Gospel Story Finder

I was raised by wonderful parents who loved and faithfully taught us, their children, the gospel. Sadly, my beloved parents struggled in their marriage for years. I was a Primary child when I was told that they would likely divorce someday and my siblings and I would need to choose which parent to live with. As a result, for years I experienced significant anxiety; however, a gift from my Heavenly Father ultimately helped change everything for me—my patriarchal blessing.
At age 11, increasingly worried about my parents’ relationship, I deeply desired my patriarchal blessing. I knew that my Heavenly Father knew me perfectly and knew my specific circumstances. And I also knew I would receive direction from Him. Immediately after my 12th birthday, I received my patriarchal blessing. That was more than half a century ago, but I vividly remember the details of that sacred experience.
My patriarchal blessing was critically important to me when I was young for numerous reasons. First, through the power of the Holy Ghost, my patriarchal blessing helped me understand my true eternal identity—who I really was and who I could become. It helped me know, as President Nelson has taught, that I was “a son of God,” “a [child] of the covenant,” and “a disciple of Jesus Christ.” I knew that I was known and loved by my Heavenly Father and my Savior and that They were personally involved in my life. This helped me desire to draw closer to Them and increase my faith and trust in Them.
I studied my patriarchal blessing frequently and, as a youth, often daily, which helped me feel the comforting, guiding influence of the Holy Ghost, who helped reduce my anxiety as I followed His promptings. This increased my desire to actively invite light, truth, and the Holy Ghost by studying my scriptures and praying daily and trying to more diligently study and follow the teachings of God’s prophet and apostles. My patriarchal blessing also helped me desire to be more submissive to the will of my Heavenly Father, and that focus helped me experience great joy, despite my personal circumstances.
I received spiritual strength each time I studied my patriarchal blessing. When my parents finally did divorce, my patriarchal blessing, as President Thomas S. Monson taught, had for me become “a precious and priceless personal treasure,” even “a personal Liahona.”
Now, please don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t perfect. I made all sorts of mistakes. My eternal companion would confirm that I still do. But my patriarchal blessing helped me and continues to help me desire to do better and be better. Frequently studying my patriarchal blessing increased my desire to withstand temptation. It helped me have the desire and courage to repent, and repentance increasingly became a joyful process.
It was vital for me to receive my patriarchal blessing while I was young and while my testimony was still growing. And I am forever grateful that my parents and bishop understood that my desire indicated I was ready.
Not everyone will desire their patriarchal blessing when I did. But I pray that members who have not yet received their patriarchal blessing will prayerfully seek to know when they are ready. I promise that if you prepare spiritually, your experience, like mine, will be sacred to you. I also pray that those who have already received their patriarchal blessing will study it and treasure it. Cherishing my patriarchal blessing while I was young blessed me with courage when I was discouraged, comfort when I was fearful, peace when I felt anxious, hope when I felt hopeless, and joy when I needed it most. My patriarchal blessing helped increase my faith and trust in my Heavenly Father and my Savior. It also increased my love for Them—and it still does.

We should not be like the man who, as the Wall Street Journal reported, sent an envelope filled with cash along with an anonymous letter to the Internal Revenue Service which said, “Dear IRS: Enclosed please find money I owe for past taxes. P.S. If after this my conscience still bothers me, I’ll send you the rest.”

There is yet another gift some of you may want to give that takes starting early. I saw it started once when I was a bishop. A young man sat across my desk from me. He talked about mistakes he had made. And he talked about how much he wanted the children he might have someday to have a dad who could use his priesthood and to whom they could be sealed forever. He said he knew that the price and pain of repentance might be great. And then he said something I will not forget: “Bishop, I am coming back. I will do whatever it takes. I am coming back.” He felt sorrow. And he had faith in Christ. And still it took months of painful effort.

And so somewhere there is a family with a righteous priesthood bearer at its head. They have eternal hopes and peace on earth. He’ll probably give his family all sorts of gifts wrapped brightly, but nothing will matter quite so much as the one he started a long time ago in my office and has never stopped giving. He felt then the needs of children he had only dreamed of, and he gave early and freely. He sacrificed his pride and sloth and numbed feelings. I am sure it doesn’t seem like sacrifice now.

