Author's Note: I served as a full-time missionary in the Hawai‘i Honolulu Mission from 1994 to 1996. Manu Nāpela is a fictional character; however, the principles and stories he shares are true. Manu represents the wisdom and experiences of several people. The other names, places, and accounts throughout my book are factual and are from my missionary journals and memories. I [Cameron Taylor] had this dream on December 25, 2014. The details of the dream and interpretation of the dream have not been changed or adapted other than having the dream told by the character Manu.

I was called as the mission president of the France Bordeaux Mission in 1989, and we arrived in Bordeaux in the month of July. The mission was just opening, and we were the first family to live in the mission home, which was still being furnished when we arrived. The mission home needed a piano, and we were encouraged to visit local music stores to find one. It seemed with each store we entered, seeing our missionary tags with the name of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the proprietor of the store would say, “I know one of your members, Philippe Moreau.” Philippe was a concert pianist of some reputation in Bordeaux, and I was impressed that he was so open about his beliefs. I expected to meet him soon. When we did not meet him, I asked the leaders in Bordeaux about Philippe Moreau. Their countenances saddened at the question, and they informed me that he was no longer a member of the Church. They explained that he had joined the Church in his late teens and had been a fervent disciple of the Savior, but then had moved away from the Savior’s teachings.

A woman named Christa once worked for a small seed company. She loved her job. It was a source of immense wonder that each tiny seed she sold had the capacity to transform itself into something quite miraculous—a carrot, a cabbage, or even a mighty oak tree.

The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square shared a moving “Spoken Word” tribute to the late British monarch, emphasizing her faith, grace, and goodness.

The following is an excerpt from S. Michael Wilcox's House of Glory: Finding Personal Meaning in the Temple.

John 5,6; Mark 6:30-44; Matthew 14:22,23

What a beautiful story of how writing our life story can make a profound impact on the lives of others. Though this family is not LDS, it's clear to see through their story why our prophets have counseled us to write our history and record our story.

Mayor Cory Booker waits in his wood-paneled city hall office for his next visitors. His life, even on a Sunday, is tightly scheduled. He checks the time on his cell phone and lets the ribbing of his two friends, who are now late, begin. “Jewish time is even worse than black time,” he says, “although I should never drag all the Jewish people down with Shmuley.” And then, about the other guy: “I thought Mormons were always 15 minutes early?”

“There isn’t enough space to share all that I learned from and experienced with Ardeth,” writes Laurel C. Day, president of Deseret Book Company, in a powerful, personal tribute to the former Young Women General President.

My grandma, Mom-el, loved funerals so much that we used to give her a hard time about browsing the obituaries for her next social engagement. It was a joke and something I honestly didn’t understand then, but over five years after her own passing, I think I’m starting to realize why my Mom-el loved funerals so much. When someone we love is gone, we can find joy in remembering the best things about them. Certainly, there are cases that require healing, but little annoyances are cast aside after someone has passed and all we seem to remember are the things we loved about them. I have found that I especially love going to a funeral for someone I admired but didn’t know incredibly well. Such was the case two weeks ago as I attended the memorial service for Ann Crane Santini.