Gospel Story Finder

A couple of years ago a humor columnist for a local newspaper wrote on a serious and thought-provoking subject. I quote from this article: “Being a go-to-church Mormon in Utah means living so close to fellow ward members that not much happens that the entire congregation doesn’t know about in five minutes tops.”
He continues: “This kind of cheek-to-jowl living can be intrusive. … It also happens to be one of our greatest strengths.”
The author goes on to say: “At work on Tuesday, I caught the noon news broadcast on television. A van had been obliterated in a traffic crash. A young mother and two small children were being rushed to emergency rooms by helicopter and ambulance. … Hours later I learned that the van belonged to the young couple living across the street from me in Herriman, Eric and Jeana Quigley.
“Not only do I see the Quigleys in church, … we ate dinner with them at a neighborhood party the night before the crash. Our grandkids played with daughters Bianca and Miranda. …
“Fourteen-month-old Miranda suffered serious head injuries and died three days later at Primary Children’s Hospital.
“Here’s where all that nosiness … pays off. Although the accident occurred several miles from home, the dust literally had not settled before someone from the ward stopped and was pulling through the wreckage. The rest of the ward knew about it before the cops and paramedics showed up.
“Ward members went to all three hospitals, contacted Eric at work, and organized into labor squads. People who didn’t get in on the immediate-need level were frantic for some way to help.
“In 48 hours, the Quigley yard was mowed, home cleaned, laundry done, refrigerator stocked, relatives fed and a trust fund set up at a local bank. We would have given their dog a bath if they had one.”
The author concludes with this insightful comment: “There is a positive side to the congregational microscope my ward lives under. … What happens to a few happens to all” (Robert Kirby, “Well-Being of Others Is Our Business,” Salt Lake Tribune, July 30, 2005, p. C1).

A year ago last winter, a modern jetliner faltered after takeoff and plunged into the icy Potomac River. Acts of bravery and feats of heroism were in evidence that day, the most dramatic of which was one witnessed by the pilot of a rescue helicopter. The rescue rope was lowered to a struggling survivor. Rather than grasping the lifeline to safety, the man tied the line to another, who was then lifted to safety. The rope was lowered again, and yet another was saved. Five were rescued from the icy waters. Among them was not found the anonymous hero. Unknown by name, “he left the vivid air signed with his honor.” (Stephen Spender, “I think continually of those—” in Masterpieces of Religious Verse, ed. James Dalton Morrison, New York: Harper and Brothers Publishers, p. 291.)

In Kentucky, in the southern United States, it gets hot and muggy during the summer. One day people noticed that green mold was growing on the fence around the Louisville Kentucky Temple. And not just a little—there was a lot!
So the Primary children of the Crestwood Second Ward in the Louisville Kentucky Stake decided to do something about it. One warm June day they had an activity. “We took rags and buckets of water and soap to clean the fence and help keep our Heavenly Father’s house clean,” said Sara M., age 10. She got soaked, but “it was fun because all our friends were there.”
Josh H., age 9, said he got a little tired cleaning the high parts of the fence. But he had lots of help. In fact, almost all of the Primary children came, about 75 in all. Many brought their brothers and sisters and moms and dads to help.
The children knew they were on the temple grounds, so they tried to be reverent. And no one complained about the hard work. “We had to scrub really hard because the stains had been there for a while,” said Megan H., age 6. But it was worth it. “I knew we were taking care of our Heavenly Father’s home.”
Sara felt the same way. “I really felt the Spirit because I knew Heavenly Father was happy we were doing that,” she said.
After the work was done, the group gathered at the Church building next door to eat hot dogs and to talk about what they learned.
The Primary children can’t wait until they can go in the temple themselves to do baptisms for the dead. But for now, they are happy knowing they helped the outside look beautiful—just like Heavenly Father’s house should.