Recollecting times of fervent prayer during her childhood, Sister Smith continued: “The day I was to be baptized, my mother was delayed trying to find a place to park the car, so she sent me into the Tabernacle by myself. The sisters there helped me get ready, and I went into the baptistry and sat down. My mother wasn’t there yet. I was so nervous I could hardly sit still. The only thing I could think to do was to pray that Heavenly Father would make sure my mother would soon come to be with me. While I was praying, in she came, and I knew that my prayer had been answered.”

A remnant of that pioneer hardiness endures today, if the LDS Boy Scouts from five stakes in the Potomac and Capitol regions of the Church are any indication. When their leaders sent the call for them to gather in a wilderness area 30 miles south of Washington, D.C., they came, almost 300 of them, 400 including adults. And they brought with them handcarts they had built themselves.
“We wanted participants to learn what it was really like to be a pioneer,” explained Kevin Rees, 17, the youth director of the encampment. “So we combined elements from the experiences of the first pioneer company with the experiences later faced by the handcart companies. Then we added in some training on Scouting skills and physical fitness, because we felt pioneers needed to have skills like that, too.”
The entire activity, called the Mormon Encampment, was directed by Kevin and his committee of teenage Scout leaders. Adults were nearby as advisors, but Kevin and crew organized and conducted the events mostly on their own.
The 400-plus member group was divided into two companies, Camp Zion and Camp Cumorah. From the beginning there had been rumors of mobs, and sure enough, that night as campfires were just being built, messengers ran through the camp carrying an urgent letter.
“Should it be necessary to flee for safety, each family should be prepared to do so at a moment’s notice,” it said. “Take with you all that you will need, but only that which you will need. You may have no time to prepare later, so do so now.”
Within minutes, the warning became a reality, as a mob (actually it was adult leaders and youth leaders) formed and started toward the camp areas. The soon-to-be pioneers took flight.
On the road they faced the perils of Indian attacks, mudholes, broken wheels and axles, chasms and “cliffs” to cross, and heat and fatigue. But through cooperation and teamwork, every handcart finally arrived at the mouth of “Emigration Canyon” to be personally greeted by Regional Representative Julian C. Low. Dressed as Brigham Young, Brother Low delivered a lecture about the colonization efforts of the Saints and the growth of Salt Lake City.
At stops along the route, the Scouts had received instruction in rope making, knot tying, first aid, handcart repair, and pioneer-style cooking. They had also crossed a monkey bridge, slid on a block and tackle, plotted a course through dense underbrush using a compass, and devised a rope system for ferrying carts across ravines. They had also earned awards for “best handcart” and “best company banner,” although no prizes were given for speed.
“We didn’t want the trek to turn into a race,” 17-year-old Brian Meacham, the encampment’s youth commissioner, said. “There was no winning or losing, except that everyone who finished won. Just like the pioneers, the object was to get everyone to the valley.”
“I had ancestors who came across the states in a handcart company,” said Travis Taysom, 13, of the Suitland Ward, Suitland Maryland Stake. “Here we got to go through the same things they went through. It taught me just how much work it was.
“It showed us about teamwork, too. If you don’t have everyone pulling together on the rope to get up that hill, you just won’t make it. On some Scout camps you can relax and let somebody else do all the work. But here you knew that if you didn’t help, it wouldn’t get done.”
Danny Sulzen, 14, of the Falls Church Ward, Oakton Virginia Stake, said, “This is work, but it was only five miles. I think it would have been a lot tougher if we had been with the real pioneers. We only did this for one day, not for more than 100 days in a row like the pioneers did.”
In fact, talk about pioneers was common. It seemed almost natural when someone along the trail struck up a chorus of “Come, Come Ye Saints,” or when, encouraging Scouts to find their own solutions to challenges, a troop leader would say, “Well, what would the pioneers have done?”
Perhaps one of the most poignant comments came from Paul Orchard, 13, of the Hampstead Ward, Baltimore Maryland Stake, when someone asked him if he would have given up on the real pioneer trail. “I’m sure there would have been times when you felt like throwing in the towel,” he said. “But the prophet would have told me to keep on going, so I would have kept on going.”

