Gospel Story Finder

As a mother in Haiti mourned the loss of her own family members following an earthquake, she still reached out to help calm the fears and soothe the broken hearts of others, strengthening survivors and helping them find food and shelter.

Then I met the missionaries. They gave me a Book of Mormon, and I started to read it. When I read 3 Nephi 17, I was truly impressed by the way Jesus took the little children and prayed for them. I knew that this was the right way to pray.
I decided to read all the scriptures about Jesus Christ praying. In Luke 3:21, after John baptized Him, Jesus prayed to Heavenly Father and the heavens were opened. When I read that, I knew that I wanted to pray in a way that would open the heavens too.

I decided to compete in a marathon with work colleagues in Western Cape, South Africa. I trained and worked very hard in preparation for the race.
On the day of the race, I woke up, read my scriptures, and prayed. I was nervous, but I also felt that I needed to trust in the Lord. I knew that if I did, He would provide sustenance and support.
We were required to walk or run 40 kilometers (25 miles). We started at 8:00 a.m. The weather was cool and slightly rainy, so at first I enjoyed the walk and was doing well. But when I was about 10 kilometers from the finish line, the race became very hard for me. I had muscle pulls in one leg, and I had some blisters. I wanted to quit. Then I began singing a hymn:
Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, …
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.
(“How Firm a Foundation,” Hymns, no. 85)
Over and over the words of the hymn flooded my mind and lifted my feet, and I finished the race in the strength of the Lord’s hymn.
This experience taught me that the gospel of Jesus Christ is about endurance. It is like walking or running in a race. We get tired sometimes, rest, and walk again. Heavenly Father does not give up on us no matter how many times we fall; to Him what counts is how many times we stand up and walk again. His gospel is about finishing the race.

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

When I turned 14, I moved to Texas, USA, to join my parents and siblings. I found a local church and began attending regularly. Because of my experiences with God, I wanted to share His name and gospel with everyone who would hear me. At age 15, I enrolled in ministry school to become a minister. For two years, I attended Bible classes before school, after school, and on weekends.
One morning at high school, I heard noise in the boys’ locker room. “You Mormon!” someone yelled. I had never heard that term before, but it sounded like an insult.
Later I found out that the person being yelled at was my good friend Derek.
“I am sorry you got called a Mormon,” I said.
Derek smiled and asked, “You don’t know what a Mormon is, do you?”
He told me it was a nickname for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“So, are you a Christian?” I asked.
When he said yes, I was happy to know that we shared faith in Jesus Christ.
“Who are these Mormons,” I wondered, “and what do they believe?”
I went to the internet to find out. After a few minutes, I decided that my friend was not a Christian after all and that he was going to hell. So, I embarked on a mission to save him.
For the next two years, I read every book I could find about the Church, including the entire Book of Mormon—twice. I also met with Derek and the full-time missionaries to try to help them.
When I turned 17, I graduated from ministry school, was ordained a minister, and became the pastor of a small congregation in Texas. Two months after my ordination, I had another discussion with the missionaries.
One of them asked, “You’ve read the Book of Mormon, and you’ve taken every lesson we can offer, but have you asked God if our message is true? You would recognize an answer from Him, right?”
“Of course,” I proudly responded.
“The way I see it, it’s a win-win situation for you,” the missionary responded. “If you ask God if what your friend believes is true and God says no, then you have accomplished the mission for which you began this journey. But if He says our message is true, then think about how much you could gain.”
I had never thought about it like that. That night I knelt in my room after reading Moroni 10:3–5. My answer from God was simple but powerful. In a still, small voice, He answered me: “You’ve always known.”

