Gospel Story Finder

Forced by mob persecution to leave their homes in Nauvoo, Illinois, many members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints looked to the West to find a new Zion. The next year, 1847, under the direction of President Brigham Young, they migrated to the Great Salt Lake Valley. The first pioneer colony to arrive at the valley numbered one hundred forty-three men, three women, and two children. Among these first settlers was Green Flake, a former slave of a North Carolina planter, who had been converted earlier to the Church.
Born in Anson County, North Carolina, in 1825, Green was inherited by Madison Flake after his father’s death. As was the custom of the time, Green took the surname of his master. After Madison Flake joined the Church, he offered Green his freedom. However, Green chose to remain with Madison, and he moved to Nauvoo with the Flake family. In Nauvoo Green served for a short time as one of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s bodyguards.
Madison asked Green to go with the first wagon train of Saints to help prepare for the subsequent arrival of the Flake family. Life was hard for all of the pioneers. Green proved himself strong and reliable as the small band set up winter quarters in Nebraska; forged a trail along the Platte River to Ft. Laramie, Wyoming; in the spring, and conquered the Rocky Mountains.
President Young became ill with a fever when they arrived at Echo Canyon, which cut through the eastern slopes of the Wasatch Range fifty miles from the Great Salt Lake. He sent Orson Pratt ahead with a company of forty-two men, instructing them to build bridges and roads as they went. Green Flake was included in this group, which pushed on and reached the Great Salt Lake Valley on July 21, 1847. He rode in the first wagon to move through Emigration Canyon into the desert valley, later called by Brother Young a promised land.
Orson Pratt immediately dedicated the land to the Lord and blessed the seed that they had carried with them over a thousand miles. He then ordered the first crops to be planted. Green Flake plowed and sowed his seed before building a log house for the Flake family. He had chosen a site on the Amasa Survey in Cottonwood so that the Flakes could live near the Southern Saints who had come west with the Mississippi Company. It was they who established the first settlement in Utah outside of Salt Lake City.
When Madison Flake arrived a year later, he found a beautiful home ready for his family. At this time Green was only twenty-two years old. Shortly afterward Green married Martha Crosby, and they had two children. After his wife died in 1885, Green went to live near his son and daughter in Gray’s Lake, Idaho. He returned to Salt Lake City in 1897 to attend the Jubilee Pioneer Celebration and to receive a special certificate for being one of the first pioneers to enter the valley. He died six years later in Gray’s Lake at the age of seventy-eight.

Let me take an example to illustrate the point of these prisons. The prophet Job counseled us not to “dig a pit for your friend” (Job 6:27). I understand that could mean a business associate, a neighbor, a member of the Church. How could this happen?
Several years ago, a great young man had a thriving business. He had worked long, hard hours for many years to develop the skills, reputation, and expertise necessary to build his business and provide for the needs of his young family. He loved his work, and every morning he anxiously began each new project with creativity and opportunity. His was a great life, filled with much hope and many projects. Then one major project was completed and finalized. Rather large payments were anticipated, but a shrewd businessman found that oral approvals, given to my friend to make many necessary alterations in the project, could easily be broken and not honored. After all, there was no written record of the changes requested. It was just “good business” to get it as cheap as possible, even after commitments were made. And so verbal commitments were not honored. The money due, which was considerable, was not paid.
At this point we have several prisons that are in place: the prison of deceit of the “shrewd” businessman, and the prison of the deceived, who could not now honor his own commitments. To this day the one deceived, through further industry and much hardship, is still trying to get out of the prison created by another. And he has lost confidence in others, and he and his family have lost opportunities and his business because of another.
Did not the Savior teach through the prophet Moses, “If a man shall cause a field or vineyard to be eaten, and shall put in his beast, and shall feed in another man’s field; of the best of his own field, and of the best of his own vineyard, shall he make restitution”? (Ex. 22:5).
These types of prisons often cause the offended to lose faith, hope, and even the ability to care for their own, as was the case with my young friend. But these prisons should not happen. They often cause years of anguish. They cause those involved to wonder about justice and mercy. Sometimes these people find it impossible to resolve their own personal affairs honorably.

Harold learned early to know and heed the prompting of the Spirit. One evening when he was just a toddler, the family sat near the open doorway watching a thunderstorm. Young Harold was “playing back and forth in the doorway when suddenly and without warning, my mother gave me a vigorous push that sent me sprawling backwards out of the doorway. In an instant, a bolt of lightning came down the chimney of the kitchen stove, out through the kitchen’s open doorway, and split a huge gash from top to bottom in a large tree immediately in front of the house.” Had it not been for his mother’s quick, intuitive action, he would have been killed. On other occasions, his mother was blessed with similar inspiration that saved his life.

