Gospel Story Finder

When we went back to Boston we took with us an eight-year-old daughter. Our other two were attending Brigham Young University, and we left them here. We went from a family of five to a family of three in one evening, never again to be brought together as a family because both of my older daughters married while we were on our missions. That’s a great experience, but here now my little eight-year-old became an only child overnight—quite a frustration. And then, to top it off, we moved to a new area; and she was lonesome for her friends and her acquaintances at school.
We signed her up in the Russell School in Cambridge. The Russell School was built in 1888; and it is not a very imposing looking school, except to an archaeologist. It had lots of weeds in the yard, and a terribly musty smell greeted one as he entered the building. The floorboards buckled, and you got an eerie feeling as you walked the halls.
We tried to prepare this little girl for her first day at school just as soon as we arrived. Because it was a long way off, she didn’t panic; but as the day drew closer her concern increased. We took her shopping for new school clothes, had a family evening organized around how to adjust and what to do and how to turn yourself out to adjust to the new environment. She could handle that all right, because it was still theory. And then the night before, we planned a special program around helping her for the special day. She retired to her bed all right but seemed quite restless.
The next few hours passed, and then she suddenly appeared at the door where I was studying. She was rubbing her stomach. She said, “Dad, I’m sick.” Now, you know what kind of sickness she had, don’t you? Not physical, not mental, but emotional. “Can’t sleep, sir.”
Well, I invited her over, put her on my lap, and we chatted for a moment. Then I put on some music that we liked to listen to together and rubbed her tummy. She finally drifted into never-never land and seemed pretty well under control. I took her body, with its dangling legs, upstairs and put her back to bed. I turned to go out, got as far as the door, and she said, “I’m still awake.” I went back and lay down on the bed and stroked her head for a few moments, and she finally went to sleep.
The next morning while I was at breakfast she came down dressed only in her slip. She said, “Dad, I just thought you ought to know I don’t think I’ll go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She said, “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Now, you know what she’s trying to tell me, don’t you? “I’m nervous. Will my teachers like me? Will I be accepted?” Oh, she was not capable of asking those kinds of questions, but these were the concerns of her heart. She was lonely; she didn’t know how to fit in. She was concerned about making new friends.
And I said, “Well, you know the answer to that, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir, I guess we’re going.”
I said, “How would you like your mother and me to drive you over?” She liked that, so we did.
We got in front of the school, and the tears started to well up. The warning bell sounded; I got her out of the car, and she grabbed hold of my leg like a tackle I hope we’ve got this year for BYU. I had to drag her, literally, to the door. The door opened, and now she clung to both legs. I shall never forget the expression on the face of that eight-year-old. She looked at me, and she said, “Dad, if you really love, if you really do, you won’t send me in there.”
I said, “Honey, this may sound like a strange philosophy: it’s because I do love you that I am sending you in there.”
We went in. The tears really came now, without shame. Then it happened. Then the little miracle. Around the corner came the only other Latter-day Saint in the whole student body. Thank God, another eight-year-old girl. And she had seen her a couple of times at some stake functions. And this little girl was an extrovert’s extrovert. Even though only eight, she had learned to lose herself in the interest of others. She came around the corner, and she said, “Oh, Kellie! How are you? Gosh, it’s good to see you! What’s your home room number?” And Kellie told her. “Great! That’s mine, too. Come on, I’ll show you where.”
And before Kellie knew it, she had let go, got about ten paces out in front of me; and then I’ll never forget this lesson. She turned and said, “Oh, Dad, you can go now. I don’t need you anymore.”

While I was serving as president of the Guatemala Guatemala City North Mission, we received several new full-time missionaries. As I introduced myself to these missionaries, I told them the story of my conversion and baptism.
After I had related my story and was interviewing the new missionaries, one of them, Elder Benjamin Pixton, told me that David Tree was his grandfather. What a wonderful surprise! Elder Tree had baptized a nine-year-old boy in Glendive, Montana, and nearly 50 years later that boy was called as his grandson’s mission president.
When Elder Pixton’s parents and grandparents came to pick him up at the end of his mission, I had the pleasure of meeting David Tree again. During our visit, I showed him the Book of Mormon—with a message and promise he had written—that he had given to me the day I was baptized.
Elder Pixton’s mother told him that her father hadn’t talked much about his mission. He felt that he hadn’t been very successful because he baptized only two people: a single woman and a nine-year-old boy.
In gratitude I told him that because of his efforts, the rest of my family had eventually joined the Church and that my brother and I, along with our nine sons, had served full-time missions. Because of his missionary service, I said, countless people had been taught the gospel and had joined the Church.