In this activity, you can teach your family about building testimonies by showing them how to make butter out of cream. You would never try to spread liquid cream on bread—that would just turn into a soggy mess. But with the right ingredients and some time and effort, you’ll have a toasty treat!
Materials:
A mason jar with its accompanying lid
Heavy cream
Salt (optional)
An important step in developing a testimony is learning more about the gospel. Try asking your family for examples of simple gospel doctrines and principles. Then talk about how it is essential to start out with the right “ingredients” before you try to make the final product, just like in a recipe.
Now you can gather your mason jar, heavy cream, and salt (optional) to prepare for your butter-making journey. When you’re ready to start, pour cream into your jar until it’s about halfway full and, if you’d like, add a dash of salt.
Make sure the lid is screwed on tight, because the secret to turning this liquid cream into solid butter is a whole lot of shaking. Tell your family that the shaking represents acting on gospel principles you’ve learned. While you’re doing this, discuss what it means to “be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only” (James 1:22).
Shake it forward and backward, left and right, or like a maraca. You can sit, stand, or dance around the room, but keep going!
As the cream thickens, it becomes increasingly difficult to shake, so feel free to pass the jar around to give everyone a turn. Plan for the process to take 6–8 minutes.
When you see a solid lump of butter form, open your mason jar to reveal the final product. Don’t worry about the liquid in the bottom of your jar; that’s just buttermilk (which, by the way, is great to use for pancakes).
Making butter from cream teaches you that it takes hard work to achieve your goals. Shaking the cream causes the fat cells to stick together and form clumps. But this would never happen if you just left the jar of cream on the table. You have to pick it up and shake it.
It takes time and effort to form butter from cream, and the same goes for your testimony. Elder Uchtdorf suggested strengthening your testimony by searching the scriptures, keeping the commandments, fasting with a purpose, and praying consistently.2 Make goals with your family that will push each of you to actively strengthen and solidify your testimony.
Nice work! Your family has created butter out of cream. It’s time to toast some bread so everyone can enjoy the result. Top off your buttered toast with your favorite jam, honey, or even cinnamon and sugar for a sweet treat.