A few summers ago our family visited Catalina Island just off the coast near Los Angeles. While there we visited the excellent aviary, which has the most interesting collection of birds I have ever seen. But even though the birds were fascinating, the most important part of the visit for me was the acquaintance I made with a man whom I shall never forget. He told me something that still lingers vividly in my memory, even though this must have been ten years ago.

He worked at the aviary. I first noticed him as he was feeding the birds in the cages. He seemed to know each bird individually, calling them by name and chatting with them as though they were children gathered around him. It was easily apparent that he loved every bird in the place, and the birds seemed to feel the same way about him. After he had finished his feeding chores, I felt compelled to talk to him for a moment.

“It was interesting to watch you feed the birds,” I said. “It’s easy to see that you enjoy your work here.”

“Yes sir, I enjoy it here more than I can tell you. In fact, I can’t think of a single person I would trade places with—none of the movie stars, none of the bankers or lawyers, none of the merchants, none of the presidents, premiers, or kings. I like it right here, and I like what I’m doing.” We chatted a few minutes longer. Then he said, “You know, mister, there is one important thing I’ve discovered in life—at least as far as I personally am concerned. It’s this: If you like what you do, and if you’re doing something that is really worthwhile, and if you do the best job you can do, then, brother, you’ve got it made!”

It’s hard to believe it was only 120 years ago when Wilbur and Orville Wright first lifted off and flew over the sands of Kitty Hawk, North Carolina. Four short flights on that December day changed the world and opened the door to one of the greatest inventions in the world’s history.
Flying was risky in those early days. The brothers knew this. And so did their father, Milton. In fact, he was so terrified of losing both of his sons in a flying accident that they promised him they would never fly together.
And they never did—with one exception. Seven years after that historic day at Kitty Hawk, Milton Wright finally gave his consent and watched as Wilbur and Orville flew together for the first time. After landing, Orville convinced his father to take his first and only flight and to see for himself what it was like.
As the plane lifted from the ground, the 82-year-old Milton got so caught up in the exhilaration of flight that all fear left him. Orville rejoiced as his father shouted with delight, “Higher, Orville, higher!”
This was a man after my own heart!

