’s dilemma: Remain in school but not see her two younger children for another few years. Return to Tonga to be with her children, likely ending any hopes of ever graduating. Finally, Drop out of school apply for permanent visas, find jobs, and work to bring their children from Tonga.
With great trepidation, they chose the third option and with some reluctance, Mom dropped out, they sold what they could, packed up and moved out of TVA. We moved to Mesa, Arizona where my dad had a younger brother living in nearby Tempe. Without college degrees, my parents knew for the rest of their lives they’d be relegated to working menial jobs, often a couple of them, in order to make ends meet. They immediately applied for permanent US residency, which took a couple of years but it happened. Our green cards arrived at about the same time my siblings did, roughly three years. Our piecemeal immigration took 3.5 years for us to be reunited as a family. My parents were literally strangers to my siblings when they arrived from Tonga – so young they didn’t remember my parents at all, which was heartbreaking.
I hope none of you ever have to face the dilemma of choosing an education or your children. In retrospect, there were probably ways they could’ve made it happen but they just didn’t know how. Today, the Church provides BYU–Pathways, IWORK, the Perpetual Education Fund and a host of other programs for anyone to pursue an education.
Though she never regretted her decision, my angel mother was nevertheless haunted by the fact she was so close to a university degree, yet couldn’t quite reach it. So, since a college degree wasn’t in the cards, Mom would make it her life mission to provide her children with the tools to be educated, with very limited resources. She didn’t have any savings but she paid her tithing faithfully, went to the temple and pleaded with the Lord to help her find a way. The Lord blessed her and us in miraculous ways.

Scripture chasing is a popular pastime in many seminaries throughout the Church. In most cases seminary students learn to find scriptures within seconds after being given a clue or situation. Competition is intensified when youth are put on teams and given points for their speed and accuracy. And in the Champaign Illinois Stake, even the media took notice.
The students were given the challenge to memorize 40 scriptures in the Old Testament. The objective was to learn to locate the scriptures and then apply them in daily life. During practice sessions the students were given (1) a short clue, usually one word, (2) a verbal description of a life situation, or (3) a picture of some event. They then had to find the specific scripture in 15 seconds. The time was gradually reduced until each student could find every scripture in just a few seconds.
Out of 250 home-study and early morning seminary students in the Champaign Stake area, 15 became finalists in a run-off competition. In May 1976 the students with the fastest times formed three teams of five members each. Final competition between the teams was telecast over commercial television. The winning team, Robert Woolley, Carol Burdock, Deann Veach, Sue Ellen Emery, and Carol Retz, were given award plaques for their accomplishment.

One woman told me that her husband – when he came home hungry and found her outside watching the kids play – would go inside the house and lock all the doors, so she and the kids had to wait for an hour or more on the back porch until he decided to open the door. While milder than some marriage problems I just mentioned, this was still a very destructive pattern. It damaged the wife’s feelings of personal worth and it was destroying her feelings of love for her husband. It also was lousy modeling for the children. Her response had been patience, long-suffering, and serious efforts to forgive, but it wasn’t working and she was becoming bitter. I shared with her the three realm model and suggested that she was trying to skip from the telestial realm to the celestial. She was responding to her husband’s telestial behavior with what she thought were celestial efforts. However, showing patience with destructive, telestial behaviors or trying to forgive unrepented, ongoing injury – typically results in an acceptance of victimization that doesn’t benefit either victim or victimizer. The victim remains vulnerable to abuse and, almost inevitably, loses respect and love for the victimizer, while the victimizer continues unabated on their personal road to destruction.

Instead, I suggested this woman draw a terrestrial boundary with her husband. She agreed to make sure she always wore clothes with pockets. In the pockets she was to put driver’s license, cash, credit card, or checkbook, and keys. She also packed the car with extra clothes and supplies for the young children. She then told her husband that she was no longer willing to accept behavior that she knew – and he knew – was not acceptable to God. If he locked the door on her again, she said, she would take the kids and go to place where they would be safe and not feel like beggars at their own door -- perhaps the library, a movie, a park, or a restaurant. Then, when she was ready, she would call to see if he were willing to take this problem to the bishop or to a counselor to learn better ways to deal with his anger. After she “drew that terrestrial boundary line,” he never locked the door on his family again, and he came into counseling where, working together, they made great improvements in their marriage.

