Gospel Story Finder

It was the look in his son’s eyes that forced Blaine* to recognize the truth. Suddenly he saw in his child’s hurt and confusion the disaster his adultery had made of his marriage. He felt convicted.
Years earlier, Blaine had begun complaining that his wife spent too much time with the children and Church service. “I felt neglected,” insisted Blaine, who began to view his wife’s love of the children and the gospel as a burden.
Over time, he embraced the views of the world and convinced himself that chastity was not a necessary moral commitment. “An affair is no big deal,” he said to excuse himself. “We all change as we pass through the various stages of life.” Seeking to justify himself, he blamed his wife for his behavior.
But with the disciplinary council behind him and divorce potentially ahead of him, Blaine saw his excuses for what they were—rationalizations and self-deception. He had called good evil and evil good. He was losing his Church membership and perhaps his family. As he looked into his son’s eyes, guilt washed over him, and he saw the anguish he had caused others.
Human sexuality is not just a physical matter. In fact, chastity and fidelity begin in the spirit, not in the body. They are expressions of the condition of our spirit. When our spirit is in tune with gospel truths, we want to live high standards, and our actions reflect that desire. Thus, chastity and fidelity are more than sexual abstinence before marriage and sexual fidelity after marriage. They express the quality of our spiritual life.

One time he had all the Boy Scouts helping him build a garage. It was a gray, bitter kind of day, and the wind howled around the corners of the building and practically knocked us flat. It didn’t seem to bother Brother Hanson much, though. He was bundled up in a huge goose-down jacket that made him look like a polar bear.
After a while we started to complain. Bryan even suggested that in this wind the garage might easily blow over and that perhaps we should leave the work for another day.
That’s when Brother Hanson gathered us all together on one side of the building, where we were partly protected from the gale. He patted the concrete foundation. “Feel this.”
We all felt it.
Then he patted the ground underneath. We felt that too. It was, being late autumn and the soil being rather clayish, about as bendable as a steel beam. “There’s a lesson to be learned here,” he announced.
We all groaned.
“In the scriptures—” he began.
“In the Book of Mormon?” asked Bryan, who was always eager to know what came from where.
Brother Hanson nodded. “In the Book of Mormon as well as in the Bible, it says that if you build your house upon a rock, which is the gospel, and the rain descends and the floods come and the winds blow, which are the trials and temptations of life, your house will not fall. That’s a good lesson, don’t you think?”
We all agreed that it was.
Then, just to emphasize his point, he sent us all back to work in the wind.

A home teacher I know in our ward was recently sitting at home one evening when the prompting came into his mind--"Go visit Brother Jones! Now!" (And it wasn't even the end of the month!) He acted on that prompting and visited Brother Jones at a critical moment to comfort him. Brother Jones, whose wife had passed away, and some of his family members needed to hear the home teacher's testimony of eternal life. That teaching moment, that singular opportunity, may have passed forever if the prompting had not been headed.

Don't we all marvel at the inspirational stories President Thomas S. Monson tells of visiting widows, serving the poor, blessing suffering hospital patients--each exemplifying President Monson's personal ministry to bless Heavenly Father's children? Besides teaching us service, what else do these stories tell us? That when the voice of the Spirit prompts President Monson, he responds. If we respond to those quiet promptings that come to us, I promise we will find that our ability to feel the voice of the Spirit will increase and it will come with more frequency. On the other hand, I fear that if we ignore the promptings, the Spirit will withdraw and prompt us less and less often.

One of the advantages Christina Marinkovic, 23, from the Tiergarten Ward, sees in having a full-time missionary couple in the center is the example these lifelong Church members are to the young single adults.
Christina was first brought to institute by her sister. “I wasn’t interested at first,” says Christina, “but I had a good feeling. It was good to see young people who make good decisions and do the right things. And they have fun. They have fun without alcohol. That was for me a little miracle. Now I am the same way.”
Christina has come to know Elder Thomas and Sister Marilyn Alexander, the missionary couple assigned to the center. “They make institute so much better. We can see a good example of how it is to be married for a long time. It’s good for me to see that a husband and wife can be happy for 40 years and in love with each other. They still flirt. It’s so sweet to see.”