There’s something different about Chris and Jason Trevino of Huntsville, Alabama. Something different in a positive way, a way that makes you want to understand why they’re so upbeat all the time and why they seem to have life all figured out.
This is made all the more intriguing by the fact that the two 19-year-old brothers are identical twins—twins so much alike that people get confused, yet with something so different about them they stand out among their peers. For example:
—They spend a lot of time helping their neighbors, the Wellmans, take care of their three youngest children, Michael, Jennifer, and Nathan. They play and laugh with and tease them in a good-natured way. They organize parties for them and take them fishing or boating. Sometimes they all camp out as a group in the Wellmans’ backyard. Chris and Jason are more like older brothers than neighbors to them. And what do the twins get in return for their kindness? A squeeze play. The kids smother them with hugs.
—They take care of three horses at a nearby riding club, mostly in return for the privilege of being allowed to exercise them now and then. They do the dirty work without complaining. They show up when they say they will and do all that they’re asked. They help with expenses. They’re totally dependable.
—They love their family. Put Jim and Barbara Trevino and their twin boys together and it’s like you’re with a group of best buddies, friends who treat each other with ultimate respect. Add 15-year-old sister Allison to the mix, and it only gets better.
Bad mood? The twins make it disappear.
Help with homework? No problem.
Want to tag along while we go somewhere? Great. Hop in.
Yes, the twins treat everyone well, most of all mom and dad and sister. But there’s something else—fondness may be the closest description. This family really enjoys being together, in a way that lets you know they’ll always be close.
—Most of all, at a time in life when many young men of their age and athletic ability concentrate on which college they’ll attend, what teams they’ll be on, and what young women they’re dating, the twins are leaving all that behind.
Argentina. That’s what they want to talk about right now, because soon that’s where they’ll be. They’ve both been called to serve as full-time missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Chris in Bahia Blanca. Jason in Resistencia. Two years at their own expense. Two years bearing testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. Two years focused entirely on the needs of other people.
And maybe that’s the clue to figuring out the Trevino twins. The difference that makes them both the same is their love for other people. It’s a love that comes from following the Savior and living his teachings, from concentrating on what really counts instead of wasting worry on worldly things. It’s a dedication that brings happiness so filling it spills out into everything they do and everyone they meet. Add that to personalities that have always been spontaneous, and you’ll find Chris and Jason telling everyone what they’re up to:
—Getting passport pictures taken, they keep telling the photographer about how they’ll be representing the Church. “That’s why we brought our suits for the pictures,” Chris explains.
—Meeting with the county sheriff, who has to sign letters for their visas, they can’t help explaining how excited they are about spreading the gospel. “I can tell,” chuckles the sheriff, who already knows their father.
—At the county government building, they tell the clerks about going to Argentina to preach the gospel. “Isn’t that great?” Jason beams.
—Their mother’s boss, Victor Howard, is a Church member who works across the street. Dropping in to visit, they soon have him joking along with them. But after a few minutes, they talk seriously about the mission he served and how much he loves the Lord, the gospel, and the Church.
You have to understand. Chris and Jason are the kind of guys who, if you ask about diving and you’re close to the community pool, will show you the dives they do. Never mind that they didn’t bring their suits. They’ve been lifeguards here, and the caretaker, who knows them well, gives permission. They look at each other, accept the challenge, and even though they’re in jeans, jump on the board and plunge in the pool. You get the feeling that’s the same way they’ll plunge into missionary work—follow the rules, be dependable, work hard. But get with it—no wimpy excuses.
It’s sort of like a lesson Chris says he learned at the stables.
“Horses are good,” he explains. “If you work with them you learn to love them. But there’s one named Alvin. I don’t like to ride him a whole bunch because of his attitude. He fights me and tries to get the reins from my hands. He thinks he should do what he wants when he wants. There are a few missionaries who are like that. If their mind’s stuck on somebody back home, or if they go out just because everybody else thinks they should be there, they’ve got to change their attitude. You can’t complain about the reins; you’ve got to concentrate on where you’re going.”
And that’s what Chris and Jason are doing—concentrating on where they’re going. Not just on their missions but in their lives.
Sure there are some things that will be tough to leave behind. Family first of all. Friends a close second. Even the horses they’ve taken care of. And school, and work, and just having a blast. But nothing stands in the way once you gain the perspective of eternity. Even having to work in separate missions.
“Chris opened his call letter first, and I saw Argentina,” Jason says. “Then I opened mine, and for a split second it was like, ‘We’ll be in the same mission!’ Then we read more and found out we’d be in different parts of the country. We’ve been together for 19 years, and now we’ll be apart. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what we’ll be doing.”
Serving others. Bringing them the truth.
Like the times when they’ve talked with Mrs. Wellman about her oldest son, who died in an accident at age four, and where he is now and what he’s doing. Like the times when they’ve shared Church magazines with her, or watched the video Called to Serve.
“Don’t just let her borrow it,” Chris said then. “Let’s have her over here and we’ll all watch it together.”
These are, after all, brothers who are close in more ways than appearance. “We talk about everything together,” Jason says. “Now we’ll just do it through our letters.” That will make for some pretty great letters. Letters they’ll share with Mom and Dad and Allison. Letters they’ll share with the Wellmans and their kids. Letters they’ll share with close friends. Letters in which they’ll bear testimony and record the adventures of two years spent preaching the gospel.
“In the past we looked at missions like they were something they ask you to do,” Jason says. “Once we got closer to it, we thought, ‘It’s the Lord and the prophet who call you, and their way is the right way to go.’ We’d go to church and come home in such a great mood. We talk to everybody about it.”
That includes the 12- and 13-year-old Sunday School class he and Chris teach together.
“I’m learning more and more about the gospel,” Jason says, “especially when we talk about things like the plan of salvation and patriarchal blessings. It’s a learning experience. And I think a lot about Heavenly Father and how much he loves us. He gave up his son for us. He must have a lot of love for us to do something like that.”
“Being as close as I am to my brother,” Chris continues, “it gives me some understanding of how close I should be to the Savior, who is also my brother. Even though Jason and I will be apart during our missions, we’ll be close to Him. And that will make the bond between us even stronger.”
Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That’s the something that makes these twins different from a lot of their peers, but exactly the same in what truly counts.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, both Chris and Jason have arrived in Argentina and are faithfully serving their missions.