While my daughters were growing up, during the many trips we took in our car, the most often-asked question was, “When will we get there, Dad?” And “How long will it take?” I couldn’t help but think that those questions are much like some that we adults ask. We think we will be happy when we arrive at a certain destination, our schooling is finished, we get a better job, we arrive at a certain income, the baby is born, our bills are paid, we recover from our illness, we own a new car, some disagreeable task is finished, we retire, or we are free from all responsibility.
My father used to teach us that life is a journey, not a camp, and he indicated that too many people are camping. I’d like to challenge all of us, particularly the young people and young couples that are married, to see life as a whole and to enjoy the marvelous journey.
I remember a grandmother who had been widowed early in her life and was moving out of her home. Her granddaughter, about to be married herself, was carefully helping her pack the boxes of dishes and the faded towels. “See that sewing machine over there in the corner?” the grandmother asked. “Your grandfather always left his hat there when he came home in the evening. I used to scold him all the time about it. ‘Just put your hat on the hook,’ I’d say. ‘Why does your hat always have to be on the sewing machine messing everything up?’ Then one day he got pneumonia and died, leaving four little children and me to miss him for a lifetime. How many times through the years I’ve thought, What I’d give to see that hat on the sewing machine, placed there by his own hand!”
Like the grandmother in this story, we too often let trifles cloud our vision. We get caught up in nonessentials or in a multitude of meetings, both in and out of the Church, that have no particular meaning or purpose. We sometimes nag the people we love the best over little inattentions, small faults, mere nothings in the whole scheme of things. Instead of treasuring the all-too-rare moments we share with our dear ones, we pick at faults, imagined or otherwise. How many of us say to our wives, our husbands, our children: “Why can’t you do this?” “Why don’t you do that?” Or “Someday when I have the time …”
Our last daughter left for college this past month, and the eighteen years of daily living with her were suddenly over. Where had they gone? What minute, what hour, what day or night had swallowed up all those joyous, giggling, growing-up years? The first night she was away, I slipped into her bedroom, looked at her record player, and thought of all those times I had mechanically said, “Would you turn down the music!” And I thought, too, how often in the days ahead we’d be longing to hear the music. Thank God she and her parents have many wonderful memories to savor in the years ahead.
Our daughter Janet lies in a hospital bed at this very moment, and she and we know what great moments we have to share. And you know, Janet, our great faith and our feeling.
Why do those sudden moments of clarity, when we realize how precious our loved ones are, come so rarely? How do we let ourselves get caught up in faultfinding, digging, or scolding at those who are nearest our hearts? Is it ever worth it? As C. S. Lewis once advised, “Take care. It is so easy to break eggs without making omelettes.” (Cited in Richard L. Evans, Richard Evans’ Quote Book, Salt Lake City: Publisher’s Press, 1971, p. 169.)
Maybe each of us needs to stop amidst our busy, dashing, breathless lives—even amidst our many meetings. It recalls to mind an experience—perhaps you know it—of a little inquisitive boy who came to church with his father, and as they walked into the foyer, the boy noticed the usual trophy case over which were placed several large plaques. Curiosity got to the little boy. He pulled on his dad’s coattail and said, “Dad, what’s that one?”
The father moved a little closer and read the inscription, patted his boy on the head, and said, “Son, that’s a plaque honoring those who died in the service.”
To which the little boy said, “Morning or evening?”
I appreciate that the Lord has instructed us that there are important meetings, but then there are other meetings which are not well planned or properly structured. Yes, even amidst our meetings and our commitments we need to really see: to see the way his eyes wrinkle when he laughs, see the tilt of her head as the light catches her hair, remember his dash of humor. Maybe when things get in the saddle and ride us, we need to step back for a moment of clarity. We need to remember why we are doing all of this—remember how much we love those we love.
A young mother was running late to a very important meeting one time. As she dashed from her bedroom, her little three-year-old stopped her and said, “Mommy. Mom.”
To which the mother replied, “Can’t you see I’m busy?”
“Mom, I need to tell you something.”
“Not now,” said the mother with an impatient wave of her hand.
“Mom,” began the little girl again.
“Oh, what is it?” said the mother.
“I just wanted to tell you I love you!”
Well, life is fleeting at best. We turn around and we’re young, turn around again and we’re old. Minutes rush past. We can’t stop them in all their rush. We’re eighteen; we’re twenty-eight; we’re forty-eight; we’re gray. Is there ever enough time to nag, scold, dig, or complain at the people we love most? We fool ourselves if we think there is. There’s only time to stop, as one has put it, to smell the flowers.
Do you remember Julia Ward Howe who told a senator on one occasion, “I am in need of help for a very special person”?
“Julia, I am so busy,” he said, “I can no longer concern myself with individuals.”
She replied, “That’s remarkable. Even God hasn’t reached that stage yet.” (See Richard Evans’ Quote Book, p. 165.)
Concern yourself first with individuals, with relationships, with loved ones. What else really matters? Don’t imagine yourself, regardless of who you are, busier than the Lord, who puts souls first above everything else.
The other night I was flying home from a distant conference. I had been away only three days, but as the flood lights of the airport loomed up, I welled up with anticipation and excitement. I felt as though I could have been a great hero returning from space—and what caused this excitement? I was going back to my family. Does it have to take flights away from home, a child leaving for college, or the death of a husband who will never again leave his hat in an awkward place to remind us how sweet are the moments with our loved ones and friends? How brief they are in the run of time? Does it take these things to stop us in our picking at trifling faults to realize the beauty of every minute together?
“When will we be there?” “How long will it take?” “How much longer, Dad, will it take?” are questions often asked by impatient children. “When will I arrive?”—a question asked by adults as they face the pressures of life. For all of us, let it not take a lifetime before we realize that we have been there all along, that life does not offer anything sweeter than the love of dear ones and the sharing of time together.
You remember what President Kimball said: “Prevention is far better than redemption.” God grant us the wisdom to know that life is a great journey, and may we have the sense to enjoy it. I bear witness to these truths in the holy name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

Every year my family gets lots of peaches from my aunt’s tree. Whenever we get them my mom has all four kids help peel them, cut them in half, and put them into jars. None of us likes to help can the peaches, but we help anyway. We would want to do other things, like go to a friend’s house or watch TV. Last fall when my mom asked me if I would help with the peaches, I decided to help but with a good attitude this time. As we were canning, I noticed that we all were talking and laughing and having a good time. That was the most fun time I had canning peaches, and it took less time than I thought.
Katie W., age 12, Utah

