Gospel Story Finder

At Philadelphia, Elder John E. Page lost the spirit of the mission and Orson continued on to Jerusalem alone. During his travels Orson met many notable personalities, some of whom were amazed at and interested in his mission. He enjoyed his travels through Europe and while waiting for his visa in Munich, learned to write and speak German.
Tired and weary after several months’ travel of nearly 10,000 miles, Orson’s enthusiasm was revitalized as he finally arrived at the sacred city of Jerusalem. Here he carefully walked along a dark, narrow street, avoiding the heavily loaded camels that traveled toward him. In the early morning hour he passed through the ancient gate in the old decayed wall near the brook, Kidron. As Orson crossed over the small brook and climbed up the gentle slope of the hill, bright rays of sunshine encompassed the Mount of Olives. It was a magnificent sight as he gazed upon the surrounding countryside from the top of the mount.
There, alone, on Sunday, October 24, 1841, Orson wrote and offered the prayer dedicating Palestine for the return of the Jews and for the building of a temple in the future. For the first time in 1,800 years, an apostle stood again on the Mount of Olives. After his prayer Orson Hyde built two stone altars patterned after those of ancient Israel for memorials. The first memorial was on the Mount of Olives and the second on Mt. Moriah.

The evening before each of the temple dedications took place, magnificent cultural events were held. In Curitiba, Brazil, 4,330 members from the temple district, supported by a choir of 1,700 voices, presented a most inspirational program through song, dance, and video. The enormous soccer stadium where the event took place was filled with spectators. The wind had been blowing, and rain threatened. I offered a silent prayer asking Heavenly Father to look with mercy upon those who had prepared so diligently for our entertainment and whose costumes and presentations would be damaged if a heavy rain or wind enveloped them. He honored that prayer, and it wasn’t until the end of the show and later on that evening that rain fell in abundance.

I recently had the opportunity to visit my home town, Maputo, where I received the Gospel of Jesus Christ as a single adult in 2000. My first calling in the church after a month of being a member was Primary President. At the time, I could not comprehend why I got that calling. Besides the fact that it was to look after the children during church hours, I knew nothing about Primary and the way that was supposed to be run. I was totally unsure what I was to do in this organization. I thought that the branch presidency was mistaken on their choice.
As I think about it today, it was not a choice of the branch president. It was a calling from Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ. In my human understanding, there were many sisters in the branch that I could point out as more prepared and capable of fulfilling that calling. Sisters that were mothers and were probably more experienced in dealing with children of different ages. Despite my feelings of inadequacy, I accepted the calling and learned line upon line and precept upon precept.
It was a great and humbling journey of learning and service. I remember many Sundays when I was the only teacher for the whole Primary. On those Sundays I had to teach music, run sharing time, and teach primary lessons. The best thing was that we always had a senior missionary sister that would play piano for our sharing time. I grew to love Primary music timewhere I could teach the gospel to the children through music. Almost every Sunday, we sang the primary songs “I hope they call me on a mission” and “Follow the Prophet” from the children’s songbook at the request of the Primary children. These were our Primary favourite songs. During my service in Primary, I learned the most basic and valuable principles that helped me grow and understand the fullness of the restored Gospel of Jesus Christ. I grew to love my Primary children. My Primary class varied from five to twenty and sometimes even more children on some Sundays. But I strived to know each child by name.
It felt overwhelming at times – trying to coordinate Sunday activities, music, lesson, assigning children for the following Sunday. But as I reflect upon the experience, it was a time that Heavenly Father helped me establish deep roots in the Gospel. I often felt loved and needed by the children. It was hectic, yet very rewarding calling.
I loved seeing them having the desire to come to Primary, and my favourite part was the big hugs that I would get from the children at the end of our time together. I often never knew how I was doing as a teacher, until I would hear from a parent or two that their child or their children speak about me at home. Thinking back, I realize that this was the most rewarding calling in the church – there were great needs and a huge opportunity for service.