The Persian marketplace looked like a giant circus of brightly colored tents. It sounded like one too.
Jonas Hanway had come to Persia to buy wool to take back to England in his ships. But before he could begin trading with the wool merchants, a royal parade stopped everything.
“Make way for the Prince of Persia!” a courtier announced.
As the prince passed, the people bowed low as was their custom, but Jonas did not. He wanted to see everything that was happening. Four strong men were carrying the prince in a velvet-draped sedan chair. They held him on their shoulders high above the heads of the people. Over the prince’s head another servant held a strange shade to keep the sun away.
“What a wonderful idea!” exclaimed Jonas. He soon learned that the prince’s shade was called an umbrella.
How helpful it would be if everyone in Persia had an umbrella of his own, Jonas thought.
Soon Jonas had a number of umbrellas made to shield the sun’s rays from the heads of common persons. But when the prince heard about it, he ordered Jonas to come to the palace.
“You must stop making umbrellas,” commanded the prince. “I forbid it. Only princes and kings may carry an umbrella in Persia. It is a sign of royalty.”
The prince shook his finger angrily at Jonas and shouted even louder, “This is the way it has always been in Persia and this is the way it will stay. Take your umbrellas and go home!”
Jonas returned to his home in England, stored the umbrellas in his attic, and became so busy that he forgot about the prince.
Then one day as Jonas was leaving his home it began to rain. In minutes all the covered chairs and horse-drawn coaches were taken. Jonas was left wet and cold on his doorstep.
In those days riding in a covered chair called a sedan was an easy way to travel. Two or four men carried the chair between them on two long poles. When it rained everyone jumped in a sedan chair to keep dry.
All the people riding in chairs reminded Jonas of the Prince of Persia.
If an umbrella can keep the sun off the prince of Persia, maybe it will keep the rain off me! he thought.
Jonas ran to his attic and found an umbrella. Holding it over his head, he walked down the street.
“Look at that crazy man!” cried the children as he passed. Few Englishmen had ever seen an umbrella before.
Jonas carried his umbrella every time it rained. He gave umbrellas to his friends to carry too.
The chair men became angry. They tried to run over Jonas and some threw rocks at him.
But the people liked Jonas Hanway’s strange new idea. It was not long before many people in England were carrying umbrellas. And as the new idea spread to other parts of the world, the umbrella became known everywhere as man’s best friend—when it rains!

A mother wrote, “After October conference, in family council, we decided to earn some money not to spend it for Christmas, but to send it to missionaries. The boys, ages five and six, gathered cans for refunds, stacked wood, raked leaves, vacuumed the car, and swept the garage. Two-year-old Becky stacked wood and set the table. Mom gave piano lessons. Daddy cracked his piggy bank of eight years. One boy lost a tooth, and Daddy paid him a quarter for it. He promptly loosened and removed two more for an additional fifty cents! We are sending our total earnings ($81.85). It’s been a pleasure.”

A new animal was coming to live in the zoo, and the other animals were excited. One morning a big truck backed up to an empty cage, and out stepped the new animal. The zookeeper hung a sign outside the cage that said “ZELMGID.”

The other animals stared in amazement. The zelmgid did not look like any animal that they had ever seen. He had a long neck and a long tail, and when he opened his mouth, he barked. One by one the other animals turned away from the cage. Because the zelmgid was so different, they were not sure how to treat him.

The zelmgid was very lonely. The animals ignored him, so he had no one to talk to. He was so sad that he didn’t eat. The zookeeper began to worry. People stopped visiting the zoo because the new animal was sad and the other animals hid in the backs of their cages.

One day the elephant heard the zelmgid barking to himself. “The zelmgid does have a good trunk,” he told the giraffe. “It’s not as long as mine, but it’s really quite nice.”

The giraffe stretched her neck to take a closer look. “Look at his strong neck. He can reach as high as I can.”

The lion was looking quietly at the new animal’s mane. “My goodness! He has an excellent mane—almost as thick as mine.”

Just then the zebra trotted by the cage. “His coat has a very nice pattern,” she said.

“And his horns are curved just right,” the ibex said, “just like mine.”

When the monkey came swinging from the trees, he said, “Look at that handsome tail. I wonder if the zelmgid would like to play tag?”

Finally the duck waddled by the cage. “What fine feet you have. You probably can swim faster than I can,” she said to him.

The zelmgid stopped crying and thanked the duck for the compliment. Soon all the animals were talking together. They felt much happier. Even though the zelmgid looked different, the other animals had all found something about the new animal that they liked.