Harrison was excited. Today he and his mom were taking his little sister, Samantha, to the hospital to get her blood checked. They went every week, and Harrison’s favorite part of the trip was riding the elevator in the big, busy hospital. He was finally tall enough to push the button to take them to the right floor. Harrison heard the elevator whoosh as it started moving up.
When they stepped off the elevator, Mom asked Harrison, “Do you remember what your special job is?”
“I hold Samantha’s hand and let her squeeze it real tight while the doctor does the tests,” Harrison said.
Samantha was only two years old, but she could squeeze Harrison’s hand super hard and cry very loudly when she was scared. Harrison liked helping her, and he was glad Mom trusted him with such an important job.
While they waited to see the doctor, Harrison asked, “Mom, is Samantha going to cry when she has her blood test?”
“I don’t know,” Mom said. “But I said a prayer in the elevator on our way up asking Heavenly Father to comfort Samantha during her tests today.”
“Really? A prayer on the elevator?”
“Yes,” Mom said. “That’s a great thing about prayer. If we need extra help or if we’re sad or scared, we don’t have to wait for family prayer or bedtime prayer. We can say a silent one to Heavenly Father anytime or anywhere.”
Harrison smiled and thought about this until the nurse called them back. The appointment went just like all the other appointments, except this time Samantha didn’t cry at all. Harrison knew his mom’s prayer had been answered.
After they said good-bye to the doctor, they got on the elevator. Harrison couldn’t remember which button to push. He started to ask Mom for help just as she said, “Oh! I forgot the diaper bag. Let’s hurry and grab it.”
Harrison watched Mom step off the elevator, carrying Samantha. He was about to follow her when the doors suddenly closed, leaving him alone in the elevator.
Harrison was scared. He looked at all of the buttons and didn’t know what to do. Then he remembered what Mom had said about prayer. He could pray right now—even in an elevator. He closed his eyes and folded his arms. “Dear Heavenly Father, I am lost and scared and don’t know what to do. Can you please help me find my mom and sister again? In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Harrison opened his eyes and didn’t feel scared anymore. He knew his prayer would be answered. He looked at the buttons on the elevator and saw one with a big star on it. That was the one he needed! He pushed it and felt the elevator start to move.
The doors opened and Harrison recognized the lobby of the hospital. He looked around for Mom. Suddenly a door from the stairwell opened and Mom came running out with Samantha. “Harrison, I was so worried! Are you OK?”
Harrison smiled and gave Mom and Samantha a big hug. “I said a prayer and knew what to do. Heavenly Father really does answer prayers—even on elevators!”

Clare makes friends wherever she goes. She has friends she met in Brownies and in Girl Guides. She has friends she has made while swimming or playing field hockey. And she has friends she met while doing a pantomime show at the local town hall, where her mother helped make costumes for everyone in the cast.

When her mother learned that some of the cast members had questions about the Church, she invited them to visit the Portadown Ward meetinghouse. While they were there, many of them and their mothers noticed pictures of the Savior and learned how deeply Latter-day Saints love the Lord. “Some of them didn’t know that Latter-day Saints are Christians,” Clare’s mother explains. “Now they understand that we are.”

Does Clare have some secret that helps her in making all these friends?

“I just remember that we’re all children of the same God,” she says, “so that means we’re all brothers and sisters.”

And that’s not really a secret.

We started meeting with the Reverend and put together a proposal to the church to secure some funding. All Saints was opening their doors to asylum seekers twice a week for drop-in sessions where an individual could get a cup of coffee and cake, needed clothing, as well as advice, ESOL support, someone to listen to them, or just an entertaining round of chess to break up the monotony that they feel. They had recently run out of funding. The Church agreed to give £15,000 to provide much needed warm clothing and toiletries as well as vouchers for underwear, school uniform and shoes. We were all thrilled.

I have two younger sisters, both of whom are mothers. My youngest sister, Shirley, has eleven children. Sharon, another sister, has a little girl who was born to her after six years of anxious waiting. Ten years later, through the fervent prayers of the extended family for the wonderful blessing of adoption, a little boy came into their family and was sealed to them in the temple for time and eternity. What a blessing he and the other children have been to all of us!

Over the years my sisters and I, with our husbands, have prayed for each other and with each other and about each other. We have come to know that the Lord has answered our prayers differently and not always in the affirmative and not always according to our timeline. But we have all felt the warm assurance of his approval and love.

My brothers and sisters, I begin by sharing an event from a large ward in Provo about 20 years ago. During a sacrament meeting, a little boy made a big disturbance. After several minutes of trying to quiet this noisy three-year-old, the mother desperately handed him to the father, who was seated on the aisle close to the front of the chapel. By this time the noise distracted the speaker and audience, and everyone was very conscious of the parents’ plight. The father’s patience was much shorter than the mother’s. In a few moments he put the little boy over his shoulder, stood up, and started for the back door. Looking back over his father’s shoulder and sensing his determined steps, the little boy became quiet and apprehensive. Just as the father approached the rear door of the chapel, the little fellow reached his arms out toward the stand and shouted, “Bishop, help!”

During a lunch-hour study session as a missionary, I was reviewing the fourth discussion. Silently I reviewed the questions we ask our investigators about the mission of the Savior. Suddenly, in the quiet of the moment, the roles seemed to change, and I became not the teacher, but the one being taught.
The experience was overpowering. Never before had the Savior’s Atonement been so real to me. At that moment, I knew the anguish of his sacrifice, and I felt encompassed by his love. I shall not fully comprehend in this life the marvelous gift the Savior offers us, but the power of that moment has sustained me. And I am filled with awe whenever I partake of the sacrament, the emblem of his gift of love, his gift of life.

