Gospel Story Finder

About a month after the accident, my back suddenly gave out on me from lifting Emma. A feeling of not only physical but also spiritual powerlessness came over me. How could I continue to take care of her?
One night the guilt of being so powerless became too much to bear. I left the house and found a park bench, where I prayed to Heavenly Father for about an hour. For the first time in my life, I felt the miraculous power of the Savior’s Atonement overcome me. All the pain and sorrow I had been carrying was taken from me; all my burdens were lifted off my shoulders after that prayer. Emma was still in a wheelchair, and I was getting regular back treatments, but I was strengthened to carry on.

This same sensitivity he enhanced manyfold through mixing with all types of people and through coming to know their problems. When he was twenty years old, George Albert Smith was engaged as a salesman for Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution, traveling through Southern Utah with a companion known to history only as Jim.
One is impressed with the ability of the future prophet even then to mix well with all types of company. He entertained on occasion with his harmonica and guitar and kept himself in good physical shape by exercising with Indian clubs and dumbbells (occasionally giving an exhibition of his prowess with the same in some of the villages).
His sense of humor, which helped him open many hearts, was evidenced from time to time. A demonstration of this is shown in an incident on the journey involving a jug of whiskey that Jim had brought on the trip to share with his customers. This fact bothered George, when he discovered it, because of his own commitment to the principles of the Word of Wisdom. However, there was no sermon preached by him to his companion, no chastisement—just an idea for a great practical joke somewhere along the route of the journey. The chance came before the two left Provo, about fifty miles south of Salt Lake City. While Jim was away from the wagon, the jug was located and carried off secretly to a friend with instructions for him to empty the whiskey and to fill the jug with water. Then the jug was put back in its original place. Several nights later it was brought out by Jim and the secret was revealed: no whiskey, just a jug full of foul-smelling sulphur water—much to the amusement of President Smith, who often loved to retell this story and others when he himself was the victim of a practical joke.

6. Dr. Emmanuel Kissi—“He Raised the Woman Up,” by Jesse Bushnell
In 1983 a poverty-stricken woman with a severely malnourished child came to Latter-day Saint doctor Emmanuel Kissi for help. Dr. Kissi had food items sent to him by the Church to treat those with malnutrition. At no charge, he gave her rice, corn, beans, and cooking oil. The woman fell down in gratitude before the doctor. Dr. Kissi raised the woman up by the hand and said, “This food has been sent to you from God. You must give all your thanks to Him.”

One of many outstanding missionaries with whom Sister Funk and I served was Elder Pokhrel from Nepal. After being a member of the Church for only two years, he was called to serve in the India Bangalore Mission, an English-speaking mission. He would tell you he was not well prepared. That was understandable. He had never seen a missionary until he was one, because no young missionaries serve in Nepal. He did not read English well enough to understand the instructions included with his call. When he reported to the missionary training center, instead of bringing nice slacks, white shirts, and ties, he packed, in his words, “five pairs of denim jeans, a couple of T-shirts, and a lot of hair gel.”

Even after he obtained appropriate clothing, he said he felt inadequate every day during the first few weeks. He described that time of his mission: “Not only was the English difficult, but the work was just as challenging. … On top of all of that, I was hungry, tired, and homesick. … Even though the circumstances were tough, I was determined. I felt weak and inadequate. I would pray at those times for Heavenly Father to help me. Without fail, every time I prayed, I would feel comforted.”

Though missionary work was new and challenging for Elder Pokhrel, he served with great faith and faithfulness, seeking to understand and follow what he was learning from the scriptures, Preach My Gospel, and his mission leaders. He became a powerful teacher of the gospel—in English—and an excellent leader. After his mission and some time in Nepal, he returned to India to continue his education. Since January he has served as a branch president in New Delhi. Because of the real growth he experienced as a missionary, he continues to contribute to the real growth of the Church in India.

