Gospel Story Finder

1. Anna sat with her CTR 6 class in the Primary room. Sister Howe told the class,
Today we are going to talk about Christmas gifts. I would like you to think about what you can give to Jesus.
What gift could I give to Jesus? I don’t have very much money.
These gifts don’t cost money. They come from the heart. Who can name a gift you could give to Jesus?
2. Christina and Mason said,
I can be reverent in church.
I can be nice to my little brother.
3. Sister Howe handed a paper angel to each child.
You can write a gift you want to give to Jesus on your paper angel. Then the Primary president will put the angels on a tree.
4. Anna wrote, “I will say my prayers every day.”
5. The next Sunday, Anna saw the angel tree at church. She looked for her angel and saw it on a branch in the middle.
I love Christmas, Mom. And this year will be the best Christmas of all.
Why is that?
Because I’m giving a gift to Jesus.

Some years ago when our first son was about a year old, I was the source of some seemingly unnecessary suffering. We were attending college, and one evening I had been playing with my boy on the floor. I left the room to study, and as I closed the door behind me he apparently reached for me, raising his hand up behind his head, and his finger went into the hinged side of the door. When I closed the door he suffered a rather severe injury to his finger.

We rushed him to the emergency room at the hospital, he was given a local anesthetic, and a doctor came in; he assured us that it could be repaired. Almost paradoxically, at that point the only thing my one-year-old wanted was to be held by his dad. As long as he could see me he resisted any efforts to bind him for the delicate surgery. When I left the room he calmed down, and the doctor was able to proceed.

During the process I was anxious and would draw close to the open door and look around the corner to see how things were proceeding. Perhaps by some unseen sense, as I would peek noiselessly around the corner, which was located behind him and to the side, his head would come up and he would strain to see if I was there.

On one of those occasions, as I saw him with his arm pinned out from his side—his head arched, searching for his father—the thought came to my mind of another Son, His arms stretched out, nailed to a cross, searching for His Father, and to my mind came the words, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” What was a very traumatic moment in my life suddenly became very sacred.

As I have pondered that event with my own son so many years ago, it has provided new insights and perhaps even deeper understanding of the magnitude and magnificence of the Atonement. I have a deeper appreciation of what a Father was willing to allow His Son to go through for me and for each of us. I had a new personal insight into the depth and breadth of the Atonement. I could not imagine that I would willingly have let my son suffer even in this small way; and our Father “so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son.”

Although we have never discussed it, my son, too, would have the op-portunity to appreciate the passage where the Savior explains, “Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.”

Although I would not suggest that anything here can approach the holy Atonement, the scar on my son’s hand is continually before him, and he has the opportunity, if he chooses to take it, to use his scar as a reminder of scars in the palms of the Savior—suffered for our sins. He has the opportunity to understand in his own way the love the Savior has for us in willingly being scarred, bruised, broken, and torn for us.

Experience #3
In 2022, we were getting ready to play Air Force. It was a critical game in our season. I fasted and earnestly prayed for heavenly help and guidance. But I didn’t receive many revelations about the football game like I had received in so many other games over my career. But, before the game at the hotel, I did receive clear revelations as it pertained to our stake on certain matters that had not been clear before. These were matters that our stake presidency had spent years contemplating, pondering, and petitioning the Lord for His will. The Holy Ghost directed me on this stake matter.

On the bus ride to the game I fervently prayed for the Lord’s help. I received a powerful but quiet revelation from the Lord telling me, “I am here.” That gave me great peace thinking that revelation meant we were going to win. During the game, in the midst of 50,000 screaming fans and us losing, I asked the Lord if He was still there. Again, I heard a still small voice, “I am here.” That gave me courage that we were going to make a comeback and still win. Well, at the end of the game, when it was obvious that we would not win, I again asked, “Lord, are you still there?” And again, I heard, “Yes, I am still here.” Even though we lost this critical game I received guidance on how we were to proceed in matters as it pertained to our stake and His kingdom. After this devastating loss in a critical game of my career, the Holy Ghost in His role as Comforter, provided me with comfort when I so desperately needed it.