“Hey, look!” Kate picked up a crumpled paper doll from the floor in the store. “Here, put it in your pocket.”
“You want me to take it?” Maddy asked.
“The store can’t sell it anyway,” Kate said. “They’d just throw it in the trash. This is a rescue mission. We’re saving this doll!”
Kate smiled at Maddy. Maddy smiled back.
“OK.” Maddy slipped the paper doll into her pocket. It felt special to be on a rescue mission!
Still, as they walked out of the store, the paper doll felt like a heavy rock in her pocket. Is that what a rescue mission was supposed to feel like?
When they got back to Maddy’s house, Kate carefully taped and flattened the paper doll the best she could.
“What kind of clothes should I make for her?” she asked, picking up a crayon. “How about a beautiful ball gown?”
Maddy nodded eagerly. “Then we can show my mom!”
“No! We can’t tell anyone,” Kate said. “Not ever. It’s our secret, OK? Promise me you won’t tell.”
“Oh … OK. I promise,” Maddy said. “But why can’t we tell?”
“If you tell, your mom would get mad, and she might not let us play together anymore.”
“Why would she be mad?” Maddy asked. Her stomach felt fluttery and nervous.
Kate put down her crayon. “If you don’t tell, I’ll let you keep the doll and all the outfits I draw for her.”
Now Maddy knew why she felt so nervous. “We … we stole it, didn’t we?” she whispered.
“Hey, you’re the one who stuffed it in your pocket and sneaked it out of the store.”
“Because you told me to!”
“I did not!” Kate said. “I’m going home before you get me in trouble.” She stood up and ran out the door.
Just then Mom came into the room. “Why did Kate leave in such a hurry?” She saw the paper doll in Maddy’s hands. “And where did that come from?”
Maddy bit her lip. She didn’t feel good about keeping a secret from Mom. But what if Kate was right and Mom got mad?
The nervous feeling in her stomach wouldn’t go away. She took a deep breath and blurted out the whole story.
“Kate told me to promise to keep it a secret,” she said. “But it felt wrong.”
Mom sat beside her on the bed. “Most secrets are wrong. Especially if you’re told to never tell anyone. On the other hand, a surprise, like a gift or party, can be a good thing. It’s meant to be fun for everyone.”
Maddy nodded. “Thanks for not getting mad at me,” she said. “Kate said you would.”
Mom hugged her tight. “I’m really proud of you for listening to the Holy Ghost and telling me the truth.”
“Will you drive me back to the store to return the doll?” Maddy asked.
“Of course!” Mom smiled. “And when we get back, you can help me make a cake to surprise Dad.”
Maddy laughed. “Now that’s something I can feel good about!”

After that, the missionaries came to our home and gave us the first discussion. Then came the invitation: “Will you pray to Heavenly Father to know if the Book of Mormon is true?” We both agreed to do it.
On the first night I prayed before sleeping, but I was so tired that I fell asleep without waiting for a response. On the second night I prayed again, but I didn’t receive an answer. The next night I prayed once again. I wanted to feel what the missionaries had taught me: “Your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right” (D&C 9:8). I prayed and waited, but I didn’t receive a response. Still, I went to bed certain that one day I would receive it.
The next day was the first Sunday of the month, and we went to church. It was then that it happened. During class I began to feel something I had never felt before—something that made me feel so happy. When sacrament meeting began I had a desire to bear my testimony, but I didn’t have the courage. However, I was certain that the Book of Mormon was true.
My brother and I accepted the gospel without reluctance. We had testimonies of the Book of Mormon, and we knew that everything else the missionaries taught us would be true too.

My companion and I were excited to open a new area for missionary work in a small town in Guatemala’s western highlands. Soon after our arrival, however, leaders and members of local churches began spreading wild stories about us. As a result, people began to fear us.
But Elder Todd Hinkins and I remained optimistic, especially after three families agreed to attend an open house about the Church. To help introduce them to the gospel, we planned to show them filmstrips about the Restoration.
When we tested our filmstrip projector before our meeting, however, the projector light bulb blew up. A power surge had apparently damaged our voltage converter. It could no longer convert 220 volts of electricity to the 110 volts we needed to power our projector.
"What now?" my companion and I lamented.
Brother Chavez, the only member of the Church who lived in town, told us that he thought the nuns in town had a voltage converter. So, while Brother Chavez drove to nearby Quetzaltenango to get another light bulb, we said a prayer and walked to the local convent.
We knocked, introduced ourselves, and explained our dilemma, wondering what the sisters would say. Without hesitation, they gave us their converter and wished us well. Brother Chavez soon returned, and we held our meeting.
To thank the nuns, Elder Hinkins and I made cookies for them. Shortly after we delivered the cookies, the nuns surprised us by inviting us to dinner.
We accepted.
A few days later, Elder Hinkins and I sat down for dinner at a beautifully set table surrounded by seven nuns. Five were from Canada, one was from the United States, and one was from Guatemala City.
During dinner we told them about the restored Church and our work as full-time missionaries. Then we gave them a Book of Mormon and bore our testimony of it. They thanked us and complimented us on our efforts to bring people to Christ.
In turn, they described some of the different "orders" of nuns. Then they told us about their labors and adjustment to living in the highlands.
With new eyes, I saw the nuns as kindred spirits with common goals, desires, and challenges. They were serving others, sacrificing for their faith, and dedicating their lives to God.
And our dinner? It was the best meal I had that year—shared by our friends, sisters from the Catholic Church.

