Gospel Story Finder

On 8 October 2024, 31 young single adults from Papua New Guinea arrived in Tonga to attend the Nuku‘alofa Tonga Temple for the first time. The group included two full-time missionaries serving in the Papua New Guinea Lae Mission and most of the others have received or are waiting to receive mission calls.
They were warmly welcomed at the airport with traditional candy leis by former Lae mission leaders, Sitiveni and Kilisitina Fehoko (2016–2019), as well as several returned missionaries who served in Papua New Guinea.
After receiving their own endowments, the young adults lovingly performed proxy baptisms, initiatory, and endowments for their grandparents and other ancestors. They finished their temple service with a final sealing session, linking and uniting generations with eternal sealing power.
The young single adults had researched family names in anticipation of doing temple work for their deceased relatives.
In the evenings, they were met by Elder Sione Tuione, an Area Seventy as well as former mission leaders in New Guinea including Isileli and Milika Fatani, (Papua New Guinea Lae Mission 2019–2022), Mosese and Akanesi Naeata (Papua New Guinea Port Moresby Mission 1997–2000), and the Fehokos who offered powerful messages of faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and eternal families.
The Fatanis and Fehokos provided delicious Tongan feasts and local wards hosted dances each evening, which the young adults loved.
The young adults also enjoyed an afternoon of sightseeing and shopping. Several of them received dental care at the Church’s dental clinic at Liahona High School.
The hearts of the children turning to their fathers were evident in their words, which they recorded in journals given to each of them.
Channolyn George – “When I saw the temple, the tears dropped from my eyes. I felt heartbroken, thinking back to my country, my province, my ward, the members, my family, my loved ones, and all those not yet members. In my heart and my mind, I hope one day my family and all these people will be here as now I’m here.”
Sonia Maranghi – “I did the endowment for my father’s mother, and I realized that she was very excited that I performed her ordinances, which she longed for. I couldn’t hold my tears anymore and cried while sitting in the celestial glory of the living God.”
Delilah Kum – “The house of the Lord is the temple. When you enter . . . you will feel the Spirit. I know that families can be sealed together for eternity.”
Mathias Inum – “When I came to the temple, I knew that I was there to receive the light of Christ. When I return to Papua New Guinea, I am going to show this light to everyone and be a light to this world.”
Dodo Miul – “I am in Tonga for my temple endowment. I am very happy to be here to save my ancestors who have already passed. I know that they have been in the spirit world smiling away and waiting to receive this. I am so grateful for these temple experiences.”
These wonderful young single adults from Papua New Guinea are eagerly waiting to attending the temple again when the Port Moresby Papua New Guinea Temple construction will be complete.

As the elders approach the home of their scheduled appointment, Elder Burton says, “I think we should sing here. It will be a good time to do it, and I know she’ll feel the Spirit.”

On a recent tour of this mission, Elder Richard H. Winkel of the Seventy challenged the missionaries to sometimes sing to their investigators. “Elder Winkel promised us our investigators will feel the Spirit. We don’t sound great when we sing, but the Lord blesses the people listening and allows the Spirit to come through. We really like doing it, and it has caught on in our mission,” Elder Burton says.

Elders Burton and Paventy are greeted warmly by the investigator, a middle-aged woman whose daughter joined the Church in Hawaii. The mother saw how her daughter changed and wanted to know why. The daughter called the mission home and requested the missionaries visit her mother. A few weeks earlier they did, and here they are for another discussion.

Before they leave, the missionaries do ask if they can finish with a song. They sing “Love Is Spoken Here.” No, they’re not the world’s best singers. But they’re right. You can feel the Spirit.

When Christian was 19, he decided to go to America, to Zion. He had saved enough money over the years working in the Hotvedtvien Cabinet Shop for the passage. In the spring of 1887, a tall, handsome Christian Mortson said goodbye to his foster parents, the two people who several years before had saved him from a lonely death.
“How can I thank you?” he said, standing on the Oslo dock, holding a large canvas bag full of sturdy new clothes and gifts they had given him for the journey.
“Love is its own reward, Christian,” Sister Hotvedtvien said. A tear fell and hung on her smile, then fell again. Christian turned to hide his own tears and walked up the ramp to the ship.
“Write to us,” he heard her shout. He turned, looked one more time, and saw her standing tall, strong, and noble next to her husband. He felt as if he were leaving an important part of himself standing there. He loved them as much as he loved his own parents, but he knew the step he was taking was right and he took it.

Elder Michael A. Dunn’s parents divorced when he was a small child, but as his mother raised him, she instilled in him strong faith and values. After attending a private Episcopal school in Salt Lake City, Utah, USA, he transferred to a public high school, where he met members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
As his new friends and their parents welcomed him with open arms, Michael desired to learn about the Church. Eventually he decided to meet with the missionaries. Their teachings about the Godhead and Joseph Smith’s First Vision “landed in me with real power,” he said.
Through prayer he knew the gospel was true and was baptized during his senior year of high school. Since then, Elder Dunn has been “nurtured by a string of incredible leaders.”