Around the world needles have been slipping through satins, calicos, muslins, and velvets, stitches taken tiny and neat. No ordinary sewing projects, these—they’re works sewn from the strong threads of testimony, thankfulness, love of family, and all the lovely feelings a young woman holds sweet in her life.
What’s the occasion?
The young women of the Church have made banners to celebrate the Church’s 150th anniversary!
“A banner lets you express what’s important to you,” explained Shauna Stebers of the Northwest First Ward, Chicago Illinois Stake. “It’s not just a sewing project—it’s a part of your personality, of what’s important to you and how you feel about the gospel. And it’s a special reminder of the Church’s sesquicentennial that you’ll be able to pass down to your children and to their children.”
If you could float your thoughts or goals high above the crowd for the world to see, what would you show them? Some young women quilted or sewed slogans on their banners like “Plant happiness and love will grow,” or “I love and sustain our prophet,” or “Prayer is so simple it’s like quietly opening a door.” Other young women filled their banners with symbols of their heritage and goals. And all of them spent long hours designing, planning, and sewing the banners (often with the help of mom, dad, brothers, or sisters).
And the stories the banners tell! Marylynne Aposhina of the Hunter Ninth Ward, Hunter Utah West Stake, designed her banner after an oriental rug her great grandfather, Zadik Moses Aposhina, had made. A wealthy rug designer, her grandfather was forced to flee Armenia because of persecution against Christians. He lost his wealth, and some of his family members were sold as slaves in Mexico, but after overwhelming struggles, they finally reached the Salt Lake Valley.
“Making the banner helped me appreciate my heritage even more,” said Marylynne. “My mother and grandmother and I had fun together doing it, too. I don’t get to do things with both of them very often.”
Teuila Matua, a Mia Maid from the West Jordan 24th Ward, West Jordan Utah South Stake, whose first name means “Ginger Flower,” is Samoan, and her banner reflected her heritage. Her banner was symbolic of a taupaou (handmaiden) of Samoa, who must be of royal family, must be pure, and have dignity.
Teuila explained, “My heritage and the work of the Lord go hand in hand. First, I am born of the royal birthright of Christ. Second, I have purity in keeping clean thoughts and maintaining moral standards. Third, I have dignity in studying the scriptures, attending Church meetings, and keeping the commandments of the Lord.”
Mary Lou Beilfuss, a Laurel from the Holladay 17th Ward, Salt Lake Olympus Stake, earned the money for her banner by working at a grocery store. The theme of her banner was eternal life.
“It helped me understand more about the recent death of my father, because I studied more about eternal life. The subject was on my mind a lot, and the banner gave me the opportunity to express it on material.
“My mother and sister helped me make it. We are very close already, but working together helped us share our love. I feel close to them because they’re always willing to help. We also shared tears together because the banner had a very special meaning. It made my sister and I think of our father and my mom of her husband.
“I learned from making this banner that I am a daughter of God and that he is there when I call. It has helped my self-image and helped me grow closer to my Heavenly Father. Also, it comforted me about my father’s death,” said Mary Lou.
Many of the young women earned the money needed for the banner by themselves. Others made their banners from materials they already had. LeeAnn Cox of the West Jordan 36th Ward, West Jordan Utah Stake, raised the money by babysitting, giving rides on her horse, and selling bread.
And the excitement of making the banners was often contagious. Annett Pemberton, a Laurel from the Bluffdale Second Ward, Riverton Utah Stake, spread her enthusiasm for the banner to her friends and family. “I included everyone as I prepared my banner—mother, father, all 11 brothers and sisters, 5 friends, my basketball coach, and my sewing teacher at school. I learned that friends can make a big difference in a person’s life if you give them the chance to help.” Annett’s brothers and sisters each made a quilted patch with their name on it for the bottom of her banner. The patchwork symbolizes love, purity, and loyalty to the gospel, Annett explained, and her theme is “A Quilt for My Lord.”
And there are many, many other stories that the banners tell. LeeAnn Cox’s banner was in honor of her pioneer ancestors whose son was lost while they traveled across Nebraska. The mother pinned a red shawl on the shoulders of her husband who was to search along the trail for the lost son. The bright shawl waving in the evening sun let a mother, sick with worry, know that all was well.
Kjersti Harward’s banner honors her grandparents in Sweden who dearly wanted to come to America after they joined the Church. Even though they saved enough money, they decided they couldn’t leave their parents, who were unable to make the strenuous journey. Her grandparents sacrificed by remaining in Sweden until their parents no longer needed them.
Displaying the banners has been just as exciting as making them, many of the young women have found. For the Pioneer Day Parade in the Salt Lake Valley, 1,500 young women dressed in white marched up Salt Lake streets, heads erect, banners pointed towards the sky. Thirty-six young women dressed in costumes from around the world marched alongside. And a band of 76 young women playing flute, drum, and clarinet accompanied them all by playing hymns.
In Pasadena, California, at the Rose Bowl, 400 young women dressed in white displayed their banners to the audience gathered for a regional dance festival. And throughout the Church, programs are being held in special meetings where the young women have the opportunity of displaying their banners and bearing their testimonies.
“Making the banners can bring you special opportunities and blessings, even if you can’t march in the 24th of July parade like we did,” said Alyson Barlow of the Monument Park 16th Ward, Salt Lake Monument Park Stake. “It lets you say how you feel about the gospel and brings you closer to whoever helps you.”
Lanette Madsen of the Butler 16th Ward, Salt Lake Wasatch Stake, agreed. “It’s helped me grow so much and can be a great missionary tool. We were able to display our banners and explain them to the people who attended the World Conference on Records. Thousands of people were there, many of them non-Mormons, and I think we were able to touch the hearts of the people who saw us. Many of them were from other countries, and even if they didn’t know our language, they could still feel our spirit.”
“It gives you a good opportunity to spread the gospel, because people ask you what your banner is about. It’s an easy way to talk to them about yourself and the gospel and what you believe,” said Becca Briggs of the Oak Hills 5th Ward, Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake.
For many of these nimble-fingered seamstresses, their banners have pulled a shower of blessings down from the sky. It’s given them the chance to learn more about their heritage, to get closer to their families, and to pass their testimonies down to future generations. And to top it off, they’ll have a lasting reminder of the Church’s 150th birthday.
As Jeannie Winters of the Taylorsville Utah North Stake, 14th Ward, put it, “I think all the young women should make banners, because if they don’t, they’re passing up a great experience they’ll remember all their life.”

