Gospel Story Finder

Every year in Nauvoo there’s a fun event called the pumpkin walk. There are carved pumpkins along the streets and tasty treats to eat.
My family and I were walking along the pumpkin walk when, all of a sudden, I couldn’t see my family! I was scared. I walked up and down the street looking for them. I decided to say a prayer. I prayed that I could find my parents. I felt like I should talk to the first missionaries I saw. I also felt that I should walk to the car.
Elder Perry was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles from 1974 until he died in 2015.
As I walked toward our car, I saw two missionaries. When I got to them, I realized they weren’t missionaries—it was Elder L. Tom Perry and his wife! They helped me find my family.
I am grateful I found help when I was lost. I learned that God answers my prayers.

Several years ago there were three young American sailors stationed aboard a ship somewhere between Hawaii and Japan. Observing the beautiful deep blue sky above the sun-drenched Pacific Ocean, the three of them simultaneously concluded that this would be a wonderful opportunity to acquire a world-class suntan. After all, there was not a cloud in the sky and there was absolutely no pollution to block the sun’s ultraviolet rays.
They located some nice soft bath towels and staked out a place on the upper deck where the sun’s rays would be unobstructed. They remembered some good counsel from someone who had told them that in order to get the best results, you should turn over every few minutes like a grilled chicken on a turning spit. If you lay on your back a few minutes and then on your stomach a few minutes, you avoid the peril of becoming severely sunburned. The counsel was good, but it applies best when you don’t stay out too long, especially the very first day. Well, “boys will be boys,” and these young teenage sailors fell asleep during the rotation process as the warm summer sun slowly turned their skin from pasty pink to bright red.
When they awakened, they began to sense they were in real trouble. Their skin had been so badly sunburned it hurt to put on their shirts, it hurt to move, and it even hurt to breathe. With considerable difficulty they made their way to the lower deck to visit the ship’s physician. He gave them some anesthetic ointment which provided a degree of temporary relief from their pain. He suggested that they might be suffering from first-degree burns in a few areas and that they should probably stay in bed for a few days.
These three medium well-done musketeers proceeded to a captain’s quarters to report their plight and to request a few days sick leave as recommended by the doctor. They had anticipated some sympathy from the captain, but his reply was totally unexpected. With considerable agitation he said: “Your request for sick leave is denied. When you signed up for the U.S. Navy you agreed to keep yourselves in good physical condition, to be combat ready at all times. You are now the property of the U.S. Navy. If we had an emergency aboard ship, none of you would be in a position to help. Instead of giving you three days sick leave, I sentence you to three days in the brig for misuse and abuse of government property.”

Is it true that “with God nothing shall be impossible”? (Luke 1:37). José Javier Alarcón, 16, of Maracaibo, has tested this scriptural promise.
“When I was eight or nine years old, my parents divorced. Later a friend invited me to church, and eventually I wanted to be baptized. But my mother, who had been baptized but hadn’t been active for many years, wouldn’t let me. When I was 12, she finally allowed me to be baptized. As I grew in the gospel, I started to pray that my mom would come back to the Church. A couple of years later, she did!”
José Javier’s mother, Miriam, admits that she had been apart from the Church for eight years and “didn’t ever intend to come back. But when my son began praying with great faith for me … something started to happen inside me. I began to feel a strong desire to pray and read the scriptures. One night the Lord changed my heart, and from that night I changed completely. So I owe it to my son. I thank the Father for giving me such a wonderful son!”
“It’s a gift from God,” says José Javier. “I had to do part of it. But it was actually God who did all of these things.”
Now José Javier, his mother, and his younger brother, Jesús David, 10, have visited the temple. José Javier has been baptized for the dead, and their mother has received her endowment.