I had a scary experience when I was walking home from school. My mommy was pulling my little sister Corina in the sled, and I was walking a few steps behind. All of a sudden my mommy said, “Max! Come here now!” I didn’t know why she said it, but I obeyed. She grabbed my hand, and that’s when I saw the dog. He was half a block away and running quickly toward us. He started barking at us in a very scary way and jumping up in the air. I was scared he would bite us.
I started praying out loud. I asked Heavenly Father to make the dog stop chasing us. At that exact moment, the dog stopped. He turned around and went in the other direction, and we got home safely. I said another prayer to thank Heavenly Father for helping us. I know that Heavenly Father will help us when we pray and comfort us when we are scared.Max Magee, age 6 (with help from his mom), Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada

It was at the beginning of our Primary lesson, when we are especially reverent, that Sister Gentry said, “I want you all to close your eyes.”
We all shut our eyes, wondering what she was going to do next.
“Very good. Now I want you to picture yourself walking up to the doors of the meetinghouse. As you look around, you see that the grass hasn’t been cut in a long time and that big clumps of weeds are growing here and there.
“You enter the building,” Sister Gentry continued, “and walk down the hall toward the chapel. The hallway is littered with crumpled papers and broken crayons. The walls have scribbles on them and dirty handprints. A big cobweb hangs in the corner.
“Passing the cultural hall, you see plates of stale food piled up on tables. Crushed cups and dirty napkins litter the floor. The stage curtains have gaping tears in them, and the carpet is badly stained from spills that were never cleaned up.
“Entering the chapel, you notice the shabby seats. On closer inspection, there are dust bunnies under the benches and in the corners. Discarded programs are sticking up behind the hymnbooks. And candy wrappers and dry cereal are scattered on the benches and floor.”
Sister Gentry paused for a moment. “Now open your eyes and tell me how you felt during your imaginary tour.”
We all agreed that we felt dirty and sad and wouldn’t want to go to such a place again.
Sister Gentry explained that our meetinghouse is the Lord’s house, a sacred place. And we all need to do our part in keeping it clean and beautiful so that His spirit will be there.

After I was assigned to lead a stake self-reliance committee, I realized that I was underemployed myself. With this realization, I desired more from my professional life.
I felt a renewed desire to find a better job and asked for help to write a professional résumé. I sent my new résumé to several businesses and was soon called for interviews.
At one, the interviewer pointed out a line on my résumé that mentioned my work as a counselor in the stake presidency and asked, “Could you tell me in five seconds what this church service means?”
I said that I was in the leadership of an organization responsible for the guidance and welfare of more than 2,500 people. The interviewer became interested and said, “You have one minute to decide how to give me a five-second response to this question: how do you guide those 2,500 people?”
I knew that this would be the defining moment in the interview. I prayed and asked my Heavenly Father for help and quickly remembered the lessons I had learned from the self-reliance group. I felt a surge of confidence.
After one minute, the interviewer asked, “How do you guide those 2,500 people?”
“We help them establish goals,” I answered.
The interviewer stood, shook my hand, and said, “You’re hired.”
It is amazing how God took my hand and answered my prayer. I am grateful to my Savior for inspiring our leaders to create the self-reliance initiative. I have been personally blessed by it, and I have seen the simple, inspired processes of the self-reliance initiative bless many others in our stake. I am so convinced of the ability of self-reliance principles to lift lives that when I became a leader over 15 employees in my new job, I began teaching them the principles of self-reliance.
I have grown and I am more capable than I thought I could be. I now earn a salary that sustains me and my family. This initiative helps us improve each day by helping us find greater self-reliance.

3. Concentrate on your children’s individual strengths, avoiding negative comparisons with brothers and sisters. Judy hasn’t caused her parents a moment’s trouble. She attends her Church meetings regularly, has positive things to say about her seminary class, and has lots of good, active friends. But her younger sister, Patti, presents a puzzling contrast for her parents. She resists going to Church and is constantly in trouble with her teachers. She enrolled in seminary only at her parents’ insistence, but she misses class much of the time. She is attracted to friends who are inactive in the Church and disparaging of its values.
Patti sees little chance of outshining her sister for good attention, so unconsciously she seeks attention in other ways. Unfortunately the parents are compounding the problem by constantly holding her older sister up as an example. Patti rebels because of her strong need to “be her own person,” yet she feels guilty about her behavior and her self-esteem is low.
It’s not uncommon for parents to compare a child unfavorably with another child in the family. It may be done openly and consciously with statements such as, “Why can’t you be like John?” or “Sandra would never have done that!” Or it may be done in very subtle ways without the parents even being aware that such a comparison has been made. But in either case the message is often understood to be: “You are not as lovable or as capable as your brother or sister.” Usually, a parent uses comparisons to set up a positive example for the child to follow. But such comparisons are generally destructive to the self-esteem of children.