Recently a group of highly respected Jewish leaders and rabbis visited Church facilities in the Salt Lake Valley, including Welfare Square, the Humanitarian Center, the Family History Library, and the Oquirrh Mountain Utah Temple open house. At the conclusion of their visit, one of the most eminent rabbis in America expressed his feelings about what he had seen and felt.
He cited concepts from Jewish thinkers rooted in the Talmud and pointed out that there are two very different reasons people engage in acts of kindness and generosity. Some people visit the sick, assist the poor, and serve their fellowmen because they believe it is the right thing to do and others will reciprocate and do the same for them when they are in need. He explained that while this is good, builds caring communities, and should be considered a noble reason, a higher motive is when we serve our fellowmen because that is what we believe God wants us to do.
He stated that as a result of his visit, he believed the Latter-day Saints undertake welfare and humanitarian efforts and the work of salvation in our temples in order to do what we believe God wants us to do.
The Jewish leaders I mentioned earlier were particularly impressed with the principle of fasting and then paying a generous fast offering. They thought it was remarkable that Church members across the world would fast monthly and then make a freewill offering for the benefit of those who are in need.
When the rabbis visited Welfare Square, they were touched to learn that even in difficult economic times, our members, concerned about the challenges experienced by many, continue to donate generously to help the poor and needy.

Jenelle heard her best friend, Michelle, invite their friend Rebecca to her birthday party on Sunday. It was going to be a swimming party.
Michelle had already invited Jenelle, and Jenelle had not given her an answer yet. But she knew she wouldn’t be going to the party.
Michelle and Jenelle had been friends since they were six years old. But after Jenelle’s family had become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints nine months ago, things had changed between them. Becoming a Church member hadn’t changed what Jenelle felt for her friend, but Michelle was having a hard time understanding why Jenelle was different than before.
After school, Jenelle trudged home more discouraged than ever. Everyone else Michelle had invited to her party would be there. Mom will know what I can do, Jenelle thought. I always feel better after talking things over with her.
At home, she told her mother the whole story. “What am I going to do?” she asked.
Mom put her arm around Jenelle’s shoulders. “You have to decide what’s more important to you—going to your friend’s party or obeying the commandments,” she said.
Jenelle sighed. She knew what she should do. That didn’t make it any easier, though. She didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings, and she wanted to go to the party. But she couldn’t break one of the commandments, especially after hearing the prophet speak in general conference about the importance of keeping the Sabbath day holy.
She knew what she had to do. After school the next day, she hurried home and wrapped the present she had made for Michelle. Then she walked to her friend’s house.
“I made you something special for your birthday,” she said. “I’m sorry I can’t come to your birthday party. It’s because it’s on Sunday.”
Michelle unwrapped the present and held it up. “A birdhouse!” she said. “This is great! You made this yourself?”
Jenelle nodded. “At Primary achievement day.” She told Michelle about Primary and the achievement days for girls her age.
“What’s the big deal about going swimming on Sunday?” Michelle asked after thanking Jenelle for the gift. “We’ll be going in the afternoon, after your church is over.”
“The prophet said we need to keep the Sabbath day holy,” Jenelle explained.
“What does that mean?” Michelle asked.
“It means we don’t shop on Sunday or go swimming or to ball games—stuff like that.”
“What do you do?” Michelle wondered.
“We go to church, spend time with our families, listen to music, read the scriptures.” Jenelle smiled, remembering last Sunday. “Sometimes we take a nap.”
Michelle frowned. “Who is this prophet? Why do you have to do what he says?”
“He’s the President of the Church,” Jenelle explained.
“So he’s like the boss?”
Jenelle smiled again. She’d never heard the prophet described as a boss, but she supposed it made sense to people who weren’t members of the Church.
“What makes the prophet so special?” Michelle asked.
“He teaches us things Heavenly Father wants us to know.”
“You mean he talks with God?”
“Yes,” Jenelle answered firmly. She knew a lot of people didn’t understand that.
“Who is he?” Michelle asked.
“Our prophet’s name is President Gordon B. Hinckley.”
“Do you have to do everything he says?”
“We don’t have to. We choose to,” Jenelle said, hoping Michelle understood.
“Can you come to my birthday party next year if it isn’t on Sunday?” Michelle asked.
Jenelle hugged her friend. “I’m already counting the days till then!”

The blessings for future families are already becoming evident. A young returned missionary in Mexico reports:
“In December 2001, I returned home after a full-time mission in the México Veracruz Mission. My goals were high, but it appeared that I would be unable to achieve them due to finances, even with the help of my family. It was then I discovered that through the PEF my dream could be achieved.
“Only last week I finished my studies and was immediately hired at a salary three times greater than that which I was earning before. I can now begin my family. I was married on 20 December 2002.”