Late that afternoon I got a phone call. It was Joel. We had been best friends when we were little kids but hadn’t spent much time together for quite a while.
“I got my driver’s license,” he said proudly. “Dad said I can take the car. Do you want a ride?”
“A ride?” I repeated, astonished. Was this really Joel? I tried to imagine him cruising on a Sunday afternoon with a load of giggling girls. It just didn’t work. In fact, the thought gave me brain flutters. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m offering you a ride to the fireside,” he said. “What did you think I meant?”
Now it all made sense. The stake youth fireside was in the next town. It did not sound very interesting. Going to a meeting like that was exactly Joel’s kind of thing to do.
“I’m sick of meetings,” I told him. “I may never go to another meeting as long as I live.”
“Have you got something better to do?” he asked.
“Let me put on a tie,” I groaned. “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
There was nothing special about Joel’s family car. He drove it very carefully, making sure he didn’t speed or leave any patches of rubber at the intersections. We had a nice talk on the way to the stake center. I’d forgotten what a good friend he was and how much we had in common.
The fireside was one of those “come if you want to” affairs that hadn’t been advertised very well. There weren’t very many people there. Just the faithful, I thought as I looked around. I was surprised by the warm feeling that came over me. A girl my age led the singing, and other kids said the prayers and introduced the speaker. I suddenly felt very close to everyone I saw. Going to the meeting was Joel’s idea, but I was sure being blessed by being there!
“Friends are important,” the speaker told us. “When you pick your friends, you choose the direction of your life.” He told how friends had helped him stay close to the Church when he was a teenager. Then he read a scripture from the Doctrine and Covenants that really hit me. It was a verse where the Lord calls his people “friends.” “The Lord,” the speaker explained, “reserves the title friend for those who are valiant in obeying his commandments. He speaks to his friends and hears their prayers. They are the ones who stand beside him, and he stands by them. A true friend will help you stay close to the Church and to live a righteous life.” What he said made sense. I started thinking about friends in a different way.
A few years have gone by since I was offered those two rides on the Sabbath. I’m sad to say that Tom was on the wrong road. He got in a lot of trouble and broke his family’s heart. I’ve always been grateful that I didn’t jump to accept his sudden offer of “friendship” that day. Joel, on the other hand, was honorably released from a mission in New York about the same time I returned from mine in Japan. We had a joyous reunion. He’s still my very good friend.

Recently in the newspaper I read this account, which shows the grief and anxiety of one mother, who had undoubtedly spent many unhappy hours watching, waiting, and praying for her wandering boy.
“Police said the mother of a 16-year-old youth who was accused of raping a woman thanked officers after a policeman shot and killed her armed son.
“The youth … was killed when he pointed a .38-caliber pistol at the officer’s face Thursday, police said.
“His mother … told officers after the shooting, ‘I’m glad you all got him. I won’t have to worry about him no more.’” (Deseret News, July 26, 1974.)
Yes, there are things worse than death.

I think of such a man I once knew, not a member of the Church. He was a graduate of a great university. His potential was unlimited. As a young man with an excellent education and a tremendous opportunity, he dreamed of the stars and moved in that direction. In the company which employed him in those early years, he was promoted from one responsibility to another, each with improved opportunity over the last. Before many years had passed, he was in the top echelon of his company. But those promotions brought him into the cocktail circuit. He could not handle it, as so many others cannot. He became an alcoholic, the victim of an appetite he could not control. He sought help but was too proud to discipline himself in the regimen imposed upon him by those who tried to assist him.

He went down like a falling star, tragically burning out and disappearing in the night. I made inquiry of one friend after another and finally learned the truth of his tragic end. He, who had begun with such high aim and impressive talent, had died on skid row in one of our large cities. He had felt certain of his strength and of his capacity to live up to his potential. But he had denied that capacity; and I am confident that as the shadows of his failure closed around him, he must have gone out and wept bitterly.