Robin was just 19 years old when she enlisted in the navy and was assigned to the East Coast of the United States. Her roommate was an LDS girl whom she quickly grew to love.
“I admired my roommate’s way of life, her high ideals and standards. She stood for everything that I wanted to have in my life. I wanted to be in her company and with those who shared her standards. I wished and longed for an invitation to join in the activities of her youth group but was never given an opportunity to join them.”
A few months later Robin was transferred to the West Coast in another navy installation. Unusual as it seemed, her new roommate also proved to be an LDS girl. As they talked together on their first night it became apparent that this Church group was just as busy as the other group had been. The difference was that Robin was immediately invited to accompany her new roommate to all of these functions.
Within a few weeks Robin began the missionary discussions and was baptized. She became the best member missionary in the area and was constantly bringing fellow workers to Church functions so that they could investigate the Church. As soon as she was discharged from the navy, Robin was called as a full-time missionary.

1804–1879
“We are going to do something extraordinary.”
Minutes of the Female Relief Society of Nauvoo, 17 Mar. 1842.
Emma married Joseph Smith, and she went with Joseph to get the plates from the Hill Cumorah.
When Joseph translated the plates, she was the first one to help write down the words.
God called her to make a hymnbook for the Church.
She was the first Relief Society President.

Hiking out of the Grand Canyon is no easy task. The trail is steep. The sun is hot. When you stop to rest, squirrels steal your candy bars. There must be a dozen different kinds of plants with stickers, and they all seem to be waiting just for your feet.
The only water on the way is in your canteen. It is warm and stale and tastes of halazone.
Granted, the scenery is spectacular. But after five days you’re starting to think you’ve seen it all. It’s at least four hours and a 4,800-foot climb to the top. What you want to do is get back to the car and head home, stopping at the first hamburger stand along the way for a nice, cold milkshake.
Why in the world, then, would you take any longer to hike out than you have to? And why in the world would you be carrying 50 pounds of extra gear?
If you were Willie Holdman, a 16-year-old priest in the 75th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, you’d know the answers to those questions.
Willie’s father, Floyd, is a professional photographer. The 50 pounds of extra gear is camera equipment. And the hike takes half again as long as normal because every time there’s a possibility of a good picture, the hiking stops.
Willie, who wants someday to be a professional photographer himself, has traveled with his father on assignments in Utah, Arizona, Wyoming, Washington, Florida, and the Caribbean. But he remembers vividly that long walk up from the depths of one of Earth’s deepest canyons.
“People just don’t realize how much work goes into taking pictures,” Willie said. “We got up before dawn—and it’s hard to get up early when you’ve done it all week and you’d rather stay in the sleeping bag for two more hours. We waited for the morning light to be just right. While other hikers were starting out early to take advantage of the cool morning temperatures, we spent an hour taking photos before we even thought of breaking camp. And then we couldn’t just throw things in our backpacks. We had to be careful to protect the film and cameras from heat and dust.
“Then, when we finally got on the trail, we’d just get moving and Dad would say, ‘Wait, we need to take a picture here.’ Sometimes you’d be ready to forget the whole thing.
“But,” Willie said, “when you get home and you see the pictures, it makes you glad you did it.”
That’s just one of many lessons Willie has learned from working with his dad: to work hard, even when you don’t want to work, because you know the reward comes later on.