For a second profile, I turn from Mexico to a missionary at the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah, desperately struggling to become proficient in the German language, that he might be an effective missionary to the people of southern Germany. Each day as he opened his German grammar text, he noticed with interest and curiosity that the front cover displayed the picture of a most quaint and ancient house in Rothenburg, Germany. Beneath the picture, the location was given. In his heart that young man determined, “I’ll visit that house and teach the truth to whoever lives within it.” This he did. The result was the conversion and baptism of Sister Helma Hahn. She devoted much of her time speaking to tourists who came from all over the world to see her house. She delighted in telling them of the blessings that the gospel of Jesus Christ had brought to her. Her house was perhaps one of the most frequently photographed houses in the entire world. No visitor left without hearing in simple yet earnest words her testimony of praise and gratitude. That missionary who brought to Sister Hahn the gospel remembered the sacred charge: “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost” (Matt. 28:19).

With every calling she has, she actively looks for ways to serve the sisters in her ward and enjoys teaching the Young Women how to serve while developing their leadership skills. In February, the Young Women gathered toiletries to deliver to the widows in the ward for Valentines Day, along with homemade cupcakes the advisors baked. One widow said she felt blessed to have been remembered. A housebound widow appreciated being spoilt by the Young Women and enjoyed their visit—sadly she passed away two weeks later—but not before she had felt the love of the Lord, once again, through His servants.

We have a wonderful zone leader in this mission, born and raised in Mexico. As a young boy, he and his siblings were pleading, one day, with his father to take them to a movie. His father said, "No, I don't have time to take you to a movie." They continued to plead and beg, the way only young children could do. Finally out of exasperation his father said, "Well, if it rains, I will take you to a movie." They lived in a very dry portion of Mexico. His father thought he was making a very safe arrangement. But this little boy and his siblings went into their room, knelt down and plead with the Lord for rain. They really wanted to see that movie.