I thought I would never want to forget the hatred I felt that night. I was a high school junior with friends who were good examples and strong in the gospel. One evening, my friends and I decided to organize a scavenger hunt. Each of us asked a date to come along, and we met at a local park. We then spent two hours driving around the valley on a frantic search for old baseball cards, kitchen knives, and various other trinkets. After each couple had collected the necessary items, we all returned to the park.
As my friends and I were happily comparing the success of our scavenger hunts, a line of headlights turned into the park. I soon noticed a group of guys casually strolling toward us. While I sat talking with my date, one of them approached me. I became uneasy when I noticed his hand wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle.
At first, the stranger seemed rather friendly. He politely asked me what school my friends and I attended. As I began to reply, I felt a cold, wet splash against my shirt. Staring up in shock, I watched this stranger spray his beer onto our group. He then approached one of my unsuspecting friends and punched him in the face. As we stared, frozen in disbelief, the strangers ran back to their cars while tossing their bottles back toward us. We watched them turn out of the park and drive out of sight.
In the days following the incident, I was furious. I became even more bitter when I discovered that some of those guys attended our school. I found myself condemning them in my mind every time I was reminded of the episode. We found ourselves beginning to spread exaggerated accounts of the incident, and I felt a fire of hatred ignite for them. What I didn’t realize was that with every hateful thought and word I was polishing a heart that was becoming hard as granite.
A number of months later, I was planning a devotional for my seminary class. During my preparation, I found myself struggling to find a topic for my presentation. Frustrated, I opened my scriptures to Matthew. Midway through chapter 6, I read verse 15 [Matt. 6:15] which shone like a vivid light. It stated, “But if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.”
It was then I decided to focus my devotional on forgiveness. As I pondered this scripture and how it related to my life, I remembered the incident at the park. At that moment I realized how dark my spirit had become. As I pondered how difficult forgiveness was for me, I looked to Christ—mankind’s greatest example. I remembered as the Savior hung on the cross, looking down upon men who had just mocked, beaten, and were about to crucify him. I was further amazed when I realized that Christ not only forgave those who wronged him, but he died for their sins as well.
After thinking, I decided I would strive to set aside my judgmental nature and realize my own faults. I always try to remember that I have offended others as well. Because all people make mistakes, we as Heavenly Father’s children must focus on overcoming our own weaknesses rather than judging our neighbor’s shortcomings.
Although I still struggle to forgive the guys at the park, I now realize that they made a mistake which they may or may not regret. I know now that I have to forgive and move on rather than be held back by my anger.