Jessica paused by the weed-tangled, paintless picket fence to gaze with uneasy wonder at the old, hauntingly still, two-story house. It stood in the scorched summer field just off Banberry Road.
She knew nothing about the old woman who lived behind those chipped gray walls except what had been told her by the townspeople of the whistle-stop town of Dogwood. In fact, she had only seen Emma Murphy once since she moved here with her parents the summer before, yet she still remembered the woman’s pale, weathered face eroded with furrows that seemed almost as deep as the ones in Papa’s field. She had wondered then how a woman so old could ever have been a little girl. And Jessica remembered every word the woman said: “Get away from here, you nosy little scamp!” She also remembered how anger elbowed its way past her own uncertainty when she yelled back, “You don’t scare me, you mean ole … snippety snap!”
Jessica turned and stomped off that day, small puffs of dust exploding about her feet. She was doubly certain that the tales spun about Mrs. Murphy were true—tales about her never coming out of that house unless it was to chase some poor child away with a big stick and stories about her howling and bellowing at everyone.
And if the accounts about the old woman weren’t enough to make Jessica a firm believer, the sight of the house was! Its walls, wrapped in heavy vines, rose eerily skyward. The old swing on the buckled wooden porch was blanketed with dust, leaves, and a gauze of ancient webs; and it creaked in the slightest breeze like something alive.
Today Jessica was on her way to the creek, another half mile down Banberry Road. It was mid-July, and the sun that rolled and burned its way across the hot creek bed had sucked up all but a few isolated pockets of water. She felt sorry for the small fish trapped in the puddles and had taken upon herself the task of catching and transporting them by bucket to bigger ponds upstream.
She studied the old house a final moment from behind the tall yellow weeds that hedged the fence. Never once had she seen the musty curtains drawn open. It must be awfully dark and gloomy in there, she imagined, dark as Papa’s eyes were the day I poked fun at old Mike Kelsay’s long braided beard.
“A body’s different only to the extent that he’s himself and not anybody else,” Papa had sermoned. “If it’s in Mike Kelsay to braid his beard, then it’d be unnatural, maybe even wrong, for him not to. A body can’t be dishonest in his feelings and ever hope to come to terms with himself.”
Papa had a way of saying things that one just couldn’t argue with. Somehow he always sounded so right that all a good Christian heart dared do was store it away with other pearls of wisdom.
But does that make Emma Murphy’s wild stick waving and unfriendliness fine and proper? Jessica wondered. Her face twisted in confusion, and she was just about to turn her back on it all and start down the dirt road when she saw the old woman a second time. The ancient claylike face suddenly peered between the tattered curtains and stared out from behind dirty windows into the yard, glancing in both directions up and down the road. Then it disappeared, reappearing a moment later in a patchwork of light that filled the open front door. Mrs. Murphy stepped out onto the porch, and Jessica cowered behind the weeds.
She didn’t want to be caught staring—not again. Just to be caught by Emma Murphy was a fate that could put white hair on a twelve-year-old girl. Uncertainty pulled at the coattails of calm and dared her to feel at ease. She would have to wait out Mrs. Murphy, who was starting down the crooked path toward her. Jessica gasped and glanced quickly over her shoulder. Banberry Road was empty—not a wagon, buggy, nor single soul in sight. She was alone.
Jessica’s eyes shifted back toward the old woman, who hobbled closer still. The girl scrunched into a ball like a little dead spider and shut her eyes tighter than two pages in a closed book, expecting the worst.
After a moment of tense, sun-blistered silence, Jessica heard the old woman’s grating voice and dared to open one eye a slit, just enough to see Emma Murphy bent over a little grave marker in a tangle of briers just a few feet inside the fence. “Picked you some bluebells by the side of the house this morning, John.” The quiet reverence of the voice stunned Jessica so that her eyes popped open round and wide.
Mrs. Murphy placed the small wad of flowers atop the crude tombstone. “Not too regular I get out here, John,” she went on, “what with the way folks stare at me, like I was something out of a bad dream. Haven’t come by a kind word from anybody as long as I can pain to remember. Just the sound of rocks thrown against the house and people whispering things could turn a God-fearing woman into the hardest human being that ever took a breath. Folks call a body mean long enough, he’ll start believing it.”
Emma’s chin quivered and emotion stumbled her words. “Been downright choreful to act Christian of late, John.”
Jessica watched Emma brush away a tear, cock her head, and gaze darkly off down the empty road, her explosion of white hair rivering in the hot wind.
Up close, Jessica observed something that distance had hidden before. It was more than the corroding of time that had set the shadows so deeply upon Emma’s face. And it was something more than the scowl she wore like a tiresome chore. It was a look of loneliness every bit as sad as was Jessica’s when she had first moved to town and had not known a soul. But children and grownups alike had talked to her and made her feel at home. Soon the loneliness had pleasantly vanished like a late winter day filled with sunshine.
Mrs. Murphy’s eyes glanced back to the grave, and her knotty hands pulled feebly at the weeds around it.
Jessica rose slowly, rigid as an old field oak. She wasn’t sure where her courage came from. Maybe it was something Papa had said, or maybe guilt had pushed it out. Whatever the cause, it was a hair ahead of fear. Suddenly she realized there was something she had to do.
Mrs. Murphy’s eyes took hold of the girl in the rustling weeds. They widened with surprise and then narrowed with the old hardness. “What do you want here?” she snapped.
“I—I want to help you,” Jessica declared meekly.
The old woman stared, disbelieving her ears.
Jessica managed a smile. “Maybe I could help you pull some of those weeds, Mrs. Murphy.”
“You want to help me?” the voice scratched out with puzzlement and suspicion.
Jessica nodded. Emma Murphy straightened, her eyes still narrowed with distrust, but she was too dumbfounded to speak. And since she didn’t lift her voice or raise a stick to Jessica, the freckle-faced girl pushed through the rickety gate and started pulling weeds.
Emma continued to stare, completely taken aback by the girl’s friendliness and grit. Finally she said, “Nobody wants to help me.”
“I’m not ‘nobody,’” Jessica declared, “I’m Jessica Goodhue. I live a few miles down the road.” She twisted off a prickly brier twig, then squinted at Emma Murphy’s withered shape, shadowed against the sun. “Can we be friends, Mrs. Murphy?”
The old woman’s silent stare was unbroken.
Just as Jessica thought that perhaps she had made a horrible mistake by coming through the gate, Emma hunkered down beside her and eyed her so deeply that Jessica felt her very soul had been seen for the first time since Heavenly Father had told her good-bye and she was ushered down to earth!
A smile slowly faltered across Emma Murphy’s face like a young baby trying to walk. She extended her hand to Jessica, and a moment later a smooth, youthful hand was enfolded in one old and worn. Winter was suddenly gone from the old woman’s eyes, and warm tears meandered down a furrow in her cheek and disappeared into the folds of her neck.
For a long while the two just sat there, lost in the magic of the other; then they turned to pulling weeds together.
Two days later when Jessica walked by the old house with some friends on their way to save the last of the fish in the creek puddles, they noticed the curtains pulled back in Emma’s room. For the first time in their recollection, Emma Murphy had let in the light!