I had just settled into my comfortable chair to watch my favorite television news program when the doorbell rang. “I’ll see who it is,” my wife said.
“Who would be coming to visit us at this hour?” I asked myself. “It always happens. The program I enjoy most is always interrupted!”
“It’s the home teachers,” she said. “I forgot to tell you that Brother Higgins called this afternoon. He made an appointment to meet with us early this evening so that he could see us before he goes out of town tonight.”
As I arose from my chair, I already knew what Brother Higgins was going to say. He always said the same things—“How are you? How are things going? It has been a good day, hasn’t it? Is there anything I can do for you?”
Sure enough, that’s how he began. I kept thinking, “I’m missing the news report!”
But when Brother Higgins asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?” the thought entered my mind, “He can help. Give him a chance.”
“Yes, there is something you can do for us,” I said, “You know that our son, Mikhail, has just returned from a mission. He has been unsuccessfully searching for work and is very discouraged. I have been unable to help him. Do you know of any job openings?”
“Oh, that is a tough problem,” Brother Higgins responded. “I don’t know of any openings for work, but I’ll check to see what might be available.”
I really didn’t think Brother Higgins would have a solution to the problem. But I had forgotten that home teachers are entitled to receive inspiration to help the families to whom they are assigned. Whether or not Brother Higgins could help, it made me feel better to have shared our problem with our home teachers.
Two days later, Brother Higgins telephoned me. “Tell Mikhail to go down to the Read Company tire store and ask to speak with a Mr. Hogge,” he said. “He has a job opening.”
Mikhail was excited, as he had been searching for a job for a long time. But an hour later, when he returned, I could tell, by the way he walked in, that he had been unsuccessful.
“I can’t believe it!” he exclaimed, as he entered the house. “Mr. Hogge asked me, ‘Who sent you here? I don’t have any job openings. Even if I did, your request would be at the bottom of this pile of applications!’ I was so embarrassed—I was sorry that I had even gone to apply.”
I felt Mikhail’s disappointment and tried to encourage him. But I couldn’t help wondering why our home teacher had told us about a job opening when there wasn’t one.
The next day, when I answered the telephone, the voice on the other end said, “This is Mr. Hogge. Is Mikhail there?”
Mikhail came to the telephone, and Mr. Hogge said, “Come down to the store. I was impressed by your sincerity and willingness to work, and I can use you after all. I’ll need you this afternoon.”
When Mikhail arrived at the store, he found that he not only had a job, but he could also choose the hours he wished to work. He was able to arrange his work hours so that they did not interfere with his class schedule at college—another answer to sincere prayers.
As I thought about the sequence of events that led up to Mikhail’s new job, I suddenly realized that Brother Higgins must have known about Mr. Hogge’s job opening even before Mr. Hogge had known about it!
When Brother Higgins next visited our home, I told him what had happened. He simply replied that he had prayed that he would be able to help Mikhail find a job, and he had called us when he knew of one.
It was obvious to us that the Lord had known of our family’s needs and had used our home teachers as instruments in meeting those needs. They had prayed for guidance, and the Lord had answered their prayers.

I had such a test decades ago when one of my medical faculty colleagues chastised me for failing to separate my professional knowledge from my religious convictions. He demanded that I not combine the two. How could I do that? Truth is truth! It is not divisible, and any part of it cannot be set aside.

Whether truth emerges from a scientific laboratory or through revelation, all truth emanates from God. All truth is part of the gospel of Jesus Christ.4 Yet I was being asked to hide my faith. I did not comply with my colleague’s request. I let my faith show!

A nearby explosion jolted me awake, and alarms started to blare. For a moment, I couldn’t figure out what was happening. The glowing white numbers of my alarm clock told me it was 06:00. I looked around the darkened room, wondering what was going on. Nothing seemed out of place.
But then a second and third blast began a barrage of incoming rocket-propelled grenades and bursts of gunfire outside. I was not sure from where the barrage was coming, but I knew we were under attack.
Feeling my adrenaline kick in, I rolled off my bed and began grabbing my gear. As I pulled on my tactical vest and helmet, I could hear the continued wail of alarms and the engines of the Quick Response Force vehicles rev as they rushed through the camp to meet the attack.
With my M9 pistol strapped to my side, I grabbed my rifle and headed into the hallway to await orders.
I was about nine months into my longest deployment to Afghanistan with the United States Air Force. My responsibilities working with the senior Afghan Air Force finance officer and officials from the Afghan Ministry of Finance often put me in harm’s way, and I had felt the Lord’s protecting hand. But this attack was a first for me. When our colonel asked for volunteers to follow him outside, I joined six others taking position around the building in case attackers overran the gate.
The colonel ordered me to take my post on the side of our base that faced the attack. Gunfire continued as people darted left and right, seeking shelter. Marines posted on the top of a nearby building ducked for cover as rocket after rocket flew into the camp to the north of my position. They rocked the ground and buildings when they exploded. Some hit a hangar. Many left craters.
I lay on the ground with my M4 assault rifle pointed toward my sector of fire. Deafening gunfire surrounded me, though it was directed toward the camp to the north of me. I had trained for such a scenario but had never faced a real threat. I was terrified, and I wasn’t even in the thick of the fight!
My stomach knotted. Sweat coated my skin. I braced myself, expecting at any moment that a rocket would explode where I lay. Thoughts of my family popped into my mind.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “please protect us so we can all get home to our families.”
As I finished my prayer, a memory played in my mind that momentarily replaced the sights and sounds of battle. The memory was of seven-year-old Gabriel, one of the boys in the Primary class I taught back in the United States. Just a few weeks earlier, his father had emailed me a video of Gabriel praying at his bedside—praying for me and for my safety in Afghanistan.
I remembered teaching my Primary class about prayer. At the time, I had wondered if any of them understood the miraculous power of prayer. But when I saw that video, I was astounded by the faith of that little boy—something I witnessed with many of the children I taught.
Now the memory of that simple prayer inspired my faith in that terrifying moment. I felt God tell me that little Gabriel was praying for me. I knew He had heard Gabriel’s prayer, my prayer, and the prayers of countless others on my behalf. I felt peace replace worry. I felt in my heart that my fellow servicemen and I would be all right.
When the firefight finally ended six hours later, we assessed our casualties. To our surprise, nobody in our camp had been injured by the 47 rocket-propelled grenades and thousands of rounds fired into our camp.
I knew I wasn’t the first to pray on the battlefield. I also knew that not every battlefield prayer had been answered in the same way. But I was grateful for the assurance that God hears and answers our prayers, even those of a little child.