One thing Bill positively was not going to do was lose his cool when he talked to Dad. He was sensing a new power in their discussions when he could smother back his flaring irritations and cover them with a quiet, logical tolerance of Dad’s opinions. Not that he was giving in, mind you, or changing his stand; after all, he was 15 and capable of making his own decisions, but it was important to convince Dad he was right.
Ridiculous, all this hassle about just wanting a Saturday off for the beach. Doug Anders and Tommy Martin went every Saturday without feeling the least bit guilty—and most Sundays, too, for that matter. Why was it always different for him? Bill knew well why it was different. The Church—that was why. Doug didn’t even go to church, and Tommy only went on Easter and Christmas. Their Saturdays weren’t full of building-fund paper drives, work projects for the widows, or setting up chairs for meetings. Not that Bill would trade places with them. No, the church was important in his life, and he valued it, but this Saturday was something else.
“Hope you’re getting right at the lawn, Bill.” Mother’s voice floated down from the upstairs window. “Dad said it was a must as soon as you got home from school. It will only take a minute if you get going.”
A minute, ha! Little did she know about pushing that mower through the thick, tough grass in the heat! Probably more like an hour. Bill kicked a mud clod into the flower bed with his ragged tennis shoe, dropped his books, and slumped on the cool grass to rest. He sank deep—kinda high all right—should have been cut last week, and it was a cinch Dad had been too busy to do it. He plucked a long blade of grass and twisted it slowly between his thumb and finger. Why did Dad have to be so dedicated to the max—always heading a Church project, going to a meeting, or worrying about someone’s problems when he had a little spare time. And expecting Bill’s help with it! Being the oldest wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be.
“I don’t hear much action down there, dear. Would you like a sandwich or something before you start?” Mom’s voice dripped with sweetness and Bill sensed her effort at nonirritation. He sighed, struggled to his feet, and went for the lawn mower.
It wasn’t so bad once he got started, and as the blades whipped around he started rehearsing ways of convincing Dad about Saturday.
“You see, Dad, it’s like this. There’s a problem about my helping Saturday. Now, it isn’t that I don’t understand—I know you’re on the welfare committee and that your kid should be there helping with the clothing drive. And I realize, too, that I’ve promised the bishop he could count on me. But all that was before Tommy told me about the beach and the surfboard.”
Not quite strong enough, Bill thought, and started again.
“Look, Dad. I know it’s going to be a pain for you, but I won’t be there to help Saturday. It’s time I start doing more with my friends. They’re beginning to think I’m always working on a project. Friendship is important, too, and I’m going to the beach with them.”
That should be convincing, he thought, and smothered a twinge of conscience. Using the friendship angle was taking advantage. Dad was a sucker for friendship. But it was true. Lately there was a definite gap in his closeness with his best friends, Doug and Tommy. They had been so alike all through school, and now it was uncomfortable being the different one, the one making excuses for not trying new, experimental things, the one going to church instead of the drags—the one still in the Scout program that they had given up long ago. Well, he didn’t have to be the one giving up his Saturday for a clothing drive!
The mower hit a rock and froze. Furiously Bill spun it loose and calmed his frustrations with giant shoves into the green mat of grass. Not that he hadn’t tried to share the Church with his friends, Bill reminded himself. But Tommy’s parents objected, and although Doug had showed interest for a while, weekends at the beach had won. And the gap between them was getting bigger. Only yesterday at school Doug had made the situation clear. They were leaning against the old elm tree by the cafeteria, trying to figure a way out of dressing for gym when he brought it up.
“Guess there’s no use asking what you’re doing Saturday.”
“What do you mean—no use asking?” Bill questioned.
“Oh, come off it. You know you’re always tied up with some weird thing or another. My cousin is taking me to the beach for some surfing pointers on his new board. Not any of this wimpy stuff like we do. He really knows how. I can bring you and Tommy, he said, but I knew most likely you’d have something to do for your Dad.”
“Who says I have to do anything? I can go if I want.”
“Well, all right, do you want?”
Tommy joined them just then.
“Well, how about it? Are you on for Saturday?”
“I’ll think about it. After all, I’m picky about who I spend my time with.”
“You said a mouthful,” Tommy added, “and it sure doesn’t seem to be us anymore. You’re getting to be a real drag.”
Bill finished the last swatch of grass, pushed the mower into the garage, and picked up the rake. It hadn’t taken as long as he thought. Mom was right after all. Exposing the clipped green carpet as he heaped the grass into piles brought a warm satisfaction that made him uncomfortable. Why should there be any pleasure in such an obnoxious job? Mom appeared at the back door with two frosty glasses of lemonade, and the warm feeling heightened as she sat next to him on the step, sipping and exclaiming about the beauty of the freshly cut lawn. He fought back the satisfaction and revived his misery.
“Mom, don’t you think a guy deserves Saturday off when he goes to school and works all week?”
“Well, I most certainly do,” she agreed. “Every boy needs some time for himself. You know I always let you off if your chores are done.”
“And don’t you think it’s important to keep in with the guys—you know, be one of them—not an outcast?”
“Of course, it’s important, dear. I’ve always encouraged you to have a lot of friends. Do you have a problem?”
He wished she wouldn’t be so confounded agreeable. It wasn’t giving him any practice for Dad. And, yes, he did have a problem. It would be the same old issue with Dad about what should come first. Church responsibility and dependability would end on top with Dad, and Bill would be dangling at the other end about Saturday. He knew the decision would be his own. Dad was fair that way, but it was uncomfortable when they didn’t see eye-to-eye, and past experience had taught him well what Dad’s way would be. He remembered the years through Scouting when football games at school were scheduled on the same Saturday as a merit badge hike. Dad always managed to help him find a way to make them both—even if it meant long drives to catch up with the Scouts. And it had been the same with the talent show and school play. When rehearsals interfered with Church meetings, they always found away to cover them both with a few short cuts and Dad being there with the transportation. Yes, Dad’s way was definitely on the side of participation and dedication to Church responsibility!
“Better get the rest of the grass picked up,” Mom called through the open window above the grinding garbage disposal. Bill was hardly aware she had gone inside. Always that gentle nudge to get going. Didn’t a guy even have thinking time these days? Well, he would hit Dad with Saturday as soon as he came home and get it over with. Still, his sister was always saying it paid to save the gripes until after dinner, and she did seem to have a way with Dad. He heard the car in the driveway and decided in favor of the waiting. It was a mistake. After dinner Jamie grabbed Dad for help with a math problem, then two telephone calls brought home teaching problems, and he was off to a Scout council meeting. Bill was asleep long before he returned.
“So, what’s the score? Are you, or aren’t you?” Doug mumbled between chomps on his hamburger at lunch the next day. “Not that I really care, just curious.”
“Yeah, what are you trying to do—play hard to get?” Tommy added. “Anyone would think you’re something special.”
Bill squirmed. “Give me a break, you guys. I’ve gotta think. Just because you wimps have nothing more to do than lay in the sun getting burned to a crisp, doesn’t mean everyone can. Someone’s gotta run the country, you know.”
“Well, that does it!” Doug smashed his milk carton and sent potato chips flying, “Let us know when you make up your mind!”
There were no two ways about it though. Tonight he would have to talk to Dad first thing. But Dad was late for dinner, and Bill had to leave for a basketball practice, so it still wasn’t settled. Walking home alone in the moonlight after the practice, he churned the situation in his mind and rehearsed again what he would say to Dad when he got home. It was convincing, he decided, but Dad would have a hard time understanding; since his kicks came from heading projects and doing for people. He didn’t have conflicts and things pulling him in a lot of different directions.
As he neared home and approached the driveway, he could see the garage light burning and Dad inside. At last, an opportunity to get him alone! He hurried up the driveway, but slowed as he neared the door and saw Dad standing over in a far corner—just standing there. Odd, his being there alone just standing, as busy as he was. Bill hesitated and then walked quietly to the doorway for a better look. There was something different about Dad. He looked tired and even a little sad.
Bill had never seen him like that before. The cover protecting a weathered terminal apparatus had been folded back, and he was scrutinizing it with wistful eyes. He finally began gently fingering a screw. Dad had started that invention a year ago. He liked building things and even had a special set of expensive tools that none of them were allowed to touch. He always had an idea for a new invention and Mom kidded him about finishing some of them. Strange he didn’t spend more time in the garage if he had such a craze for it. Why didn’t he? What was his problem? Bill stared at his father again, and then, slowly, a penetrating light, a flood of understanding, began to surface. Why, Dad had to make choices, too! All those trips to the mountains to catch him up with the Church group was time he could have been spending on his inventions. All the nights waiting in the car to take him from one meeting to another could have been enjoyed in the garage. And the way he honored his priesthood in accepting calls and helping people! A wave of guilt surged inside Bill making it hard to breathe. He hadn’t even said thanks for all those catch-up trips! Dad glanced up and smiled. “Well, hello there! Sorry I didn’t get home before you left for basketball. Mother said you wanted to see me about something.”
“I … a … well … I … a … was just wondering what I could do to help you get ready for the clothing drive Saturday.”
Dad walked over and put his arm around his shoulder. “You don’t know what that means to me, Bill. I’ve been wondering how I’d ever get all the calls made to remind the boys about coming. If you could take on a few after school tomorrow, it would really help. I appreciate your continual support so much!”
They walked slowly toward the house together, and there it was again—that maddening warm, satisfied feeling!