Brother Joseph Stucki, a faithful Church member, died Christmas Eve in 1927 after a short illness, leaving his wife with seven children, the eldest son being on a mission. Two of the children and a nephew she was rearing were later taken in death. Another son was also sent on a mission. This was accomplished by much hard work—taking in sewing and living on a few dollars per month from an insurance policy.
During this difficult time, flour was being distributed to needy members of the ward. Some of the young men had been asked to deliver it. A bag of flour was brought to Sister Stucki’s home. Since she felt that there were other families in the ward that needed that flour worse than she did, she declined to keep it, telling the young man that she was trying to teach her family to be independent and self-reliant. While worthy members of the Church should feel free to accept help from the Church proffered by the bishop, Sister Stucki was trying to teach the young man who came to her door a lesson. You see, the young man delivering the flour was her own son! All the surviving children attended college and became very successful people. They lived by the motto, “Make it do, or do without.”

I saw that same miracle in the bedroom of a man who had given sufficient faithful service to think that he had done enough to rest.
I knew that he had undergone lengthy and painful treatment for a disease and had been told by the doctors that it was terminal. They offered neither treatment nor hope.
His wife took me to his bedroom in their home. There he was, lying on his back on the top of the carefully made-up bed. He wore a freshly pressed white shirt, a tie, and new shoes.
He saw the look of surprise in my eyes, laughed quietly, and explained, “After you give me a blessing, I want to be ready to respond to the call to take up my bed and go to work.” As it turned out, he was ready for the interview he would soon have with the Master, for whom he had worked so faithfully.
He was an example of the fully converted Latter-day Saints I meet often after they have given a life of dedicated service. They press on.

The first thing is to set a good example. Lots of people become interested in the Church because of the good example members set. Let me share one story with you. Sometime ago, a little friend named Jessica invited one of her nonmember friends over to her house to play. As they were playing, the friend took Heavenly Father’s name in vain. It took courage, but Jessica stopped her and said, “I’m sorry, but in my house we don’t swear or ever use Heavenly Father’s name that way.” Her friend was not angry but, instead, asked Jessica why. This gave Jessica a chance to tell her friend about the Church.
At one time Jesus taught, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matt. 5:16). He is instructing us to be good examples everywhere so that people will see how content we are and become interested in what we believe.

Michelle scooped potatoes onto her plate. She looked around the table at her family. She was the youngest of 10 siblings, and some of them were in college now. She liked to hear them talk about what they were learning.
“What do you want to study when you go to college?” her brother asked. He was studying to become an engineer.
“I don’t really know yet,” Michelle said.
“You can be an engineer too,” he told her. “You’re really smart.”
Michelle liked that idea. She loved math and science. She was good at them too. She knew God wanted her to learn. And she knew that He would help her.
When Michelle got older, she did go to college to become an engineer. She worked hard to learn. Some classes were difficult. But Michelle never gave up.
While she was in college, she shared the gospel with her classmate John. Later they got married in the temple. Michelle graduated and got her master’s degree. She became a mother. She even got her dream job helping launch rockets to explore space! She was a leader and organized projects for her team.