It started out as an ordinary Primary lesson. I was standing in front of my class of eight-year-old boys and girls, telling them a story about one of the latter-day prophets. When I finished, I began to question them about the moral the story taught. Everyone in the class wanted to answer my question—everyone, that is, but Robert.
I thought nothing of it. He was new in the class, and I thought he was probably just shy about speaking out on his first day. But as the answer was given and as we talked about it, I noticed that Robert’s face got more and more troubled. He wasn’t understanding the idea.
The week before, I hadn’t had time to finish the lesson I had prepared. I knew there wasn’t much time again now, and so I told myself I couldn’t make the other children wait until I had explained it again for Robert’s sake. I decided to go on. After all, I told myself, we will probably go over this idea again some other time.
I made one quick look around the room to make sure the rest understood. As my eyes passed by Robert’s, my heart froze. In an instant it seemed as though his face faded away and in its place I saw that of my three-year-old son, Sam. Startled, I just stood there, staring at Robert as if I expected the transformation to happen again. It didn’t then, or ever again.
Then I realized the impact of what I had done. I had passed over a child of God simply because I couldn’t be bothered. I had lost an important teaching moment. I had been given the opportunity to place a child closer to his Father in Heaven, but had turned my back.
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned that day—that only when I have done my best on behalf of all the children I teach can I pray for the best from another teacher on behalf of my own child.

One year, nearly 25 years after Baur Dee’s death, I realized that I would be away on Memorial Day and decided to visit Baur Dee’s grave a few days early. On the Thursday evening before Memorial Day, I had gathered some flowers, tied them with a ribbon, attached the card, and was putting on my jacket when the doorbell rang. I opened the door and was greeted by Colleen Fuller, one of my visiting teachers. As I invited her in, she noticed my jacket and the flowers and apologized for interrupting my plans.
“No problem,” I said. “I’m just on my way to the cemetery to put flowers on the grave of the woman who was my Beehive teacher and softball coach.”
An expression difficult to describe came over Colleen’s face. She asked, “Could your teacher’s name have been Baur Dee?”
Bewildered, I answered, “Yes. How did you know?”
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “Baur Dee was my mother’s sister. Every Memorial Day since she died, my family has found flowers and a card saying, “To Baur Dee from your girls,” on her grave. They’ve always wanted to know who these “girls” were so they could thank them for remembering Baur Dee. You obviously are one of them.”

“Once when I was a baby, I was very ill and my father was away from home. It was a Sunday evening, and our home teacher—called a block teacher then—came to our home before sacrament meeting. He had heard that I was ill, and he’d stopped to ask if there was anything that he could do. Mother said no, so he left. But after sacrament meeting he felt impressed to come back. This time Mother asked him to bless me, which he did, and in the blessing he promised that I would recover. That night Mother woke in the middle of the night and checked on me. When she did, she thought that I was dead, because my skin felt cold, but it was only because the fever had left me.”

In the early ’90s, before Melbourne had a temple, our stake hired a bus once a month to take us to the Sydney Australia Temple.
In preparation, I would ensure my visiting teaching was done. One Tuesday evening before a Friday bus trip, my companion and I visited one sister. As we sat chatting, her husband came into the lounge, and I felt to ask him for a priesthood blessing.
In that blessing, he said that two of the sisters whose work I would do in the Sydney Australia Temple would come and thank me in the celestial kingdom, which of course, was very nice to hear.
The next day, I received a phone call and was told that the bus wasn’t going to the temple on Friday.
I thought, “Oh dear, what am I to do?” I rang my friend, Bev, who always went on the bus, and she confirmed that the bus trip was cancelled.
I suggested that we hire a little bus for a few of us to go, but she didn’t want to do that.
“What about these two sisters?” I thought, recalling the words in the priesthood blessing I’d received. “I have to get to Sydney somehow!”
I worked on Fridays for a lady who owned a home in Ivanhoe for people with special needs. I did a lot of cooking and was responsible for all the meals there, which needed to be served exactly on time. The day before we were meant to bus to the temple, 24 ladies were to have dinner at 5:00 pm. I needed to have them fed and everything cleared away by 5:25pm so that I could get to the travel agency and book my airline ticket to Sydney.
Throughout the day, whenever I had a chance, I kept ringing the travel agent hoping to secure a ticket but to no avail. Anne, the travel agent, said to me at one point, “Give up, Bev.”
Well! That was like waving the red flag at the proverbial bull!
I managed to clear the evening meal and ring the bell and by 5:25 pm, with my bag in hand, I was waiting at the front door ready to leave—then off I went in my car to the travel agency.
Fortunately, another client was booking an overseas trip, so the office was still open when I arrived at 5:35 pm. The agent who assisted me looked at the screen and said, “I don’t think you’re going to find a flight.”
I stood there, smiled, and waited, and then she said, “Hang on. There is still one left.”
I said, “Thank you,” paid for my ticket and raced out to my car to get to the airport as soon as I could.
I knew I was a little late getting to check-in. I apologized to the attendant and asked, “Am I okay?” She had a look, found that the plane was running 20 minutes late, then handed me my ticket and said, “Go to Gate 11.”
From the Sydney Airport, I needed to catch a train to my girlfriend’s house in Epping, which is not far from the temple. When I landed, I thought I might get a taxi to her place instead, but it was 11:00 pm by then and no taxis were available. I had to walk in the dark for nearly two kilometres.
When I finally arrived at her home, I saw there were no lights on I had to carefully make my way down the dark driveway, lugging my suitcase, one step at a time, to knock on the door.
My friend had thought I wasn’t coming because I’d forgotten to tell her about the mayhem I had been through, but all is well that ends well.
I was able to do the work for those two sisters, and I often think of the time when I will greet them in the celestial kingdom of God.