While a missionary, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley was assigned to serve as an assistant to Elder Jospeh F. Merrill, who presided over the European missions. One day Elder Merrill gave the young elder a tough assignment.
Elder Merrill: These newspapers have all printed reviews of a very unflattering book about the Church. I want you to go to the publisher and protest the publication of the book.
Elder Hinckley agreed to go, but he wondered if he was the right man for the job.
Elder Hinckley: Why are you sending me? I’m just a boy, and you are a distinguished man. Why don’t you go yourself?
Feeling a little frightened, he went to his room and prayed for strength. Then he set out.
Elder Hinckley: I wonder if this is how Moses felt when the Lord told him to go and see Pharaoh?
At the publishing house, Elder Hinckley received a cold welcome, but he was not discouraged.
Receptionist: Mr. Skeffington is too busy to see you.
Elder Hinckley: I have come five thousand miles, and I will be happy to wait.
When he was allowed to see Mr. Skeffington an hour later, Elder Hinckley did not complain loudly. Instead, he calmly pointed out the book’s errors and appealed to the publisher’s sense of fairness.
Elder Hinckley: I am sure that a high-principled man such as yourself would not wish to do injury to a people who have already suffered so much for their religion.
Mr. Skeffington: I will recall every copy of that book from the bookstores and add a statement that the Mormons have a respected and courageous history and that the book is fiction with no basis in fact.
Elder Merrill had sent the right man. Elder Hinckley later recalled, “I came to know that if we put our faith in the Lord and go forward in trust, He will open the way.”

