Gospel Story Finder

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

While serving as a mission president it was my great privilege and responsibility to interview every missionary as he began his mission. That was always a great experience, but it sometimes gave me insights into the backgrounds of my missionaries that shocked me. One elder told me of his growing up in a small farming community as the son of the town drunkard. When, as a newly called missionary, he boarded the bus to come to Salt Lake City to enter the mission home, his father was there to bid him farewell. He must have been drunk, for his last words to his son were, “Son, you will never amount to a hill of beans.”
As I talked with my missionary, I could sense that he had heard that phrase over and over again throughout his young life: “You will never amount to a hill of beans.” And that choice young man, called by the Lord to be his representative, believed it. I resolved to prove that father wrong by seeing that the missionary had a successful mission. I assigned him to a great first companion and watched his progress with keen interest and daily prayers. And progress he did.
As my release date approached, I made a final tour of the mission to say good-bye to my beloved fellow workers. By this time the young man was a zone leader, a very important calling in the mission field. He conducted that zone conference like a veteran bishop. I saw the deep bond of love that had developed between him and his missionaries. I thought of the scores of converts who had joined the Church through his devoted service and the power of his testimony. At an appropriate moment in the conference I stood beside him with my arm around him and said, with a lump in my throat, “You wouldn’t believe this, but someone once said of this young man that he would never amount to a hill of beans.” He turned and looked me in the eye and responded, “We sure showed him, didn’t we, President?”

I still remember one particular afternoon as if it were yesterday. I sat down next to a smiling lady during our Sunday meetings, which at that time were held both in the morning and the afternoon. I took her hand to make sure she would stay with me. But I was only six years old, and I was quite tired. My eyelids began to close, and though I struggled hard to keep hold of that warm hand, I fell asleep. When I woke up, the hand was no longer there. Tears ran down my small face, and my heart was sad.
Her name was Sister Avon Compton. She and her husband, Merlin, were always smiling, and their faces reflected love. When I close my eyes today, I can still see them clearly. I often tell my Primary class about them. Their story is the best way I know to teach my CTR class about love.
They had come to Perú from their own country to be with us for a while. She did not speak our language very well, but her husband spoke it better than some of us. We admired him and knew he loved our language and culture.
I do not remember exactly when I began to love Sister Compton, but I think it must have been that first Sunday in Primary. She taught us the song “When I Go to Church” (Children’s Songbook, 157). She had brought pictures, and as she taught us the words of the song, she taught us about singing. She told us that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ liked to hear our voices raised in praise.
On another occasion, we again sat together during sacrament meeting. We could not say much to each other because of the language difference, but we could communicate. During the meeting, she got out a piece of paper and some crayons. I thought she was going to write something, but she whispered, “Let’s draw Mama.” She drew a small circle. Then she pointed to her eyes and gave me the piece of paper and a crayon. I understood that she wanted me to draw the eyes, and I did. I gave the crayon back to her, and she drew hair. Then I drew the dress, and she drew the arms. Eventually, the two of us had drawn a picture of my mother. I felt so happy! I showed it to Mama, and I gave Sister Compton a big hug.
She always had something to share with us. Often it was a children’s story she had written herself. One day she talked to me about Jesus Christ. Then we colored some pictures she had drawn of Jesus.
The day came when Brother and Sister Compton had to leave. I asked why. Mama told me they had a family who missed and needed them. I thought of Mama and how I could not be away from her for very long. That’s when I knew I had to let Sister Compton go.
Many years have passed since then. The letters between us have never stopped, and our friendship has become stronger. When I think of Sister Compton, I think of the words our Lord Jesus Christ left with His disciples: “This is my commandment, That ye love one another, as I have loved you” (John 15:12).

Abraham Smoot died in 1895, nearly a hundred years ago. In 1892 he said to his wife:

Annie, I haven’t a piece of property that is not mortgaged. [And he was quite wealthy for his time.] I have had to do it to raise money to keep the Brigham Young Academy going. That was given to me as a mission and I would sooner lose all, than fail in fulfilling this responsibility. I love that school and I can see what it means to our youth to have a spiritual as well as book learning. It must live. [C. Elliott Berlin, “Abraham Owen Smoot, Pioneer Mormon Leader” (master’s thesis, Brigham Young University, 1955), p. 161]

Well, live it did, through sacrifices of giants who have gone before us and made contributions like his. Why was it that Abraham Smoot thought of this as a mission? Well, I can tell you that story, too. It’s written in history (Marilyn McMeen Miller and John Clifton Moffitt, Provo—A Story of People in Motion[Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1974], pp. 27–28). I’ve often wondered how true or how apocryphal it was, but it is written and documented. Brigham Young, in the 1870s, called A. O. Smoot into his office. He had been the mayor of Salt Lake and a Church leader in the Sugar House area and was very busy in the Church and in his business. Brigham Young said, according to the documented history,

“I’m going to call you on a mission. There are three places, all on a par. One is as good as the other. They are Hell, Provo or Texas. You can take your choice.” A. O. replied, “I would sooner go to Hell than to Provo.” Apparently he didn’t give a second thought to Texas.