2. Isolate the situations that cause you to respond badly. It may be that you can eliminate some of the situations at home that “set you off.” And if you can’t eliminate them, you can at least try to work around them. Kathy usually flew into a rage when she walked through the door from school because her mother started to ask her questions. They were perfectly legitimate, friendly questions, but Kathy resented them and she responded by snapping at her mother. Afterwards she always felt bad.

Kathy and her mother talked about the problem and decided that Kathy needed a “time-out” period as soon as she got home from school. They figured out that Kathy resented her mother’s questions because she had just spent an entire day answering to teachers and friends. What Kathy needed was time to herself. Kathy and her mother decided that Kathy, an accomplished musician, should be free to come home and play the piano for a while before assuming responsibilities at home.

When I was a boy living here in Salt Lake City, most homes were heated with coal stoves. Black smoke belched forth from almost every chimney. As winter came to a close, black soot and grime were everywhere, both inside and outside of the house. There was a ritual through which we passed each year, not a very pleasant one, as we viewed it. It involved every member of the family. It was known as spring-cleaning. When the weather warmed after the long winter, a week or so was designated as cleanup time. It was usually when there was a holiday and included two Saturdays.
My mother ran the show. All of the curtains were taken down and laundered. Then they were carefully ironed. The windows were washed inside and out, and oh, what a job that was in that big two-story house. Wallpaper was on all of the walls, and Father would bring home numerous cans of wallpaper cleaner. It was like bread dough, but it was a pretty pink in color when the container was opened. It had an interesting smell, a pleasant, refreshing kind of smell. We all pitched in. We would knead some of the cleaning dough in our hands, climb a ladder, and begin on the high ceiling and then work down the walls. The dough was soon black from the dirt it lifted from the paper. It was a terrible task, very tiring, but the results were like magic. We would stand back and compare the dirty surface with the clean surface. It was amazing to us how much better the clean walls looked.
All of the carpets were taken up and dragged out to the backyard, where they were hung over the clothesline, one by one. Each of us boys would have what we called a carpet beater, a device made of light steel rods with a wooden handle. As we beat the carpet, the dust would fly, and we would have to keep going until there was no dust left. We detested that work. But when all of it was done and everything was back in place, the result was wonderful. The house was clean, our spirits renewed. The whole world looked better.

Everybody loves Peanuts, according to Joyce Ensign, Logan, Utah. So she invited guests to a Peanuts party with Snoopy cards instructing each guest to bring his own security blanket and to come representing his favorite character from this famous cartoon series. The place was decorated with Peanuts posters, stuffed toys, and bowls of peanuts, of course. People sat on the security blankets and had a sing-along with music from “You’re a Good Man, Charlie Brown.” Reading aloud from Peanuts wit and wisdom, and munching on frosted grahams and gigantic lollipops topped off the party.