All my life I strove for perfection: I strove to be the angel child, the straight-A student, the exceptional friend, family member, and athlete. But things didn’t work out the way I’d hoped, and I started to feel like I was losing control over my life.
So I turned to something I could control: how much I ate. I began to look in the mirror and feel unhappy with what I saw—an imperfect girl. The only way to make her perfect was to be skinny. I began to weigh myself daily. I ate less and less. I turned down foods I loved. And still I was not happy.
My parents noticed my frequent gloomy attitude, and they noticed I was not eating very much. When they realized that something was not normal, they took me to my pediatrician. Sure enough, my weight was down an unhealthy amount. I was diagnosed with the eating disorder anorexia. I was put on an anxiety medication and treated by three specialty doctors. I was to the point that they almost put me in the hospital to save my life. I was walking the line of life and death. At the time I didn’t realize how bad things were. I didn’t even know what anorexia was: an emotional disorder characterized by an obsessive desire to lose weight by refusing to eat.
I got mad. I did not see what the problem was and why everyone was so worried. Wasn’t that what I was supposed to be doing—staying healthy and being skinny? My family decided to fast and pray for me. This made me frustrated. I didn’t think people should fast and pray for me, because I thought I was healthy, happy, and content with how I looked.
My parents and siblings told me over and over, “You need to change. You need to seek a desire to change.” I didn’t want to change. I didn’t want to put on weight, and I couldn’t see why they wanted me to, either.
Countless times they would tell me, “Turn to the Lord. Tell Him you want to change and ask Him to help you change.” I would pray for these things, but it was an empty cry. I didn’t want help but went along with it to make my parents and doctors happy.
I had been receiving treatment for my eating disorder for about a year and a half when my sister, who was serving a mission at the time, said, “You need to change.” I had been told that over and over again and was kind of sick of hearing it, so I just said in frustration, “How? How do you want me to change?”
From the time I was diagnosed with anorexia, I had read my scriptures every night, had not missed morning or night prayer, and had gone to church. I said to my sister, “I have asked God to change me, and I am still here. He isn’t listening.” I felt frustrated, but I knew giving up my scripture study and daily prayers would do nothing to help the situation.
My kind sister thought for a moment and then said, “You need to want to change. Go to God, and talk to Him like you would to me, and tell Him you are ready to change.” What she said hit me like a ton of bricks. I went to my Heavenly Father, a little nervous but honest and earnest, and just said, “OK, here I am. Help me to change. Please help me to find a desire to change.”
Things did not get better immediately, but I had a slight change of heart. Ever so slightly, I began to want to be healthier, to eat, and to be free from this illness. Little by little, things improved.
I still fight daily to eat, but it is so much better because I turned to the Lord for help. I did not do this by myself and could not have done it by myself.
Heavenly Father and His Only Begotten Son, Jesus Christ, did not leave me comfortless. The Savior is aware of every little pain and agony I feel and have felt. Not only is He aware of them, but He has also felt them (see Alma 7:11–13). He knows how we are suffering. He knows we want to give up, and He gives us the extra boost to keep us going.
There were countless times when I would wonder, “When will it go away? Why me?” I wanted to give up. Later I realized that Heavenly Father has a plan, and I need to trust in His plan. His plan is perfect, although I do not always see it in that way. I also know that the Lord blessed me with amazing parents, doctors, family, and friends throughout this process.
Truly, God knew I would need all the help and support I could get, and each person was inspired of God to help me. God does not leave us to fend for ourselves no matter the situation. He is there, and He wants us to turn to Him, to be saved through His Son’s amazing Atonement. I know that God loves His children and that He has prepared a way for us to return to Him no matter the gravity of our trial or sin.

“We got a wonderful response from all our people with the cleanup,” said President Lew Judd Allsop of the Yakima Washington Stake. “We had all sorts of help from the youth in our stake when we needed to clean the ash off the roof of the stake center. It was tedious work, sifting the ash out of the gravel on the roof so the roof wouldn’t cave in with the first rain. It was a dirty, gritty job, and I didn’t hear anyone complain about the dust in their eyes or it being terrible, dirty work. Working conditions couldn’t have been worse. Faces were black; there was grit in your ears, your hair, all over. And yet they got the job done, and in good spirits.”