And Brigham Young is said to have responded, “Brother Smoot, if you don’t go to Provo, that’s exactly where you will go.”

Well, he went to Provo and gave away his personal fortune to save the Academy, which had struggled for years. He died in 1895, and the Academy was still struggling financially. Yet somehow, based on such sacrifice, we see about us a unique and remarkable institution.

This was a vision of promise, a vision of restoration of the gospel to the descendents of the seed of Joseph [2] , to the people of Hawaii. And this promise first saw light in Hawaii on December 12, 1850, with the arrival of 10 missionaries, including George Q. Cannon. Five of those first 10 missionaries returned home after a few months because there was little success in the beginning. However, George Q. Cannon said, "I came here to do the Lord's work, and I will not leave it until I have completed my mission." President Hinckley comments that "in the course of that mission, he [Elder Cannon] met this wonderful Hawaiian native, a man of tremendous capacity and great strength who proved to have courage and vision and faith." [3]

This Hawaiian native is affectionately known as Jonathan Napela. Together, George Q. Cannon and Jonathan Napela further prepared the way for the gospel to be established in Hawaii with the translating of the Book of Mormon into the Hawaiian language. The people, my people, could now learn the gospel in their native tongue. The translation of the Book of Mormon brought about many miracles and the church membership grew rapidly to 4,000 strong in a little over four years. Soon a new concern presented itself, as the Saints now needed a gathering place where they might worship together. This was a new beginning for the work of the Lord in Hawaii.

Oh, kids! All the flowerpots on the porch are knocked over!” exclaimed Mrs. Rossini in a very exasperated voice.
“Petey did it, Mom,” Robbie and Marsha responded in unison.
Of course. Whenever an “accident” happened in the Rossini house, the other children always claimed that “Petey did it.”
The kitchen door swung open, and with every step, three-year-old Peter left a little pile of sand on the kitchen floor. “Mama, come see. I made the biggest mountain in the world in the sandbox. It’s beautific!”
“Petey, please shake the sand off before you come into the house. Now then, is your mountain beautiful, or terrific?”
“It’s both—my mountain is beautific!” Petey grinned as he ran out the door, knocking over the scrub bucket of water his mother had just used to clean the kitchen floor.
Petey “did it,” all right. Everywhere he went, a mess was sure to follow. Mrs. Rossini wiped up the water and sand with a sigh, then went out to view Peter’s sand mountain.
Marsha and Robbie giggled over their little brother’s disasters. It was almost a family joke for them to shout, “Petey did it! Petey did it!” even if little Peter wasn’t around.
It just seemed funny for Marsha to say “Petey did it!” when Mother wondered what had happened to the last cookie in the bag. Or Robbie might smile and say, “Petey did it,” when no one could quite remember how the schoolbooks were misplaced.
When all three children were scrambling to get the first waffle from the big platter on the table at breakfast, the syrup was knocked over. Of course, Marsha and Robbie giggled and claimed that “Petey did it.” When his mother asked, “Peter, did you bump over the syrup?” he answered, “Yes, Mama. I did, and I’m very sorry.”
After breakfast, the Rossini children were sent to sweep the garage. Marsha moved the boxes and straightened things a bit while Robbie started with the broom. Peter tried to hold the dustpan.
“Marsha, I can’t sweep that corner unless you move Dad’s bike. Why don’t you put it in the driveway.”
“Sure. Hey, Petey. Do you want to sit on the seat while I push the bike into the driveway?”
“Yes, yes, yes! Lift me up, Marsha, please.”
“Up you go,” Marsha said as she lifted the little boy onto Dad’s bicycle. “Hold on to me while I push you.”
Robbie quickly swept that corner of the garage, then followed Marsha and Peter. “That looks fun. Let me try it, Marsh.”
Off the children went, down the street, taking turns pushing Peter on the bike. They hadn’t gone very far when one of their friends shouted to them from his yard.
“Robbie! Marsha! Peter! Do you want to see my new kitten?”
Who could resist? Marsha helped Petey jump down, and all three ran to see Kevin’s new kitten. No one thought at all about Dad’s bike. A few minutes later a big garbage truck rumbled around the corner and ran right over the front wheel of the bicycle.
All afternoon the children sat in their rooms and worried about what to tell their father. How could they explain it? Somehow, when Dad came in, before he could even say anything, the words just rushed out of Robbie’s mouth, “Petey did it.”
“That’s right,” said Marsha. “Petey was riding your bike and left it in the road, and the truck ran over it.”
“I did, Daddy. I went to see Kevin’s kitten, and I forgot your bike, and it got runned over. I’m sorry, Daddy,” Petey said with big tears in his eyes.
“Well, we’ll talk more about this later. All of you go wash your hands for dinner now.”
During dinner, Marsha felt terrible and Robbie felt worse. The two children thought over and over about the questions that Dad had not asked them. Dad hadn’t asked how Peter could have gotten on the bike, or how he could have ridden it by himself when his feet didn’t even reach the pedals. Dad knew that Peter couldn’t even open the garage door by himself.
It didn’t feel like a joke to blame Peter anymore for everything. Robbie pushed his potatoes around with his fork and thought how he was really more to blame than Peter. He knew better than to leave a bike in the road.
Marsha stared at her plate. She thought about little Petey telling Dad that he had ridden the bike. It was time to be accountable for her part in the ruined bike. “Dad,” Marsha blurted out, “it wasn’t really Petey. I’m the one who put him on your bike and gave him a ride. I’m really sorry I took your bike and let it get run over.”
“Me, too, Dad,” Robbie hurried to add. “Petey was just riding, and I was pushing too. We all left it in the road. Can I do something to help get it fixed?”
“Thank you, kids, for telling me the whole truth, not just part of it. Maybe we can figure out a way for you to help fix the bike. Maybe we also need a new family rule. From now on the only one in the Rossini family who can say ‘Petey did it’ is Peter himself.”
“And I’ll tell you when Marsha did it,” said a smiling Marsha.
“And I’ll learn to say ‘Robbie did it,’” said a much happier Robbie.