The next morning as they all got up, the father looked out the window and it had rained. Now the Lord didn't care about that movie, but He cared deeply about the faith of one of his future missionaries and He wanted him to know that God does answer prayers. So that young man not only got a movie, but he got a personal testimony of the reality of prayer.

I performed a marriage some ten or fifteen years ago for a couple. I received a letter not long ago from this mother. As the letter began I thought, “Well, here goes another one of the temple marriages that has failed.” But then the tone of the letter began to change. She said, “When we thought that the end was here and that there was only one thing to do and that was to get a divorce, we had been told that we should counsel with our bishop. At first thought we hesitated, because he was just a young man. He was younger than we are. But he was our bishop so we went to see him. We poured out our souls to our young bishop. He sat and listened silently, and when we ran out of conversation he said, simply, ‘Well, my wife and I, we had problems, too, and we learned how to solve our problems.’ That is all in the world he said. But you know there was something that happened as a result of that young bishop’s statement. We walked out of there and we said, ‘Well, if they can solve their problems, what is the matter with us?’”

It is instructive to note that the word edify and the word edifice come from the same root. Building an edifice that will pass the test of time requires the right plan and the right materials. Similarly, to be edified and to have heavenly confirmation of your spiritual growth, a foundation has to be in place, and it has to be right. The need for a right foundation is made more relevant from a lesson learned during the building of the Salt Lake Temple.

In February 1853 President Brigham Young presided over the groundbreaking services. Work proceeded on the excavations and foundation stones for the temple until Johnston’s army arrived in 1857. To protect the work, Brigham Young instructed the Saints to fill in the temple trenches with dirt, resulting in a vacant lot that looked like a plowed field when the soldiers walked past it. Following their departure the dirt was removed and the work continued. A few years later, President Young, along with others, made an inspection of the foundation and discovered faulty foundation stones. The faulty stones were replaced with the large granite stones you know today.

Brigham Young declared:
I want to see the Temple built in a manner that it will endure through the Millennium. . . .
. . . We want to build that temple as it should be built. [JD 10:254]

His relevant words “as it should be built” serve my purpose to emphasize foundational principles that must be right so “that all may be edified.”

The events of 23 June 1994 stunned Elder Holland. There had been no particular sense of foreshadowing in President Hunter’s invitation to a 7:30 A.M. visit. But by midday, Elder Holland had been called to serve in the Quorum of the Twelve, had been introduced in the quorum by President Hunter, and had been ordained by the President.

At the time of his call, he marveled at the vigor of President Hunter in handling surely and rapidly the events of the morning. It was evidence “that the Lord had worked a miracle in the life of Howard W. Hunter,” Elder Holland says. He speaks of feeling a powerful witness that President Hunter had been strengthened to lead the Church. “I saw the hand of the Lord on him.”

It was almost the end of the month, and I had visited every sister on my new visiting teaching list except one. I’d never met Joan (name has been changed). She did not attend church, and in the recent past, she had not wanted to have contact with the Church.

I had made many phone calls to her home throughout the month, but they were always greeted by her answering machine, no matter what time I called. I left several voice messages, introducing myself as her new visiting teacher, telling her I was looking forward to meeting her, and asking her to return my call. But Joan never called back.

With only a few days left in the month, I decided to drop by Joan’s home unannounced with a plate of muffins. But as I drove up and down the busy highway near her street, I realized that none of the numbers on the houses matched the address I had been given for her. I became increasingly frustrated, thinking, “Why am I doing this? She probably won’t even be home, and if I leave the muffins on her porch, some dog will most likely eat them.” Finally I checked my ward directory and discovered that Joan’s address on my visiting teaching list was incorrect. With the correct address, I found the home within minutes.