Secondly, each of these conferences marks a call to action not only in our own lives but also on behalf of others around us, those who are of our own family and faith and those who are not. This morning President Hinckley movingly reminded us that this is the 150th anniversary of those handcart companies that, as general conference was convening in October of 1856 here in the Salt Lake Valley, were staggering through the last freezing miles of Nebraska and were soon to be stranded in the impassable snows of the high country of Wyoming. He quoted to us President Brigham Young’s inspiring general conference message to the Saints, simply “go and bring in those people now on the plains.”
As surely as the rescue of those in need was the general conference theme of October 1856, so too is it the theme of this conference and last conference and the one to come next spring. It may not be blizzards and frozen-earth burials that we face this conference, but the needy are still out there—the poor and the weary, the discouraged and downhearted, those “[falling] away into [the] forbidden paths” we mentioned earlier, and multitudes who are “kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” They are all out there with feeble knees, hands that hang down, and bad weather setting in. They can be rescued only by those who have more and know more and can help more. And don’t worry about asking, “Where are they?” They are everywhere, on our right hand and on our left, in our neighborhoods and in the workplace, in every community and county and nation of this world. Take your team and wagon; load it with your love, your testimony, and a spiritual sack of flour; then drive in any direction. The Lord will lead you to those in need if you will but embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ that has been taught in this conference. Open your heart and your hand to those trapped in the twenty-first century’s equivalent of Martin’s Cove and Devil’s Gate. In doing so we honor the Master’s repeated plea on behalf of lost sheep and lost coins and lost souls.

Recently I visited a loved one after she had been in the hospital. She told me with emotion that while she was lying in the hospital bed, all she desired was for someone to sing to her the song “I Am a Child of God.” That thought alone, she said, gave her the peace she needed in that hour of affliction.

“I have varying levels of depression, and when I am really feeling down, I don’t want to do anything. Sometimes I just sit on the couch and watch TV, but I don’t really watch it—I just stare. Ultimately, I get a feeling that people don’t want to do anything with me, and I genuinely believe nobody should do anything with me when I am in that state. I just have zero motivation. I never thought I was depressed or that it affected me to the extent that it did until I got help.”

“Constant outreach helps. I find that it helps to have someone who is willing to listen. They don’t even necessarily need to understand what is being said, but it’s nice to have someone to validate my frustrations or thoughts.
“Trying to get myself out of one of my ‘gloomy’ moods had a lot to do with deciding to do so. I needed to decide whether I wanted to help myself or stay down. My medication helped, but it also helps to get out of the house and be around people—even going to the gym can help change my mood. The hardest part was realizing I had a condition and admitting it to someone else.”

I wanted to thank you for an uplifting magazine! A while ago, I was in my creative writing class, and I had my New Era with me because I was using it for a devotional in seminary. We were supposed to be reading, and that’s all I had, so I started reading it. My teacher came over, and I thought she was going to get mad at me for reading a magazine, but she was really impressed because of the neat layout and how it was a magazine written especially for youth. Also, she was excited because there were a whole bunch of short stories, which is what we were studying at the time. Thanks. I love reading the New Era!Carina Shojinaga, Raleigh First Ward, Raleigh North Carolina Stake

Recalling another childhood experience, Elder Porter says, “I remember talking to Dad one Easter after our Primary lesson on the Crucifixion. I told him that I didn’t think that the Crucifixion had hurt Jesus very much because of who He was and His ability to perform miracles. Dad looked at me, got up, went to the bookcase, and returned with the Doctrine and Covenants. Then he read to us—very carefully—from section 19, verses 15 to 20. He told us that Jesus suffered more than we can ever imagine, that His sacrifice was for all who would ever live, that the price of true love is very high, that we should always be grateful for what Jesus did for us, and that the Savior’s supreme and selfless sacrifice was a blessing above all others.
“I’ve never forgotten the lesson that Dad taught us around the dining table that day. And if I had to choose one scripture that means the most to me today, that would be the one.”