One day in May the citizens of that last great earthly kingdom got together to visit their inheritance from the Moslem kingdom of Granada. The young men and women of the Granada Branch went to the Alhambra. They passed through the Pomegranate Gate, the woods, the Gate of Justice, the Court of the Cisterns, the Wine Gate, the Esplanade, and into the Alcazares, the royal palace of the Caliphs of Granada.
They found chamber after chamber of exquisite beauty. The walls and ceilings were decorated in a lacy filigree of plaster, as lovely as ivory. The plaster writhes and vibrates with flowers, leaves, Arabic poetry, Koranic quotations, and interweaving arabesques of pure design. Many walls are also bright with mosaic tile.
They passed through the court of the Myrtals where a long pool reflects a fantasy of arches and pillars and the Court of the Lions where 124 slender pillars surround a fountain supported by 12 stone lions who spurt water from their mouths. Reflected in the fountain, ornate archwork bursts from the tops of the pillars.
The young men and women explored a fairyland of courts, chambers, and patios with such intriguing names as the Hall of Secrets, Hall of the Boat, Hall of Kings, Court of the Cypresses, and the Royal Baths, each a wonderland opening onto other wonderlands.
Decorated as they are in the perishable medium of plaster, these halls were clearly not built as a monument to the ages, but as the tribute to present beauty—beauty that has defied the ravages of time and lingered down the ages as fresh and sweet as when birds first sang outside the windows of Caliph and courtiers.
For a long while the young people wandered through the cool halls and passageways where pillars grow in forests of airy delight, full of sunlight and shadow. Intricately carved stalactites of wood and plaster hang from ceilings as if from some enchanted cavern. Subtle breezes and silvery echoes, the hush of leaves and rippling waves of light eddy about pools of shadow and silence. Through lacy windows in the outside walls could be seen sun-wrapped Granada and the gypsy caves of Sacromonte. From geometric portals cut in domes high overhead, sunlight speared down in shafts of glory.
It was hard to imagine a palace more delightful than this, and yet a splendid melancholy seemed to brood over the whole scene, a delicious yearning for magical times past. There was, as the poet Angel Ganivet once said, a “profound sadness that emanates from a deserted palace, forsaken by its inhabitants, imprisoned in the impalpable thread woven by the spirit of destruction, that invisible spider whose feet are dreams.”
After sharing their testimonies and finishing their visit to the palace complex, the group passed through the palace of Carlos V and then into the military fortifications known as the Alcasabar, which rear their battlements on the brow of the hill. They climbed to the top of the Watchtower, whose bell was rung of old at times of alarm or celebration. Ringed all about by the wild and ancient sky, they gazed southward at the mounting Sierra Nevadas and all around them at the rose and alabaster glory of Granada. Rinsed and burnished and transfigured by the high, fierce Andalusian sun, it seemed to be a glimpse of the afterlife Muhammad had promised the devout.
Next the young men and women passed into the Generalife—the exquisite series of gardens on the slope above the Alhambra, a world of green and shadow rich in roses, oleanders, rhododendrons, and lofty cypresses, and everywhere the song of water.
The waters speak, and they weep
Beneath the white oleanders;
Beneath the rose oleanders,
The waters weep and they sing
For the myrtle in bloom
Above the opaque waters.
Madness of singing and crying,
Of the souls, of the tears!
These lines by Juan Ramón Jimenez capture the beauty and mystery of these beautiful gardens. Among the white buildings, the dignified towers, the hedges, and the flowerbeds are some of the world’s most beautiful fountains. They are not spectacular or large. They are not adorned with beautiful statuary. But in them is perfected the charm of the simple elegance of water, delicate and refreshing and musical, made by a people with a desert heritage who knew how to value water as something precious in its own right.
The youths wandered through a storybook realm of flowers and hedges and pools and pavilions, where caliphs once strolled in the cool of the evening. Symphonies have been written about the Generalife, but none is more beautiful than the place itself. The sun-entangled trees brought to mind the words of Federico García Lorca:
How hard it is for the daylight
To take its leave of Granada!
It entangles itself in the cypress
Or hides beneath the water.
Earthly days pass even more swiftly than earthly kingdoms, and the young people finished their visit to the Alhambra and returned to their homes.

When my class was studying architecture this year in school, each student was assigned to prepare both a report and a three-dimensional model of a famous building or other structure. Since my parents were married in the Salt Lake Temple, it is very special to my family. My dad had the great idea of using sugar cubes to make my model of it. We thought that sugar cubes were perfect because their white color symbolized the purity of the temple. I realized that the shape of the cubes was also appropriate because the Salt Lake Temple was built using huge granite boulders that were cut by hand into blocks.
My five-year-old brother, Rollins, decided to make a temple, too. We thought his turned out to look a lot like the Manti Utah Temple.
Presenting the report let me tell my class a little about the Church and the importance of temples. My model was even put on display in the school media center for a few weeks! Everyone who saw it could read the label we made for it: The Salt Lake Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I look forward to my next chance to tell others about the Church.
Niles Wimber, age 8McDonough, Georgia