Armed with my muffins, I walked toward Joan’s house. I hesitated when I saw a big No Trespassing sign but cautiously continued toward her porch. I rang the doorbell two times. No answer. Thinking, “Well, at least I tried,” I left the muffins and my note near Joan’s front door.

That evening at dinner, I mentioned to my family my apparently wasted hour attempting to reach this faceless, voiceless, impossible-to-contact sister. During the meal the phone rang. Contrary to our mealtime practice, I answered it. The woman on the phone identified herself as Joan. Suddenly feeling as though I had been reunited with a friend, rather than the stranger she was, I whooped, “Joan! I’ve wanted to hear your voice for so long! I’m so excited you’ve called!”

Joan explained that she hadn’t returned my calls because of recent turmoil in her life. She continued, “Today I was at the courthouse, feeling defeated and humiliated as I stood in front of the judge and my estranged husband. When I drove home, I prayed, ‘God, I feel so worthless and unloved.’ Sobbing, I asked, ‘If You love me, please show me.’

“When I reached home, there before my eyes, as though a miracle from God, was a plate of muffins and a note saying, ‘I’m thinking of you. Love, your visiting teacher.’ It was as if God were saying to me that He loved me. I just wanted you to know that I know God used you to answer my prayer today.”

Since that day Joan has become my friend. We have read the scriptures and prayed together, and she has joined me at church. She has been a gift to me, teaching me never to give up when serving the Lord.

There was a time in my life when I fantasized about how valiant I would have been had I been born at another time. If I had been born of Adam, I would have saved Cain. If I had been born of Noah, the ark would have been larger in order to carry all of my converts. If I had been with Moses, we could have cut the forty years in the wilderness down to twenty. If I had been with Joseph Smith, we would still be in Jackson County living the united order. I had some wonderful fantasies. One time, as I was winning another imaginary battle, a question was placed in my mind. “You say you would have died for the Prophet Joseph Smith. What are you doing for President Spencer W. Kimball?” I was crushed by the answer to that question and made up my mind things were going to be different.

You may ask, Do such things occur even today? Let me share with you the beautiful account of a grandmother and a grandfather who were serving a mission years ago and the manner in which their little grandson was blessed. The missionary grandfather wrote:
“My wife, Deanna, and I are now serving a mission in Jackson, Ohio. One of our big concerns as we accepted a mission call was our family. We would not be there when they had problems.
“Just before we went on our mission, our grandson, R. J., who was two and a half years old, had to have surgery to correct a crossed eye. His mother asked me to go with them because R. J. and I are real buddies. The operation went well, but R. J. did cry before and after the surgery because none of the family could go into the operating room, and he was afraid.
“About six months later, while we were still on our mission, R. J. needed the other eye corrected. His mother phoned and expressed her desire for me to be there to go with them for the second operation. Of course, distance and the mission prevented me from being with him. Deanna and I fasted and prayed for the Lord to comfort our grandson during his operation.
“We called shortly after the surgery was over and found that R. J. had remembered the previous experience and did not want to leave his parents. But as soon as he entered the operating room, he quieted down. He lay down on the operating table, took off his glasses for them, and went through the operation with a calm spirit. We were very thankful; our prayers had been answered.
“A couple of days later, we called our daughter and asked about R. J. He was doing fine, and she related this incident to us: In the afternoon after the operation, R. J. awakened and told his mother that Grandpa was there during the operation. He said, ‘Grandpa was there and made it all right.’ You see, the Lord made the anesthesiologist appear to that little boy as though he were his grandpa, but his grandpa and grandma were on a mission 2,900 kilometers away.”
Grandpa may not have been by your bedside, R. J., but you were in his prayers and in his thoughts. You were cradled in the hand of the Lord and blessed by the Father of us all.

Once I was traveling in Turkey with three fellow Americans and a local driver. I had planned the trip in careful detail. The longest day of our trip involved driving through many miles of mountainous country of small villages and amazing vistas. The last part of that long day was to take us on a sixty-mile road to a hotel near the top of a mountain. We should be there in an hour, we thought. We were already tired when we turned onto that road. We found, to our dismay, that it was no highway at all but a very small road that wound its way up and down mountains. That may sound interesting and beautiful, and indeed it was. But the sun was getting low, and we had already traveled far. We were tired. Soon it became apparent that we would be spending much more time on that road than the hour I had anticipated. It took us three hours to cover the sixty miles, with scarcely a village or building along the way.