“What does my church believe?” Andrea stammered.
“Yeah.” Jane urged. “You have to believe something—maybe something different.”
“Well, um … we believe in Heavenly Father and … and …”
“I guessed that much. Most churches believe in God,” said Jane. “But what does your church believe that makes you different from other churches?”
Andrea could feel a hot blush rise in her face. What can I say? she wondered.
Just then Jane’s mother called, “Andrea, you need to hurry home to help your mother. She just phoned and said something about taking your brother somewhere.”
“Oh! I forgot! Sorry, Jane—I have to run. See you tomorrow.” As she thanked Jane’s mom and hurried toward home, Jane’s questions kept popping into Andrea’s mind. She felt ashamed at not knowing what to say. I’ve been a member all my life. I should know what the Church believes.
After school the next day, Andrea slipped out of her chair and out the door. If I hurry, Jane won’t catch up to me and ask me again, she thought. But she wasn’t fast enough.
“Andrea, wait for me,” Jane yelled down the hall to her. “I just need to get my library book.”
As they started toward home, Andrea kept her head down and stared at the sidewalk as if expecting it to jump up at her. She could only manage to nod or shake her head whenever Jane said something. Finally Jane bent down and looked up at her friend’s face. “Are you OK?”
“Yes. I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking. Anyway, here’s your house. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon—you’re still coming over for our usual Saturday pizza-after-chores get-together, aren’t you?”
“Of course—I haven’t missed yet, have I?”
Andrea hardly heard Jane’s reply. What do Latter-day Saints believe? she asked herself as she continued down the street. From her parents and in Primary, she had learned about temples, prophets, the Book of Mormon, the celestial kingdom, Jesus, Heavenly Father, and lots more. But how could she explain all that to Jane? It had taken her whole life to learn these things.
That night, as she and her father did dishes, she asked, “Dad, what does our Church believe?”
“Well, Andrea, we believe a lot of things. For starters, we believe in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. We believe that families can be together forever. We believe in Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.”
“But that’s not all, is it?”
“No, of course not. I guess that if we went into detail, we could write several books about what we believe. Why do you ask?”
“Yesterday Jane asked me what our church believes, and I didn’t know what to say. I’m ten years old. I’ve been baptized, and I still don’t know what to say.” Andrea’s voice choked up, and tears started to pool in the corners of her eyes.
Dad put down the dishcloth, sat at the kitchen table, and gestured for her to sit next to him. “Andrea, you know what we believe. You’ve just forgotten that you do. Remember when you were preparing to be baptized? What did you do?”
“Well, I read the Book of Mormon, and I tried to repent of my sins, and I memorized the Articles of Faith.”
“Right. And what do the Articles of Faith tell us?”
A smile spread slowly across Andrea’s face. “They tell us what we believe! I do know!”
“Sure you do. The Articles of Faith can be very valuable tools in helping us and other people understand what we believe.”
When Andrea and Dad had finished the dishes, they sat and opened their scriptures to the Pearl of Great Price. On the last two pages, they found the Articles of Faith and read them one by one. Or rather, Dad read while Andrea recited them from memory. She was happy that she had been reviewing them for her Gospel in Action award and could remember them all.
Below the thirteenth article, Andrea saw the name Joseph Smith. “When did he write these?” she asked.
“Well, a man named John Wentworth, who was the editor of an Illinois newspaper, wanted to know how the Church was started and what members believed. Joseph Smith told him in a letter, which became known as the “Wentworth Letter.” The principles mentioned in that letter later became the Articles of Faith. They don’t go into a lot of detail about all the things that we believe, but they list many basic truths of the gospel.”
“I’m glad that we have the Articles of Faith! Now I know what I can say to Jane. Thanks, Dad.”
The next day Andrea was eager for Jane to come. Before her friend had hung up her coat, the words were tumbling from Andrea’s mouth. “Remember what you asked me Thursday at your house—about what my Church believes?”
“Oh, yeah. I remember. We didn’t get very far, did we?”
“I can tell you now.” Andrea began reciting the Articles of Faith.
“Wow! You really know a lot about your church. I think that’s great. How do you know all that?”
“I’ve been learning at home and at church all my life, but”—she grinned at her friend—“I had a little help from a newspaper man.” Then she told Jane about the Wentworth Letter and about how Joseph Smith’s reply had become the Articles of Faith.
“I can’t believe you memorized them all,” Jane said. “That’s a lot to remember!”
“It’s not that hard when it’s what you believe.”
Jane sat quietly for a minute. “Andrea, could you tell me more about what you believe? I don’t really understand everything you said, but I’d like to.”
“Sure. Let’s start with the first article of faith.” Andrea spent the rest of the pizza-making time explaining some of the Articles of Faith. While they feasted on their favorite—a concoction with ham, pineapple, and just a sprinkling of chopped tomato and green pepper—she explained more. When Jane left for home, Andrea offered, “If you want to know more, you can come to church with me.”
“Oh, I’d like that a lot. I can’t tomorrow, but I’ll ask my mom about next Sunday and let you know.”
That night, Andrea told her father all about it.
“Andrea, the Prophet Joseph Smith would be happy that what he wrote to John Wentworth helped you to share the gospel. Remember to thank the Lord tonight for him and the great work he did.”
And Andrea did just that.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, the Bogotá Colombia Temple closed. Because I could no longer attend, at times I would mentally walk through the temple, remembering the service I had rendered there as a temple worker.
My mother-in-law became extremely ill shortly after a COVID-19 quarantine began in Colombia. When I prayed to know how I could help her, I thought of the temple.
As I thought about the temple, I felt prompted by the Holy Ghost to ask my mother-in-law if she would like to mentally visit “one of the most beautiful places on earth” with me.
In a weak voice, she replied, “Yes.”
We imagined starting from her home in Medellín, traveling to my home in Bogotá, and then arriving at the temple. We imagined entering and serving in the temple. We imagined sitting together in the celestial room, saying a prayer of gratitude to the Lord.
Afterward, we pleaded with Heavenly Father that my mother-in-law, according to His will, might regain her health and eventually be allowed to physically return to the temple. It was a special, solemn experience that strengthened and encouraged her.
Like the man with the palsy, my mother-in-law was healed by the Savior’s power through a priesthood blessing and through her faith and the faith of family and friends.

I was a little child when I lost my father. It was hard to be fatherless. My mother tried to support her family, but she didn’t have enough money to educate me. I was discouraged because I had to cease learning and I never learned to read. My mother and I tried to do many things in our village, like farm work, to support ourselves. For years, we struggled together.

Eventually, I got married and had children. Several years later, my husband died, and I struggled as a single parent to take care of my children.

My friends came to me and said, “You have lost your husband. You are now suffering. We want to invite you to our church to see what Jesus can do for you.” I followed my friends to their church. I also went to other churches.

One day, a woman from a few houses away came to me and said, “I have a church. Will you come?”

“No,” I said, “I have tried church after church.”

“Please,” the woman said, “I want to invite you to my church.”

“What do you call your church?” I asked.

“My church is The Church of Jesus Christ Latter-day Saints.”

She convinced me to learn more. She invited the missionaries to pay me a visit. The first day the missionaries came, I called my family together. The missionaries sat down and started to teach us.