Third, we should give service to others. Service helps us to forget about ourselves and to think more about others. I remember one occasion when I participated in a service project to help a family in our ward. After the service project, I walked home in the dark. As I walked, I thought, “I have no problems.” Of course I had problems, but seeing some of the challenges that this family faced helped me to put my problems in perspective. When we serve others, we focus less on ourselves and experience more joy. The Savior said, “For whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.”

Photographs by Shirley Brito
Felipe F. from Pará, Brazil, is not your average 18-year-old. He has competed in professional mixed martial arts (MMA), judo, and karate competitions. And he’s pretty good at what he does. He won the International Iron Man MMA competition. He’s a 2-time Pará state champion, a Brazilian vice-champion, and an international vice-champion for judo. And he is a 10-time Pará state champion, a 10-time Brazilian champion, a South American champion, a Pan-American champion, and a 3-time world champion for karate. Whoa!
Felipe has been training since he was seven years old. But he believes the biggest reason for his success is God. “I always pray for the Lord’s help,” he says.
During his last Pan-American karate championship, Felipe wasn’t feeling very confident. But then his dad gave him a priesthood blessing. “After that my mind was better, and that helped me win the championship that day. The last two matches I won, I had only one second left. Everyone thought it was impossible. I did an unexpected move that helped me win, and for me, it was all because of my dad’s blessing.”
His dad has given him many blessings over the years. Felipe knows that receiving a blessing won’t always mean he’ll win, but he believes that the Lord can help him stay focused and improve his talents. “This helps me be more confident,” Felipe says. “I know that regardless of the result, the hand of the Lord was there.”
The rest of his family has been a big support as well. At one MMA tournament, Felipe saw his family in the bleachers. “All of them were there cheering my name. I was speechless.” He adds, “I am extremely grateful for my father and mother, who showed me the right path.”
Felipe feels that following that path has helped him in his sport. His friends would often laugh at him when he wouldn’t do the things they were doing. But Felipe doesn’t regret it. “Just like the gospel brings blessings, in sports it also brings achievements! Not going to party with my friends and eating the right things both influence the result.”
Now that he’s 18, Felipe has lots of opportunities. He was recently invited to train in a prestigious MMA academy, and he has offers from managers around the world. But he wants to serve a mission first.
“For me, it’s an easy choice,” he says. “The Lord is in first place. The rest can wait, because He always blesses you for being obedient.”
Felipe’s older brother Júnior, who recently got back from a mission, was part of his motivation. He told Felipe that there is nothing better than serving a mission and that he should go even if people try to convince him not to.
And Felipe has had people telling him to stay. Many people in his extended family aren’t members of the Church. “They don’t understand that serving a mission has more value than becoming rich and famous. I just try to teach the gospel when those moments happen,” Felipe says. And one of those moments led to a powerful missionary experience.
Felipe’s cousin had recently passed away, and Felipe’s uncle was grieving his son’s death. Felipe told his uncle about the plan of salvation. Afterward his uncle hugged him and apologized for telling him not to go on a mission. “He told me that I had the gift of touching people’s hearts and that I needed to serve,” Felipe remembers. “It was a special moment for me when someone who had no idea what a mission was understood its real purpose.”
Felipe did have times when he wasn’t sure about a mission himself. “I read my scriptures every day, and one night I had a lot of doubts about my choice. I started thinking, ‘Should I stay and compete a little longer?’ But then I read in the Book of Mormon about the Nephites starting to become ungrateful and prideful. Jacob taught them that they needed to put the Lord first. [See Jacob 2:12–21.] At that moment I had no doubt about my choice.”
“Today I know what I want, and I know that I will come back from my mission and be blessed in some way. It could be doing MMA or something else, but I know that God gives us what we need.”
Felipe didn’t always feel so excited and confident about a mission—or the Church. “I had a time in my life when I wasn’t as strong in the gospel, and it always felt like something was missing,” he says. “You know that person who just goes to church and doesn’t do anything else? That was me.” After talking to his brother and bishop about serving a mission, he decided to start praying and reading his scriptures every day.
“I think what helped me was daily conversion. I grew up in the Church, and for a time I didn’t search for conversion because I grew up in a home with a belief and thought that was good enough. But now I am looking for a testimony every day.”
Felipe knows that choosing the right doesn’t mean he’ll always win or have things go his way. “I remember going to a competition thinking I was prepared, and I lost in the first round. Another time I was at home injured. I remember waking up early, looking at the ceiling, wondering if it was all worth it. Sometimes I just wanted to turn around and go back to sleep, but I stood up and went to training. To be a champion goes beyond the moment of winning. It is someone who overcomes every day, overcomes failure, overcomes trials.”
The Savior is Felipe’s motivation to overcome in all aspects of life. “If we want to become like He is, we need to do what He does, always trying to stand firm, strengthen ourselves, and think what He would do. That inspires me in my actions every day, to be like Him. When I see something that I can change, I pray and ask forgiveness, trying to be better always. A true champion is the person who falls many times and even in the midst of frustration gets up and keeps going.”
“I am a champion because of the Lord,” Felipe says. “If it wasn’t for Him, I have no idea where I would be. But I’m sure I wouldn’t have all that I have today. Living the gospel has made me a champion in life and in sports.”
Note: Since this article was written, Felipe has begun his service in the Brazil São Paulo South Mission.