President Thomas S. Monson shared this example of President Smith’s love: “On a cold winter morning, the street cleaning crew [in Salt Lake City] was removing large chunks of ice from the street gutters. The regular crew was assisted by temporary laborers who desperately needed the work. One such wore only a lightweight sweater and was suffering from the cold. A slender man with a well-groomed beard stopped by the crew and asked the worker, ‘You need more than that sweater on a morning like this. Where is your coat?’ The man replied that he had no coat to wear. The visitor then removed his own overcoat, handed it to the man and said, ‘This coat is yours. It is heavy wool and will keep you warm. I just work across the street.’ The street was South Temple. The good Samaritan who walked into the Church Administration Building to his daily work and without his coat was President George Albert Smith of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His selfless act of generosity revealed his tender heart. Surely he was his brother’s keeper.”21

It happened again while I was serving as a bishop. I received a phone call from a woman who had made a serious mistake and now faced a difficult, life-changing decision. As I visited with her, I felt I knew the answer to her problem, but I also felt strongly that I should not give her that answer—she needed to obtain it for herself. My words to her were “I believe God will tell you what to do if you would ask Him.” She later reported that she did ask Him and He did tell her.

The simple meetinghouse on Manila’s Buendia Avenue seems a little out of place next to its not-so-simple neighbors. Doubling as the Makati Philippines Stake center, it is surrounded by some of Manila’s highest skyscrapers, built on what was once considered worthless swampland.
But on its basketball court, ordinary activities like the stake youth sports festival can become extraordinary. For example, watch the Mandaluyong Third Ward basketball team. Suddenly your eyes focus on a young man wobbling and limping his way down the hard court.
A knee injury, perhaps?
A sprained wrist?
Not so, you find out. The young man is partially paralyzed.
For Alvin Martinez, rising against the odds is just like turning swampland into skyscrapers. Alvin was born healthy, and like other newborn Filipino babies he was given polio shots. But somehow, the vaccine attacked his nerves. His right leg and arm started turning immobile. The polio vaccine rendered his entire right side paralyzed.
Alvin was often the subject of jokes in school when classmates would see him limping his way to class.
“Hey, it’s Alvin,” somebody would shout.
“The way is straight,” another would jeer, “so how come you walk crooked?”
“Alvin, Alvin pilay!” Pilay means “cripple.” It was a jeer his straight-walking classmates loved to bestow on him.
But teasing wasn’t Alvin’s only trial. His father suddenly died of a stroke. Struggling with his family’s loss and his classmates’ snide comments, Alvin drifted from school and church activity and found another barkada, or group of buddies.
In Manila, a barkada can consist either of friends who build you up or of those who let you down. Alvin’s barkada was of the negative variety. Still, Alvin tried to maintain his LDS standards. “My friends would invite me to smoke,” he remembers, “but I told them I was a Mormon.”
Finally, Alvin resolved to rise up despite his limitations and, like David of old, conquer his personal Goliaths. He made a firm resolve to continue his schooling. His widowed mother, who now works as a seamstress, was delighted. She had patiently reminded him that his future would be brighter if he had a good education.
At school, Alvin found a new barkada, classmates who treated him with respect. “All my classmates are so kind and friendly,” he beams.
A little bit shy at first, but actually fun-loving and witty, Alvin also began to find church to be a home away from home. “I enjoyed being in church,” Alvin says, “and I liked being with my fellow young men.” Because of the influence of good Church friends and priesthood quorum members, Alvin’s testimony was strengthened and he found himself, with the help of his youth leaders, back in church. In visiting Alvin, they would often tell him not to be ashamed of his disability. “We wanted him to know that he was valued,” one youth leader recalls, “and he did feel appreciated eventually.” Alvin is grateful for the missionaries who taught his family, and he’s even more grateful for the youth leaders who helped him come back to church after going through some real struggles.
Today, Alvin is one of the most active young men in his ward. Being with his church friends is something he relishes. “They are not ashamed to be with me,” he says happily. “They don’t even joke about me.” Instead, it’s Alvin who cracks jokes with them.
And his dedication is exemplary. One Sunday, he was in a lively conversation with other young men.
“We’ve been asked to clean up the meetinghouse grounds this Saturday,” said one.
“But we have a better activity than that,” another replied.
“But let’s do what we’ve been told to do first,” Alvin said.
Well, Saturday came, and while the other young men were yet to arrive, Alvin was already there in his work clothes. And he brought his nonmember cousin, too.
Seeing this, you can’t help but make the connection between Alvin and his favorite scripture: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7).
Recently Alvin received a special award for perfect attendance at seminary. Seminary for Manila’s LDS youth is usually held during the afternoon or early evening when Manila’s heavy traffic congestion is at its peak. But Alvin comes right on time. “When it comes to actual application of the lesson, Alvin tries his best,” remarks Brother Nolan Caceres, his seminary teacher.
That same attitude spills into his other activities. The ward basketball team he plays on garnered second place in the stake sports festival. And in activity nights at the meetinghouse, “he doesn’t fail us,” Brother Caceres says. “He’ll be there.”
Just like the towers hovering over the stake center, Alvin’s hopes are high. He dreams of having his own business. But his number-one goal right now is to serve a mission. In school, Alvin has already, in his own unique way, attracted others to the Church because of his simple yet dedicated example.
When asked who his favorite scripture personality is, Alvin thinks for a moment, then answers, “I think Moses.” It seems to be an appropriate choice. Before Moses accepted the Lord’s call, he felt he couldn’t do it because he was “slow of speech.” (See Ex. 4:10.) But despite personal inadequacies, he did what the Lord expected of him, an example Alvin is following.
Many Filipinos with disabilities end up in institutions; some become social outcasts. Alvin is an exception. “He has learned to do useful things, even though other people thought he couldn’t,” Brother Caceres adds.
Yes, useful things like playing basketball, going to school, and sharing the gospel. Alvin Martinez knows you can rise up and, like the tall buildings in Manila, touch the sky.