This teaching may seem a paradox. After all, isn’t getting more of the things you want the way to be happy? The youth of the São Paulo Brazil Santo Amaro Stake know better. Two weeks before their youth conference, they began collecting food, toys, and clothing—loving gifts for the children of a state orphanage. The donations came not just from members of the Church, but from other neighbors, too.
“I learned that we must love one another and not just ourselves. I also learned that everyone needs to live in harmony. I believe we should help those who need help like the mentally ill, the homeless, and the orphaned.”
Carlos dos Santos Souza, Diadema Second Ward
On Saturday, the conference opened with a day of soccer, volleyball, other sports, and a roadshow. But on Sunday, the two hundred young members of the Santo Amaro Stake turned to serving their brothers and sisters. They wrote more than a hundred letters to full-time missionaries from their stake. Sixteen of the priests teamed up with full-time missionaries for some missionary work. And others went to the homes of 120 young people who had not been taking part in Church activities, inviting them to join with them in the youth conference. Several accepted the invitation to hear Elder Helio da Rocha Camargo of the Second Quorum of the Seventy speak at the fireside that evening. Some took part in activities the next day.
On Monday, the youth turned their efforts to the community—specifically, to Guarapiranga Park, a large park within the stake boundaries. Painting roadside curbs, picnic tables, and fences, the group drew attention from many of the thousands of people who were at the park. Some of those who noticed the group joined them for a picnic lunch and found out more about the Church. The park administrators said they had never seen such an act of service, and city officials expressed their gratitude for all the youth had accomplished.
“Although people in general are cheerful, they don’t realized what true happiness is all about. Happiness is not something you receive, but something you give.”
Simone, Jabaquara Ward
But hearts were touched most deeply when the two hundred young people visited the state orphanage on Tuesday. With them they took the goods they had collected during the previous weeks. But they also took gifts the children needed even more: love and attention. Visiting with the four hundred orphans—from newborn to age six—they changed diapers, told stories, and sang Primary songs. They took children to the playground and simply talked with them. When the time came to leave, there were many tears. With hearts overflowing, the youth of the Santo Amaro Stake found that even a three-hour-long testimony meeting was just too short to express their feelings. They had served, they had loved, they had felt joy. And they wanted to have this kind of youth conference every year.

“Let’s go! They’re waiting for us,” I said anxiously. I was nervous, the crowd was waiting, and I was ready to perform.
My friends Carson, Mark, Tyson, Bryce, and I had formed a dance group called Saturday Knights. After performing well in a competition, our group had become well known in the community. Tonight we were dancing during the intermission of a scholarship pageant.
As we were about to go on stage, Mark suggested we say a prayer. We always have a prayer before and after each performance.
“No, let’s just go,” I said. “They’re waiting for us. We don’t have time.”
Mark looked at me intently and said firmly, “There is never enough time to thank the Lord for all He has given us. We have time to pray.”
I was struck dumb. I stood there feeling terrible. Correcting myself, I knelt with my friends, said a prayer of thanksgiving, and then went on stage.
Mark’s comment gave me a new perspective on gratitude. He was right. There really isn’t enough time to thank Heavenly Father for all of His countless blessings. Because of Mark’s example, my testimony was strengthened. I have never forgotten his words, and my life has been greatly blessed because of them.