When I first joined the Church, many parts of it were confusing. I knew basic principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ, which were taught to me by wonderful missionaries, but nobody taught me about the organization of the Church. Elders quorum, Relief Society, institute, and many other programs and principles were unknown to me. I only knew that I should come to church on Sundays, study the scriptures, and pray.
I was lucky, though, to have friends who helped me navigate my early uncertainty. Missionaries may have introduced me to the gospel, but it was through Christlike ministering from many members that I was able to continue to strengthen my testimony.
Here are just a few of the people who blessed my life through their ministering efforts.
One of the first families that made an impression on me were longtime members in the branch I attended near my home in Malaysia. When they saw me at church each Sunday, they greeted me with big smiles on their faces. They also guided me through the classes and showed me where to go and even picked me up and drove me to church at times. Eventually they started inviting me to have dinner over at their place too. This family really embraced the gospel in their lives, and they showed their devotion to Jesus Christ through genuine care and love for me. Because of their ministering, we became close friends, and I felt so much more unified with the branch and like we were one big family.
I also received a lot of help and support from other young single adults. I got really close with most of them early on in my conversion because most of us were the only members of the Church in our families. With the circumstances we were in, we relied on each other for understanding and provided a safe haven for each other. We would often meet up for meals and activities. Being in each other’s company, sharing our love for the gospel, and supporting each other helped me deepen my faith and look forward to some of the social aspects of church.
The ministering efforts of one couple also made me feel like I had family members in the Church. I honestly considered them my grandparents in the Church—they treated me the way they would have treated a grandchild.
Of course, they were the young adult advisers in the district and it was their calling to minister to the young adults, but they never treated their responsibilities as a simple calling. They went above and beyond to find opportunities to care for us as young adults. If I or any other young adults in the area needed someone to talk to, someone to give us advice, or just a shoulder to lean on, this couple was there for us.
One particularly helpful exercise that the sister would do with me before my mission was to have us read one general conference talk each day and share our thoughts about it. We did this for months, up until the day before I left for my mission. The days leading up to missionary service can be stressful and hard, but I believe that her patience and willingness to do this exercise with me every day helped me get to where I am now.
Effective ministering can change a person’s life forever—I am proof of that—especially as we are willing to accept help. As it says in Alma 37:6, “By small and simple things are great things brought to pass.” And it’s true. The small acts of service that I received, like being invited to dinner by that loving family in my branch, receiving support from other young adults, and having the opportunity to read conference talks with that sister, made all the difference. Ministering isn’t meant to be difficult; it’s the simple acts of love and kindness that can turn around someone’s life by 180 degrees.
Because of these members’ willingness to see my needs and show me love, I had enough support to build my testimony, and I am serving a mission right now. The words of President Jean B. Bingham, Relief Society General President, are true: “After all is said and done, true ministering is accomplished one by one with love as the motivation.” 1 And I know that as we rely on the Spirit to guide us, we can minister as Christ did and bring others to Him.