Soon it turned into a dirt road. And then the sun went down, and it was pitch black outside.

We finally saw a sign to what we thought was our destination. It pointed to an even smaller dirt road that turned steeply up the mountain. We took that road and went on in the darkness, winding our way up almost four thousand feet, ever higher into what for us was the total unknown.

The men with me were not pleased with my planning for the trip. I felt the emotions that the captain of a ship feels when a mutiny is about to take place.

Yet we went forward. I wish I could say that we went forward because of faith, but that wasn't the case. It was out of fear and desperation, because we didn't have other good options. We were already three hours removed from the nearest town behind us, and we could only take our chances with what lay ahead. We drove up and up and up, well beyond the last trees, with no signs of any kind of life around us.

Not far from the top of the mountain, the road ended, permanently. There was no road, no parking lot, no hotel, nothing.

Two of us volunteered to walk up the rest of the mountain in the dark, in a vain hope that we would find our hotel on the other side of the peak. As we walked, we saw a light in the distance. Drawing near, we could see that we had arrived at a mountain-top archaeological site, and there was a small shack immediately below it.

You can imagine the surprise of an old man when he saw two total strangers come to his door in the middle of the night in such a remote place. His name was Osman, and he was the caretaker there. He lived alone on the mountain in the little wooden shack. It was about ten by fifteen feet in dimension and had a small coal-burning stove in the middle of the single room. With that stove, Osman kept warm during the cold nights at high elevation, and on it he cooked his meals. He slept on a bench along one of the walls.

With the help of my map, I showed Osman where we had come from and where we thought we were going for our stay in a hotel. With words and hand gestures, he communicated what had already become painfully obvious to us: "You can't get there from here." To arrive at our hotel, we would have to drive the four thousand feet back down the mountain, then along a remote dirt road for about twenty miles, and back up to the top of the mountain on its other side.

It didn't look good for us.

But Osman had a giving heart. To our surprise, he invited us to spend the night in his cabin. We were deeply touched by the invitation. It was a blessing, to say the least. Our driver was exhausted, we were all short-tempered and traumatized, and we didn't know if we could even find the roads in the dark without driving off a cliff. So we welcomed Osman's generous offer.

As we returned from the car with our fellow travelers, Osman was fixing us a late dinner in a pan on his stove. He threw in whatever he could find in the cabin to feed his five guests. I was touched, again, by the generosity of one who would house and feed total strangers under such odd circumstances.

Between the six of us, we used up every available inch of bench and floor space in the little hut. I got to have a bench to myself. It was hard and only about five feet long and a foot and a half wide. The room was burning hot when we went to bed and freezing cold in the morning, but it was shelter, and it was a place to spend the night in safety and rest.

Our night on the mountain turned out to be one of the most memorable experiences of my life, and one that reminded me of what a blessing it is that there are people in the world who have giving hearts. At the time, my primary reaction was profound relief to have a place to spend the night after such a traumatic drive. But over time, my reaction has gravitated more and more to thankfulness: for Osman and his generosity and for the Lord who led us to him. You see, we were hungry, and he gave us meat; we were thirsty, and he gave us drink; we were strangers, and he took us in. Indeed, that night was probably the only night of my life when I really had no place to stay. I was taken in by a stranger, fed, and housed, and sent on my way in peace the next morning.

A few years later, I had occasion to return to the same location. This time, we took the right road, and we drove it in daylight. I went to the little hut, prepared to greet Osman and remind him of the experience. I was saddened to learn that in the interim, he had passed away. I wish I had thanked him more when I was there the first time. This to me is a reminder that with our giving hearts, we also need to have thankful hearts.