Some years ago we took a family trip to Aotearoa New Zealand the place of my birth so that our children would have an opportunity to visit family, learn more about part of their cultural background and heritage, and enjoy what that beautiful country has to offer. Our plans were to drive down one side of the North Island, take a ferry, which transports both passengers and vehicles, across to the south island and then return northward driving up the opposite coast. We anticipated driving over a thousand miles to visit family and various historical and tourist sites.
A family member suggested we rent a van from an acquaintance who owned a local car rental company rather than using a national company so we could save money. We took that suggestion. The journey started off well but after our first rest stop we noticed the ignition was a bit sluggish but we didn't think too much of it and carried on our way. The next morning however, we went to start the van but all it did was produce unusual loud noises. My husband Chris tried the ignition several times, and after cleaning the spark plugs, the van started. We were about eight hours away from our starting point. I thought to myself, "How could someone rent a vehicle without checking to make sure it was in top condition?" I proposed to my husband that we leave the van where it was, inform the owner that it had problems and promptly make arrangements to use a national rental company for the rest of our journey. My husband had concerns about leaving the vehicle. From his perspective, this small business owner would incur a great deal of expense retrieving his vehicle, which was located hundreds of miles away from Hamilton, our point of departure. In my mind I was thinking, "How is that my problem?" I concocted several rationalizations that easily justified my perspective, but my husband was persuasive and had our family commit to get the vehicle back to its owner. I wish I could tell you that the vehicle worked wonderfully after that, but it didn't. One morning we went to use the van and discovered that it had a hole in the tire. To make matters worse, there wasn't a jack in the trunk that would allow us to raise the van off the ground so we could change the tire. Then a little later into the journey, we were pulled over by a highway patrol officer. Apparently, the van did not have a required sticker on the windshield, which would indicate the vehicle's use of diesel gas. According to the officer, these vehicles needed to pay a special road toll and we were to obtain the sticker immediately. I'm sure I rolled my eyes at this news, as this new setback would require that we detour to the nearest town, find the appropriate office, and pay over a hundred dollars for the sticker. And we were still on the front end of our journey! I felt like we were on a reality television show, in which nothing would go our way.

An interesting thing happened when we decided to heed Chris' earlier counsel; we were going to make the best of our situation and help the owner get his van back. By changing our attitude we became open to unintended experiences that were interesting and fun because we chose to see them as such. When we looked for ways to enjoy ourselves we started to see our situation for the pluses rather than the minuses, which led us to acknowledge our gratitude for the small things like being together, enjoying each other's company, seeing our youngest son's wonderment while standing on a glacier in the middle of summer, the fact that it didn't rain while we changed the tire, the hilarious road-trip games, and the little promptings from the Lord. We met interesting people who were kind and helpful to us we ate delicious food at quaint out-of-the way cafe, and saw some sights we wouldn't have seen if we didn't have van troubles. Our family adventure brought us closer to the Lord because at times, He was the only one we could turn to. In one instance, we were at the front of the line of one hundred vehicles ready to drive off the inter-island ferry but we couldn't get the van started. Chris tried turning the ignition over and over (we counted exactly twenty-six times). All the while our family both individually and collectively pled with the Lord to help the vehicle work so we wouldn't hold up hundreds of fellow travelers who were anxious to disembark.

Throughout the entire vacation nothing changed about the vehicle, however, what did change was our family's attitude about our situation. We became reliant on the Lord every single time we got into the van. We prayed over it like it was an ill family member. My husband is a person with a great attitude who looks for the good in others and reaches out to help them. He knew that taking the responsibility for returning the van wouldn't be easy, but he was willing to put forth effort to do it because he felt it was right. His attitude was infectious and it opened us up for a different journey, which resulted in many unintended blessings and great memories.

Brothers and sisters a good attitude makes a difference in our lives and has the power to influence and uplift others. Winston Churchill said, "Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference." The Late Elder Marvin J. Aston of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said back in 1974, ("Who's Losing?." Ensign, Nov 1974, 41) "The attitude with which we approach each day controls the outcome... Positive personal attitude will insist that we deliver our best, even though less might seem adequate for the moment. Proper attitude demands we be realistic: even tough with ourselves and self-disciplining." This was my experience with what I thought was the worst rental van on the face of the Earth. Instead of this trip being known as "the worst family vacation ever," we fondly refer to it as "our praying vacation."