The first time I went to church, I sat next to a woman singing from a hymnbook. I tried to pay attention, but I didn’t know how to read. I couldn’t even understand what she was singing. I felt discouraged. “I’m not going to this church again,” I said to myself.

I told the missionaries I wasn’t going to church again. One missionary said, “I’m not going to force you to be a member of this Church, but I’m going to tell you the truth. If you want to believe that this Church is true, read this book.” He gave me the Book of Mormon.

“You can’t give me this book,” I said. “I am not educated. I don’t even know how to read. I don’t need your book.”

The missionaries told me, “Your children are learning to read. They will read this for you, and you will understand.”

“I will try,” I said.

My daughter started reading the Book of Mormon to me, and I went to church again. A sister at church came to me and told me about a class for those who are not able to read and write. She said it was the gospel literacy class.

“We need a student,” she said.

“I really want to know how to read and write,” I said. “So I will go attend that class!”

As I attended the class, I learned reading, writing, and more and more about the gospel. My daughter read more from the Book of Mormon to me. One day I said, “This is the word of God. I can’t deny it.” I decided to be baptized.

Tui M., 12
When I perform, I don’t feel nervous. I feel a thrill. I’ve learned that even if I mess up, I can turn it into something beautiful. It’s almost like painting. When a painter makes a mistake, they might make it into something new. Sometimes I drop my fireknife, but I pick it back up and keep dancing.
Self-encouragement has helped me a lot with my fears. Instead of having thoughts like, “What if I mess up?” I try to have more thoughts like, “Well, what if I do good!”
It’s also become a routine for me to say a small prayer every time before a fireknife performance. Praying protects me and helps me have a good dance. When I pray, I feel confident that I’m going to do good.

Back in the year 1961, a worldwide conference was held for mission presidents, and every mission president in the Church was brought to Salt Lake City for those meetings. I came to Salt Lake City from my mission in Toronto, Canada.
In one particular meeting, N. Eldon Tanner, who was then an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, had just returned from his initial experience of presiding over the missions in Great Britain and western Europe. He told of a missionary who had been the most successful missionary whom he had met in all of the interviews he had conducted. He said that as he interviewed that missionary, he said to him, “I suppose that all of the people whom you baptized came into the Church by way of referrals.”
The young man answered, “No, we found them all by tracting.”
Brother Tanner asked him what was different about his approach—why he had such phenomenal success when others didn’t. The young man said that he attempted to baptize every person whom he met. He said that if he knocked on the door and saw a man smoking a cigar and dressed in old clothes and seemingly uninterested in anything—particularly religion—the missionary would picture in his own mind what that man would look like under a different set of circumstances. In his mind he would look at him as clean-shaven and wearing a white shirt and white trousers. And the missionary could see himself leading that man into the waters of baptism. He said, “When I look at someone that way, I have the capacity to bear my testimony to him in a way that can touch his heart.”

I had another exceptional teacher while attending Ricks College many years ago. I was preparing to serve a mission and thought it would be helpful to attend a missionary preparation class. What I experienced changed my life.
From the first day of class, I realized I was in the presence of a master teacher. The teacher was Brother F. Melvin Hammond. I knew Brother Hammond loved the Lord and he loved me. I could see it in his face and hear it in his voice. When he taught, the Spirit enlightened my mind. He taught doctrine, but he also invited me to learn it on my own. That invitation helped me clearly see my responsibility to learn the Lord’s doctrine for myself. That experience changed me forever. Thank you, Brother Hammond, for teaching in the Savior’s way.