“Even though I forgot to read a few times, overall it was a success. I realized that before I started Elder Stevenson’s invitation, I was really only reading about 3 minutes each night, and by increasing my reading to 10 minutes each night, I saw a difference in my life. When I read, I feel more in tune with the Spirit and I can feel the blessings of spiritual protection every day. The same way that it can be hard to start reading after not reading the scriptures for a while, once I started the habit of reading, I couldn’t stop.
“I noticed that for me, when I read the scriptures right before bed, I normally fell asleep or didn’t get as much out of my reading. It worked best to read either in the morning or after school.
“I had a blast doing this and would challenge everyone to try it.”
Rachel A., age 15, Colorado, USA

Let me give you my own experience. While serving as president of the Calgary Stake in Alberta, Canada, I was attending the general conference in Salt Lake City in October, 1960. On Friday evening I received a call at my hotel advising me that President McKay wanted to see me Saturday morning—the next morning. Naturally, not knowing what he wanted, I slept very little that night. I met him in his office at the appointed hour. As I sat in a chair facing him, he looked me in the eye, put his hand on my knee, and said, “President Tanner, the Lord would like you to accept a call as a General Authority, as an Assistant to the Twelve.” Then he asked how I felt about it.

I do not know exactly what I said. I tried to assure him that I felt highly honored and very inadequate, but ready and willing to accept a call and to give my whole time and effort in the service of the Lord.

That morning my name was read, along with the names of Elders Franklin D. Richards and Theodore M. Burton, to be sustained as Assistants to the Twelve, with the other general officers of the Church. We were approved by the conference. Officers throughout the Church are selected in much the same way at their particular level.

My family lives within walking distance of our chapel, so I had to walk to church every Sunday and to Mutual every Wednesday. I would beg my parents to drive me, but they firmly believed that I, along with the rest of the family, should walk. We walked in sunshine, rain, and even snow. I had to reassess my entire Sunday-shoe wardrobe.
Walking together was an embarrassing feat for our family of six children. We would straggle out of the house carrying scriptures, various bags, and even babies. Some of us would still be dressing as we ran out the door. My little brother would pause at each step to pull on a sock or tie a shoe.
Occasionally, we would notice a neighbor watching, and my mom would laugh. “Here come the Embleys!” she would say. I didn’t think it was very funny.
At this time I had been searching for a job. I had interviewed at several clothing stores with no luck and was beginning to lose hope. Because of my determination not to work on Sunday, it seemed no one wanted to hire me. Potential employers always asked if I would work on Sundays.
My reply, of course, was “No.”
They would explain that being available to work on Sunday was part of their hiring policy, and then ask me again if I could work Sundays. My answer stayed the same. They would nicely say they could not hire me, but I could come back if I changed my mind.
One day I discovered that the local grocery store was hiring. I applied, and they wanted to interview me right away. I went to the store for my interview and was sent to the pharmacy and up a flight of stairs. I stood in an office until someone realized that I was there. Finally, a polite lady wearing a green smock invited me in.
She introduced herself and said, “I’m your neighbor.” It shocked me because I hadn’t made the connection that she lived across the street from me.
After looking over my application, she asked if we could revise the available hours I’d put down. This made me nervous after being turned down at so many places, and I got ready to be disappointed again. We made a few changes to my weekday schedule, then went to the weekends.
“For the most part, we require our employees to work on Sundays,” she said, “but I see you walking to church every Sunday and Wednesday, and I think if it’s important enough for you to go to church every Sunday and Wednesday, then we can let you off those days. I’ll talk to your manager and work things out.”
I was amazed! Because my neighbor had seen my dedication in walking to church, I got a job that didn’t require me to work on Sunday.
Now every time I complain about walking to church, my mom simply reminds me that my salary comes because of my faith. If I hadn’t walked to church every Sunday and Wednesday, I wouldn’t have my job. I’m grateful that Heavenly Father provides a way when we do what He commands.