When I was 14 years old, one Sunday in sacrament meeting, my parents heard about the need for volunteers at the bishops’ storehouse in Slidell, Louisiana. They decided they would help, and, of course, this meant my younger brother and I would also help. Our family went so often, in fact, that my parents were called to be the assistant managers.
At first, I disliked helping out because I felt it took up my valuable homework time (well, OK, TV time). But the more we went, the more I grudgingly accepted this chore, especially after my parents made it clear that we were in it together.
Fortunately, as the months passed, I slowly began to focus less on myself and the earlier resentment I felt and more on what I could do to help. I helped fill food orders for needy families, bag and number them, and then place them on the truck that would deliver them to various cities nearby. Numbering bags was hard because I had to remember the order number as well as the number of bags I had put out on the counter for volunteers to place food in. Also, I had to number bags extremely fast because the other volunteers were depending on me.
Now, instead of trying to avoid work, I began stocking canned goods, dry foods, and produce on the shelves and mopping the floors once in a while. My favorite task, with adult supervision, was cooking meals for the other volunteers. We would prepare an array of magnificent culinary delights that consisted mostly of macaroni and cheese, hot dogs, spaghetti, sloppy joes, and chocolate cake. We usually added a vegetable salad and a fruit salad and considered it a fairly balanced meal. I also began trying to aid the other helpers by showing them where different items were located, and which items to place in each bag. I felt like the official item finder.
My attitude had completely changed from the first couple of months that I worked at the storehouse. There were still days when I felt a little lazy and tired, but mostly I viewed working at the storehouse as a blessing. I also counted myself lucky to have the opportunity to serve so many people (around 60 families a week) and make an impact, albeit a small one, on their lives. Best of all, I started to recognize the value of all the blessings I had received and how fortunate I truly am.
Though I may not have made a huge difference by helping at the storehouse, it has definitely influenced me. My experience has taught me to value all the blessings I have received throughout my life and that I am expected to use my abilities to help others. More than four years have passed since my first time at the storehouse, and now my parents are the managers. I still help out when I can, and when I do, I love it.

Cardboard replaced paper as the young artist’s favorite surface when he was nine years old. The family was reading about putting on the whole armor of God (see Eph. 6:13–17). There were cardboard boxes lying around because the Stewarts were sending packages to Sam’s brothers who were on missions. The boxes and the armor collided in Sam’s mind, and he began constructing a cardboard “shield of faith.” After he finished it, he shaped a “sword of the Spirit” out of wood.

About this time, Sam began to feel a strong attachment to the nearby Las Vegas Nevada Temple. At first he appreciated it simply because it was beautiful. But as he learned more about the purpose of temples, he came to love it for the blessings it brings to people’s lives. This interest soon grew to include all the temples of the Church. Sam began filling a binder with pictures of the world’s temples and a file with diagrams and information about their design, history, and construction. By the time he had filled the binder, he knew that he wanted to build temples of stone someday. In the meantime, he would build temples of cardboard.

With boxes, a pair of scissors, a hot-glue gun, and a ruler, he created a faithful scale model of the Las Vegas Temple. It was astonishingly good. No one taught him how to build cardboard temples. He invented the craft as he went along.

Next came his version of the historic Nauvoo Illinois Temple, which was then being rebuilt. The family read all they could find about the project as Sam raised his cardboard walls. He drew the sunstones and other carvings onto the surface with a pen. The Manti Temple and the Preston England Temple followed. Then Sam started working on his masterpiece—the Salt Lake Temple, crafted in far greater detail than the others. This project has taken a year so far and is not yet finished. Once it’s completed, he plans to build models of the Montevideo Uruguay Temple and the Portland Oregon Temple.

Sam doesn’t just build temples; he studies them, too. He learned so much about the stone carvings on the Nauvoo Temple that his dad invited him to explain their meaning to the temple preparation class he teaches. Sam has also given family home evening lessons on temple architecture to several families in the ward.

He is not shy about sharing his love of temples with his friends from other religions. They like to watch him build, and as he works he quizzes them about temple facts. By now they know all the answers.

Working on temples doesn’t fill all of Sam’s time. He is an excellent student who studies hard because he knows that to be an architect he must be good at math and get good grades. He enjoys sports, including skiing, baseball, and soccer. He especially loves the outdoors and the beauties of nature. He is always eager to visit his family’s cabin in the mountains of Utah.

Families and temples just seem to go together, and Sam loves his family even more than he loves temples. His brothers, Willie and John, who are twins serving missions in Uruguay and England respectively, are role models for him. He is especially close to his sister, Lea, a student at BYU. Five years ago Lea suffered a spinal cord injury in a car accident, and she now uses a wheelchair. Sam often paints with her and plays wheelchair basketball with her when she is home on vacation. “Sam’s very sensitive to the feelings of others,” Lea says. “Since I’ve been in the wheelchair, he’s always there to help.”