One day on my bus, my two friends and I started singing Christmas songs. Soon the whole bus started singing too. The bus driver was smiling. I had a happy feeling that I was sharing the Christmas spirit.
Alice W., age 8, Texas

Bianca still dreamed of getting into a ballet company. While busking, she kept training and auditioning. One company that seemed interested in her asked, “Why don’t you . . . perform on Sunday, and then go to church?” With Bianca’s insistence that Sabbath observance was more than just going to church, that opportunity fell through.

In a General Conference talk in October 1976, Elder Robert L. Simpson of the First Quorum of the Seventy, recalled the story of one brother, quite new in the Church, who was very eager to serve in an “important” position—but for the wrong reasons. Once, when he met with President Hugh B. Brown of the First Presidency, he asked, “President Brown, how does someone get to be a bishop in the Church?”
“Well,” answered President Brown, “the process is very simple. You just have to be invited by the Lord.”
“In the work of the Lord,” said Elder Simpson, “we don’t seek positions, nor should we refuse the opportunity to serve when called.” That same “policy” applies to all Church callings; we receive a call from the Lord, through our ward or branch leaders.

At my school people were making fun of a girl because she was different and she didn’t have very many clothes. So I packed up a bunch of my clothes and a lot of hair clips, ponytail holders, and other hair stuff. I took it to school and gave it to her. She said, “Thank you so much. I needed that!” And after that we became great friends.
Madison H., age 9, Utah

Before Easter, Solvor had made her decision to be baptized. When Thor was still reluctant to make a commitment, the elders asked him, “Can you give us one good reason for not being baptized with Solvor?”
“Solvor and I talked until 1:00 A.M. about my decision,” Thor remembers. “I felt I needed to be alone for a while, so I went out in the middle of the night and worked on my car. I worked—and I prayed. I prayed that it would become clear to me that this was the right way to go. After two long hours, I received the confirmation that I needed. I knew there was not one good reason that I should not be baptized with Solvor.”

During a family vacation, the Bart and LeAnne Dahneke family of the Grandview Fifth Ward, Provo Utah Grandview Stake, shared an unusual experience.
“My husband and I decided to take our children for a walk along the beach in search of shells,” says Sister Dahneke. “While walking we met a nice couple. Bart struck up a conversation with them, and we became quick friends.
“The next day we had dinner together and discovered that this couple was soon going to be married by a local minister. They had no family with them, so they invited us to serve as witnesses. We agreed.
“The wedding was held on a beautiful beach as the sun was setting over a calm, clear ocean. The bride and groom were radiant as they held hands and made the promise to love, honor, and respect each other. My children were happy for our new friends, but they had a lot of questions about the wedding ceremony. So our next family home evening was on eternal marriage.
“We talked about the importance of eternal marriage as found in D&C 132:15, 19. We taught our children about the importance of living their lives so they are worthy to go to the temple to be sealed for eternity. We felt the inspiration of the Holy Ghost as we talked about the beauty of a temple marriage and its eternal sealing power, compared to an earthly wedding and its ‘until death do us part’ promise.
“Drawing upon this shared experience provided a powerful foundation to teach the gospel principles surrounding eternal marriage. Our children were receptive because they had experienced firsthand the wedding on the beach. We were motivated because we know firsthand the joys of temple marriage. The result was a powerful family home evening.”

Once during a dinner with the other contestants, we talked a little bit about religion, and I spoke about my faith and the standards of the Church. Later I gave each of the finalists a copy of the For the Strength of Youth pamphlet so they could better understand what I believe. Some said the Church’s standards seemed really conservative, but others praised me for having such high standards in these days.