Leslie Williams, Jr. of Tallahassee, Florida, received the Disabled Citizens’ Community Service Award and was honored at their annual banquet.
In completing his Eagle project, Leslie surveyed Tallahassee restaurants to determine how accessible they were to wheelchair patrons and nonsighted or partially sighted customers. Leslie wrote letters and sent questionnaires to the restaurant managers and organized teams to visit restaurants. The completed report of his survey is on file with several government agencies and has been printed and distributed in chart form to the city’s handicapped citizens.
As a result of his efforts, the local food editor now reports on restaurant accessibility in the newspaper’s weekly restaurant review.
Leslie is a member of the Tallahassee Second Ward.

With the theme “a love of God and of all men” (2 Ne. 31:20) for their values night, the young women of the Glasgow Scotland Stake were asked to bring at least one toiletry item to help with a service project. The results far outstripped the expectations of their leaders. With 28 girls in attendance, they filled 29 small boxes to overflowing. The young women decorated boxes with wrapping paper and stuffed them full of toiletry items. Then they donated the filled boxes to several charities.

In December 1999 we were preparing for our annual Christmas trip to the Bern Switzerland Temple. The trip, a special tradition we began shortly after our marriage, is one way we commemorate the Savior’s birth.
We live about eight hours by car from the temple, and bad weather preceded our departure. Uprooted trees, a sharp wind, and icy roads would make the journey treacherous.
I felt uncertain and didn’t understand why we were encountering so many obstacles when we knew that the Lord wanted us to go to the temple. Would He not open our way?
My husband, Antonio, and I knelt in prayer with our children and said to our Heavenly Father that unless He told us differently, we would head for Bern the next day.
“If the road is truly impassable,” Antonio said after our prayer, “we’ll come back.”
I felt our decision was right, but I was still fearful. The next morning, full of doubt, I wanted to pray again. Antonio told me we had already received our answer, but he lovingly and patiently knelt beside me.
When we left, it was barely dawn and dark clouds hovered over us. As we drove, I could see a small bit of blue sky near the mountains. A timid ray of sun broke through the clouds.
That glimmer of sunshine strengthened my vacillating faith. Miraculously, the sun came out and the temperature rose. There was no fog, no ice, no wind—only a clear, extraordinarily warm winter day. My eyes filled with tears. It seemed that Heavenly Father had answered our prayers.
After we arrived at Bern, it began to snow heavily and continued to snow throughout our stay. As we headed to the temple before dawn the next morning, the storm turned into a blizzard. For a minute I was afraid, and I began to run along the sidewalk that leads to the temple.
Then a thought came into my mind: “This is the way it should be. The world howls at us with troubles, but we must run to the peace of the Lord found in His house.”
We had a wonderful time at the temple that Christmas season, but we worried about our trip home. The snow continued to fall, and our youngest son developed a high fever. On the day of our departure, however, the snow miraculously stopped, and our son’s fever broke after he received a priesthood blessing.
As the peace of the temple sustained us, a Bible verse came to my mind: “Is any thing too hard for the Lord?” (Genesis 18:14). With gratitude, I realized that no, it is not.

by Hazel Loyd
One hundred and fifty young men and women from the Friendswood Texas Stake made one last annual trip to the Mesa Temple. The stake had been assigned to that temple district. In the future, they will make the trip to the Dallas Temple.
All who participated returned buoyed up by their experiences in the temple. They were able to perform over 8,000 baptisms. During a testimony meeting in the temple chapel, many were moved to bear their testimonies for the first time before their friends. As a result, some of the planned recreational activities were canceled in favor of spending more time in the temple.

In the October 1988 general conference, Sister Grassli, the Primary general president, reported: “Nine-year-old Matt spoke in church about something he had learned from the scriptures that brought him peace. He said, ‘When my father told our family that we would be moving from Denver to Wisconsin, my mother reminded us of Lehi’s family. Like them, I was leaving the only home I had known, all my friends, my school, my ward. Luckily we were able to bring all our possessions with us, though they were in storage for three months and we missed having a house and our “precious things.”

“‘My mother reminded us of how Nephi accepted this challenge—willingly—knowing that the Lord would “prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (See 1 Ne. 3:7.)

“‘I have learned that I can do without things, but not without my family. My brothers and sisters and I have tried to be more like Nephi than his complaining brothers. I am grateful for the things that the Book of Mormon teaches us.’”