In a talk entitled “Freedom, A Terrible Risk,” by Harvey Jacobs, he related the following:
“In a Japanese novel of several years ago, the main character, wandering in a strange village, becomes trapped in the bottom of a sand pit. Food and water are lowered to him but no ladder. He wants out desperately. He begs his captors to let him go. He tries to bargain with them but nothing works. Months pass. The begging, the scheming becomes a way of life. After a long time he is granted what he wants, what he has been striving for with all his will, day and night—the freedom to come out of his pit and go on his way in complete freedom.
“Suddenly he is afraid, he is alarmed by the prospect of facing the world without protection. He could get lost, he thinks. In his little pit he was at least sheltered from unknown harm. Now he understands that freedom is not a reward but a terrible risk.”

It was a long process for Sukardi of Indonesia and his family to find closure and hope following the 2004 tsunami that devastated the coasts of Southeast Asia.
“We thought it was the end of the world; it was unbelievable,” said Sukardi, looking back to December 26, 2004, the day a massive underwater earthquake struck off the coast of Indonesia, causing a tsunami that killed more than 225,000 people in 11 countries. “But we are alive, and we are together, and we are happy.”
Sukardi, like thousands of others, lost family members and friends, his home, land, and nearly his life. After being washed away with the tsunami, he managed to grab hold of a coconut tree and cling to it as he waited for the floodwaters to recede.
Joined by family members, each with similar survival stories, Sukardi now resides in a home built with the help of Latter-day Saint Charities, an arm of Church Humanitarian Services, as part of the Church’s efforts to assist tsunami survivors.
The Church’s emergency relief efforts during the months immediately following the tragedy provided commodities such as food, hygiene kits, medical supplies, and clothing. Because of members’ significant donations, the Church began planning longer-term relief. As part of that long-term effort, fishermen and carpenters were given jobs constructing more than 130 replacement fishing boats. Men were hired to use large, wide-tracked backhoes to help reconstruct the dikes around shrimp farms. Sewing machines, looms, hand tractors, and other tools were donated to encourage a return to self-sufficiency.
“All of the first year was focused on reestablishing livelihood and helping individuals get back to work,” said Brett Bass, director of Church Humanitarian Services. “Then we looked at our resources, identified the most pressing needs, and refocused our efforts on permanent reconstruction.”
The Church’s efforts included constructing community centers, homes, schools, medical clinics, and clean water systems—all made possible by a tremendous outpouring of humanitarian generosity. In the time of need, Church members from around the world contributed to help make these efforts possible.
The Church’s monumental efforts in Indonesia concluded in December 2007. Major projects included building 902 homes and 3 community centers, constructing 15 schools, building 3 fully equipped health clinics, rebuilding a hospital wing, and completing 24 village water projects.
Abdul Samad lived in a hastily constructed community barracks for two and a half years before he and his family moved into their new home. He lost his wife and her mother in the flood but now hopes to make life better for his remaining family, three daughters and a son.
Each of the 902 homes built and donated is 44 square meters. The hundreds of recipients frequently said they believe their homes were the best homes built, that they would pass them on to their children and grandchildren. They loved the colors used and the tile on the floors and expressed gratitude for having something solid and reliable in their lives again.
“When the earthquake hit and the tsunami followed, the first thing they did, if they were in their house, was run outside,” said Jeff McMurdo from International Organization for Migration, which partnered with the Church to build homes. “From the moment it started, they were running. So when they get the keys to a house, they are able to get some measure of closure to the whole tragedy of the tsunami experience.”
The Church continued rebuilding efforts by partnering with Islamic Relief and the Adventist Development and Relief Agency to build 15 schools, along with training new teachers and developing curriculum and education support systems.
Many of the area’s teachers were killed in the tsunami, creating a significant teacher shortage. Kamaruzzaman, a teacher from Banda Aceh, is one of just two surviving teachers from his school. With the loss of buildings, teachers, and children, the education system operated in a very makeshift fashion until these new schools were constructed.
“They have been going to a temporary building for school—a community hall where there are about 40 students in the room,” said Kamaruzzaman, who is now a head schoolmaster of a newly built school. “The students now have a better school that’s more helpful to learning. They now have a more hopeful future.”