Dr. Walker came one evening with a book under his arm and a flower in his hand. “Kari, I want you to have this book. I noticed you and your mother reading together, and I guess I wanted to get into the act. I think you of all people might understand a little of what this young boy went through. He was about your age.”
Kari reached for the book and smiled when she realized it was about the Prophet Joseph Smith. As she read she began to feel that Joseph was a good friend as they traveled together through pain, trials, endurance, and above all, loneliness.
A few weeks after the operation, Dr. Walker told Kari she would have to have radiation therapy. The first snowfall had covered the old oak tree when Kari’s mother drove her to the first treatment. Dr. Walker had prepared her for the aftereffects as best he could, but she soon learned to hate the radiation treatments, even though she knew they were probably saving her life. She wrote in her journal, “A radiation treatment is 100 stormy nights all mixed into one.”
Kari’s mother kept her promise. She was there every step of the way. She was a cheerleader in a house dress and apron, keeping up the faith and the fight.
Christmas came and went. The words “Kari, make it just one more day,” became Mother’s battle cry. Or if the fatigue or nausea was unbearable, the words were, “Kari, make it just one more hour.”
As winter dragged on, the hours and days merged into a gray landscape of pain and exhaustion. Finally, on Valentine’s Day, Kari gave up. She lay in bed looking at an unopened valentine from her mother. Finally, she let it fall to the floor, still unopened. She was tired beyond caring. Her leg burned and itched. She was on the verge of vomiting. She lay back and gave herself up to “What if?” and “Why me?”
Turning her head as if to hide the pointless tears, she saw through her window the ropes of her swing. They moved lazily with the wind, pale lines against the bare oak limbs and gray sky. She struggled to her elbow, then slid heavily from her bed and limped to the window. As she looked down at the swing, a memory stirred and grew strong. She knew what she had to do.
She had made it down the stairs somehow and was halfway out the door when her little brother John found her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said. “Please get back to bed. It’s cold out here. You’ll catch cold and …”
“Just help me get to the swing.”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The swing? You want to swing? It’s freezing out here.”
Kari kept limping toward the swing. “If you won’t help me, I’ll get there myself.”
John put an arm around Kari’s waist, and she leaned on his shoulder. Together they moved on toward the swing. Each step took forever. Kari held her stomach to keep from retching, dragging her leg behind her.
Finally they reached the wooden seat. Kari sat down and John began pushing her. At first she could do nothing but hold on weakly, but then she felt a change. Her grip tightened. Her head felt less heavy on her shoulders. Slowly at first, then more swiftly, strength came flooding into her from some hidden reservoir. For the first time in weeks she felt fueled by a purpose. She began pulling hard on the rope and stretching her toes forward. She felt as if she were reaching with her legs for the height her soul required. With all the strength she possessed she struggled higher and higher, hanging at each summit in a weightless, timeless calm, then dropping back into a dizzy gulf. Soon she was higher than she had ever been before. Street on street opened to her. Suddenly the whole valley was before her, clear to the horizon. She could see to the edge of the world. Her toes touched oak twigs. She felt as if she had left her body behind while her spirit soared. With every swing the world looked new and different. The oak limbs blurring past were the color of Thomas’s new suit.
The pages of Dr. Walker’s book began to dance in circles through Kari’s mind. She thought of Joseph crying out to the Lord in the jail at Liberty, and she heard the answer:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity … shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes” (D&C 121:7–8).
She felt as if she were kneeling with the Prophet as he searched the heavens again for the height he needed, and again heard the voice. “If the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (D&C 122:7).
Bells chimed somewhere in the valley, and Kari thought they were ringing in her soul.
All her newfound strength suddenly drained from her. She was barely able to hold on as the swing slowed. She went limp as John grabbed the ropes and stopped her.
He came around from behind the swing and faced Kari, steadying her as she slumped forward. He was surprised to see a calmness about her. And something that had been missing much too long seemed to have come back.
“John?”
“Kari, what is it? Do you need the doctor?”
Kari shook her head. “I was just wondering how long a woman lives. How old is a woman usually when she dies?”
John shivered in the 35-degree weather. “I had a teacher at school tell me the average life of a woman was 70 or so. She was about 50, and I think she told us that to take away our hopes of getting a different teacher in the near future.”
The wind stopped blowing for a moment, and the air felt less harsh. “John, Dr. Walker says I’ve got three more months of radiation treatments. Right now that looks like forever, but when I think of living 50 or 60 years after that, it’s really just an instant.”
John took his jacket off and put it over Kari’s shoulders. He glimpsed his mother at the kitchen window and knew that in a few moments she would be running out to bring Kari back to the safety of the house.
Kari made circles for a moment with her toe. “The surgeons think they got all the cancer, but they won’t be sure for at least five years, and even then there are no guarantees. But, John …” She took his hands and found that they were strong, like Thomas’s, like her father’s. “Even if they didn’t get it all—when I think of even the longest life compared to forever, it’s like sitting here on the swing and seeing just beyond the yard compared to being so high I can see the entire valley. It’s just a moment.”
John looked a little dubious. “I’d have to say it was a long moment, in my opinion.”
Kari smiled despite the churning of her stomach and the screaming of her leg. “Okay, a long moment, but still a moment.”
“Now let’s go in, Kari. Please? Mom’s coming out of the house, and she’s going to be madder than wet hornets.”
John lifted Kari from the swing. Her head began to swim, and her stomach lurched. He held her tight and started guiding her back to the house. Suddenly she stopped and turned around to look once more at the swing. She knew, as some things are just known, that she would swing again when the bluejays began to fly and the sun warmed the house once more.
“John, Thomas was right.”
John turned around and looked at the swing too. “Thomas is usually right, Kari. He’s the brains in this family.”
The swing began to move slightly as the wind picked up. Kari saw her mother out of the corner of her eye, running to help.
Kari turned her back to the swing, and at the same time she turned her back on giving up. Snow began to fall, but Kari’s thoughts were on the coming spring. She was thinking about the hours she would spend on the swing, and about how far she would learn to see.