As mentioned I wanted my children to know of Jesus as I knew of him, so I started to attend the Sunday services. I grew up in a Latin based church service where prayers and hymns were all in Latin, so this was the first time I had ever entered another church and heard hymns in English. I remember the first hymn I heard was “O my Father Thou That Dwellest.” It filled me with awe and is now my favourite hymn.
Thereafter, I was invited to the Relief Society and then my baptism came around. I think the whole stake came out to see this young Scottish girl being baptised in Utah. I have since held many positions in the church, such as Relief Society President, Primary President, Stake Primary President, and Sunday school teacher. Currently, I am in charge of Public Relations and Communications for the Greenock Branch.

Before Ray was born, we found out he was breech. The doctors worried that he would not survive the strain of normal birth, so they performed a C-section delivery. Minutes after the birth, I, along with my bishop and several others, gave Ray a priesthood blessing outside the operating room. During this chaotic, traumatic situation, I uttered several sentences and finished “in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Ray was then washed, bundled, and taken to his family in the hospital room.

For comfort, I tried to recall the words of the blessing, but I couldn’t.

A week later, I desperately wanted to remember the blessing. So much had happened. The blessing lasted only a few minutes, but I could not recall the words I had uttered that morning.

I got on my knees and asked for a miracle, even though I didn’t know if one would come. After the prayer, I grabbed a pencil, and then the words of the blessing flowed into my mind.

This experience reinforced my faith that the veil between life and the afterlife is thin and that we can stay connected with family members no longer with us.

I had witnessed a miracle. I know my son played an integral part in that miracle.

My wife and I are still comforted by the promise found in Romans: 8:18: “For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