I feel honored to follow Sister Parkin. Her service and teachings as well as those of her counselors have blessed all of us. About this same hour 18 1/2 years ago, I was standing near this pulpit waiting for the congregational singing to end, when I was to step forward and give my first general conference address. My anxiety at that moment must have been obvious. Elder L. Tom Perry, who was standing behind me, leaned forward, and in his positive and enthusiastic way, whispered in my ear. “Relax,” he said, “we haven’t lost anyone at that pulpit in years!”
Those encouraging words and the few minutes that followed in which I spoke for the first time to a worldwide audience of Latter-day Saints constitute a treasured memory for me. Like all of you, I am constantly accumulating a reservoir of memories which, when recalled, make up a very useful and often enjoyable part of my consciousness. And, despite resolutions I made as a young man never to weary others with reminiscing when I grew older, I now take great pleasure in sharing my own memories at almost every possible occasion. Today, however, I wish to speak of a more profound role of memory and remembering in the gospel of Jesus Christ than the passive recall and enjoyment of information.
If we pay close attention to the uses of the word remember in the holy scriptures, we will recognize that remembering in the way God intends is a fundamental and saving principle of the gospel. This is so because prophetic admonitions to remember are frequently calls to action: to listen, to see, to do, to obey, to repent. When we remember in God’s way, we overcome our human tendency simply to gird for the battle of life and actually engage in the battle itself, doing all in our power to resist temptation and avoid sinning.
King Benjamin called for such active remembering from his people:
“And finally, I cannot tell you all the things whereby ye may commit sin; for there are divers ways and means, even so many that I cannot number them.
“But this much I can tell you, that if ye do not watch yourselves, and your thoughts, and your words, and your deeds, and observe the commandments of God, and continue in the faith of what ye have heard concerning the coming of our Lord, even unto the end of your lives, ye must perish. And now, O man, remember, and perish not.”
Realizing the vital role remembering is to play in our lives, what else ought we to remember? In response, assembled as we are today to remember and rededicate this historic Tabernacle, I suggest that the history of the Church of Jesus Christ and its people deserves our remembrance. The scriptures give the Church’s history high priority. In fact, much of scripture is Church history. On the very day the Church was organized, God commanded Joseph Smith, “Behold, there shall be a record kept among you.” Joseph acted on this command by appointing Oliver Cowdery, the second elder in the Church and his chief assistant, as the first Church historian. We keep records to help us remember, and a record of the Church’s rise and progress has been kept from Oliver Cowdery’s time to the present day. This extraordinary historical record reminds us that God has again opened the heavens and revealed truths that call our generation to action.
Of all that has been collected, preserved, and written by historians over those many years, nothing exemplifies the importance and power of the Church’s history more than Joseph Smith’s simple and honest story of God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appearing to him in what our history books now call the First Vision. In words that generations of missionaries have committed to memory and shared with seekers of truth the world over, Joseph describes the miraculous way in which he received an answer to his question posed in prayer of which Church is right:
“I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me.
“… When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!”
Hear him, Joseph did! And millions have heard or read and believed his account and have embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ he helped restore. I believe Joseph Smith and know he was a true prophet of God. Remembering his experience of the First Vision never fails to stir my soul to greater commitment and action.
No one has greater appreciation for the value of the Church’s history than President Gordon B. Hinckley. We love his delightful sense of humor, but his sense of history is equally keen. Inspiring stories and anecdotes from our past punctuate his writings and sermons. As our living prophet, he consciously emphasizes the past and the future to help us live more righteously in the present. Because of his teachings, we understand that remembering enables us to see God’s hand in our past, just as prophecy and faith assure us of God’s hand in our future. President Hinckley reminds us how members of the early Church faced their challenges so we, through the grace of God, can more faithfully face our own. By keeping our past alive, he connects us to the people, places, and events that make up our spiritual heritage and, in so doing, motivates us to greater service, faith, and kindness.
In an exemplary way President Hinckley also openly shares from his own personal and family histories. Scores of discouraged new missionaries have been comforted to learn that early in his own mission, President Hinckley was also discouraged and admitted as much to his father. He even courageously shared his father’s brief response: “Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.” Over 70 years later, we are all witnesses to how earnestly President Hinckley took that counsel to heart. His sterling character and prophetic wisdom provide persuasive proof for the benefits of remembering the Church’s history as well as our own.
There is much more to say about memory and remembering in the gospel of Jesus Christ. We often speak of remembering our sacred covenants and God’s commandments and of remembering and performing saving ordinances for our deceased ancestors. Most importantly, we speak of the need to remember our Savior Jesus Christ and not just when convenient, but always, as He asks. We witness always to remember Him as we partake of the sacrament. In return, we are promised His Spirit will always be with us. Interestingly, this is the same Spirit sent by our Heavenly Father to “bring all things to [our] remembrance.” Thus, by worthily receiving the sacrament, we are blessed by the Spirit to enter into a wonderfully beneficial circle of remembering, returning again and again in our thinking and devotion to Christ and His Atonement.
Coming unto Christ and being perfected in Him is, I believe, the ultimate purpose of all remembering. Therefore, I pray that God will bless us always to remember, especially His perfect Son, and perish not. I gratefully testify of Christ’s divinity and saving power. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Joseph set out immediately for the hill. During the night, Moroni had shown him a vision of where the plates were hidden, so he knew where to go. The hill, one of the biggest in the area, was about three miles (4.8 km) from his house. The plates were buried beneath a large, round rock on the west side of the hill, not far from its summit.

Joseph thought about the plates as he walked. Even though he knew they were sacred, it was hard for him to resist wondering how much they were worth. He had heard tales of hidden treasures protected by guardian spirits, but Moroni and the plates he described were different from these stories. Moroni was a heavenly messenger appointed by God to deliver the record safely to His chosen seer. And the plates were valuable not because they were gold, but because they witnessed of Jesus Christ.

Still, Joseph could not help thinking that he now knew exactly where to find enough treasure to free his family from poverty.17

Arriving at the hill, Joseph located the place he had seen in the vision and began digging at the base of the rock until its edges were clear. He then found a large tree branch and used it as a lever to raise the stone and heave it aside.18

Beneath the boulder was a box, its walls and base made of stone. Looking inside, Joseph saw the gold plates, seer stones, and breastplate.19 The plates were covered with ancient writing and bound together on one side by three rings. Each plate was about six inches (15 cm) wide, eight inches (20 cm) long, and thin. A portion of the plates also appeared to be sealed so no one could read it.20

Astonished, Joseph wondered again how much the plates were worth. He reached for them—and felt a shock pulse through him. He jerked his hand back but then reached for the plates twice more and was shocked each time.

“Why can I not obtain this book?” he cried out.

“Because you have not kept the commandments of the Lord,” said a voice nearby.21

Joseph turned and saw Moroni. At once the message from the night before flooded his mind, and he understood that he had forgotten the record’s true purpose. He started to pray, and his mind and soul awoke to the Holy Spirit.

“Look,” Moroni commanded. Another vision unfolded before Joseph, and he saw Satan surrounded by his numberless host. “All this is shown, the good and the evil, the holy and impure, the glory of God and the power of darkness,” the angel declared, “that you may know hereafter the two powers and never be influenced or overcome by that wicked one.”

He instructed Joseph to purify his heart and strengthen his mind to receive the record. “If ever these sacred things are obtained they must be by prayer and faithfulness in obeying the Lord,” Moroni explained. “They are not deposited here for the sake of accumulating gain and wealth for the glory of this world. They were sealed by the prayer of faith.”22

Joseph asked when he could have the plates.

“The twenty-second day of September next,” Moroni said, “if you bring the right person with you.”

“Who is the right person?” Joseph asked.