As a junior in high school, I thought that my dark blond, shoulder-length hair meant everything. My morning included nearly 30 minutes of trying various hairstyles until the right one looked nearly perfect. I did this every morning—until one day when my routine changed forever.
The day began like any day. I woke up, washed my face, and put my contacts in. Then I sleepily glanced in the mirror and caught sight of something terrible—a small bald spot on the top of my head. I looked closer and ran my fingers across it to make sure my morning eyes were not fooling me. They weren’t.
I began to panic, and in tears I searched for my mom. Together we discussed the possibility my hair got caught on something while I was sleeping. Or maybe I was not eating enough vegetables. But with no definite answers I finally parted my hair to somewhat hide the bald spot and rushed off to school.
From that day on, I continued to lose patches of hair. These spots varied from the size of a coin to the size of a fist. I went to numerous doctors who examined every part of my head. I also spent a lot of time on my knees in prayer, seeking comfort and strength to handle what the doctors would tell me.
In September 2000 I found out I had an autoimmune disease known as alopecia areata. I can still hear my doctor’s voice when he explained this meant “total hair loss with no known cure.” Immediately my mind filled with thoughts of doubt, thoughts like “What’s next?” and “Why me?”
After seeing a specialist the next month, I shaved my almost-bald head. Without my hair, I felt like a completely different person. My sense of self plummeted, and it was almost impossible to drag myself to school. “What would everyone think? What would everyone say?” I wondered.
Scarves became my everyday hairstyle. Instead of spending a half hour every morning on my hair, I spent five minutes carefully tying a scarf around my bald head. The scarves were colorful and comfortable, but they weren’t my hair. At one point I tried wearing a wig the same color as my hair. This only brought constant worry of it falling off in front of everyone at school. I went back to scarves.
School was a challenge. I knew my Heavenly Father loved me and I could count on Him to be there when everyone else was turning away. But that was hard to remember when my peers gave me quick, odd glances. It was also hard when rumors began to spread, and I knew I was the topic of conversation. I didn’t understand why, of all times in my life, I had to deal with this during high school—a time when I wanted so much to be accepted and liked by those around me.
I made it through my senior year only because of certain things I made myself remember as I walked the halls of my high school. Each morning I prayed and thanked the Lord for the blessing of being alive and for the beauty around me. I prayed for strength to endure the day ahead and to remember I was loved by many. I also thanked my Heavenly Father for the things I was learning from this experience. It seems simple, but it made a difference. Whenever someone gave me a funny look or made a cruel joke, I simply remembered my motto, “It’s just hair. It really doesn’t matter.”
I knew I had no control over what was going to happen with my hair, but I also knew I had complete control over how I was going to face it. I could make it a blessing and an opportunity, or I could look at it as a punishment and simply give up.
It has been almost three years since the morning I found the small bald patch on my head. In that time I have had to shave my head five times because I still have small patches of hair. Each time I have shaved it with a little more enthusiasm and appreciation for life.
I know I couldn’t have done it alone. The Lord has become the one I trust. He does not judge me or laugh at me; I know He loves me just as much without hair as He did when I had hair. I have also relied on the love and support of my family.
I know we are all children of God with divine potential. We are all here to learn and grow in different ways with different challenges. We have a Heavenly Father who loves us for who we are and for what we can become. He is there in our darkest hours. I am thankful for the atoning sacrifice of the Savior Jesus Christ and for the comfort the Atonement brings. I know He lives and has suffered and endured even more physical and spiritual pain than I have felt and will feel in the future.

R. Von Hanks, a member of the Pocatello 19th Ward, Pocatello Idaho Stake, found his father, Dr. Clair V. Hanks, a dentist, lying at the bottom of the basement steps, semiconscious and near death from an allergic reaction to a bee sting.
After calling an ambulance, Von treated his father for shock. Then following his father’s instructions, he injected his father with a local anesthetic from the dentist’s medical bag.
By the time the ambulance arrived, Dr. Hanks was already regaining full consciousness, and he fully recovered in the hospital.
Von was 16 at the time of the incident and had received his Eagle Scout award only one week earlier.

One of the blessings I have had while working at BYU–Hawaii has been to have the friendship of Isileli Tupou Kongaika. He comes from a family of faith, one that understands the importance of covenants. Isi’s parents were poor by U.S. standards. They had saved for years to go to the temple. When a group from Tonga was going to the New Zealand Temple, they wanted to go too, but Isi’s father Viliami realized that there was only enough savings for him and his wife to go. He postponed going because he said, “When we go we all go.” So he set to selling everything they had. They sold their frame home, the cook house, the stove, the furniture, all the furnishings and then the cows, pigs, and other animals, even Viliami’s bicycle and his wife’s sewing machine. They literally had nothing but their clothes, but they had enough money that all could go to the temple. They travelled to New Zealand and made the sacred covenants in the holy temple and had all their family sealed together. Later after returning home, they began to try to build a home again, starting from nothing. Not long after, a hurricane hit the small island, and everyone on the island lost everything. Viliami was to remark something like this: “We are poor, but everyone on the island is poor. The difference is that now we have a family sealed for eternity.” If they had kept everything, they would have lost it and not had the covenant. To the Kongaikas, obtaining the covenant was worth selling all they had. It was like the pearl of great price mentioned in the New Testament where the individual sold all he had so he could buy it.