Each school building was furnished with desks, whiteboards, and libraries to provide a quality learning environment for children. As more teachers became available, an emphasis was put on training and developing new curriculum.
Herliana, an education coordinator for Islamic Relief, said she is very proud to be a part of this project. “There were no schools; there were few trained teachers left,” she said. “This has been a great contribution to the communities. Together we are making a big difference in the lives of the children, teachers, parents, and families.”
Fauziah, an animated and smiling woman, is now a water operator for her small village near Bireuen in Aceh Provence. In this position, she keeps records and collects water-usage fees from those who use the community’s new water system.
In partnership with International Relief and Development, the Church completed 24 village water projects that consisted of renovating wells, installing storage tanks, improving sanitation, and upgrading delivery systems. These efforts are providing clean water to 20,000 people.
“Before, it was hard to get good water and it took a long time to go get it,” said Fauziah as she expressed gratitude to have access right outside her home. “Now our children will be healthier and will have a better future.”
Bath and laundry facilities were also built in the villages, and residents received training on how to take care of the facilities and keep them clean.
While each village also received personal hygiene training, the more elaborate efforts to improve healthcare moved forward with the completion of three fully equipped health clinics and the rebuilding of a hospital wing.
“This is much-needed,” said Syarman, a community leader in the Bireuen district, where access to medical care previously required a 15-kilometer walk. “Our people will be able to get needed medical assistance near their homes. It is better than before, and we are grateful.”
The Church also arranged training for doctors and medical staff and provided needed medical equipment.
For Bill and Linda Hamm of Anchorage, Alaska, USA, the work presented a personal challenge: they were called to serve as humanitarian service missionaries to oversee tsunami relief efforts in Indonesia. “We were exhilarated by the challenges and overwhelmed by the opportunity,” Brother Hamm said.
This opportunity was also extended to Jim and Karen Greding of Thousand Oaks, California, USA, a couple called to oversee the completion of the projects after Brother and Sister Hamm’s 18-month mission concluded. With the assignment to be present and to check on the work being done, these individuals acted as representatives not only of the Church, but also of the many individuals who made contributions.
“We were to oversee the quality of the work and to make sure the money allotted for projects was being used properly,” Sister Greding said. Church representatives were present at every stage of the process, an act that, combined with their funding methods, distinguished the Church from other organizations.
“We regarded our finances as sacred funds and made every effort to see these funds used efficiently and not be wasted,” said Bill Reynolds, director of field operations for tsunami relief. “Many organizations provide funding and wait to see what is happening through infrequent reports. We provided sequential funding that relied on benchmark expectations that we personally oversaw. The organizations we worked with knew that if we said we wanted something done and in a certain way, they needed to meet those expectations.”
The Church focused on helping Indonesia and its people take a simple step forward, a step away from tragedy and pain, a step toward reestablishing life. While these efforts played just a small part among the many individuals and organizations that offered aid to the tsunami victims, the missionaries were able to share their love, the love of the members, and the pure love of Christ.
“We were not permitted to proselyte, but we were representing the Lord and tried to share our testimonies through our work by being kind, polite, or simply by smiling,” Sister Hamm said. “Sometimes we had the opportunity to explain where the funds came from, and we told about our prophet and how he called for a 24-hour fast, with the money that would otherwise be spent on food to be donated to a special fund. I think the Spirit bore witness and they understood that there were individuals around the world who loved them.”
Evidences of the tsunami are still very much apparent, but the people have expressed gratitude for every effort that has been made on their behalf.
“This is simply an experience you can never forget, and anyone who travels to these areas will not be able to miss the evidences of destruction where the land became sea permanently, where so many lost their lives and loved ones,” Sister Greding said. “But many who were suspicious of Christians have changed their hearts. Some stared at us, but most in their limited English said to us, ‘Thank you, mister.’ We heard that often.”