Mingan, the young Mongol boy, fastened his padded collar closely beneath his chin. The icy winds from the plains whistled around the great felt tents and drove dust into his face. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he saw a ball of dust rolling across the plain toward camp and heard a faint jingle of bells. The cloud grew larger and resolved into a rider, his wide belt set thickly with bells, leaning close to his mount. It was a messenger from Kublai Khan!
Turning, Mingan lifted the flap of the nearest tent. “Father!” he shouted. “A messenger from the great Khan approaches!”
Prince Catu, Mingan’s father, pushed past him and shouted orders. Men hurried from their tents. The horseman, with a clatter and a jangle, slid from his snorting mount and handed Catu a scroll. A waiting herdsman seized the bridle of the messenger’s lathered animal and led the horse away to shelter.
Mingan leaned forward. “What does the Kahn say?”
Catu smiled. “We are honored! The new court commissioner will arrive today. Kublai Khan asks us to receive this new envoy with all courtesies and to supply him with an escort to Singui. I have heard good things about this man. They call him Marco Polo.”
“Is he a great warrior like the Khan, Father?”
“No, he is a fair-skinned agent from the kingdoms in the West. He has found great favor at court.”
“But aren’t all great men warriors?” Mingan asked. “The Khan surrounds himself with only great men.”
“Part of what you say is true, my son. The Khan does bring the most able to his court, but not all great men are warriors. You will understand when you meet Marco Polo.”
“He cannot be much if he has not been trained as a warrior,” Mingan muttered as he turned away.
“Wait, my son,” Catu said. “I will need escorts to accompany our honored guest to Singui. You will be one of them.”
“But, Father,” Mingan protested, “you promised I could go hunting with you tomorrow!”
“There will be other hunting trips.”
“But I wanted to show you what a good rider and marksman I am.”
Catu smiled. “I send you with Marco Polo because I know your skills. Now go. Tell your mother to prepare a feast to greet the new envoy.”
Mingan, full of disappointment, slowly headed for the tent. Now it would be many months before he could join the hunters. The journey to Singui would seem long when one had to jog beside a scrawny little man from the West. There would be no racing one’s pony and standing in the stirrups to shoot arrows at moving targets and no practicing turns at full speed—turns that could surprise and defeat an enemy. By the time the lookout sighted a thin dustline approaching, Mingan wished he had never heard of Marco Polo.
The dusty caravan drew up before the felt tents, and the riders dismounted. All the men were dressed in the padded winter clothing of the Mongols. Not until Mingan came closer and saw the fur flaps turned back from their faces could he distinguish between Marco and his companions. The face of this Westerner, bronzed like the rest, was young and smiling. His eager round eyes, resting for a second on Mingan, were warm and friendly. Marco laughed as he pushed back a lock of his curly black hair. How can any man laugh after the grueling journey across the plains? Mingan wondered.
Catu beckoned to Mingan as he said, “Worthy Commissioner, this is Mingan, my firstborn. He will be among the escorts who accompany you to Singui.”
Marco smiled and in the Mongol tongue replied, “I feel honored that the eldest son of Prince Catu will be with me.” He put an arm across Mingan’s shoulder. “He is a sturdy lad, and a fine horseman, I’ll wager.”
Mingan found himself warming to Marco. “I can handle a bow too.”
“Fine!” Marco said. “I shall have need of your skills to keep us in game between here and Singui.”
The feast was a happy one, much pleasanter than Mingan had anticipated. He found himself forgetting his disappointment over the postponed hunting trip as he listened to the many lively adventures Marco described to his attentive audience.
The wind had died down by dark. When the feasting was over, Mingan escorted Marco to his tent. The outside air struck Mingan’s face like an icy hand.
Marco stopped suddenly. “Look at those stars!” He swept his arm in an arc over his head. “Are they not brilliant tonight?”
“They are, indeed,” Mingan replied. “That one in the west is brightest of all.”
Marco spoke softly. “It would be tonight.” He sighed. “In my home in faraway Venice, it is Christmas Eve, a joyful night when everyone celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ.”
Mingan turned and asked, “Was this Jesus one of your great warriors?”
“No, but He was the greatest man who ever lived.”
“How can that be?” Mingan asked. “Great men are always warriors.”
“You are right, Mingan, but not warriors as you know them—men who ride fast and shoot well. Christ never touched a bow or spear, yet He fought evil and injustice. His sword was truth, and His shield was a deep faith in God. He believed in doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, and in peace and goodwill to all men!”
Mingan looked thoughtful. “Those are fine ideas to believe in, like the sayings of our wise men. But how can we live them?”
Marco faced Mingan and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “I wondered the same thing when I was your age, Mingan. I didn’t find the answer until I began to travel.”
“Did the great Kublai Khan reveal it to you?”
“Not the Khan alone, but many people—people like you.”
“Like me?”
Marco nodded. “As I met people and grew to know them, I found I understood and appreciated and respected them. It was easy to do unto them as I wished them to do unto me, and to feel goodwill toward all men.”
Mingan was quiet as he gazed at the bright star near the horizon. At last he spoke. “On the way to Singui, will you tell me more about Jesus Christ, whose birth is celebrated tonight?”
Marco seized Mingan’s hand in a warm grip. “Indeed I will! Good night, my friend, and Buon Natale to you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means ‘a good Christmas to you.’”
Mingan smiled. The trip to Singui would be long, but it promised much. Softly he repeated, “Buon Natale, Buon Natale.”

We often find it difficult to accept things that we cannot change. I know a man who does not believe in God. He continually stresses that he is only happy, at least as most people understand happiness, when he himself has control of every situation and has a firm grip on the reins of his life. Several years ago he had an accident. At that time, he almost despaired at the fact that others held the reins and had the power to decide what would happen to him. He kept asking himself the question, “How could I have had so little control over my life that such an accident could happen to me?” When he started to feel better, he attributed his recovery to himself alone, not to the doctors, and definitely not to the prayers of his faithful wife. He simply could not accept the reality of his accident.

I conclude with an example from my own life. I once had a treasured friend who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and make inquiry concerning whether my friend Hyrum might still be a patient there. A check with the clerk at the desk confirmed that Hyrum was indeed a patient there after many weeks.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words "Happy Birthday, Daddy" written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family members by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that today is my birthday?” I smiled, but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and grandfather and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised you, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you’ (John 14:18).”