My sister reads her scriptures every night for seminary. I try to read my scriptures each night now, too. One night my sister and I decided to watch a movie and sleep downstairs. After the movie I felt afraid and went upstairs to sleep in my bed. I couldn’t go to sleep, so I listened to Primary songs. Then I read my scriptures. I was able to fall asleep without feeling scared. The Primary songs and scriptures made me feel peaceful and happy.Rachel Cottle, age 9, West Bountiful, Utah

Grandma bought some lilies
and put them in a vase.
She placed them on the table
upon a cloth of lace.
She said that they’re for Easter.
I asked the question why,
and she said, “Spring reminds me
that we can never die.
“In spring, buds come to life again.
In spring, the lilies bloom.
In spring, Christ hung upon the cross
and left the garden tomb.”

Deep in the Forest This wordless, turnabout tale of Goldilocks ends with the cuddly-looking bear cub reunited with his mother and frolicking older brothers.Brinton Turkle3–7 years

Several years into his profession, Elder Taylor G. Godoy found himself at a crossroads.
He was working as a dentist, establishing a practice, and anticipating a future in academics teaching dental surgery. But a beloved and trusted priesthood leader invited him to work for Seminaries and Institutes.
Leaving a burgeoning career was an interesting choice for the young dentist, who was sustained on April 1, 2017, as a General Authority Seventy. Many of his colleagues wondered how he could walk away from the profession.
“But I knew it was the right choice,” he said. Such faithful certainty defines the Church convert. Helping others discover and come to love the gospel has proven to be a life-defining opportunity and blessing.
During his Church education career, Elder Godoy worked as an institute teacher, coordinator, director, and country director. Most recently, he was the South America Northwest Seminaries and Institutes area director.

We were nearly halfway through the journey from Utah to our homestead in New Mexico. For several days we had found no water, and our barrels were low. The men were becoming anxious. We knew from the map that we were coming into Indian territory.
When we reached the edge of the reservation the wagons stopped for our leaders to consult. Because of his experience with Indians, Papa was chosen to go ahead and see what arrangements he could make. As we slowly drove on, we had a feeling that we were being watched.
“I hope the village ahead has plenty of water,” Papa said.
“I hope they are friendly,” Mama replied.
“I’m prepared to take care of that even if they’re not,” Papa assured her.
“How?” Mama asked.
“I have a trick up my sleeve,” he answered, but he would tell her no more.
In a few moments we saw a cluster of huts up ahead. And about the same time two little girls with black braids ran from the shadows toward the village.
“Messengers,” Papa observed.
“What do we do now?” Ed asked.
“Wait,” Papa said and pulled the horses to a stop. He jumped down, climbed in the back of the wagon, and came out carrying his unfinished basket and a hank of straw.
“You children stay in the wagon,” he instructed firmly. And we settled in a spot where we could watch what was going on.
Papa sat down on the ground and began weaving. It seemed to me like a silly time and place to finish his basket, but I had learned that patience answers many questions, so I watched and waited.
Before long five or six braves came riding up on their ponies and formed a circle around Papa.
“You cannot cross Indian land,” one insisted.
Papa said nothing but kept on with his work.
“Go back,” another brave said, pointing in the direction we’d come from. “Do not cross Indian land.”
Papa nodded to acknowledge he had heard but he stayed where he was. Nothing moved but his hands. I had watched him make many baskets, and I knew that his fingers could fly as fast as frightened quail. Now he was weaving slowly, exaggerating the in and out movements as he laced the wide strips between the twisted upright ribs.
The belligerent expression on the Indians’ faces changed to curiosity. One by one they slid off their ponies and came closer. After they had watched awhile, Papa handed the basket to one of the braves, who copied the motions he had been watching. The Indian smiled at his handiwork. Then the basket was passed around the circle, with each brave taking a turn at the weaving and all of them becoming excited and pleased.
Papa began a new basket and handed some straw to one of the Indians to start one too. Before long each brave was sitting cross-legged on the ground, busy on a basket. Papa had motioned to Ed and me to climb down from the wagon, and we slipped out quietly and stood by his side. Other Indians came one by one and soon quite a crowd was watching the activity.
I turned to look toward the village and saw a large squaw coming toward me with a loop stretched open between her hands. Smiling, she came closer and closer, holding the noose high as if to place it over my head and around my neck. To choke me, I thought, and began to shake with fear. Please, Heavenly Father, save me, I silently prayed. My hands tightened on Papa’s arm, and he sensed my fright.
“It’s all right, Dora,” he assured me. “She won’t hurt you.”
By now the squaw was close enough so that I could see she was holding a beautiful necklace of dried berries and seeds. She placed it over my head saying, “Pretty, pretty.” I guess she had never seen yellow hair before.
All of a sudden I felt that she was a special person, and I wanted to do something for her. I climbed into the wagon and found the mirror I had brought rolled up in my sweater so it wouldn’t break. It was a round one with a handle. I handed it to the squaw and when she looked at it and saw her face reflected back, she was delighted. She showed it around with great pride, pointing to her image and laughing.
While the braves worked and the others watched, Papa spoke to them in gentle tones. “We want to be friends and will do you no harm. We are moving to New Mexico and would like to cross your land. We have our food and supplies with us. We need to stop tonight to rest our horses and fill our water barrels. We will leave tomorrow. Other wagons are behind waiting to hear your answer.”
At this point, five more braves and the chief rode up at a gallop. They began to talk rapidly in their own language with the weavers, who jumped up, showing off their baskets. After some discussion the chief turned to Papa and asked, “What are you teaching?”
“Basketmaking,” Papa said. “How to make baskets.”
“Basket,” one brave repeated, pointing to what he had done.
“You are good,” the chief said. “You can camp here tonight. There is plenty of water.” Then he motioned for Papa to mount one of the ponies, and they rode back together to get the rest of the camp to join us.