“For a long time,” says Jhon Tobar, 17, of Quito, “I let myself be carried along by my friends, and I didn’t have a good relationship with my parents. But I have learned that if you lose the trust of your parents and brothers and sisters, it’s like being alone. I just had an interview with my bishop this morning—my bishop is my dad. I can say now that I have no better friend than my own father. I love him a lot. He is my best example.”

All day Bonifacio Diaz had been planning to hurry home from school, change into his old clothes, and head straight for the outdoor basketball court at Stevens School. If I’m early, I’ll have a chance to play. Then I’ll be warmed up for tryouts tonight, Bonifacio thought. I hope I’m hot tonight. If I’m not, the coach won’t notice me—not with all those tall guys there.
Bonifacio met his sister Maria on the steps between the third and fourth floors of their apartment house. She turned and called after him, “Mrs. Alvarez came home from the hospital today. She wants to see you right away.”
“But I have to practice. Why can’t you go?”
“I’m baby-sitting. Besides, she needs you. You’re her errand boy.”
Minutes later he knocked on the door marked A-1 and called out, “It’s Bono.”
Mrs. Alvarez’s voice sounded shaky. “Come in, Bono. The door’s open.”
When he saw how pale and weak his elderly friend was, Bono winced. “Hi! Maria said you wanted to see me.”
“I need some medicine from the drugstore,” she told him. “Would you get it for me?”
“Do you need it right now?” he asked.
She nodded. “The doctor told me to start taking the medicine as soon as possible,” she said, handing him the prescription and a five-dollar bill.
Bono ran all the way to the drugstore and back.
“Gracias (thank you), Bono,” Mrs. Alvarez said, holding out a dollar. “Now would you mind going to the grocery store to buy some crackers, a loaf of bread, and a quart of milk?”
Bono frowned. He felt a little frustrated but he took the money and ran to the nearest store. Maybe I’ll still get a chance to play, he thought on the way back to the apartment. When he had climbed the stairs again, he plopped down the leftover change and the groceries on the kitchen table. As he went out the door Mrs. Alvarez called, “Bono, I’m sorry, but I forgot to have you pick up the walker at the firehouse on First Avenue. If I can learn to use it, I might be able to walk again.”
Bono couldn’t believe the old woman would expect him to go on another errand. But she seemed so helpless and alone that he couldn’t refuse. Twenty minutes later he was back with the walker.
“You’re a good boy, Bono,” Mrs. Alvarez said. “Thank you so very much. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
When Bono reached the school yard five minutes later, a full court game was in play. And once a game started, no one had a chance to play until it was finished. Bono walked home muttering to himself, “Now I’ll have to go to the tryouts cold.”
Tryouts for City Center’s basketball team were scheduled for six thirty, but Bono and several of his neighborhood friends were there by five thirty. He looked at the other players and saw that he was shorter than anyone else there—just two inches over five feet.
During tryouts, Bono hit four out of ten foul shots and three out of ten set shots. Although his shooting was off, his play showed the smoothness of hours of practice on the school yard court. He stole the ball twice, never let anyone take it away, and put the ball into play. He went up under the boards but could not get any rebounds.