“Sam wants to understand things spiritually,” his dad comments. “He prays. He reads the scriptures. He asks a lot of difficult questions—the kind that parents don’t always know how to answer. He’s made me a better person just being around him.”

His mom adds, “He has a clear vision of what’s right and wrong, and he’s strong in doing what’s right. He wants to make people happy. If I’m down, he knows it, and he’ll cheer me up.”

This builder of temples is also helping to build a happy family.

A few years ago, Elder Javier Misiego, from Madrid, Spain, was serving a full-time mission in Arizona. At that time, his mission call to the United States appeared somewhat unusual, as most young men from Spain were being called to serve in their own country.
At the conclusion of a stake fireside, where he and his companion had been invited to participate, Elder Misiego was approached by a less-active member of the Church who had been brought by a friend. It was the first time this man had been inside a chapel in years. Elder Misiego was asked if he might know a José Misiego in Madrid. When Elder Misiego responded that his father’s name was José Misiego, the man excitedly asked a few more questions to confirm that this was the José Misiego. When it was determined that they were speaking about the same man, this less-active member began to weep. “Your father was the only person I baptized during my entire mission,” he explained and described how his mission had been, in his mind, a failure. He attributed his years of inactivity to some feelings of inadequacy and concern, believing that he had somehow let the Lord down.
Elder Misiego then described what this supposed failure of a missionary meant to his family. He told him that his father, baptized as a young single adult, had married in the temple, that Elder Misiego was the fourth of six children, that all three boys and a sister had served full-time missions, that all were active in the Church, and that all who were married had been sealed in the temple.
The less-active returned missionary began to sob. Through his efforts, he now learned, scores of lives had been blessed, and the Lord had sent an elder from Madrid, Spain, all the way to a fireside in Arizona to let him know that he had not been a failure. The Lord knows where He wants each missionary to serve.

This legacy began about 10 years ago when some Aaronic Priesthood holders in the Canyon View Seventh Ward in the Orem Utah Canyon View Stake decided they wanted to earn the Genealogy merit badge, so they worked with the ward’s family history consultant to research their families and get names ready for the temple.
“We had so many names we couldn’t do them all in one trip!” their former Scoutmaster, Lani Hatch, remembers. “We had to go back four or five times to finish up the family file cards from that merit badge project.”
Young Women in the ward also became interested and found opportunities to help with family history research and to go to the temple.
Today many of the young men from that first Scout troop have already returned from their missions. Others are preparing to serve. And with each new Beehive or deacon, the interest in the temple continues.

In the summer of 1979, I was surprised to learn that some of my mother’s books and papers were stored in a backyard shed of ward members in my hometown of London, Ontario. In salvaging what I could from several moldering cardboard boxes, I discovered partially completed pedigree charts on my family, some family group records, and a few research notes. The real treasure was a four-page personal history written by my mother, who died when I was 11. This wonderful handwritten history describes her childhood in England during the 1930s and her life through World War II. Finding these records stimulated my initial interest in family history and turned my heart to my ancestors.