Cindy heard a sad meowing coming from the withered marigolds.
“Oh!” she cried. “Another stray kitten.”
A month ago she had found Tinker. When her mother said that Cindy could keep the black kitten, she also made it plain that they had room for only one cat.
But now when a thin, scraggly yellow kitten crawled out of the marigolds, Cindy knew she had to help it somehow. “I can’t leave you here!” Cindy cried. “Winter’s coming, and you need a home.”
When Cindy’s mother saw the little animal, she said, “You were right, Cindy, not to leave it out in the cold. Put it in the garage and give it some milk.”
The kitten drank all the milk. Then it crawled into the box Cindy had fixed up with an old towel and went to sleep.
Cindy cared for the yellow kitten just as she did for Tinker. As it became healthy and strong, Cindy worried about where it could live. All of her friends already had pets.
One day Cindy asked her mother, “Mom, do you still listen to that radio program where people call to buy or sell something? Maybe a listener might want a cat.”
“That’s a good idea,” Mrs. Moss replied. “It will be on this evening. We can call in then.”
Later that night Cindy and her mother listened while they waited for their turn on the air. A lady had a quilt to sell, and a man wanted to buy a used lawn mower.
Finally Cindy got to tell about the yellow kitten and give their telephone number.
Soon the phone rang. A man named Mr. Willis was interested in the kitten. “I need a cat for my barn,” he said.
“Is it warm?” Cindy asked. “This kitten needs a warm place to stay.”
“My barn’s full of hay,” Mr. Willis said. “A kitten can curl up in it and keep nice and warm.”
“A kitten needs milk too!”
“Every time I milk my cows, I’ll give the kitten warm milk,” Mr. Willis assured her.
“A kitten needs someone to love it!”
“I like cats,” Mr. Willis said. “I’ll pet it every day.”
“Then I want you to have the kitten,” Cindy said.
When Mr. Willis came to get the kitten, he asked, “Does it have a name?”
“How about Marigold? I found it in the marigold bed.”
“That’s a fine name,” Mr. Willis said. “Come along, Marigold. Let’s go home. It’s almost time to milk the cows.”

After holding these home evenings for several months, my wife and I decided to experiment with an unusual activity. One evening we asked our young friends to express the meaning of family home evening in their lives. We provided crayons, paper, scissors, pencils, clay, toys, and other items, and encouraged them to choose whatever media seemed most appropriate. We then turned them loose for approximately forty-five minutes.
What followed was a very enjoyable evening, full of laughter, fond memories, and serious personal reflections. Everyone took a turn reading a poem, showing a picture, describing a drawing, or just talking to a safe audience.
There were two young adults, however, who were very different from the rest. One, a loud, boisterous, rather unpleasant young man whom nobody really liked, wrote a poem, a very sensitive poem, couched in mathematical terminology. Nobody understood it but himself. But we knew that we had provided him with a forum to freely express himself, and we encouraged him to do so. As a result, he felt safe and comfortable. We found out months later that that evening had very possibly been a turning point in preventing his suicide. He had been extremely depressed, and that experience was the first evidence he had found that life was worth living. We learned of those feelings when he called us long-distance from Turkey to say “thank you.” Somehow that made a lot of sacrifice worthwhile.

The next Sunday, Cole sat with Mom and watched conference. Dad was upstairs watching basketball. Cole listened to the prophet talk about his life as a little boy. He was surprised to learn that President Nelson’s parents didn’t go to church either when he was young.
Then President Nelson talked about how he had longed to be sealed to his parents in the temple. Cole froze, listening closely. President Nelson had to wait for many years, even after his parents were 80! But then they were finally sealed as an eternal family.

Janet: While we dislike thinking of ourselves as stones, there are moments in our lives when we feel our hearts growing cold and hard. Usually this happens when we feel we have been unfairly treated or misunderstood. And it is at these times that we need to rely on the miracle of prayer to heal our broken hearts or our angry, ailing spirits. Let me illustrate with a personal example.