“He doesn’t remember me,” Jeremy sobbed, burying his face in a pillow. “How could Grandpa forget me?”
Mom sat down beside him. “Remember the doctor told us that because of Grandpa’s illness his memories will come and go. Later, he may not remember much at all.”
Jeremy sniffed. “I just didn’t think he’d forget me.”
“He hasn’t forgotten you in his heart,” Mom said. “This life is a short time. Our family will be together for eternity, and then Grandpa will remember everything.”
Jeremy went to his room and tried to read a book, but he couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was how to help Grandpa. Suddenly, a picture on his desk caught his eye—a picture of him and Grandpa on a fishing trip. “That was the most exciting thing we ever did together,” he thought. Then it hit him. “Pictures,” he murmured. “Of course!”
Grabbing the picture, he raced downstairs, skidded around the corner, and headed to Grandpa’s room. He knocked quietly just in case Grandpa was sleeping.
“Yes?” Grandpa called out.
“It’s me, Jeremy. May I come in?”
“Sure.”
With the photo in his hand, Jeremy stepped through the door. “Remember this, Grandpa?”
Grandpa adjusted his glasses. “You bet I do! That’s my favorite fishing spot. I’ve been going there since I was a boy.”
Jeremy fought back the tears. Grandpa remembered the fishing spot, but not him.
“You took me fishing there,” Jeremy said. “We fished all day. I got my nose sunburned and you fell in the stream trying to net my fish! Then we made a fire and cooked the fish for dinner. Remember, Grandpa?”
“Well, I can’t recall,” Grandpa admitted. “Let’s have another look. Hmm, is that my old truck? I bought that when my son was about your age. The boy in this picture looks a lot like my son.”
“The boy in the picture is me, Jeremy—your grandson. Your son is my dad, and we look a lot alike.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Grandpa said, looking hard at Jeremy. “We went there for your birthday, didn’t we? We had a great time, as I recall. Say,” Grandpa said slowly, “didn’t we lie on the ground at night and count stars?”
“Yes!” Jeremy squealed. “We counted as far as I could. You said that no matter how old I got, I’d never be able to number all the stars that Jesus scattered in the heavens. You said stars were to help boys like me learn how to count.”
“Maybe so. That was a great fishing trip. We should do it again sometime.” Grandpa’s head began nodding and Jeremy knew he needed a nap, so he patted him on the hand and quietly slipped through the door.
“Mom!” Jeremy yelled as he burst into the kitchen. “He remembered!”
“Who?” Mom questioned.
“Grandpa. He remembered me and the fishing trip we took. He actually remembered counting stars! I even forgot that. And now I know how to help him remember lots of things.”
Running back to his room, he pulled a shoebox from the closet and dumped the contents on his bed. All afternoon Jeremy worked. He cut. He pasted. He wrote. Finally he was finished. He took his project to Grandpa’s room.
“I made a book for us, Grandpa. I want us to remember all the great things our family has done together, so I got all my photos and I put them in this notebook. It’s like our own family picture book!”
“Family picture book?” Grandpa asked, opening to the first page. “Well, well!” he murmured. “This is my son, James, and his wife. James is my oldest son, you know.” Squinting his eyes and holding the book close, Grandpa murmured, “The writing under the picture says ‘James, Carolyn, and Jeremy.’”
“I know, Grandpa. They are my parents. See the baby James is holding? That’s me, Jeremy. This picture was taken the day I was born. And look at this one, Grandpa,” Jeremy said, turning the page. “That’s you holding me. I was eating the cake Mom made for my first birthday.”
“My, my,” Grandpa said. “It’s all over both of us!”
“See this one, Grandpa? That’s all of us at the lake one summer. We camped for a whole week.”
Page after page of pictures told the story of the family’s life together. Grandpa remembered some, and Jeremy described the others. When Jeremy got up to leave, Grandpa took his arm.
“Come back soon, Jeremy. I’d love to see that book again.”
Jeremy looked down at Grandpa and saw tears in his eyes. “I’ll be back later, Grandpa. I’ll show you some more. I love you and I’m so glad you’re my grandpa.” He bent down and gave Grandpa a hug.
“I love you too, Jeremy. You’re the best grandson in the whole family!” he said with the old twinkle in his eyes.
“Grandpa! I’m the only grandson in the whole family!”
“Yup. And you’re the only one I ever counted stars with!”

When Tropical Storm Washi descended on the Philippines in 2011, it flooded the area with a deluge of water and wind. Some 41,000 homes were damaged, and more than 1,200 people lost their lives.
Prior to the flooding, Max Saavedra, president of the Cagayan de Oro Philippines Stake, had felt prompted to create a stake emergency response team. He organized committees to fulfill various assignments—everything from search and rescue to first aid to providing food, water, and clothing.
As the floodwaters receded to a safe level, Church leaders and members mobilized. They accounted for the safety of each member and assessed the damage. One member supplied rubber rafts to bring stranded members to safety. The meetinghouses were opened to provide shelter to all who needed food, clothing, blankets, and a temporary place to stay. Clean water was a critical need, so President Saavedra contacted a local business that owned a fire truck, and they transported clean water to the meetinghouse evacuation centers. Members with professional medical experience responded to those who had been injured.
Once Church members were accounted for, President Saavedra and his team visited other evacuation centers in the city and offered to help. They brought them food and other supplies. Many of the members, though they had lost their own homes, selflessly served others immediately after the storm. As the rains stopped and the ground dried, Mormon Helping Hands volunteers from three stakes went to work distributing supplies as well as helping with cleanup.