Criticism is a necessary part of ballet, Melanie explained. That’s how you become good. The more the better, but it can be devastating to your self-image. “I’m amazed at how people survive without the gospel,” she said, “and without a close family. The second I walk into class I give it 100 percent, but the minute I walk out the door I’m somewhere else. The greatest strength we can have comes from the Lord. It would be difficult to imagine doing anything without his help. One night I was depressed. I was homesick. I wanted to go home and give up. I was too upset to sleep, so I pulled out my patriarchal blessing and read. It made me feel so incredibly good to know my Father had said something to me. We can accomplish anything we want that’s right, if we put our families and the gospel first.”

“Congratulations, José,” Bishop García said. He handed me my new temple recommend.
“Thank you!” I said. I shook his hand and walked out of the office, staring down at the white paper. I could go to the temple to do baptisms!
My abuelos (grandparents) were waiting in the hall. My parents didn’t come to church very often, so I usually went to church with Abuela and Abuelo. They both gave me a hug.
“Are you excited for your first temple trip next week?” Abuelo asked as we walked out of the building.
“Yes!” I said. But I couldn’t help noticing a funny, fluttery feeling in my stomach.
“It will be so nice to go together as a family,” Abuela said with a big smile.
I smiled back, but the funny feeling didn’t go away.
As the day of the temple trip got closer, I got more nervous. I finally talked to Abuela about it.
She was chopping vegetables in the kitchen, but she stopped when I came in. “What’s wrong?” she asked, wiping her hands on a towel. “You look worried.”
I sighed and sat down at the table. “I’m really excited to go to the temple. But I’m also nervous.”
Abuela nodded, like she understood how I felt. “You don’t need to worry. People will be there to help you every step of the way.”
As she spoke, I felt a warm, comforting feeling from my head to my toes. I knew it would be a special day.
Soon the day of our temple trip came. I put on my Sunday clothes and combed my hair. Abuela came into my room.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Excited! I can’t wait to go to the temple.”
Abuela sat on the end of my bed and pulled a piece of paper from her pocket.
“This is a temple ordinance card,” she said. “It’s for my brother. He was very special to me. But he died before he could be baptized. Would you be baptized for him in the temple today?”
Abuela held out the paper to me. I read the name: Ramon Rodriguez. I could tell Abuela loved her brother, and I was glad she trusted me to get baptized for him.
“Of course, Abuela. Thanks!” I carefully put the card in my pocket.
While riding the bus to the Santo Domingo Temple, Abuela told about when she went to the temple for the first time with Abuelo. Back then, they had to go all the way to Peru because there wasn’t a temple in the Dominican Republic.
An hour later, we arrived at the temple. Bishop García was there too. My eyes widened as we walked up to the building. It was so beautiful! I paused to read the words above the doors: Holiness to the Lord: The House of the Lord.
As I walked through the doors, I knew I was entering a special space. All my worries seemed to melt away. Everything was quiet and calm.
After changing into white clothes, I stood in the baptismal font with Bishop García. I listened carefully as he said the words of the baptismal prayer. When he said Ramon’s name, a peaceful feeling filled my body.
Bishop García lowered me into the water. When I came up, I was smiling. I couldn’t wait to do this again!

During World War II there were terrible examples of man’s inhumanity to man. After the war was over and the concentration camps were opened, there was much hatred among the weak and emaciated survivors. In one camp, observers noticed a native of Poland who seemed so robust and peaceful they thought he must have only recently been imprisoned. They were surprised to learn that he had been there over six years! Then, they reasoned, he must not have suffered the terrible atrocities to his family members that most of the prisoners had. But in questioning him, they learned how soldiers had come to his city, lined up against a wall his wife, two daughters, and three small sons, then opened fire with a machine gun. Though he begged to die with them, he had been kept alive because of his knowledge and ability in language translation.
This Polish father said: “I had to decide right then … whether to let myself hate the soldiers who had done this. It was an easy decision, really. I was a lawyer. In my practice I had seen … what hate could do to people’s minds and bodies. Hate had just killed the six people who mattered most to me in the world. I decided then that I would spend the rest of my life—whether it was a few days or many years—loving every person I came in contact with.” (George G. Ritchie with Elizabeth Sherrill, Return from Tomorrow, Waco, Texas: Chosen Books, 1978, p. 116.)