It took one year to build concrete steps down a volcanic cliffside to the swimming hole and the beautiful waterfall below. Four boys worked on this project. They had two picks, two crowbars, and one sledgehammer, and they worked every night after school and every Saturday for six months. Little by little they chipped the rock away until they had a pathway wide enough to support some concrete clear to the bottom of the waterfall. It took them another six months of backbreaking labor to make the steps. They hauled sand from the beach in an old pickup truck. They added cement and took gravel from the river and mixed the concrete by hand in a shallow pocket hollowed out of a large stone. Then they shoveled the wet concrete into buckets and lowered them down the cliff with ropes attached to a long bamboo pole. One step at a time they worked until the trail was completed.

During her Peace Corps service, Martha recalls wanting an understanding of eternity and her place in God’s plan. She had inborn faith in a loving Father in Heaven. “I began feeling spiritual promptings telling me to set my house in order,” she remembers. “But when and for what reason was not clear.”
As Martha continued to lose herself in service, she began to awaken spiritually. She occasionally became discouraged, but remembers that she felt very close to God. “I relied on his Spirit to strengthen and direct me,” she says. “During this time, I had a dream similar to the one I would later recognize when I read the Book of Mormon—that of the rod leading to the tree of life. Other dreams assured me that my Heavenly Father would lead me from darkness into the light.
“I began reading my Bible daily but did not understand it,” she says. “I didn’t know what my next step should be—I just trusted the Lord. Then my mother became ill and I returned to Atlanta to care for her. I still continued to search the scriptures.”
While Martha stayed at her mother’s home, two missionaries came to the door. “We are here to teach you the restored gospel of Jesus Christ,” they said. After the first lesson, Martha felt grateful for additional knowledge, but she wasn’t inclined to join this “true church.” But by the third lesson, she began to receive answers to her prayers. She felt strongly that she was being led to this church where she would find people who would love and accept her.
On 1 May 1983, Martha Poston was baptized. She recalls that “my soul hungered and my mind and spirit were athirst, and God didn’t fail me.”

“I can’t play with you tomorrow,” David told his best friend Kevin.
“Why not?” Kevin asked.
“Tomorrow Daddy will be home from the store and Brian and Carol will be home from school and we’re all going to clean up the yard,” David explained.
“All day?” Kevin asked.
“I guess so. There’s a lot of work to do. We’re going to rake leaves, pull weeds, trim shrubs, and paint things. We’re going to have fun!” said David excitedly.
“Fun!” Kevin said, wrinkling up his nose. “It sounds like work to me!”
“It’s not work!” David disagreed.
“It is so!” Kevin declared. “Raking and cleaning and painting are all work! That’s what my daddy says! You just ask your dad. Work isn’t fun! It’s hard!”
That night when Daddy came into David’s room to say good night, David asked, “Daddy, are painting and cleaning and raking work?”
“They certainly are!” Daddy answered. “And there’s a lot of work to do tomorrow.”
“Is it hard work?” David asked.
“Yes,” Daddy said. “So you get a good night’s sleep and you’ll be ready to help us in the morning.”
“All right,” David said slowly.
Before he went to sleep he thought about what Kevin and Daddy had told him. By the next morning he had decided he was not going to work. He wasn’t going to spend a whole day not having any fun.
At breakfast everyone was dressed in working clothes. David took a long time eating his cereal and drinking his juice.
“Come on, David!” Carol said.
“What a slowpoke!” said Brian.
“I don’t feel very well,” David said. The more he thought about not feeling well, the more he imagined his head hurt. “I have a headache,” he told them.
Mother felt his head. “You don’t seem to be hot,” she said, “but perhaps you should lie down on the couch until you feel better.”
David lay on the couch in the living room while everyone else went outdoors. He closed his eyes, but he was not sleepy. Soon Carol and Brian and Mother and Daddy were making too much noise outside for him to rest. They were calling to each other and making jokes and laughing and talking as they worked.
After a while he heard someone else laughing and talking. Quickly he got up and looked out the window.
It was Kevin! He was helping Brian carry a basket of leaves.
David forgot his headache and rushed out to the backyard.
“Kevin!” he cried. “What are you doing?”
“I’m having fun!” Kevin called.
“But this is work, and you said work isn’t fun!”
Kevin stopped. He thought for a moment. Then he smiled and said, “Working together is fun!”
David smiled, too. “That’s right,” he agreed. “Working together is fun!” And he picked up a rake and began to rake a big pile of leaves.