The coach took Bono out of the scrimmage, and he sat on the bench watching every play. There were twenty-three boys trying out for the team and he noticed that everyone tried hard to score. Those tall guys are lucky, Bono thought. I’d give anything to be tall.
The coach blew the whistle and sent Joe McMasters, one of the tallest boys, to the bench. Bono moved over to make room for him.
“Do you think I shoot too much?” Joe asked.
Bono shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen you play before tonight.”
“I thought I could make those outside shots,” Joe explained. “Did it look like I took a shot every time I got my hands on the ball?”
“Well,” Bono replied, “you didn’t pass off much and you did take some wild shots.”
“I know but everyone expects me to score a lot because I’m tall. And they depend on me to get all the rebounds. If I don’t produce every game, they don’t want me on the team,” Joe said.
“You can’t play great every game,” Bono encouraged. “Everybody has a bad day once in awhile. Nobody’s hot all the time.”
“But they expect me to be high scorer every game. If I’m not, they give me funny looks as if I’ve been goofing off. I try my best but sometimes the breaks are against me.”
“That happens to everybody,” Bono said, “even to professionals. You just have to stay in there and keep trying.”
“That’s what they say, but they’re really hoping I quit. And that’s what I did.”
Bono looked puzzled.
“Last year it was the Bulldogs and the year before that it was the Giants,” Joe continued. “I didn’t belong with them anyhow. I hardly knew the players on my own team. They were glad when we quit.”
“When who quit?” Bono asked.
Joe gestured to two boys on the court. “Mel and Gene and me.”
“I thought you guys had played together before,” Bono said. “What made you try out for this team?”
Joe shrugged. “We heard about it at school and decided to give it a try. But if people think I’m goofing off when I’m really playing my best, then I’ll quit this team too.”
Bono sat there thinking, I never realized it before. What this team needs more than anything else is self-confidence. I’m worried because I’m too short. And Joe’s worried that he won’t be high scorer or snag all the rebounds. Everybody thinks he has to score double numbers to be valuable to the team.
For the first time Bono saw that the team needed someone to give the players confidence and the feeling of playing as a team. Maybe it needed him after all. “Help me to know what to do and to be fair always,” he silently prayed.
During the remainder of the tryout session, Bono played better than he had ever played before. Afterward, the coach announced the names of those who had made the team. Then he said, “Even though Bonifacio Diaz is shorter than anyone else, we need him. He’s a team player and a playmaker.”
Bono couldn’t stop smiling as he made the rounds congratulating the players and telling them he was glad they’d be playing together. When he reached home, he told his family the good news.
“That’s great, Bono,” Maria said, adding, “Mrs. Alvarez wants to see you tomorrow after school.”
“Okay but remind me in case I forget,” Bono said. Then he thought to himself, Everybody has problems … Mrs. Alvarez, Joe, and me. We all need help sometimes. I thought being short was the worst thing in the world. I always wanted to be over six feet tall. But now I’m just going to try to be the best playmaker I can.