My name is Hunter Holton, and I am now seven years old. I live in Madison, Mississippi. My story started two years ago, when I was in kindergarten. A boy named Patrick was in my class. He was a little different from the rest of the kids. He went to special classes and was in our class for only a short time each day. He also ate lunch and went to recess with us.
I was always taught to be a friend to everyone, so I was Patrick’s friend. On the first day of school most of the kids stared at him. Then they started to make fun of him and didn’t want him to play with them. When I saw how upset he was, I walked over to him and asked if he wanted to play. Patrick smiled at me and put his arm around my back, and we went over to the playground and played.
When we went inside, I heard some of the kids say ugly stuff about Patrick and me playing together. So I turned to them and told them that it wasn’t nice to be that way. After school, I went home and thought about Patrick.
For the next week or so it was the same—I played with Patrick, and the others laughed at him. One day someone said, “Come and play with us, Hunter.” I went, and Patrick came too. They told Patrick that he couldn’t play with them, and he was so hurt that he started to cry. Then I said, “I can’t play, either.”
When they started to say some real ugly things to Patrick, I told them that they were very wrong to say those things and act the way they were. I also told them that we are supposed to act like Jesus Christ and that they weren’t acting like Him. I explained about loving everyone and treating people like the Savior treated people. They were soon playing with both of us, and we all became friends.
Patrick always went where I went and did as I did. I helped him with his schoolwork because I would finish mine first. My teachers told my mom what I had done for Patrick. She was pleased that I was trying to do what Jesus Christ would do. My teachers told Patrick to always follow me. Then they would know he was doing what he was supposed to do. This made me feel good inside.
The school leaders put Patrick in my first grade class so that he and I could have another year together. They felt like he still needed a friend he could depend on. When we got to the second grade, Patrick was not in my class. The school leaders had decided that he needed to learn to do things without me. Whenever Patrick sees me on the school playground, he comes over and gives me a hug, and all of us friends play together.

It was 30 years ago this summer that my wife, Kerstine, and I first met at a family home evening group activity at the Smith Fieldhouse. As the weeks passed, Kerstine would mysteriously show up at my table at the Deseret Towers cafeteria whenever I was eating lunch, which was often at a different time each day. I quite liked that, but I wasn’t really interested in pursuing anything serious until my elders quorum president pulled me aside one day. After listing off some of Kerstine’s great qualities, he asked me to help him find a way to enjoy having lunch with her on a regular basis like I was doing. Suddenly I got very interested, and the rest is history.

Both of us well remember our first few months of marriage—we lived in a studio apartment south of campus that was tucked under Mexican and Italian restaurants and a bakery. We have many interesting memories of the place, including the black, oozy slime that crept out of the shower drain each morning. Our oldest son, David, was conceived shortly after we were married. Morning sickness mixed with the smells wafting down from the eateries above made for particularly poignant memories. Much like now, it was a time of economic uncertainty. We started our lives together in the midst of long gas lines due to oil shortages, two back-to-back recessions, double-digit inflation, and double-digit interest rates. But we moved forward with our family in faith that all would work out.

At the time, I was teaching Japanese to missionaries at the MTC. Our rent was $110 per month, including utilities. I was making about $250 per month. So we were set—both of us attended BYU until complications with pregnancy and a premature baby postponed Kerstine’s schooling until many years later.

Like many of you now, I was seeking inspiration and struggling to decide what to major in and what career path I should pursue. It wasn’t until I started taking child development and psychology classes from wonderful BYU faculty mentors that I discovered my academic passion, which led me to a research and university teaching career.

After nine years of postmarriage “camping out”—as some relatives used to call it—we left graduate school behind.

After losing her husband, Elder Bruce D. Porter, a General Authority Seventy, to a pulmonary infection in December 2016, Sister Susan Porter found herself alone at their home in Bountiful, Utah, USA.
For the nearly two years prior to his passing, she traveled and served alongside him as he served as president of the Europe East Area.
As a new widow, she prayed for guidance. One day she saw a painting of the Savior talking to the Samaritan woman at Jacob’s well (see John 4:6–26). She felt the Spirit’s prompting to likewise “sit at the feet of the Savior and learn, and He will teach you.”
Sister Porter strived to draw closer to the Savior, and the Holy Ghost comforted her and led her forward.
“I know I was carried,” she said. “I had strength and peace beyond my own.”

Suppose that some day in the future, you find yourself living in a place where some people have become antagonistic toward you because of your religion. You are constantly being dragged into court on trumped-up charges and frivolous law suits and ridiculed and slandered in the local media, and you have real reason to believe that your life is in danger. Suppose, too, that you have a significant amount of property in your name, and from doing business and defending yourself in the courts, you have acquired a lot of debt. You must leave, but if you just slip away without dealing with your obligations, you know it would be wrong and it would provide even more ammunition for those who are attacking the Church. So you must select someone who can serve as an agent to legally represent you in resolving your affairs. Whom would you choose? How would you make that decision?