Several years ago, as a Young Women president, I took a group of girls to stake camp. On our first night there, without my knowledge, a few of my girls played a harmless prank on some campers from another ward. In the morning, when the girls confessed to the stake camp director—someone new in the stake whom I had never met—they were dealt a harsh punishment. One of the girls was taken out of our cabin for the entire week, and others were given additional cleanup duties.

But the director did not stop there. She then turned to me and suggested that if we could not comply with the rules we should be sent home. I had to swallow a great deal of pride, and I found myself biting my tongue at various times throughout that week, particularly since the camp seemed to be run far more like a military boot camp than a young women’s outing. But I tried to be positive for the sake of my girls. In fact, together we started looking for the good in that year’s camp, such as the fact that every activity was organized the best it had ever been.

On the last night of camp, we gathered in an amphitheater around a fire for a testimony meeting. True to the order of camp that year, we marched in single file, ward by ward. I was with our Laurel group, and we were one of the last to enter. When I finally sat down, there was only one small space left, and it was next to me. On this we piled our jackets. But, just as we were ready to begin, the camp director—or the “gestapo lady,” as the girls called her—walked in. I could feel my girls cringe as her eyes searched for a place to sit. Slowly I lifted our jackets and motioned to her, trying hard not to look at the disapproving faces of my girls.

I knew all too well that this testimony meeting was supposed to be the spiritual culmination of the entire week. The spirit at this meeting could change lives for the better and often did. And now I could feel my own resentment and that of my girls toward this woman crowding out the Spirit. How I needed my heart to be softened. And so I began to pray fervently for help in understanding her and to let me know of her goodness. I prayed off and on for thirty minutes or so. And then, as we were singing “I Am a Child of God,” a miracle happened. Suddenly I knew her spirit. I understood and knew of her love for her Father in Heaven and of his love for her.

That testimony meeting was one I will never forget, and when it was over I took a moment to tell the camp director all the good things I had experienced at camp that week. I was not, however, prepared for her reaction. There were tears in her eyes as she said, “Thank you so much. No one else has thanked me. I have been afraid that no one liked me because I have been so strict. But I am a convert and have never run a camp before. I have just tried to do my best.” And then she hugged me.

Had a miracle just occurred? I think so. My heart had been softened just as night turns to day.

At times an awareness of the elderly is brought into focus by a reminder from one ever so young. May I share with you a Pakistani folktale which illustrates this truth:
An ancient grandmother lived with her daughter and grandson. As she grew frail and feeble, instead of being a help around the house, she became a constant trial. She broke plates and cups, lost knives, spilled water. One day, exasperated because the old woman had broken another precious plate, the daughter sent the grandson to buy his grandmother a wooden plate. The boy hesitated because he knew a wooden plate would humiliate his grandmother. But his mother insisted, so off he went. He returned bringing not one, but two wooden plates.
“I asked you to buy only one,” his mother said. “Didn’t you hear me?”
“Yes,” said the boy. “But I bought the second one so there would be one for you when you get old.”

The Lord gives us truth when we live righteously. Sometimes it comes in response to an urgent, sincere prayer for help when we need guidance. I remember one night in the mission field, after kneeling in prayer with my lovely wife, having thanked the Lord for the blessings of the day, I had a strong impression that one of the missionaries was in trouble. I tried to think who it could be but could not. I excused myself from my sweet companion and went up onto the flat part of our mission home roof. All night long I labored, reviewing in my mind each companionship, everything I knew about every missionary, and pled with the Lord that he might let me know where that missionary was that needed help. Finally, as the dawn began to break, I was impressed to know in which part of the mission he lived. That, of course was all I needed. I went there and through appropriate interviews found and helped the individual the Lord wanted to help. Yes, God answers prayer and gives us truth when we live obediently and exercise the requisite faith.

A wonderful story of perseverance took place right here in Laie many years ago. In 1885 Joseph F. Smith served his third mission in Hawaii. At that time Saints in Laie were suffering from a devastating drought and were very discouraged. In fact some even wanted to give up on Laie as a gathering place and seek another location to settle. At that time President Smith made a great prophecy. I quote. “Dear Brothers and sisters, do not leave this land, for it is the land chosen by God as a gathering place for the Saints… Do not complain because of the trials which have come upon you, because of the desolation and lack of water… and the great poverty in which you live. Be patient for a while for the day will come when this desolate land will become a land of beauty. Springs of water will gush up and spread upon the land, and upon this dry waste you now see, the Saints will build beautiful homes, they will plant taro and they will eat and drink in abundance. They will also plant trees which will grow to furnish pleasant shade, and the fragrance of flowers will fill the air…. Therefore do not go backward. Work with patience, persevere, stand firm and keep the commandments, including the commandment of gathering, which have been given you, and you shall receive blessings.”