Eleven-year-old Christine hurried out of the gas station. She knew she needed to be fast—her family was waiting. She threaded her way through the aisles and out the doors. She stopped.
They were gone!
At the gas pump where her family’s beige van had been was a small red sports car. Her stomach flipped. “Where are they?” she asked herself, trying not to panic.
She scanned all of the parking spaces. No van and no family. She walked around to the other side of the gas station to check the gasoline pumps there. Several 18-wheeler trucks were filling up with diesel fuel. “The van would be hard to miss,” she thought. “A beige 15-passenger van pulling a trailer isn’t going to just disappear.”
She looked toward the highway. A green car followed by a blue minivan zoomed past. Other cars hurried on to their destinations. Still no sign of her family’s van.
Only ten minutes before, Christine had jumped out of the van at the gas station. Dad had been filling it up with gas, her younger brothers had been trying to clean its almost-too-tall windows, and Mom had been coming back from taking three-year-old Mark to the rest room. Mom had told everyone that if they needed to use the rest room, they’d better do it now.
Her family was driving to Utah for a family reunion, and they had only started their two-day drive that morning. Christine knew that the next time they’d stop would be for lunch, so she had run inside to use the rest room.
She walked around the gas station once more, hoping to see them. Vehicles of all sizes were coming and going, but none of them looked like her family’s van.
Feeling very alone, she walked to the back of the gas station and saw a covered deck and several picnic tables. She slowly climbed the steps to the deck and sat down. From here she could see all the highway traffic.
Fear crept into her heart as she watched people coming and going. “I hope nothing is wrong with them,” she thought. “I hope that they miss me soon.”
A small rainstorm passed by. She moved to a different corner of the picnic area so that she wouldn’t get wet.
She bowed her head and whispered, “Dear Heavenly Father, please bless my family to come back and get me. Please bless that they are OK. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When Christine looked up, the rainstorm had cleared and the sun was out. Her fear and loneliness left, and she felt that her family would be back for her soon.
After walking around the gas station again to see if she had missed seeing them return, she went back to the deck, sat down, and waited. Remembering the feeling that she had felt after praying, she stopped fretting.
Soon, a beige 15-passenger van pulling a trailer came down the highway. God had answered her prayer.
She ran to the front of the gas station to meet her family. They pulled up, and she jumped into the van to the welcoming chorus of her brothers and sisters.
Mom turned sideways in the front seat to give her a hug. “I’m so glad you’re OK. When we realized you had been left behind, we were so worried!”
“Well, I’m OK. I said a prayer that you would come back,” Christine replied.
“I’m glad you remembered to pray,” Mom said. “From now on we’ll be more careful to not leave anyone behind.”
Christine looked out the window as the gas station gradually disappeared. Silently she thanked Heavenly Father for bringing her family back to get her.

With deep admiration I have studied the experiences of the prophet Nephi, especially admiring the perseverance and discipline with which he built a ship. I have come to appreciate that there was a wise purpose for the Lord to command him to do so.
When President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) visited Guatemala in 1997, his counsel that especially penetrated my heart was the simple encouragement to hold family home evening. Moved by our prophet’s words, my wife, four children, and I met and set a goal that we would “build a ship called family home evening.” We knew the effort it would require but also realized that the Lord had a wise purpose for asking us to do so.
Years and hundreds of home evenings later, our family home evening ship has grown with our family. And we have experienced just what President Hinckley promised. From these small gatherings—held regularly and with perseverance—something wonderful has come. Love for parents has grown. Love between brothers and sisters has increased. And our love for Heavenly Father and the Savior has been magnified. Appreciation has come into our hearts for what is simple and good. (See Gordon B. Hinckley, “Some Lessons I Learned as a Boy,” Ensign, May 1993, 54.)
Rony Saúl García Méndez, Guatemala

At the San Jose 23rd Ward, youth representatives had decided to clean up the meetinghouse as their service project. This posed a problem for Burke Perry, 12, the bishop’s son. He is the only boy his age in his ward. So he recruited some help.
Urged on by Burke’s promises that they could compete in the chariot race, several of his nonmember friends also grabbed buckets and sponges to help scrub down chapel benches and the kitchen, joining forces with the girls in the ward. Such fellowshipping is typical for Burke, who kept 10 nonmembers coming to church all year so he could play on a ward basketball team.
“I just call them up and ask them to come,” he said. “They’re used to it, I guess. Their parents really like it.”

These thoughts ran through my mind for the next several months. One evening in September 2007, my mother, my three younger siblings, and I were leaving a deli in my hometown of Haverhill, Massachusetts, USA, and stopped to sit on a bench. Two young men in black suits, white shirts, and ties approached us. One of them said, “I know it may seem a little bit awkward to talk to two people you don’t know, but could we share a message with you?”
We agreed. I knew they were going to talk to us about religion, and I was impressed that they didn’t just thrust a card or pamphlet at us and walk off. Rather, these young men genuinely seemed interested in us and excited about their message. At the conclusion of their message, they asked if they could visit our family. My mother agreed and set up a time, so I have her to thank for what became a great change for good in my life.
We started learning the gospel. After a while Mom became busy with different things and didn’t continue to meet with the missionaries, but I did.
I connected easily with Elder Kelsey and Elder Hancock. Perhaps part of the reason was that they weren’t that much older than I was. I felt great love from them and for them. Soon I felt that same love from ward members and from other youth in my stake.
The missionaries taught me the plan of salvation, which answered the questions I had about my uncle and about my own purpose in life. The elders also introduced me to the Book of Mormon. I remember reading in Alma 32 about the seed of faith developing and tasting good (see verse 28). That description was exactly how the Book of Mormon seemed to me. What I was reading and what the missionaries were teaching me rang true, felt right, and tasted good.
My mom teased me about what she called my “hermit crab stage” because I would retreat to my bedroom and spend several hours reading the Book of Mormon. Although I didn’t recognize my feelings as the Holy Ghost at that time, I felt that path was right.
When the missionaries asked me to be baptized, they encouraged me to pray about the decision. When I prayed to know if joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was what I was supposed to do, I received a very direct answer, to the point that it shocked me. The direction was clear: go forward with baptism.
I remember vividly the day I was baptized—December 15, 2007. As I stood in the cold water with Elder Kelsey and he raised his hand to the square, the Spirit just filled me up; it seemed to take over my whole frame. I could say that I was also grinning from ear to ear, but that description doesn’t even come close to describing what I felt.
After my baptism I continued to feel the Spirit. I felt sanctified. I knew that my sins had been remitted. I felt the approval of Heavenly Father that this was, indeed, the path I was supposed to take.
Occasionally, when little doubts pop up, I go back to that experience and remember how I felt that day. Remembering what I felt then helps me dispel any doubt I may encounter.
Even though we don’t reenter the waters of baptism to have those powerful feelings again, we can remember that feeling when we renew our covenants through repentance and the sacrament. Each time I repent, I can find that feeling again—one of being cleansed and of being loved.
Feeling that love helps me identify with what Joseph Smith taught: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”1 Knowing the worth of a soul helps me be excited about opportunities to go teaching with the missionaries in my area. I also look forward to the day when I can serve a full-time mission and share how happy the gospel of Jesus Christ has made me.