This first photo is of my siblings and me. I’m the medium-sized one smack-dab in the middle. The year is 1952 and the setting is Salt Lake City, where I was born and raised. While I have many fond memories of this stage of my life, one seems to stand out more prominently than the rest.

My ten year old brother Mike and I who was seven were left in charge of our younger twin brother and sister one night when Mom and Dad went out for their weekly date. In my mind’s eye, I can see the four of us lying on the living room floor in front of our 12-inch black-and-white television set, no doubt watching a favorite program. All these years later, I can distinctly recall a sudden, powerful impression I had to stand up and walk into the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, I had the inexplicable idea that I should get down on my hands and knees and examine the tiny crevice under the kitchen cupboards. What I saw temporarily stunned me: Through that tiny crack, I could make out red, flickering flames!

Frantically, I ran back into the living room to tell my brother what I saw. “Mike! I think there’s a fire in the basement!” He just laughed at me, but I persisted and convinced him to go down into the basement with me to look. He nonchalantly led me through the quiet sewing room and then opened the door into the laundry room. There, in a large box of fabric, we saw flames shooting almost to the ceiling! Mike yelled at me to take the twins across the street to our neighbors and call the fire department. Meanwhile, he quickly unhooked the hose from the back of the washing machine and started dousing the flames.

By the time the two big fire engines arrived at our house, Mike had the fire out. My parents pulled into the driveway at about the same time the firemen did! It was quite an exciting scene for my family and all of our neighbors. We had caught the fire before it was able to do any real damage to our house. The only thing that was burned that night was an insignificant box of mother’s sewing scraps.

Standing outside our family home with the firemen, I knew without a doubt that Heavenly Father loved me and trusted me enough to send seven-year-old me an important message: Go look in the kitchen under the cupboards.

I heard an attractive young lady, a recent convert to the Church, bear her testimony at a stake conference meeting. She had lived in more than a dozen foster homes in her short life and had been turned out from all of them as incapable of being helped. She said through her tears that no one had ever made her feel that she was worth anything. Then she had been given one more chance; an older couple who had provided a home for many foster children had accepted an invitation to try to help just one more.

Now, as she spoke, she radiated both joy and self-esteem. “I am valuable!” she said. “I am valuable! Jesus Christ died for me! I found out in my new family how much I am worth when I learned about Christ and how much he cared for me and was willing to suffer for me. He died for me! I am valuable!”

She is very fortunate. After a young lifetime of bad choices and trouble she is in a home where she is really valued and esteemed and where she has been taught by loving parents her relationship with the Savior. She has begun to know and appreciate him, to find meaning in life, and to develop a sense of responsibility. Her experience reminds me of a statement which hangs, framed, on my office wall: “Though Christ a thousand times in Bethlehem be born, if he is not born in thee thy soul is still forlorn.”