Well, the Saints in Laie were obedient and did not give up. They endured in righteousness and were greatly blessed. Joseph F. Smith’s prophecy came true and Laie is now a beautiful topical paradise.

There was a determination about Elmer that I came to admire. He had an appreciation for nature and beauty and loved to see things grow. Every morning you could see him heading out to work in his garden. With the aid of an old walking stick, Elmer would drag his crippled leg behind him. The walk itself was difficult, and keeping the weeds out of his large garden seemed to me to be a monumental task. It wasn’t easy, but he took pride in the beautiful produce that grew there. I would help him when I could. I enjoyed our conversations. He was full of interesting facts that he was willing to share with a listening boy.
He liked to grow unusual things in his garden, and one spring day I remember asking him what he was planting. He replied, “Goober peas.” When I told him I had never heard of goober peas, he gave me some and told me to go home and plant them in our garden. I did, and I watched them carefully as they grew. When I expressed my concern that I couldn’t see any fruit on the vine, he told me to be patient. The day came when it was time to harvest the goober peas. Elmer showed me how to dig around the plants, and was I surprised and delighted to find that under the ground were mounds of peanuts just waiting to be roasted—Elmer’s goober peas.
Over the years I learned many things from Elmer Sessions—lessons about patience, determination, endurance, and long-suffering. I learned that friends can come in a variety of sizes, shapes, and ages. That an old man and a young boy can be friends. Friendships can easily span years when two people are willing to listen and care and reach out to each other.

At night, the sky is dark and Queens Road, which leads into Suva, Fiji, is lit only by the headlights of approaching cars. Sometimes, the road seems to melt into the shadows, and it is difficult to see what lies ahead. Then, just around a bend, a beautiful radiance appears on the hill above the road, like a heavenly apparition. The warm glow of Suva, Fiji’s Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints draws the traveler’s gaze upward and beckons all to ascend out of the darkness and into the light.
Members of the Sigatoka Branch were delighted to attend the Suva Fiji Temple that morning in August 2022. For members of the Church, the temple is a sacred place of worship, a place of peace and revelation; a place to feel closer to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. It is where sacred ordinances are performed and families are united—not just until death parts them, but for eternity.
In February 2022, Sister Basilisa Nadreke Lotawa was asked by the Sigatoka Branch President (a lay church leader) to serve as a temple and family history specialist. Basilisa’s job was to urge her congregation to lift their spiritual eyes to the light of the temple and to prepare themselves for temple worship. She also had to learn how to do genealogical research then teach her fellow Saints how to identify their deceased ancestors in order to participate by proxy, temple ordinances on their behalf.
Basilisa, a young mother of three, shook her head and laughed. “I knew nothing about doing family history—nothing . . . and I’m too young to do it.” Still, wanting to serve the Lord, she sought the help of an experienced genealogist and was soon able to assist her branch members. With a new conviction and passion for family history, Basilisa expressed: “I am so blessed and honoured to participate in this glorious work. It has been marvelous, tremendous! I have seen miracles and wonders. The Lord provided a way for me to do the work and to help my branch.”
With young children in tow, Basilisa spent many hours at the computer in her chapel helping others to extend the branches of their family trees. She invited them—adults and youth—to find five deceased family members who needed proxy baptisms. Branch members caught her enthusiasm and found two hundred ancestors!
At 2:00 am on the 27th of August 2022, members of the Sigatoka Branch boarded a bus to Suva temple. The early start didn’t dampen their spirits. Their excitement was palpable as they arrived on the temple grounds—they were ready to participate in ordinances on behalf of their ancestors, and other ordinances for themselves.
It was an especially joyful day for Maritiano Ratumeli, the Sigatoka Branch President. He, his wife and their two sons were united in the temple as an eternal family, by the authority that the scriptures call, the “sealing power.” President Ratumeli, teary eyed, said: “It is so amazing to say that I am one of those blessed to be sealed in the temple. I didn’t expect . . . that the branch would be with me, but the Lord planned for them to witness this. My goal is to inspire others to come. I’m feeling good and blessed that my family can be together forever.” Other branch members marveled as they “felt the Spirit” and “felt their family members there.”
As for Basilisa, there is no doubt that her love for the temple and family history work—even at this busy stage of her life, will continue to bless her. She said: “I feel the same joy doing this [work] that I felt when I served my mission.” She and her branch now keep their eyes fixed firmly on the holy temple.