I want to share with you some of the great blessings the Book of Mormon can bring to us. The Book of Mormon can and does change lives. After our son John received his mission call to Japan, he said to me, “Dad, before I enter the Missionary Training Center, I am going to read the Book of Mormon twice.” I said to John, “That is quite a demanding goal.” I felt his resolve and made the decision to follow his example. I began reading early each morning. A few days later when I came home from work, John said to me, “I caught up with you today.” I asked, “What do you mean?” His response, “I caught up to where you are in the Book of Mormon. You left it open on your desk.” The next morning after my reading, I felt inspired to turn about 150 pages past where I was. I left my Book of Mormon open where he could not miss it and went to work. After a meeting that morning, I checked my voice mail. The very first message said, “Yeah, sure, Dad!”

Why this story? As I watched my son read from the Book of Mormon, I began to see a special change in his life as he prepared to enter the Missionary Training Center. That experience has anchored my son to the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Before coming to BYU–Hawaii, some of my biggest educational highlights involved my travel with American students to foreign countries. In a sense this has proven true for my time at BYU–Hawaii; however, the roles are somewhat reversed as I have had these memorable experiences traveling with diverse groups of BYU–Hawaii students to the American mainland. For the past two years, I have been lucky enough to accompany Brother Jared and Sister Stephanie Marcum with two groups of students from Oceania and Asia to learn about early Church history. We traveled to many of these sites in the northeastern and central United States with the hope that students would be able to understand through literature, travel, and Church history the early American religious contexts in which the Restoration occurred by visiting important sites where the gospel was restored.

For me, most moving are the trips to the Sacred Grove historic site in Palmyra, New York, where Joseph Smith’s First Vision took place. On our visit there, we were given the time to wander around the woods and trails where the vision occurred. Alone with my own thoughts, I wondered if I had prepared the students well enough to appreciate the importance of the First Vision. It has certainly played an important role in my own testimony, and, as an American literature professor, I wanted to make sure that they had read the right things and were prepared to understand it in relation to the American philosophers and writers we were reading about. I felt that I had something important to teach my students who came from other parts of the world about the importance of this moment so it could deepen and strengthen their convictions. After we silently walked and contemplated for about 30 minutes, Brother Marcum had us participate in a small testimony meeting, just on the outskirts of the grove.