Two years ago, I asked the young adults of the Manchester Coordinating Council, “What events would you like to plan throughout 2024?” I was moved that their ideas focused on the temple and on leading the youth. In 2024, they organised four successful, Christ-centred, temple-focused events: two “Flood the Temple” events with up to 500 young adults at the Preston Temple, some making their own covenants; a youth “Flood the Temple” event where 40 young adults led 280 youth to the baptistry; and a weekend where 20 young adults led a missionary preparation experience for 50 young men and women. I vividly recall visiting the baptistry and seeing a young man baptising a young woman, two young women witnessing, a young adult man recording, and young people waiting for their turn. Tears filled my eyes at the sight. Reflecting on these moments fills me with joy for the strength and covenant focus of the Rising Generation.

He gave much of this service while he and Susan were raising three young sons and he was making a remarkable contribution in his work at the University of Arkansas. Doyle Z. Williams, dean of the College of Business at the University of Arkansas, describes Elder Bednar’s contributions not in terms of offices held or honors received—of which there were many—but in terms of personal influence: “David Bednar was part of our leadership team. He sharpened our vision. He always exuded enthusiasm for students and a passion to help his fellowman. To all our discussions he brought reason and compassion. He inspired his colleagues and students by his example and was held in the highest esteem.”

Dean Williams, who is not a member of the Church, saw a power to influence others that was also observed by Jerry Abram, President Bednar’s counselor in a far-flung Arkansas stake. Brother Abram describes his impressions this way: “We traveled an average of 2,000 miles [3,200 km] per month together, so I got to know him very well. He called my wife to be the stake Relief Society president, and he set my daughter apart when she departed for England to serve her mission. He spoke at her twin sister’s funeral with such power and compassion. Our daughter was 17 years old when she and two of her girlfriends died in a tragic automobile accident. The funeral was tender, but Elder Bednar helped make it bearable. He stood behind our family during our darkest hour. After the funeral I wrote in my journal that he was the most spiritual and compassionate man I had ever met.”

I remember my mother recounting the story of her family’s situation back in Mexico. She told us how her father’s land of inheritance was stolen by a relative and how her father never knew his own grandfather. And the story always ended with the sad account of a gang coming and burning her family’s house and everything inside to the ground—including their family history records.
I thought all our genealogical information on my mother’s side was gone for good.

Conscious of the debt they owed the workers, Church leaders announced that the first session of the dedication would be a charitable event. Those who attended were asked to contribute a dollar to help pay the impoverished laborers.

On the morning of May 1, fourteen-year-old Elvira Stevens left her camp west of the Mississippi and crossed the river to attend the dedication. An orphan whose parents had died soon after the family moved to Nauvoo, Elvira now lived with her married sister. Since no one else in her camp could join her for the dedication, she went alone.

Knowing that it might be years before another temple was built in the West, the apostles had administered the endowment to some young single people, including Elvira. Now, three months later, she climbed the steps to the temple doors once more, contributed her dollar, and found a seat in the assembly hall.28

The session opened with singing from a choir. Orson Hyde then offered the dedicatory prayer. “Grant that Thy Spirit shall dwell here,” he pleaded, “and may all feel a sacred influence on their hearts that His hand has helped this work.”29

Elvira felt heavenly power in the room. After the session, she returned to her camp, but she came back for the next session two days later, hoping to feel the same power again. Orson Hyde and Wilford Woodruff gave sermons on temple work, priesthood, and the resurrection. Before closing the meeting, Wilford praised the Saints for finishing the temple even though they would have to abandon it.

“Thousands of the Saints have received their endowment in it, and the light will not go out,” he said. “This is glory enough for building the temple.”