During the final months of our mission last year, we experienced an event that taught once again this profound principle that each of us is known and loved by God.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell was coming to New York City for some Church business, and we were informed that he would also like to have a mission conference. We were so pleased to have this opportunity to hear from one of the Lord’s chosen servants. I was asked to select one of our missionaries to provide the opening prayer for the meeting. I might have randomly picked one of the missionaries to pray, but felt to ponder and prayerfully select one whom the Lord would have me ask. In going through the missionary roster, a name boldly stood out to me: Elder Joseph Appiah of Accra, Ghana. He was the one I felt the Lord wanted to pray at the meeting.
Prior to the mission conference, I was having a regularly scheduled interview with Elder Appiah and told him of the prompting that I had received for him to pray. With amazement and humility in his eyes, he began to weep deeply. Somewhat surprised by his reaction, I started to tell him that it was all right and he wouldn’t have to pray, when he informed me he would love to offer the prayer, that his emotion was caused by the love he has for Elder Maxwell. He told me that this Apostle is very special to the Saints in Ghana and to his own family. Elder Maxwell had called his father to be the district president in Accra and had sealed his mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple.
Now, I didn’t know any of what I just related about this missionary or his family, but the Lord did and inspired a mission president on behalf of one missionary to provide a lifelong memory and testimony-building experience.
At the meeting, Elder Appiah offered a wonderful prayer and made a humble contribution to a meeting where Elder Maxwell taught the missionaries of the attributes of Jesus Christ. All who were there will never forget the feelings of love they experienced for their Savior.

Another season in Minnesota began a few months before Christmas, when the youth and leaders in the Bloomington Ward became aware of a group of people in need.

“They were facing severe financial problems,” says Megan Ogilvie. “Our Bishopric Youth Committee decided to see if there was something we could do to help. We contacted several different agencies, and they suggested what might be purchased or donated.”

Then the youth of the Bloomington Ward got busy.

“We had a bake sale, and we also got people to donate things—clothing, books, sports gear, toys, food. We filled five big boxes,” says Scott Ranning, 18. Some cash was also given, which was used to purchase additional clothing, books, and for some of the people, scriptures.

After everything was delivered, the ward held a fireside to talk about how wonderful it felt to give. From the people they had helped, the youth of the ward received a handmade cloth banner as a token of thanks and friendship, a banner that hangs in the bishop’s office to this day.

Illustration by J. Beth Jepson
When I was 14, my physics teacher saw my talent in math and entered me in the Brazilian Mathematics Olympiad. There were three phases. The first and the second would be held on a Saturday. I was classified for the third phase and saw that it would be held on two days, Saturday and Sunday.
I then told my teacher and the director of the Olympiad that I would not take a test on Sunday because it is the Lord’s day. The director asked me to talk to my Church leaders so that I could be freed to take the test on Sunday, for if I did not take it, I would be disqualified. I said that I could forgo everything but not God.
I did not become sad, because I had the hope that God honors those who honor Him. I remembered Matthew 6:33: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”
Some weeks later we contacted the secretary of the Olympiad, who stated that I could not take the test any other day and that I would be disqualified. After much conversing, he suggested that I send him an email explaining my situation. After sending the email, I prayed to Heavenly Father and said that I would do His will.
The following night, I received an email from the coordinator stating that I could take the Sunday test on Monday at the most convenient time for me, and he even offered to administer the test in my own city so that I would not miss the morning class at school.
After receiving this good news, I prayed to thank the Lord because He had helped me. My parents went to the temple to express thanks.
When the test results came out, I received the gold medal. The Lord honors those who honor Him.