For a long time, whenever I searched the Topical Guide or the index of the scriptures to write a talk, I preferred finding scriptures in the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, and even the Old Testament over scriptures in the Doctrine and Covenants. Sure, a lot of the information in the Old Testament has old book names and seems hard to understand, but the Doctrine and Covenants has just numbers—no interesting book names at all.
My feelings about the Doctrine and Covenants changed when we studied it in seminary. I had already tried to read through the entire standard works during my personal scripture study, which I had started when I was eight, but I had skipped the Doctrine and Covenants. The Doctrine and Covenants seemed to be just tedious numbers and instruction—no storylines, no main characters, no wars, no challenges. How could it mean something to me?
So the Church history and Doctrine and Covenants year of study came. During my previous two years of seminary, I had fulfilled my goal to read the entire book of study (the New Testament and then Book of Mormon) as we studied it in seminary throughout the school year. I couldn’t skip that goal just because of a bunch of boring numbers, so I took up the challenge.
Throughout the year, my seminary teacher taught us the historical context of each section in the Doctrine and Covenants. This instruction really helped me understand what I read on my own. The greatest thing I learned that year in seminary was that I was wrong—the Doctrine and Covenants is not a book of boring numbers that doesn’t apply to me. On the contrary, I found that I connected to this book of scripture in a special way because the people the Lord talks to in the Doctrine and Covenants are a lot closer to me in lifestyle and time period than the people in any other book of scripture.
My experience with the Doctrine and Covenants taught me that if, for whatever reason, I feel uninterested in any type of gospel instruction, I’m usually missing out on something great. With patience and a sincere desire to learn, I came to appreciate the Lord’s revelations to the Prophet Joseph Smith in the Doctrine and Covenants, as well as all the writings of ancient and modern prophets. Through this experience the Holy Ghost touched me and the gospel blessed my life every day.

I remember the first thing that was ever put into my testimony box.

When I was eight years old, I was baptized. I was baptized on my eighth birthday. My dad baptized me. I don’t remember much, but I do remember a few things. I remember how the water pressure made the baptism jumper stick to my body like glue. I remember how diligently I had practiced where I put my hand so that when my dad put his arm out, I wouldn’t fumble but could confidently put my hand out. I had practiced in the bathtub for many weeks holding my breath so that I could stay underwater the whole time. I walked into the font with confidence. I put my hand out for my dad, who lovingly touched it and guided it into place. I was nervous. I remember closing my eyes so that I would be the most reverent I had ever been. The next thing I heard was “Jesus Christ,” and then I was lowered under the water. The water was warm and washed over me.

When I stood up and wiped my eyes, I saw my dad standing next to me. He hugged me. I felt different, and I felt the same. I felt both new and old. But I knew that I just made a promise that made God happy. I was so proud of myself. Soon after, I was given the gift of the Holy Ghost and knew I felt different. This experience was the first thing I put in my testimony box; I feel safe when I follow God’s direction. I feel loved, and I feel whole. Baptism was essential for me.

Then one morning, he found an entire hive was empty. The bee colony had left!

Joseph searched the neighbourhood, with no luck. “Sometimes the queen [bee] just decides to leave and take her colony with her,” he explains. “Sometimes you can find them, and sometimes you can’t.”

He knew once a colony has left its hive, it’s unlikely that it will ever return. Also, bees never take over another colony’s hive. For these reasons, beekeepers tend to keep many hives—but Joseph only had two.

Tragically, a couple of months later, his second beehive was also abandoned.

Joseph was heartbroken: “I was so sad. I really felt like I had lost something.”

He hung up his beekeeper suit and went to tell his wife, Atelaite, the bad news. “Our bees are gone,” Joseph said to her. She encouraged him to pray.

From that morning, the couple prayed fervently, every day, for their bees. They would thank Heavenly Father for the privilege of having raised bees, and for the joy the experience had brought them, and then they’d prayed for a miracle—that the bees might somehow return.

After almost two weeks, however, Joseph began to lose faith. He told Atelaite he was ready to take down his empty hives and just purchase new bees in the next season. “These things happen,” he said to her. “Let’s just let nature take its course.”

But Atelaite wasn’t ready to give up. She had the words of Amulek in her heart: “Yea, humble yourselves, and continue in prayer unto him. …

“Cry unto him over the crops of your fields, that ye may prosper in them.

“Cry over the flocks of your fields, that they may increase (Alma 34:19, 24–25).

She did not stop praying.

One Saturday morning, Joseph noticed bees hovering above the flowerbeds in his garden. With the eyes of a trained beekeeper, he saw that many were carrying pollen, and that their flight path headed towards his hives.

Joseph hurried to put on his beekeeping suit and went to investigate. Bees swarmed especially around one of his hives, and when he opened it, it was filled with thousands of busy bees.

Joseph shed tears and said a quiet prayer of gratitude. He looked for the queen bee and thanked her for bringing her colony to this hive. Then he ran into the house to tell Atelaite.

“I said, ‘Honey, guess what? The bees have come back!’” He hugged and kissed his wife, and then told her, “Your faith is greater than mine.”

To this day, Joseph doesn’t know if the bees in his hive now are the same bees that left it, or if a new colony took over the hive. As neither situation is likely, he only knows that a miracle happened, and it was preceded by faith.

“I almost doubted and just, let nature take its course,” Joseph says, “but my wife never did. I have learned to never give up on our prayers and to trust in Heavenly Father. A miracle won’t always happen, but when it does, it brings great joy.”