This informal meeting quickly became one of the most memorable experiences of my teaching career. I noticed a pattern that developed as the meeting went on with student after student testifying to the power of the First Vision in their own lives, even though they had grown up thousands of miles and two-hundred years away. Each student shared an intimate connection to the struggles that Joseph Smith and his family had in trying to follow the convictions of their testimonies that echoed many of the trials for them and their families in their own homelands.

As students bore testimony about answers they had received to their own struggles with faith and shared worries with each other about the state of their own souls, they found in Joseph a kindred spirit, kneeling in the Sacred Grove, believing that an Eternal God had an interest in the welfare of his soul. As each student walked to the front of the meeting, it was almost as if I watched Joseph, over-and-over again, walk into the grove with the same concern for his salvation. In a way, I had my own minor vision there that helped me realize the enormity of the truly prophetic work that Joseph was to undertake and that we are all inheritors of that legacy, no matter what background we come from. As I saw the role of the Restoration in the lives of my students and witnessed their own vision of the Savior in their lives, my understanding of the significance of the First Vision grew far richer and more expansive.

Shortly after beginning our service in the Temple, Phillip Harris, president of the Kona Hawaii Stake, shared with me an experience he had concerning the Kona Temple. President Harris has given me permission to share his experience with you today.

When President Harris was called as stake president on February 9, 1997 there were only 49 operating temples in the Church. President Hinckley's announcement to build small temples close to the members would not be made for another eight months. Yet six weeks after being called, President Harris wrote in his journal the following:

"Since called as stake president I [have] wanted to know what it is that the Lord wants me to accomplish as stake president. This has been a question in my prayers and in my fasting.

"Last night I dreamt that I saw a Temple here in Kona. It was so clear. The temple was set on a slight hill and it was beautiful.

"I awoke wondering as to what does this mean? We don't have the population base to qualify for a temple now. Maybe in some future time. Maybe not in my life time. What does it mean for me?

"Everything we do points to the Temple. I think for me it means I must get my people temple ready. We must plan well and set our goals to take our people to the temple more regularly. Once or twice a year is not acceptable."

President Hinckley's announcement at the General Conference Priesthood Meeting in October 1997 to build many smaller temples, is yet one more example of the Lord's hand in Temple locations and design. President Hinckley said:

"there are many areas of the Church that are remote, where the membership is small and not likely to grow very much in the near future. Are those who live in these places to be denied forever the blessings of the temple ordinances? While visiting such an area a few months ago, we prayerfully pondered this question. The answer, we believe, came bright and clear.

"We will construct small temples in some of these areas, buildings with all of the facilities to administer all of the ordinances. They will be built to temple standards, which are much higher than meetinghouse standards. They would accommodate baptisms for the dead, the endowment service, sealings, and all the other ordinances to be had in the Lord's house for both the living and the dead" (Some Thoughts on Temples, Retention of Converts, and Missionary Service, Ensign, November 1997).

That evening, my friend, President Harris, attended the Priesthood Meeting broadcast by satellite in the Keei Ward meetinghouse, and afterwards wrote this in his journal:

"As he (President Hinckley) was making the announcement I nearly stood and shouted for joy as I knew then, that in my life time I will see a temple here in Kona. What a great day."

The rest is history: within a month President Harris had submitted a recommendation to the Brethren that Kona be considered for one of the smaller temples, including a reference to his fasting and prayers and the temple he saw in his dream.

The Kona Temple was announced the following May. Groundbreaking was held the next March. And the temple dedicated January 23, 2000.

These are the fruits of revelation:
First, the revelation to the prophet to build smaller temples, closer to the people. President Hinckley sketched a layout of how a smaller temple could look as he rode back across the border after visiting a remote corner of the Church in Mexico. His sketch is now housed in the Church History Museum.
Second, the revelation to a humble, stake president who had been fasting and praying for the Lord's direction in his new calling. The answer came in the form of a dream or vision: a temple is coming to Kona: prepare the Saints to be temple worthy and temple attenders.