“Your oldest brother.”23

President Gordon B. Hinckley explained the reason in a talk delivered in general conference. He told about talking to a Protestant minister following a temple open house. The minister had asked why there were no crosses anywhere if we say we believe in Jesus Christ. President Hinckley answered, “‘I do not wish to give offense to any of my Christian brethren who use the cross on the steeples of their cathedrals and at the altars of their chapels, who wear it on their vestments, and imprint it on their books and other literature. But for us, the cross is the symbol of the dying Christ, while our message is a declaration of the living Christ.’
“He then asked, ‘If you do not use the cross, what is the symbol of your religion?’
“I replied that the lives of our people must become the only meaningful expression of our faith and, in fact, therefore, the symbol of our worship” (“The Symbol of Christ,” New Era, Apr. 1990, p. 4).

It started, as such things often do, with an unkind remark. Something faded now, totally forgotten. And yet it turned her father away. Church became too long a drive, too inconvenient. Wouldn’t it be better to spend the time with the family? A cloud settled over Jean-Claude Ferland, something foggy and chilling.
Mother fretted, worried, talked to the branch president. She finally decided it was better to stay home. Marie Claude—always so constant—and Clément—tall, strong Clément, who used to tease the elders so—they stopped bothering with church.
Maybe it was the years in elementary school that made the difference for Christine, all those times of quietly defending what she knew to be true. Somehow, she would stand up this time, too.
She didn’t defy her family. She simply kept going to church. It meant hitching a ride into town with a member on Friday or Saturday night, staying with a family through Sunday. Sometimes she couldn’t get a ride back until Monday morning at 4:00 or 5:00 A.M. And then, if she missed the bus she’d have to pedal her bike for an hour to get to school.
But it also meant that she could keep her family in touch with the Church. In time, she was able to get Clément and Marie Claude to join her for meetings or activities. And mother fasted and prayed, and kept the hope alive that someday father would return to activity.
Christine stopped to catch her breath. She exhaled a cloud of white mist which slowly disappeared. Then she leaned against a green railing thick with chipped enamel. Out on the water, the sailboat maneuvered, tacking against the wind. She found herself wondering about the sailors on the boat. The gliding that seemed so effortless to her—was it work for them, the muscle-straining labor of tugging ropes and trimming sails, of leaning hard on the rudder? Did they find joy in the sailing, in the combat with deep currents and stiff winds? And it made Christine look to the past again, a deep look to a time when struggle seemed worthwhile.
Dinner at the Ferland’s was always a glorious affair—plates heaped with home-grown tomatoes, beans, and pickled beets, with lamb and potatoes browned together until the meat was tender and the vegetables sweet. In the wood-burning oven, an apple pie simmered. The room spoke of families and of love.
It was at such a dinner that father called his wife and children near. Christine noticed a happy mischief in his eyes, a spark of something that for too long had been distant.
“We have to make your mother happy,” he said, looking each teenager firmly in the eye. He let them guess what he was planning to do.
After a minute he said, “Whatever it takes, we’re going to the temple.”
Of course, saying and doing are two different things. But even when he wasn’t attending his meetings, Jean-Claude Ferland had never thought of himself as anything less than a Latter-day Saint. He was still friendly with people from the branch, still in contact with home teachers, still “active” in his heart. So when he decided to be involved, he gave full dedication.
Sunday meetings were not considered optional. Service projects, branch parties, cottage meetings, whatever was asked, the Ferlands would gladly participate. Callings were willingly accepted, instructions from the branch president explicitly heeded. Even tithing, which had been a struggle in the past, was now a privilege. Once, when it was paid twice by mistake, mother and father decided to “let the Lord keep it.”
Time passed quickly. In August 1986, interviews were held and recommends were signed. The dream was coming true.
Christine can see it still, every time she closes her eyes—the Washington D. C. Temple, its white spires bright against the woods. Inside, everything is calm and bright. People smile and share a great peace.
In a sacred room, maman and papa, dressed in white, kneel at the altar. Christine, Clément, and Marie Claude, also in white, kneel beside them. Hands are placed on hands, children and parents sealed. By the power of the priesthood they are given the promises of eternity.
It was a cold day, though the sun was bright and clear. Christine looked upriver now, searching for other ships. But the sailboat was by itself.
“I wonder if sailboats ever feel lonely?” she said to herself. “Do they ever wonder if anyone notices how well they turn, or how they bump when they hit a swell?” Clément might, she thought. Then again, so might father. They were both fascinated by movement.
From the day when father first brought home his truck, Clément was admiringly by his side. There was a wonder to all that chrome and steel, the thrill of thunder roaring under the hood. Clément wanted to climb in the cab, fire up the engine, shift the gears and roll through mile after mile of freedom. Whenever he could, he rode with his father, and he dreamed of the day when he would have his own rig and a route like his father’s to Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania.
Now, however, there was a competing dream. Not a barrier, not even a detour. A different road, but a good one.
“The prophet said it,” Mother would begin the conversation, like a dozen others already held in the kitchen. “All young men should serve a mission. You’re a young man. You should serve a mission.”
“But the openings in the military won’t wait. Or I could take that job working on cars. Or I could drive with Papa …”
“And those are better ways to spend the next two years?”
Clément would review his options, again and again and again. The chances for work were exciting, all that he’d hoped for. But the mission? It was a better thing.