… There came into the office a while ago a man who wanted to take a car to his son in the mission field. He said, “My son is riding a bicycle and I am afraid he is going to get killed. Can I take a car to him?”
I said, “You can if the mission president feels he needs one.”
Correspondence went back and forth, and finally approval was given for the young man to have a car. The father came in after he had taken the car and said, “I’m proud of my boy in the field. We had never been very close when he was at home. There had always been something of a gulf between us. I want to tell you what happened.
“I drove a thousand miles to deliver the car to my son. I went to his place of lodging and rang the bell. He came to the door, and said, ‘Hello, Dad. Glad to see you. Is that the car? I’m late for a meeting. If you can come around at eight o’clock tonight down at such and such an address where we are having a baptismal service, maybe I’ll have a few minutes to visit with you.’
“I hadn’t seen him for sixteen months and that’s the kind of reception I got. I felt like getting in the car and driving back home. But I went out, had some dinner and took a little nap and thought better of it. I went to the hall where the baptismal service was held. My boy was the supervising elder of the district.
“I arrived late and sat on the back row. They had just finished the baptismal service and were having something of a testimony meeting. A man stood up and said, ‘I’m retired. I’ve made some money. I’ve traveled around the world. I thought I had seen everything and had everything. Then one day that young man who is sitting here came to my door. Time was heavy on my hands; I let him in; I listened to him. He intrigued me, and I listened again. He has brought something to me more wonderful than all I have ever seen or all I have ever known. And I want to bear testimony to the truth of what he brought, and before you people here, express gratitude of the Lord for having sent him to my door.’
“He was talking about my boy. I am not a sentimental sort of a man, but the tears began to roll off my cheeks. I’ve come closer to my boy in one day in the mission field than I came in twenty years at home. I have concluded to be a better man myself. I have changed my life so that I may be worthy of my son.”
Gordon B. Hinckley“The Consequences of Conversion,”BYU Speeches of the Year, January 28, 1959, pp. 3–4.

The second of four boys in his family, Elder Wilcox was five years old when his father decided that he wanted to have something useful for his boys to do. “My father moved us out of the city,” Elder Wilcox recollected, “and into a nice home in the country, situated on two acres near Mt. Olympus in Holladay, Utah. We had an alfalfa field, lawns to mow, and a cow, chickens, and a currant patch to tend. There were plenty of chores to keep us boys busy, and I’m grateful to my parents for providing that good environment for us.
“Some of my choicest memories are of the foothills east of our home that provided a place for us to run and hike during the summer. In the wintertime it was beautiful, and we could ride about a mile and a half down a traffic-free road on our sleighs without stopping. Ski jumping was also a big thing then. We just put our skis on our shoulders and hiked up to the top of the hill, making a snow jump on the way down, then spent the rest of the day seeing who could jump the farthest. Safety bindings were unheard of then, and we fastened our boots to our skis with heavy rubber bands cut from inner tubes.”
Although Elder Wilcox’s father had to work seven days a week, he still found time to do things with his family. “I remember well his taking us kids swimming. On the way back we’d always stop at a certain shop to get ice cream. He also took us fishing. Every summer he would drive us up to Cache Valley, where all four of our grandparents lived. We would stay for three or four weeks. My grandparents were very loving, and, as a result, we loved them very much.
“Before the big dam was built near Hyrum, there was an open place called ‘the holler.’ That’s where my Grandfather Wilson had his pastures. One of the grandchildren’s duties was to take the cows down to pasture every morning. Nearby was a stream where we fished and swam. The ‘holler’ was located between Hyrum and the town of Paradise. The holler was truly a paradise for us kids. We’d get together there with our cousins and swim, fish, hunt, and play all day long. Toward evening we would get the cows and lead them back home to be milked.”
A large irrigation canal flowed near Elder Wilcox’s home, and the children were forbidden to go near it. One day, disobeying this rule, Elder Wilcox was playing near the canal and fell in. Although he immediately grabbed some low-hanging branches, he still couldn’t get out because the banks of the canal were too steep. He was too far away for anyone to hear him yell, but his mother came to his rescue because she had heard a “voice,” the prompting of the Holy Ghost, telling her that her son Keith was in trouble and where he was.
“The thing I remember most about my mother when I was a youngster was that she was the Primary president.” Elder Wilcox also recalls that a favorite Primary teacher, Sister Jones, was a Ute Indian whose father was a tribal chief. “Every year my mother and her counselors planned a huge Primary production for the ward. As part of it one year the Trekker class did an Indian show, wearing authentic Indian clothing and feather headdresses. We had real tomahawks, and Sister Jones taught us how to do an Indian dance. I can still remember the Indian war song we sang as we danced.”
Elder Wilcox’s interest in art led him into the field of architecture. “Art must have been born in me,” he said. “My mother told me that even before I could walk or talk, I drew a picture of a house on her wallpaper. She was so proud of it that she didn’t wash it off.
“My parents provided great role models for us. They were kind and firm, and we knew what the rules were. Our parents were very understanding; they disciplined us with love.
“My message to young people is to never let a day go by without telling your father and mother that you love them. Sometimes it’s hard for children to go up to a brother or sister and say ‘I love you,’ but that’s important too.
“Also, be obedient. Accept direction from your parents. And remember to do only those things that will bring honor to your father and mother, just as we are commanded by the Lord. Remember that no one loves you more than your parents.”