Matt was comforted by the story of Lehi’s family from the Book of Mormon. As you read or listen to stories from the scriptures, which stories bring you peace?

Photographs by Sepi Hawaikirangi
When 118 youth from Auckland, New Zealand, and their leaders planned a four-day temple conference to the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, they had a simple but impressive goal: to perform as many baptisms for the dead as possible during their stay.
They began preparing for the trip many months in advance. As part of the preparation, young men and young women researched names from their family histories that they could bring with them to the temple.
All their preparation paid off in a big way. The youth and their leaders had a spiritual feast from the moment they arrived to when they set their sights back home four days later—not to mention all the blessings that came before and after the event because of their devotion to family history and temple worthiness.
In order to spend as much time at the temple as they could, they wanted to stay near the temple instead of making the two-hour drive each direction every day. So for the whole temple conference, youth and leaders stayed in dorm rooms near the temple.
Being that close to the temple was its own reward for the youth. Nichalahr U., a Laurel from the group, said, “I didn’t want to come home after the temple conference because I got used to waking up to the view of the temple and how peaceful it was to just turn and look at it standing in front of you.”
You can enjoy the blessing of seeing the temple each day by putting a picture of one in your room.
It wasn’t practical to have 62 young men and 56 young women all doing baptisms at once, so they decided instead to go to the temple in shifts. The youth were divided into five groups, and each group attended at least two shifts at the temple during the four days.
That might sound at first like there was a lot of downtime and waiting in between. But nothing could be further from the truth. When they weren’t in a shift doing baptisms, the youth headed into the community to do service projects. Sometimes they walked over a mile (1.61 km) to reach their destinations—at which point they’d begin the service project.
They helped out with cleaning, yard work, and anything else families and organizations needed. One youth group helped replant a marae, an outdoor public meeting place in the New Zealand culture.
The youth were also in charge of cooking their own meals, which led to another goal the youth made for the conference: to learn how to prepare and cook food from 72-hour kits. This, too, required a fair amount of planning. Each young man and young woman had a budget to plan and shop for ingredients.
Although the dorm rooms had large kitchens to use, the youth all whipped up their masterpiece meals on a gas stove outside. Those meals were put to good use too, since the youth needed a lot of energy to keep up with the schedule. The only way they could fit everything in was to wake up at 5:00 a.m. and keep going strong until bedtime.
Of course, this was a four-day youth conference, so there had to be at least a little recreational time! One fun event was a dance. Yet even here the dance became more meaningful than usual as a result of some visitors.
During the week, the youth had an unexpected treat when they met a group of Saints from New Caledonia (a group of islands in the southwest Pacific Ocean that belong to France) who were also visiting the temple. They quickly became friends and had the opportunity to sing hymns and also perform ordinances in the temple in English as well as French.
On the night of the dance, the Saints from New Caledonia came to visit these youth. As soon as they arrived, the youth from New Zealand danced joyfully in a circle around them to welcome them. They hugged each other in friendship formed over a shared love of temple work.
Not surprisingly, the highlight of the conference was the actual time in the temple. Mahonri K., a priest, researched and brought names from his own family to do proxy work for them. “I was excited to help my ancestors who had passed on through the veil by being baptized and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost on their behalf,” he says. “My testimony of baptism has been largely strengthened.”
Throughout the week, the young men and young women felt a strong spiritual connection to the work. Sara M., a Mia Maid, said, “I now have a strong testimony of the gospel and the importance of temple work.”
From the beginning, their goal was to complete as many baptisms as possible to help their ancestors. They succeeded rather spectacularly. The 118 youth performed baptisms and confirmations for 3,542 people, many of whom were their ancestors.
By the time the young men and young women were ready to leave, their testimonies were strengthened and their hearts were filled with gratitude. The youth even invited the sisters who work in the temple laundry to their closing exercises so that the youth could sing a closing song to them in appreciation for their hard work. (Just imagine how much laundry needed to be washed during this temple conference!)
The youth will remember the spiritual experiences they had during this temple conference for the rest of their lives. “The feeling that I received throughout each baptism was pure and innocent,” says Caleb R., a priest. “I could feel the warm embrace of the Savior’s love.”
Throughout the temple conference the youth strengthened their ties with the Savior, with each other, and with their ancestors. After gaining such new enthusiasm for the work, their journey in family history is only getting started.