He prayed. He spoke to the branch president, then the district president. He submitted his papers. One by one the obstacles to serving disappeared.
The job with cars would wait. He couldn’t get a license to drive a big rig for at least two years. He had signed a preliminary agreement with the military, but turned it down the same day his call to the Louisiana Baton Rouge Mission arrived in the mail.
Then Christine thought of another day, just last October. It was overcast, gray, cool. The heavy air smelled of rain. Papa and Clément were up early, as usual on a Monday. The big diesel engine was already throbbing, mildly vibrating the entire house.
Clément stuffed the compartment behind the cab with blankets, canned pudding, instant soup, snack food. He ran inside to get some tapes, his earphones, and a tape player.
Then he thought again, and laid them aside. This was his last trip to Mechanicsburg for two years. He and father would be talking all the way there, talking about his mission.
The stairs were steep at the south end of the terrasse, but Christine took them easily. Hours of volleyball practice had conditioned her to run, and her lungs pulled in air that was crisp and pure. She reached a narrower boardwalk, the Promenade des Gouverneurs, which stretches along the cliffs to reach the Plains of Abraham.
The French love to tell of a great struggle here, when the Chevalier de Lévis, battling to reclaim Quebec, lured the British far from the city and beat them. But those assigned to cut off the retreat failed, and the rest of the army, too tired to pursue, let the enemy escape. British reinforcements arrived soon, and what should have been a French victory turned to defeat.
Christine breathed deeply and let the air out slowly. It surprised her when she thought of a scripture: “Look unto me, and endure to the end, and ye shall live” (3 Ne. 15:9).
“Endure,” she said aloud. “Sometimes you just have to endure.” And then she was remembering again.
It was a routine, the same routine Marie Claude had followed every morning for years. Get up early and care for the animals. Feed Daisy, Belle, and Lady, the horses. Feed Fido, the bull in the barn. Feed three pigs, three sheep, two dogs, four ducks, and any other animals calling the farm home at the moment.
From upstairs, Christine heard Marie Claude come in the house and bolt the back door against the wind. She could imagine her hanging her flannel coat on the peg in the kitchen. Then she heard her pull a chair across the floor and put breakfast dishes on the table.
For as long as Christine could remember, Marie Claude got up early to take care of the animals. But today the routine was different—the movements slower, the pauses longer, the sighs heavy and audible.
And Christine knew why. Last night, Marie Claude had finally told her boyfriend good-bye. He was a decent fellow, a nice man. But he didn’t understand. He’d had the missionary discussions, even been to church a time or two. But all this religion, meetings every Sunday, marriage in a temple—for him it just wouldn’t do.
And now Marie Claude, who loved him and had dated him for a couple of years, who had argued with him before, had sent him away. She sat at the breakfast table, numb, almost crying, wrenching solace from the everyday routine.
At the end of the promenade, there’s a gazebo. To get there, Christine had to mount steps again. Quickly she bounded up them, the end of her run in sight. And as she ran, her mind flashed ahead, like a video on fast forward.
Here was Marie Claude again, but this time she was smiling. Dressed in embroidered chiffon, she sat by a cheery window in a friend’s house, holding hands with an amiable young man in a blue sweater.
It was amazing. When they laughed, it was the same laugh. The smile was the same smile. They looked like each other, they talked like each other. They both had kind eyes. You’d think they were brother and sister, not fiances.
Yet there on the table was their wedding announcement, and it really did seem like a dream come true—“C’est avec joie que nous vous annonçons notre mariage qui aura lieu au Temple de Washington, D.C., mercredi le six mai.” (It is with joy that we announce our marriage in the Washington, D.C. Temple on May 6, 1987.)
André and Marie Claude. They met at church, and fell in love quickly. But after years of struggling to feel right about something that was wrong, it was easy for Marie Claude to do something that felt so true.
At the gazebo, Christine stopped.
She thought about the family. She pictured her mother, joking with the visiting teachers, happily discussing her hobby of decorating cakes. She saw Father, smiling broadly, the proudest sacrament meeting usher the Branche de Québec has as ever had. She imagined Clément, Elder Ferland, teaching missionary lessons in broken English. And she pictured Marie Claude, in her own home as a newlywed, so happy she was almost dancing.
Then she thought of spires of white, rising from a green woodland, and she cherished the promises of eternity.
Christine looked across the ancient battlefields. The rolling hills seemed to be resting, calm now as she was calm. In the distance, a calèche, a carriage, bobbed along the folds of green. From so far away, it seemed to be in slow motion. But in the evening air, she could hear the clip-clop, clip-clop of the horse’s hooves.
She turned and looked again at the river. It was shining still, but it was no longer silver. The setting sun had turned it to gold. And the sailboat, still a silhouette, pulled up to its moorings.
Dusk was past. The time for returning was here.

I once visited with a family whose depressed teenager felt unable to commit to anything except getting a little more sunshine. After two weeks of getting outside more to play sports with his father, this young man felt enough energy to experiment with adjustments to his diet, which triggered other improvements and a new momentum of gradual healing. This reflects “the aggregation of marginal gains” that Elder Michael A. Dunn of the Seventy recently emphasized.18
Another brother described how adjusting what he took into his mind had rippling benefits for other areas of life: “I started to be choosier about what [media] I watched, and who I hung out with because I had a really clear sense of how it was affecting me. And that influenced my sleeping cycle. And I started to rest more; and I realized I felt really good when I exercised. And I noticed what foods made me feel good and what foods made me feel sick.” He described these changes as a “domino effect … that cascaded into other fortunate turnarounds.”19