Like other prospective missionaries, Lohran Saldanha Queiroz had to make a choice to serve a mission or not. But besides deciding whether to give up school, work, family, and friends for two years, Lohran had another tough choice: serve a mission or have the opportunity to play professional football in Brazil?
Lohran, a member of the Barra da Tijuca Ward, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Jacarepaguá Stake, has football in his blood. His father, Milton, is known simply as Tita throughout Brazil. He has played professionally in five countries, won many titles, been a top scorer in the state, and played on the national team.
Tita noticed his son’s ability early on. “I grew up with a football always close by,” Lohran remembers. “My father has always encouraged me. I started accompanying him to his practices when I was three or four and have been around professional players ever since.”
Formal training began for Lohran at age 6 in Mexico, where his father was playing football at the time. By age 12 he was playing in elite competitions back in Brazil. And when he was 17 Lohran played in the junior league—the fast track to professional recruitment. Lohran seemed destined for football stardom. But his 18th birthday was quickly approaching, and he started thinking more seriously of missionary service.
Lohran explains the dilemma: “I wanted to be a football player, and I wanted to be a missionary. They expect a player to go straight from the junior team to the professional league. To stop playing for two years and then expect to be hired at 21 is almost unthinkable.”
At age 17 Lohran made some decisions that led to what he calls the beginning of his conversion. He set goals to read the Book of Mormon daily, fast, and pray. He attended Mutual, firesides, and other Church activities more often. And when he began working regularly with the missionaries, he found a love of the people he visited and prayed for. He wanted them to have the blessings of the gospel. His desire to serve a mission began to grow. But when would it be best for him to serve? And what would happen to his football career after a two-year interruption?
Lohran sought to learn God’s will through fasting and prayer. That very week, he noticed the recently delivered issue of the New Era magazine in his home, and he began thumbing through it. He was attracted to the article “Ice Dreams,” about ice skater Chris Obzansky, who interrupted a promising skating career to serve a mission at age 19, losing the opportunity to compete in the 2006 Winter Olympics.
One passage in particular caught Lohran’s attention: as Chris was in sacrament meeting listening to his Young Men president talk about his own mission call, the Spirit told Chris, “You need to serve a mission when you’re 19, or you’re going to have a tough life.” Chris said, “The message was so clear I actually turned around to see if someone was there. The feeling came back 10 times stronger, and I knew I had to go on a mission.”
Lohran smiles. “When I read that, I felt it had been written for me. Age 19 is the age prescribed by the Lord. I realized that was the answer I needed, and it was like an enormous weight was taken off my back.” The time for Lohran to serve a mission was now. He talked to his bishop, made the necessary preparations, and never looked back. “It was not even difficult to make the decision of leaving football behind,” he says, “for I knew it was the right time to do it.”
Lohran served in his country’s capital, in the Brazil Brasília Mission. He was known as “Elder Happy” because of his contagious enthusiasm. “I am exceptionally happy serving people, sharing with them what I know is true,” he says. “It is so gratifying to see people change their lives after learning the gospel.”
Like all missionaries, though, he experienced his share of hardships. “Obviously, missionary life is not all fun,” he says. “There are difficulties, moments of weakness and loneliness, but all that is next to nothing compared to the treasures of a mission. These are years I’ll never forget, that I’ll always have in my mind and, more important, my heart.”
A few months ago he finished serving a successful mission. Now that he’s home, he has joined a football team in Rio de Janiero and believes more chances to continue his football career will come his way. With faith he says, “I am now waiting for the opportunities to come, opportunities that our Heavenly Father will bless me to enjoy.”