After the session, Elvira returned to her camp, crossing the river one last time.30 Saints in Nauvoo, meanwhile, spent the rest of the day and night packing up and removing chairs, tables, and other furnishings until the temple was empty and left in the hands of the Lord.31

Once I had a huge doubt about whether to go on a date with a nonmember. One Sunday in sacrament meeting, a sister gave a talk that seemed to be directed personally to me. At that moment, I received an assurance that the Lord had answered my prayer. Before, I had been confused about what to do, but then I was comforted by the Holy Ghost, who filled my heart with joy and courage. God answers us through feelings, thoughts, the scriptures, and even speakers at church!
Karen V., 19, Minas Gerais, Brazil

When I was given the assignment to speak in the priesthood session of general conference, I immediately thought of a wonderful Primary teacher. Her great desire was to prepare us to be worthy of receiving the priesthood. She grilled us on the requirements then in place for graduation from Primary—memorize the names of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the Articles of Faith. She also made us a promise—if all of us could recite the thirteen Articles of Faith by memory, we could choose the place and go on an outing for our last class.
We decided on a special spot we liked to hike to on the rocky slopes just above the first dam at the entrance of Logan Canyon, in northern Utah. There was a small, flat space in these rocky cliffs that had a natural fireplace where you could cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows. When we chose the location, however, we did not consider our teacher, who was older and certainly not the athletic type. If we had thought about it more carefully, it might have occurred to us that she would have a difficult time making the hike. Her promise was her bond, however, and she gamely followed us.
First we climbed up the small hill. In our day there were no power lines to prevent access. With some help our teacher made it up the hill. Once over the top we dropped down into a rocky ridge to a place we called “Turtle Back.”
After we arrived, it took our teacher a little while to catch her breath. By the time we prepared to sit down and eat, she had recovered enough to teach us our final lesson. She told us how she had enjoyed teaching us in Primary for the last two years. She complimented us on how we had mastered the Articles of Faith. She could call out the number of any one of them, and we could quote it back to her. Then she said memorizing the Articles of Faith would mean nothing more than a lot of words unless we understood the doctrines and principles contained in them. She encouraged us to study the gospel doctrine taught in each of the Articles of Faith. She explained that the doctrine found in the Articles of Faith was divided into sections.
After my teacher’s wonderful lesson on that mountain in Logan Canyon, we noticed that we had stayed a little longer than we had planned. The evening was drawing to a close, and we realized we had a problem.
My teacher had struggled to arrive at our special spot, but returning presented a major challenge for us. This only compounded the poor selection of a place for our outing. The climb back was difficult for us, but even more so for a person of her age.
As we struggled to help her back up the hill, two policemen appeared. The Primary president had sent them out to find us, fearing we were lost. The drama of the event and the lessons taught made it an unforgettable experience in my life.

“I’m afraid to invite nonmembers to meet the missionaries because:
“They might say no.”
“I don’t know how they’ll react to the missionaries.”
“Everyone might be uncomfortable.”
Even though I was nervous about it, I decided to invite some neighbors to spend a home evening with us. We asked the missionaries to join us. We hoped that through this experience our friends would learn that the missionaries were normal young men with an enthusiasm for life and a genuine interest in their family’s happiness.
After visiting and enjoying refreshments, our conversation developed into a calm discussion about the gospel. An hour and a half later, our neighbors—still our friends—left with a copy of the Book of Mormon with our testimony written inside.

One of the mountains we had to climb was when we were making all the arrangements with my wife’s family for our marriage. Her family, who is Catholic, made it a condition that if I wanted to marry their daughter, we had to get married religiously in the Catholic Church. We were completely at a loss as to what to do.
My wife and I said to each other that temple marriage is a commandment of God. We had faith in Him and in His Son Jesus Christ; we decided to pray and fast, and then whatever our Heavenly Father would reveal to us we would do it, even if it meant getting married in a Catholic church. We decided to meet with my wife’s family to ask them if we could all pray together. If our Heavenly Father revealed to us that we should get married in the Catholic Church, then we would do it. But if God revealed to us that we should get married in the temple, then we would invite my wife’s family to accept that answer. Our goal was to accept the will of God.
After we prayed and fasted, our Heavenly Father revealed to us that we should get married in the temple. To our great surprise, my in-laws did not challenge us anymore.
We have been married now for three years, and we plan to go to the temple next month.
A few months ago, my mother-in-law told my wife that she felt that we had bewitched them during the prayer. They did not understand what had happened! My wife tenderly explained that it was the Spirit of God that touched her heart.