After Hsiao-lung was baptized, she shared the excitement she found in the gospel with her friend Chu Chih-t’ao.
“Everyone in the Church was so friendly to me,” Chih-t’ao, 17, now a member of the Second Ward, said. “But in the beginning my faith wasn’t strong. I read the scriptures when the missionaries taught me, and I prayed. I received an answer from God that the Church is true, so I decided to be baptized. But it was after I joined the Church that my testimony really grew, thanks to help from other members who showed their love and concern. Now I have a very strong faith.”

In the lives of many of our great Church leaders of this dispensation we’ve seen this process of conversion interpreted into a powerful desire to strengthen the lives of the brethren. One example that has always impressed me is the story of John Taylor.
The gospel was first introduced to Brother Taylor and his family in Toronto, Canada, by Elder Parley P. Pratt in April of 1836. At that time John Taylor was engaged as a minister and investigated very carefully the teachings of Elder Pratt. He wrote down eight sermons which Elder Pratt preached and compared them to the Bible to see if he could find anything that was contrary to the scriptures. He made his investigation of the Church a regular business for three weeks and then was satisfied and was baptized.
About a year later John Taylor visited Kirtland, Ohio. The gloom of apostasy was hanging over the city and, sadly, this dissension had affected Parley P. Pratt as he returned from his mission to Canada. Elder Pratt tried to show Brother Taylor why he thought the Prophet Joseph was in error. To this John Taylor steadfastly replied:
“I am surprised to hear you speak so Brother Parley. Before you left Canada you bore a strong testimony to Joseph Smith being a Prophet of God, and to the truth of the work he has inaugurated: and you said you knew those things by revelation, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. You gave me a strict charge to the effect that though you or an angel from Heaven was to declare anything else, I was not to believe it.
Now, Brother Parley, it is not man I am following but the Lord. The principles you taught me led me to Him; and I now have the same testimony that you then rejoiced in. If the work was true six months ago, it is true today; if Joseph was then a prophet, he is now a prophet.” (B. H. Roberts, Life of John Taylor, Bookcraft, 1963, pp. 39–40.)
Parley P. Pratt saw the error of his ways and was strengthened and went to the Prophet Joseph with tears in his eyes and asked for forgiveness and reaffirmed his allegiance to the prophet-leader of the Church. Truly the words of a converted John Taylor had an inspirational effect in the life of Brother Parley P. Pratt.
“When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.” (Luke 22:32.)

After dinner, I thought about Sister Higgins’s lesson. I couldn’t figure out if I really had faith or not. Last Christmas I’d prayed for a bike, but I didn’t get it. Maybe I just hadn’t exercised enough faith. So I decided I’d try again. I wasn’t doing very well in math, and I wondered if faith would help me get better grades. I decided to pray for a score of one hundred on my math quiz the next day.

Then I went outside and rolled in the grass with Stubbs. He was the craziest dog I had ever known. He’d had us all in stitches last family night when he kept hiding behind Dad’s chair and popping out to bark every time someone got up to do his part.

The next day at school, when I received a score of only seventy-two on my math quiz, I knew that I must not have enough faith. I decided that faith must be something only grown-ups have.