Jason Johnston’s family was more than 1,000 miles away from home on Christmas Eve three years ago. Jennifer, Jason’s older sister, was scheduled to have surgery in Salt Lake City, Utah, shortly after Christmas, and the family had traveled from Bartlesville, Oklahoma, so they could be near her.
As they gathered around the fireplace of a cabin in Aspen Grove, Utah, that night, everyone knew it would be a different kind of Christmas. But the real differences came unexpectedly.
“I went eagerly to my place in the circle as my parents handed us each a gift,” says Jason, who was 18 at the time. “I held my present close, so as soon as the story of Christ was told, I could open it.”
But Jason’s mother, Ann, started out the traditional family event with tears in her eyes and asked them to first listen to a song about Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ. She then expressed her own feelings for such a mother and child and asked that her children open their gifts right away, a task usually reserved for the evening’s finale.
Being the youngest in the family, Jason got to open his gift first. Jason ripped apart the paper and quickly opened the box. “I was dismayed to see a frame face down,” Jason says. “I picked it up, and, turning it over, I noticed it was a picture of Mary and the Baby Jesus.”
“I didn’t say anything. I just sat and stared at it as each of my sisters and my brother opened the same gift.”
Jason was, to say the least, momentarily disappointed. The same picture each child received was one his mother already had sitting on the table next to the Bible.
But then Ann told them the picture’s story:
It was the same picture she had been given more than 20 years ago by her mother on Christmas Eve. And just like Mary and her own mother before her, Ann wanted her children to know how much she loved them. She wanted them to know how she felt honored to raise each of them. How she worried about them as they went into the world. And how she once lovingly cradled each of them in her arms.
“At this point there wasn’t a dry eye in the house,” Jason says. His disappointment immediately changed to love and peace. “I don’t know why my eyes filled with tears. I guess it really didn’t matter. I was with my family, and that’s all I needed.”
The family finished their Christmas Eve festivities with a testimony meeting, and each child received a priesthood blessing from their father. They also sang carols and ate holiday treats that night. But the memories of carols and food aren’t quite as clear in their minds as are the words spoken by a loving mother and father on that night in a small cabin so far away from home.
Today that simple picture of Mary and her child still hangs on Jason’s bedroom wall in Oklahoma, many miles away from the cabin in Aspen Grove. But he will never forget that night. Nor will he forget the picture’s legacy and the meaning that comes from a Christmas centered around Jesus Christ.

Our president, Howard W. Hunter, has had many adversities, and his stalwart determination to overcome and grow through them is an inspiring example for all of us. After his wife, Clare, had a devastating stroke, Elder Hunter took care of her for many years before her death. Despite the heavy demands of his calling, his personal, loving care for his disabled wife was an inspiring model for all of us. In the years that followed he has surmounted about a dozen life-threatening illnesses and physical impairments. From each new challenge he has emerged with added power and patience and sweetness. In addressing the Church last October he acknowledged God’s miraculous hand in his life:
He has repeatedly spared my life and restored my strength, has repeatedly brought me back from the edge of eternity, and has allowed me to continue in my mortal ministry for another season. I have wondered on occasion why my life has been spared. [“Exceeding Great and Precious Promises,” Ensign, November 1994, p. 7]
The Lord’s purposes have been served by the adversities given to Howard W. Hunter, and I believe that one of those purposes has been to give each of us a highly visible example of what the surmounting of mortal adversities can do for the refinement of an eternal soul.

As a sophomore in high school, I felt like I was starting to understand who I was and who I wanted to be. I felt pretty good about myself. I had friends and participated in several activities. Even in gym—a class I usually dreaded—we were playing volleyball, something I wasn’t half bad at.
One day we were playing an intense game of volleyball. My team was doing OK, but sometimes my teammates would run into each other because no one called for the ball. I tried to encourage them by saying, “Call it!”
One girl on my team got annoyed and told me to stop. I told her I was just trying to help the team, but she still wasn’t happy. And she started finding ways to make me miserable.
She spent the next several months openly criticizing me, saying mean things, and bumping into me in the hallway. My emerging self-esteem quickly took a tumble. And because this young woman didn’t hang out with a good crowd, I was scared of what she and her friends might do to me. I didn’t know what to do except to avoid her when possible.
One night I was in my room alone, crying and praying about what to do. I felt like I should read my scriptures. I opened up to Matthew 5:44: “Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” That night I prayed for the strength to be kind and that her heart would be softened.
After my prayer, I noticed the Valentine’s Day candies I’d purchased to give to my friends. I immediately knew what to do.
The next day, I went to class with my bag of valentines. I handed a few to my friends and then walked over to the young woman, placed one on her desk, said, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and walked away. My heart was racing as I sat down at my desk.
She never did say thank you, and we did not become best friends. But the teasing stopped. With the help of the scriptures, my prayer had been answered.
I know that as we strive to love, serve, and pray for our enemies, the Lord will bless us.