He walked into a little classroom in the Philippines to be interviewed in preparation for receiving the Melchizedek Priesthood. I didn’t know how old he was, but even the older members of the branch called him Tatay (father).
When I asked whether he would be able to understand my English, he smiled warmly and replied with careful diction, “Yes, I will.”
After our interview I asked him if there was any reason he should not be ordained to the priesthood. After a moment he said, “Perhaps I should not receive the priesthood.”
Puzzled, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“I have only one tooth,” he replied. “I know I don’t look very good to receive the priesthood. It is all right if you tell me I cannot have the priesthood.”
We sat for a moment while I pondered his comment, tears welling up in my eyes. Then I put my hand on his hand and told him that I had seen many wonderful priesthood holders who had lost their hair, but he had beautiful, thick black hair. I also told him of priesthood holders who had only one ear or one eye, but he had both of his eyes and ears.
I then told him of a friend of mine who had lost his arm to cancer. When that brother had prayed in our home and had asked Heavenly Father to bless my wife and children, I knew he was a great servant of the Lord. I told Tatay how this friend had placed his only hand on the head of a little girl to bless her because she was dying and that I had felt the power of the priesthood that day.
This elderly Filipino smiled and said, “I hope my service to God will also be acceptable.”

This story about the Aaronic Priesthood begins with a young woman, 16-year-old Lauren DellAquila of the Cary Second Ward, Apex North Carolina Stake. Lauren hadn’t come to Church for years. She had never been baptized and confirmed, “but I just knew in my heart that the Church was true.”
She also knew David Christison, 16, and Andrew Hill, 15, who attend the same school, are Latter-day Saints. “I’m in marching band with David and had a couple of classes with Andrew last year,” she says. And she knew they stood by their beliefs. “It meant a lot to see their example, because most teens at our school don’t have values like they do,” Lauren explains.
Then one day after band, some other classmates were making unkind comments about the Church. Lauren told them if they really wanted to know the truth, they shouldn’t repeat rumors; they should find out for themselves. Afterward, David thanked her and asked how she knew so much about the Church. “She said that when she was really young she went to Church, but then her parents divorced and she stopped coming,” David says. “So I invited her to come again.”
“People had tried to get me to come back before, but for one reason or another it had never happened,” Lauren explains. “But when I told David and Andrew that I did want to try again, they were excited. I started coming to meetings, and they introduced me to the bishop, the missionaries, and the young women in the ward. They helped me feel at home.”
Soon Lauren was baptized and confirmed, and today she’s a happy, confident Laurel who recently gave a sacrament meeting talk about the importance of the priesthood. “If the gospel had not been restored,” she says, “I wouldn’t have seen two young men honoring their priesthood. And I wouldn’t have had the opportunities I have had to make covenants and to draw close to the Savior.”

Jonathan wondered if he was really sure. His parents had talked to him a lot about taking good care of his bike. But when he thought of his parents, he remembered scripture stories they had taught him about helping others. And his dad was always helping people. A lot of the time Jonathan got to help too. He helped his dad get firewood for a family whose truck had broken down. He helped his dad clean Sister Story’s yard when she couldn’t get around very well. That was fun because she had a little dog named Peetie, who liked Jonathan a lot. He remembered his dad driving him to Brother and Sister Call’s house to leave treats on the porch, knock, and run away. They did that several times until the Calls guessed who was doing it. After that, they knocked, took the treats into the house, and stayed for a good visit.
The more Jonathan thought about his dad, the more he was sure he wanted Kevin to borrow his bike so he could finish the route and get to the baseball game. “Sure I’m sure,” Jonathan said. “I’ll push your bike to my house and you can pick it up after the game. Maybe my dad and I can help you fix it.”
“Wow! Thanks again,” Kevin said.
They took Jonathan’s empty newspaper bag off the bike. Kevin put his half-full bag over his shoulder and took off pedaling fast. “See you at the game!” he yelled.
As he pushed Kevin’s bike down the street, Jonathan didn’t stop to splash more cold water on himself. He already felt great!
“The Savior promises great blessings to those who give of themselves: ‘Give, and it shall be given unto you.’”Bishop H. David Burton, Presiding Bishop, “Tender Hearts and Helping Hands,” Ensign, May 2006, 11.