The temple closest to me is the Mesa Arizona Temple. Every month, my school has early-release days. Last year, my friends and I started a new tradition on early-release days where we would wear our Sunday clothes to school, go out for lunch, and then attend the temple to do baptisms for the dead. It’s definitely helped me gain a deeper understanding of the temple, of what it means, and of how important it is. Regularly visiting the temple has helped me feel the Spirit more often. It’s definitely brought my friends closer to one another. Also, a lot of our classmates ask about our temple trips because they notice that at least 10 of us always dress up for early-release days. This attention encourages other youth to go to the temple too.

Mara bounced happily on the tall kitchen stool as she watched Grandma get out the ingredients for her wonderful tarts. Grandma hummed as she worked, and by the time she rolled out the dough, Mara was humming along with her. “These tarts will be good for your sister’s wedding reception tomorrow,” Grandma said.
“Why can’t I go inside the temple for Alyse’s wedding, Grandma?”
Grandma stopped rolling for a minute. “Well, because you’re not old enough to understand the special covenants we make there.”
“What’s a covenant?”
“A covenant is a promise you make with another person, Mara. In the temple we make special promises with Heavenly Father, and He promises us great blessings when we do our part. All this is part of what we call the endowment.”
Grandmother began rolling out the dough again. When the dough was thin enough, she cut out small circles and carefully fit them into the muffin cups.
Mara watched her grandmother’s wrinkled hands creating the beautiful little tarts. “Grandma, what’s it like inside the temple?”
“There are beautiful flowers and pictures to see. It is beautiful and peaceful, Mara. Everyone is dressed in white, and it feels as though you are surrounded by angels. We learn about Heavenly Father and Jesus there, for the temple is God’s house.”
“I know,” Mara said. “In Primary we sing a song about it called ‘I Love to See the Temple.’ It makes me feel quiet and reverent inside. Is that what the temple feels like?”
“Yes, dear,” Grandma replied. “When you sing that song from the Children’s Songbook, the Holy Ghost helps you have those quiet, reverent feelings. And when you visit the temple, those peaceful, reverent feelings are even stronger. As we worship God in the temple, we can feel His love and peace.”
Grandma spooned fruit filling into the little dough cups, then wove strips of pastry on top of each one. Her white hair bobbed as she moved back and forth. She looked up and smiled at Mara.
“I have another question,” Mara said, smiling back. “Why does everyone wear white in the temple?”
“Wearing white clothes helps us to remember to have thoughts that are pure and clean. Then we can better understand the instruction and guidance we receive there.”
Mara twirled around on her stool. “Dad said that when you get married in the temple, you are married for eternity, not just until you die. Is that why Alyse and Paul want to get married in the temple?”
“That’s one reason. And when they have children, each one will automatically be sealed to them in a ‘forever family.’ Some people get married, then have to work to become worthy of temple blessings, and many people have died without even knowing about them. Once living people are worthy, they can receive the temple ordinances for themselves and for the dead. That way, if they are worthy, everybody who lives or who has lived on earth can be joined together as families and as part of God’s eternal family.”
“Wow! I sure want to be married in the temple when I grow up, Grandma. Will you make your tarts for my reception too?”
Grandma winked at her. “I’m looking forward to it!”

Once, when I was trying to develop a habit of getting to bed early, a ward member heard me talk one Sunday about my hope to get more sleep that week. He asked me what I was going to do to make it happen. I committed to go to bed by my desired time at least one night that week. “I’ll ask you about it next week,” he said. I believed he would, so I kept my commitment.

Sure enough, the next week at church he asked if I had met my goal (I had!), and he asked if I would do it again the next week. I knew he would follow up, so I did it. The next week, he encouraged me to meet my goal twice that week. And the next week? He committed me to three nights. He kept encouraging me each week until my plan was a real habit.

Years later, I told that story to another friend at church because I had fallen out of my good habit and knew I needed to start again. “I’ll help you be accountable,” she said. So each week she followed up with me until I developed a habit of good sleep again. Over the years, family and close friends have helped me with goals to get enough sleep, but the two times it has been most effective were when ward members—with whom I wasn’t especially close—helped me set and keep a goal and then followed up with me in an encouraging way.