Now suppose, on the other hand, that you were the person chosen as the agent to resolve all these issues for someone else. How would you feel? What would you do? Would you even accept? Why?

This was actually the situation when Joseph Smith was forced to leave Kirtland, Ohio in 1838 and Oliver Granger was appointed by revelation to be his agent. Oliver worked at this almost impossible assignment so well that John W. Hawden (one of his creditors, who was not a member of the Church) wrote the following:

"[T]he closing up of my business with said society has been with their agent, Colonel Granger, appointed by them for that purpose; and I consider it highly due Colonel Granger from me, here to state that he has acted truly and honestly in all his business with me, and has accomplished more than I could reasonably have expected."[1]

Now you and I don't hear much today about Oliver Granger, but in addition to the fact that his name has been memorialized in the Doctrine and Covenants, we know that by the time he joined the Church in 1830 he had lost most of his eyesight "due to extreme cold." However, he had still been able to perform his duties as a sheriff in New York and to serve as a colonel in the New York militia and a licensed exhorter in the Methodist church before he was converted through a very direct witness of the Book of Mormon. Whatever mortal weaknesses Oliver may have had, from all indication he was very faithful and effective as an agent for Joseph and the First Presidency of the Church.

God places great value on being a trusted agent. Consider the words the Lord used to describe Brother Granger as he faced this seemingly impossible task.

"And again, I say unto you, I remember my servant Oliver Granger; behold, verily I say unto him that his name shall be had in sacred remembrance from generation to generation, forever and ever, saith the Lord.

"Therefore, let him contend earnestly for the redemption of the First Presidency of my Church, saith the Lord; and when he falls he shall rise again, for his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase, saith the Lord."[2]

In these verses, the "redemption of the First Presidency" means the resolution of their financial obligations. "When he falls he shall rise again" implies that Oliver would have some failures; yet if he would not give up and would keep trying, his faithful effort would be recognized by the Lord as more sacred than his success, for as the Lord said, "his sacrifice shall be more sacred unto me than his increase."

How would you like to live so that our Father in Heaven would say of you what he said of Oliver Granger? Oliver Granger was an "agent"--an agent of the Lord and His Church.

Why do I feel so strongly that it is imperative that we know the Savior’s love for us and have reverence for our own lives? It is such a waste of a beautiful life when any person feels that he or she is no good. I know. I have lived on both sides of this issue. For more than half of my life, I did not like who I was. It was dark, lonely. On the surface everything seemed great, but inwardly I feared that if anyone really knew me, they wouldn’t like me. The confusing thing to me was, with all the accomplishments I was racking up, I still did not have a good sense of self.

Heavenly Father tells me in my patriarchal blessing that he loves me. I read those words for ten years, and they never sank in. By the time I was thirty-two, I was desperate to know if I was loved. This disparity between the “outside” me and the “inside” me came to be more than I could stand, and in a most earnest prayer I pleaded with Heavenly Father to know if he loved me. The answer was one I could not doubt or deny. Luckily, it was affirmative! Then I couldn’t reconcile this knowledge of being loved with how I felt about myself. If I don’t love myself I am telling Father he is wrong, or that he has bad taste! It took nearly six months of prayer, repenting, and pretending that I loved myself before I could come to genuinely be glad to be me. Then my whole life changed.

What an incredible difference to be able to honestly thank the Lord for who you are, to be grateful and happy to be you instead of disliking yourself or feeling pressure to be more than you are.

Connor M., 15, and Kristin C., 16, taught a class together on indexing headstones and birth, marriage, and death records. Connor says, “I believe that everyone should do their family history because it really is a surefire way to take the adversary out of your life.” Kristin adds, “Learn how to do some sort of family history, and then share your learned skill with others.” Colter M., 17, also taught a workshop on indexing. When he was working in the Discovery Zone, he helped an older sister who came in with a CD sent over from Japan with her family tree in Japanese. “It was an amazing experience to be able to help her open the CD and view her family tree,” he says. “It was a very spiritual experience for me and the sister I was helping.”