Right after I was baptized and confirmed, my grandmother said, “You have the Holy Ghost now, and it’s important that you have a testimony of the prophet.” Soon I went to general conference for the first time—the October conference of 1949.
It was quite an adventure. I slept over at my grandparents’ house. I remember getting up very early on Saturday morning and riding the bus to downtown Salt Lake City with my grandmother. We walked over to Temple Square and stood in a line for a long, long time. When we got to the Tabernacle, we sat in the back corner.
Just before the meeting started, there was a hush and everybody stood up. Then President George Albert Smith (1870–1951) walked in. I could see President Smith and his counselors. I’ve never forgotten how I felt when I first saw the prophet. I felt something very, very special. I knew he was the Lord’s prophet.
That was a very important event. I feel the same way when I see the President of the Church now. I have served as a General Authority now with three Presidents of the Church. And when the President walks in, I still have that testimony: “He’s the prophet.”

My mom has made big changes too. A year ago she made a commitment to become temple worthy. She quit smoking and drinking and started paying tithing. I can’t say all our financial problems have been solved, but the bills have always been paid. My mom and I have become great friends, and now she’s my seminary teacher too. She went to the temple last summer. Last year she developed a life-threatening illness, and she’s had a long, slow recovery. It was scary and hard on us both, but the elders gave her a blessing, and we pulled through it together.
The changes that have come over me, my mother, and my brother didn’t come easily. But they have definitely been worth it. My mom still cries sometimes, but now it’s because she’s so happy. And I’m happy too.

Noah finished the last math problem, put his pencil down, and gazed out his bedroom window. The wind was blowing so hard it rattled the glass and sent autumn leaves spinning. He shivered. Noah missed summer and wished it would come sooner.
He sighed and went to find Mom. “Mom, I’m done with my homework, but it’s too cold to play outside. Can I go downstairs and watch a movie?”
“Sure,” Mom said. “Take Daniel and Elisabeth too.”
“OK.” Noah found his younger brother and sister playing with some toys. “Want to watch a movie with me?”
“Yeah!” Daniel and Elisabeth jumped up and followed him downstairs. Noah found one of their favorite DVDs and put it in the player.
“I’m cold,” Elisabeth said.
Noah went to the electric space heater and turned it on. Mom and Dad said he was old enough to use the heater, but he should be careful not to let anything touch it.
Elisabeth’s teeth chattered. “I’m still cold!”
“It takes a while to warm up,” Noah said. “Let’s get some blankets.”
They searched through a pile of blankets. Noah picked a fuzzy green one, Daniel chose a small blue one, and Elisabeth found a warm brown one. They grabbed some pillows and settled down on the couch.
A few minutes into the movie, Noah suddenly felt that he should stop watching. Was that the Holy Ghost warning him? He knew the movie was a good one, so why would the Holy Ghost tell him to turn it off?
The feeling came again, and Noah glanced away from the TV. Just then he smelled something strange. He looked around the room. His heart started pounding when he saw a pillow against the space heater. It must have fallen when they were grabbing blankets!
Noah ran to the heater and yanked the pillow away. It was covered with brown burn marks where it had touched the hot metal. He turned off the heater and ran upstairs with the pillow.
“Mom! The pillow was on the heater!” he said, holding it out for Mom to see.
Mom was working on papers at the table, but when she saw the pillow, she dropped them and rushed over. “What happened?”
Noah sat down at the table and took a deep breath. “I had a feeling I should stop watching the movie,” he said. “So I looked away. That’s when I smelled something funny and saw the pillow on the heater.” Noah thought for a moment. “Do you think that feeling was the Holy Ghost warning me?”
Mom smiled and sat on a chair next to Noah. “Have you ever felt something like that before?” she asked.
“Not until today,” Noah said. “I think it was the Holy Ghost!”
Mom hugged Noah. “I think you’re right.”
Noah felt peaceful inside. He looked down at the burned pillow and was grateful he had paid attention to the Holy Ghost.