Encouraged by friends, Ellis resolved to educate herself. She adopted a rigorous schedule of rising daily at 4 A.M. to study until 7 A.M. Then she tended to her two small boys, milked the cow, and taught at the ward school. She studied many subjects, but it was medicine that interested her most. Later she studied medicine in Salt Lake City with a Dr. Gunn.

It was a moment that 42 Eagle Scouts from the Boise Idaho North Stake will remember for a long time. Following a banquet in their honor, each of them stood and made a solemn promise—to go on a mission. What made it even more memorable was that the banquet was part of a trip from Boise to Salt Lake City to honor the Eagles, 26 of whom received their award in 1978. And one other thing made it a special promise as well—they made the promise to their former stake president, Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone of the First Quorum of the Seventy.
“I had already planned on serving a mission,” said Tim Duffy, 14, one of the Eagles. “But this really reinforced the desire.”
While in Salt Lake, the group toured the Church Office Building, Temple Square, the Church Historical Archives, and the Genealogical Library. At the banquet they were also addressed by Neil D. Schaerrer, the Young Men general president, and Paul K. Cropper, member of the Young Men General Board.

Oftentimes special notice is taken of the General Authorities, and rightly so, since we all have the responsibility to pray for them, that they may be successful in their callings; but I know that the Lord is just as pleased with any soul on this earth who magnifies whatever calling the Lord gives him as he is with those whose lives and accomplishments are more visible. President J. Reuben Clark, Jr., said simply, but eloquently, And he lived by that precept. I have all my life sustained my leaders, prayed for their welfare. And I have in these past years felt a great power coming to me from similar prayers of the Saints, raised to heaven on my behalf.

I first learned the importance of the First Presidency as a boy growing up in western Canada. When I would go to Grandma and Grandpa Walker’s home, I was greeted in the entry by a framed photo of the First Presidency of the Church. I remember it well. It seemed that they stood as sentinels, greeting all who entered.
The beautiful color photo was of President George Albert Smith, with his counselors J. Reuben Clark Jr. and David O. McKay. The photo showed them standing together by a large world globe. I loved the picture. They were such handsome and dignified men; I knew them as the prophet of God and his counselors.
That picture hanging in the front foyer of my grandparents’ home had a powerful influence on me. I lived in the small prairie town of Raymond, where my grandparents lived. I could walk to their home, so I visited often. I remember frequently standing quietly alone in the foyer, reverently looking at that picture of the First Presidency. I remember thinking about why my grandparents thought it was so important to honor the First Presidency and have that picture prominently displayed in their home. All who entered would see it. Perhaps most importantly, for their children and grandchildren it was a constant reminder of what was deeply important in the hearts and lives of Grandma and Grandpa.
Years later I concluded that displaying the picture of the First Presidency was equivalent to Joshua’s beautiful expression: “Choose you this day whom ye will serve; … as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” (Joshua 24:15).
All who entered the home of James and Fannye Walker knew that written upon their hearts were the words “As for us and our house, we will serve the Lord.” As their grandson, I knew it, and I have never forgotten it.