The desire to help another, the quest for the lost sheep, may not always yield success at once. On occasion progress is slow—even indiscernible. Such was the experience of my longtime friend Gil Warner. He was serving as a newly called bishop when “Douglas,” a member of his ward, transgressed and was deprived of his Church membership. Father was saddened; Mother was totally devastated. Douglas soon thereafter moved from the state. The years hurried by, but Bishop Warner, now a member of a high council, never ceased to wonder what had become of Douglas.
In 1975, I attended the stake conference of the Parleys stake and held a priesthood leadership meeting early on the Sunday morning. I spoke of the Church discipline system and the need to labor earnestly and lovingly to rescue any who had strayed. Gil Warner asked to speak and then outlined the story of Douglas. He concluded with the question, “Who has the responsibility to work with Douglas and bring him back to Church membership?” Gil advised me later that my response to his question was direct and given without hesitation: “It is your responsibility, Gil, for you were his bishop, and he knew you cared.”
Unbeknownst to Gil Warner, Douglas’s mother had, the previous week, fasted and prayed that a man would be raised up to help save her son. Gil discovered this when he felt prompted to call her to report his determination to be of help.
Gil began his odyssey of redemption. Douglas was contacted by him. Old times, happy times, were remembered. Testimony was expressed, love was conveyed, and confidence instilled. The pace was excruciatingly slow. Discouragement frequently entered the scene; but, step by step, Douglas made headway. At long last prayers were answered, efforts rewarded, and victory attained. Douglas was approved for baptism.
The baptismal date was set, family members gathered, and former bishop Gil Warner flew to Seattle for the occasion. Can we appreciate the supreme joy felt by Bishop Warner as he, dressed in white, stood with Douglas in water waist deep and, raising his right arm to the square, repeated those sacred words, “Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (D&C 20:73).
He that was lost was found. A 26-year mission, marked by love and pursued with determination, had been successfully completed. Gil Warner said to me, “This was one of the greatest days of my life. I know the joy promised by the Lord when He declared, ‘And if it so be that you should labor all your days … and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great shall be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!’” (D&C 18:15).
Were the Lord to say to Gil Warner today, as He said to Adam’s son long years ago, “Where is Douglas, thy brother?” Bishop Warner could reply, “I am my brother’s keeper, Lord. Behold Douglas, Thy son.”

In 1964, I had finished my courses at LDS Business College, graduated, attended a year at BYU, served a mission to Denver, Colorado, and returned home to re-enter BYU. I've met and dated many fine young women but I'm confused, I can't seem to find the "right one." One afternoon in the bedroom of a rented home on 7th north in Provo, I really feel the need to offer a significant prayer to Heavenly Father. I'm all alone in the house. I kneel down and this time, which has not happened that many times in my life, I said a vocal prayer, reverently but out loud. I really poured out my heart. I ask Heavenly Father to lead me to my future eternal companion. I have not been able to find her and would He lead me to her. I covenant to stay extremely clean and pure in thoughts and actions, to be morally clean in every way, to keep the highest standards of dating, and to show respect to all young women I date; and to keep ALL the commandments of Heavenly Father to the best of my ability. He hears my prayer and covenant. Within six months, in a J.C. Penney shoe department, my beautiful future companion walks into my life. We date for three months, get engaged, have a four-month courtship and marry August 19, 1965. During our courtship, we never do anything inappropriate. In fact, I am so committed to my covenant with Heavenly Father that we do not kiss on the lips until the sealer in the Arizona Temple tells us "you may now kiss as man and wife." And I gave her a big one! I had waited a long time for that.

I'm so grateful for that covenant.

I love the story of two young men who had been schooled in a monastery. One morning as they sought adventure, they passed a cathedral. The more righteous of the two remembered that they had not prayed that morning and said, “How can [we] hope for [God’s] blessing upon the day?”

The less righteous one responded: “My friend, I have prayed so much during the last [few] months . . . that I feel that I have somewhat over-prayed myself.”

“How can a man have too much religion?” asked the first.

It is the one thing that availeth. A man is but a beast as he lives from day to day, eating and drinking, breathing and sleeping. It is only when he raises himself, and concerns himself with the immortal spirit within him, that he becomes in very truth a man. Bethink ye how sad a thing it would be that the blood of the Redeemer should be spilled to no purpose. [A. Conan Doyle, The White Company (New York: Dodd, Mead, 1962), pp. 58–59]

Countless are the acts of service provided by the vast army of Relief Society visiting teachers. A few years ago I heard of two of them who aided a grieving widow, Angela, the granddaughter of a cousin of mine. Angela’s husband and a friend of his had gone snowmobiling and had become victims of suffocation through a snowslide. Each of them left a pregnant wife—in Angela’s case, their first child, and in the other case, a wife not only expecting a child but also the mother of a toddler. In the funeral held for Angela’s husband, the bishop reported that upon hearing of the tragic accident, he had gone immediately to Angela’s home. Almost as soon as he arrived, the doorbell sounded. The door was opened, and there stood Angela’s two visiting teachers. The bishop said he watched as they so sincerely expressed to Angela their love and compassion. The three women cried together, and it was apparent that these two fine visiting teachers cared deeply about Angela. As perhaps only women can, they gently indicated—without being asked—exactly what help they would be providing. That they would be close by as long as Angela needed them was obvious. The bishop expressed his deep gratitude in knowing they would be a real source of comfort to her in the days ahead.