“We left off last night at the beginning of Mosiah, remember?” Dad said.
During family scripture study, everyone usually had a turn to read. Nine-year-old Elise read from the Book of Mormon very well. Braydon was six and needed just a little help. Josh sat on Dad’s lap, and Dad whispered a few words for Josh to repeat.
It was Mom’s turn first tonight. After Mom read, Elise began reading with Mosiah 2:6:
“‘And they pitched their tents round about the temple, every man having his tent with the door thereof towards the temple, that thereby they might remain in their tents and hear the words which King Benjamin should speak unto them.’”
Elise stopped reading. She didn’t turn the page even though everyone else did. Dad looked at her as if to say, “Go on, honey.” A big smile came over Elise’s face.
“Dad, was King Benjamin kind of like a prophet?” she asked.
“Yes. We read the other night that he was a holy man who reigned over his people in righteousness.”
“Mom and Dad, do you think since tomorrow is general conference, we could pretend to be King Benjamin’s people and make a tent to listen to the prophets on TV?” Before her parents could answer, Elise was excitedly dancing around the room.
“Yeah!” Braydon said, brightening.
Josh crawled off Dad’s lap to skip with Elise.
Mom and Dad looked at each other. “Do you mean a tent made of tables and blankets and chairs?” Mom asked.
“Yes, a really big tent,” Elise said. “But there has to be a door to watch conference on TV.”
“Hmm,” Mom said. “We need to be listening to conference, not playing and making noise.”
Elise sat down.
“We could pretend it was hard to hear and we’d have to be really quiet to listen,” Braydon said.
“Just like the people trying to hear King Benjamin from the tower,” Elise added. “We promise we’ll be quiet and listen.”
“We could even call it a ‘reverence tent,’” Braydon said.
“Our conference reverence tent!” Elise beamed.
“That’s starting to sound like a fun idea,” Dad said.
“Hurray!” Josh cheered.
“Let’s get some things ready tonight,” Mom said.
After scripture study, Dad, Elise, Braydon, and Josh got busy setting up the “reverence tent.” They started with the long table that was used for big family dinners. They added the card table, some chairs, and lots of blankets, and connected it all to the couch. There was plenty of room inside for snacks and supplies for taking notes.
Most importantly, there was a big wide-open door facing the TV so the children could hear and watch general conference.
Elise, Braydon, and Josh helped color a sign that read “Reverence Tent.” “It’s to remind us to be quiet and listen, Dad,” Braydon said as they pinned it onto the blankets.
“Let’s bring in our scriptures,” Elise suggested.
“Great idea,” Braydon said.
They crawled in to look around. “Mom,” Braydon called, “come and see!”
“Wow!” Mom said as she came into the room. Mom had been busy gathering last year’s conference Ensigns, notebooks, scissors, glue sticks, pens, and crayons. She took out the General Authority charts from the old Ensigns and said that during conference Elise and Braydon could cut out and glue onto their notes the picture of the person who was speaking.
“I’ll help Braydon take notes,” Elise volunteered.
“And I’ll help Josh color a picture of the prophet,” Braydon said, smiling at Josh.
“I’m really excited about the talks,” Elise said.
“And the music,” Braydon added.
“General conference will bring a wonderful spirit into our home,” Mom said.
“This is going to be a great conference,” Dad agreed. “I know the Spirit will speak to each of us as we listen.”

Another example: In 1830, Frederick G. Williams, a prominent medical doctor, was baptized. He immediately gave of his talents and prosperity to the Church. He became a leader in the Church. He donated property for the Kirtland Temple. In 1837, caught up in difficulties of the times, Frederick G. Williams made serious mistakes. The Lord declared in a revelation that “in consequence of [his] transgressions [his] former standing [in the leadership of the Church had] been taken away from [him].”

The beautiful lesson we learn from Frederick G. Williams is that “whatever his personal weaknesses, he had the strength of character to [renew] his loyalty to the [Lord,] the Prophet and … to the Church, when it would have been so easy to have disintegrated in bitterness.” In the spring of 1840, he presented himself at a general conference, humbly asking forgiveness for his past conduct and expressing his determination to do the will of God in the future. His case was presented by Hyrum Smith, and he was freely forgiven. He died a faithful member of the Church.

I recently met the president of the Recife Brazil Temple, whose name is Frederick G. Williams. He recounted how his great-great-grandfather’s decision of character had blessed the family and hundreds of his posterity.