I’ve visited the Church in different places around the world, and while on those visits have always felt welcome. For a long time, I thought it was good enough for me and my family that I was an enthusiastic supporter of this Church, but in June 2022, something changed.
I was raised Catholic and said prayers during my younger years, but in June of 2022, I really prayed to God for the very first time. I prayed for guidance, to know if this was the right time for me to study the gospel. That night in my sleep, a scripture from the Book of Mormon entered in my mind: 2 Nephi 17.
It was like a movie. I saw golden glowing letters on the inside of my head. I had no idea if the scripture, 2 Nephi 17 existed, but I clearly felt that this was an answer to my prayers and came up with a plan to go to Church with Ellie and the children for at least a year, to read the scriptures and to pray together as a family. Later that day at work, I looked up the text of 2 Nephi 17, and my eyes landed on verse 11, that reads: “Ask thee a sign of the Lord thy God; ask it either in the depths, or in the heights above.”
I did not see this experience as a faint sign. This felt like God literally telling me that indeed it was time. I went home to tell Ellie and told her that I was ready to start a sincere study of the gospel. While telling her my story, I was struck by lightning—not by actual lightning, but by the Holy Ghost. I immediately knew what it was. Physically I felt something happening in my heart and realized that I was freed from a restlessness that I’ve carried all my life. Immediately I felt a love come over me that I have never felt before. I knew that this was the love of Christ. I literally had a change of heart. For my oldest daughter, Mayra, it was a very emotional moment, because two days earlier she had prayed that I would experience a conversion. Later, I learned two other friends had prayed for the same thing a few days earlier. A great testimony of the power of prayer!

I remembered when I first came to Foggia, a little town in southern Italy. It was only my second city, and the Manzos were about the first people I met. Even I could tell they were special. Rita and Salverio Manzo and their two children were the kind of family missionaries dream about. A warm, close feeling was present in their home. They didn’t have much money, but that didn’t seem important to them. They were always generous, inviting us to eat more often than they could afford.
It seemed like Satan was aware of how fine the Manzos were too, because right from the beginning, he worked to keep them out of the Church. As they progressed spiritually, their trials became more and more difficult. Their children got sick. When they tried to share their new knowledge with their family and friends, they suddenly quit visiting. When the Manzos went to the homes of people who previously had been close to them, the reception was chilly. Italians are family people, so that hurt them more than they would allow us to see. Each evening we left their home convinced that the worst was over, only to find that something else would happen the next day. They had financial problems. They found themselves arguing about things that never bothered them before. Neighbors told them that the missionaries brought them bad luck and they should stop seeing us.
Brother Manzo had been out of work for some time. He finally found a job, and things seemed to be looking better for them. The day he got his first check was the day we taught him about tithing. For some time he sat looking thoughtfully around his home. You could almost see his thoughts: This little check is all I have. It’s not enough as it is; yet you want me to give part of it away. How can I do it? I must feed my children. Surely the Lord would understand that I can’t pay this tithing. We were afraid that this would be the one trial too big for them. Finally he looked at us and said, “If the Lord requires us to pay this tithing, we will pay it.”
“Sister. Sister Johnson! Hey! You’re sure a long ways away! Are you still worrying about Brother Manzo?” Sister Bullen asked.
“I, well, yes I am. How did you know?”
“Because you’ve been studying that page for about 15 minutes,” she said with a smile. “Why are you so upset?”
“I just don’t think that someone who is as good as Brother Manzo should have to start out as a deacon. It’s like they don’t think he will stay with it, so they don’t trust him with anything else.”
Sister Bullen liked to joke around, and she kidded me a lot, but she was really serious when she asked, “Do you think that Brother Manzo is too proud to be a deacon?”
“No, he’s not too proud. But he’s a grown man, and he’s so dignified and kind of shy. I don’t want him to be embarrassed to be passing the sacrament with all those little boys. After all he has been through, I think he deserves to be a priest.
She smiled at me. “I think he’ll be okay.”
Sitting in the chapel on Sunday, I felt a little nervous again. The deacons were standing around the table, waiting to pick up their trays. Brother Manzo towered over the rest of the deacons. I noticed he was wearing a new white shirt and a tie. He was watching carefully to make sure he did the right things.
As he turned and reverently carried his tray of bread toward us, I could see that his face was shining. He caught my eye and smiled warmly. I looked down at my scriptures. They were open to the 26th chapter of Matthew, and I read verse 26: “And as they were eating, Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat …”
I couldn’t see the words through the tears in my eyes. It had been me, not Brother Manzo, who needed to learn about the priesthood! I felt a squeeze on my arm, and Sister Bullen smiled at me and winked.
I guess there’s no such thing as being “only” a deacon.