One hundred miles to the east, Wilford Woodruff stood on the deck of a riverboat on the Mississippi River, gazing at the Nauvoo temple through a spyglass. When he had last seen the temple, its walls were still unfinished. Now it had a roof, gleaming windows, and a majestic tower topped with a weather vane shaped like an angel.16 Portions of the temple had already been dedicated for ordinance work, and soon the building would be finished and ready to be fully dedicated to the Lord.

Wilford’s voyage home from Britain had been treacherous. Hard winds and waves had battered the ship to and fro. Wilford had held on, seasick and miserable. “Any man that would sell a farm and go to sea for a living,” he had groaned at the time, “has a different taste from mine.”17

Phebe had set sail from England first, taking their children Susan and Joseph on board a ship filled with Saints who were emigrating to the United States. Wilford had remained in Liverpool a little longer to settle some financial matters, transfer the leadership of the Church to the new mission president, and solicit donations to finish construction on the temple.18

“The building of the temple of God is of equal interest to every truehearted Saint, wherever his lot may be cast,” he had reminded Church members.19 Although the temple would have to be abandoned soon after its completion, Saints on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean were determined to finish it in obedience to the Lord’s commandment to the Church in 1841.

“I grant unto you a sufficient time to build a house unto me,” the Lord had declared through Joseph Smith, “and if you do not these things at the end of the appointment ye shall be rejected as a church, with your dead, saith the Lord your God.”20

Even though many British Saints were impoverished, Wilford had encouraged them to donate what they could to help pay for the temple, promising blessings for their sacrifice. They had given generously, and Wilford was grateful for their consecration.21

Upon arriving in the United States, Wilford picked up his daughter Phebe Amelia in Maine and traveled south to visit his parents, whom he persuaded to go west with him.22

After disembarking at Nauvoo, Wilford reunited with his wife and met with Orson Hyde, the presiding apostle in the city, who had little good news to report. Among the Saints still in Nauvoo were some who felt restless and abandoned. A few were even questioning the Twelve’s claim to leadership in the Church. Among them were Wilford’s sister and brother-in-law, Eunice and Dwight Webster.23

The news grieved Wilford for days. He had taught and baptized Eunice and Dwight a decade earlier. Recently, they had been drawn to a man named James Strang, who claimed that Joseph Smith had secretly appointed him to be his successor. Strang’s claim was false, but his charisma had won over some Saints in Nauvoo, including former apostles John Page and William Smith, the prophet Joseph’s younger brother.24

On April 18, Wilford became incensed when he learned that Dwight and Eunice were trying to convince his parents to follow Strang rather than go west. Wilford called his family together and denounced the false prophet. He then left to load his wagons.

“I have much to do,” he wrote in his journal, “and little time to do it.”25
That spring, workers raced to finish the temple before its public dedication on May 1. They installed a brick floor around the baptismal font, fitted decorative woodwork into place, and painted the walls. The work proceeded all day and often into the night. Since the Church had little money to pay the laborers, many of them sacrificed part of their wages to ensure the temple was ready to dedicate to the Lord.26
Two days before the dedication, workers finished painting the first-floor assembly hall. The next day, they swept the dust and debris out of the large room and prepared for the service. The workers were not able to put finishing touches on every room, but they knew that would not keep the Lord from accepting the temple. Confident they had fulfilled God’s command, they painted the words “The Lord has beheld our sacrifice” above the pulpits along the east wall of the assembly hall.27
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

My mother asked me to meet with a leader in our church. I knew him to be a very bright scholar and was somewhat intimidated. But the man I thought would confound me and have all the answers had none. All he could tell me was that many believed these matters, so who was I to question? He told me how disappointed my parents would be, and my heart ached. I had never outright disobeyed my parents. But how could I continue to be a part of something I knew was wrong? I had to stand up.

In the font, I knew the rest of my life would be different. It would be a lot harder, but I realized that part of growing up is making choices that are right. As I leaned back into the water, I felt peace! I could hardly believe the joy. I had decided what I believed and took courage in my own conviction.

My parents took back my credit card, my cell phone, and my car. They ignored me for a few months and would not let me speak to my brothers. My sister also found it difficult to accept me for a while. I moved to Utah for college, where I met a wonderful man and fell in love. My parents would not meet my husband when we were married, but now those tensions are slowly resolving, and I am in hopeful pursuit of my eternal family.

Growing up, trusting my decisions, and receiving consequences was not easy. But such joy has entered my life because I made the right decision. That moment of peace at my baptism has guided my life. Every big decision I make must have that peace, or I cannot live with it. I believe that if we choose what is right, we can get through anything.