Gospel Story Finder

In the run up to New Zealand I had a lot of dreams about going there. I can remember this one dream in particular. I was standing on this stage with loads of people watching so when I actually got to New Zealand I had a lot of déjà vu moments. I felt like I’d been there before. It was a kind of realisation that I was on the right path, like I was meant to be there and to experience what I had experienced. I’m really grateful that Heavenly Father was helping and guiding me in the direction I had to go and preparing me, so when I got there I didn’t feel overwhelmed, I didn’t feel stressed, I didn’t feel worried. I felt quite at home, which I had not expected.

I am grateful for a teacher who encouraged his students to keep a journal of the whisperings or promptings of the Spirit in their lives. He directed us to note what we felt and what resulted. Little things became evident. One day I was frantically trying to complete some assignments and prepare for a trip. I had just been down to the laundry area of the dorm to move my clothes from the washer to the dryer. Unfortunately, all the dryers were in use, and they all had many minutes to go. I went back upstairs discouraged, knowing that by the time those dryers finished, I had to be on the road. I had barely returned to my room when I felt prompted to go back downstairs and check the laundry again. Foolishness, I thought—I had just been there, and I didn’t have time. But because I was trying to listen, I went. Two of the dryers were empty—and I was able to meet all my commitments. Could the Lord possibly have been concerned about smoothing my way in such a small but, to me, important matter? I have learned since, through many such experiences, that the Lord will help us in every aspect of our lives when we are trying to serve Him and do His will.

I was born in Armenia when it was part of the Soviet Union. My parents taught me and my two siblings to be honest, good, and morally clean, and they did everything to give us a good education. But one of the first things I learned in kindergarten was a philosophy that religion is the opium of the people. And until I was 12 years old, I never knew there was a God.
When I was 12, a terrible earthquake destroyed 90 percent of my hometown, killing more than 50,000 people. I was in school when the noise became louder and louder, and everything around us began to shake. I was pulled into the crowd, trying to escape the building. Amid all the confusion, I suddenly realized I might never see my family again. In that moment, I saw a red knit scarf my mother had made for me hanging in a large hallway to the right of the stairwell. Following an impression, I broke from the crowd and went to retrieve the scarf. In that instant the ground shook for the third and last time, and I witnessed the stairwell collapse with all my friends in its ruins. Upon regaining my senses, I found that the whole school was a huge mass of rubble—with the exception of that tiny area housing me and my red knit scarf.
My entire family of five survived. When my father saw my mom, my eight-month-old sister, my seven-year-old brother, and me sitting in the middle of the street after seven hours of searching for us, the only thing he said was, “Blessed be Thy name, God.” I had lost my home, but for the first time I heard the name of God.
Eleven years passed. I had just graduated from the medical university in Yerevan, the capital of Armenia, where I was a medical resident in ophthalmology. While doing some volunteer work, I met two Latter-day Saint missionaries and we became good friends. They were welcomed in our home just as anyone else, but as soon as they started to talk about God, the whole atmosphere became tense. My parents told me that missionaries “teaching their religion” were not welcome in our home. Personally, I was not interested in religion, but I had not stopped them because there was something different in the eyes of those missionaries—something so innocent, pure, and magnificent. I was very interested in finding the source of the light I noticed in their eyes.
After my parents expressed their disapproval, I avoided meeting with the missionaries and finally arranged to meet them at their church building but just to say I was too busy to proceed with our discussions. Arriving at our appointment one hour early, I entered a room with lots of chairs and about 15 people in it. As I sat quietly, trying not to disturb anyone, I was astonished by the unusual but unbelievably familiar feelings. I felt just like I had when I was five years old and could run home, hug my mom, and tell her all that I had done—certain that she loved me, that she would always be there for me, and that everything was all right. After the long years of wandering in spirit, I knew I was home.
That night for the first time in my life, I knelt and prayed to God. If there was a Heavenly Father, I wanted Him to answer me, to tell me if the things the missionaries taught were true, to show me why I felt so different. It is hard to describe what happened next. I had never before felt the presence of my Heavenly Father so tangibly. I knew He loved me. He knew me. He had always been there. I slept that night knowing with all the strength of my heart that I had found my way home.
I started studying the gospel very carefully. After four months of intense investigation, I decided to be baptized.
My life soon turned upside down. I lost my job and had to end my medical residency. As my interests and values started to change, my old friends started to disappear. But hardest of all for me to accept was that my parents were against my baptism.
I loved my parents dearly. They had given everything they had to provide me with the best education and environment. They were proud of my accomplishments. But when they heard my decision, they were shocked. It was the first time I had wanted to do something they did not agree with, and it was very difficult for all of us. But I knew that God wanted me to be baptized. So even if my family would deny me, I couldn’t deny my Heavenly Father.
My family did not accept the invitation to my baptism, so on my baptism day I went alone to the church. There were many people at the baptism, but I felt my only “family members” were the two missionaries. Then as I turned to go to the baptismal font, I saw my mother and brother. It was the happiest day of my life. The presence of my family was like a beam of sunshine that brought me the hope of a brighter tomorrow.
The following year was full of blessings. In addition to responsibilities in my branch and much volunteer work, I found work in a private hospital and was able to continue my education. My mother came to Church meetings several times after my baptism, and she joined the Church five months later. But most important, I had my Heavenly Father’s love as part of my life, and I had the assurance that I was finally on my way home.

After watching his newborn nephew, Austin, suffer so long before receiving a transplant, Eric McClellan, a 17-year-old priest from the San Jose California Stake, decided to do a good turn. Now this wasn’t your typical, daily good turn expected of all Scouts. Rather it was a three-month-long Eagle Scout project inspired by a woman who willingly gave her bone marrow to a five-month-old boy she didn’t even know. Eric used his Eagle Scout project as a way to return her good deed. He did this by organizing a bone marrow registry drive in conjunction with his stake’s blood drive.
To begin his project, Eric met with a Red Cross representative and discussed the immediate needs of his community. Eric and other Scouts under his direction then distributed the fliers and some sign-up sheets to the wards in his stake. Then, after weeks of reminders, Eric and his mom got on the phone the night before the drive to call and remind all 108 people on the sign-up sheets.
All this reminding paid off. The next evening 68 pints of blood were collected, and 34 people were tested for bone marrow and put on the national registry.
During the drive Eric, his dad, and one of his friends labeled the blood bags, another Scout escorted donors to the refreshment table, and some adults in the stake typed Red Cross forms. “I learned a lot about organization and organizing people to do the jobs that they are supposed to and getting everything to run smoothly,” Eric said.
Through his service, Eric hopes to spare others the suffering that his nephew and the rest of his family had to go through while waiting for a suitable bone marrow donor. Remembering the difficult five months before Austin had his transplant, Eric says, “It was hard for my sister [Austin’s mom], because she had to just keep hoping that there would be someone found that would match him. If they find someone from my drive to be a donor for someone else, I’ll feel good.”

Below the grass and some railroad tracks, the ground fell away into a steep, wooded bank. On that bank three young men were working in the rain—cutting a path through the sumac and serviceberry down to the wide, gray, rain-dimpled Susquehanna.

As the three workers hacked away at the dripping brush under a bonfire of autumn leaves, their minds turned now and then to a bright spring day in May of 1829 when this spot was part of a Pennsylvania township called Harmony.

Last fall when the leaves were turning, the nearby branch of Honesdale scheduled a baptism in the Susquehanna near the restoration site. It had been quite a while since the last baptism there, and underbrush had reclaimed part of the trail down to the river. Rodney, Randy, and Chris volunteered to reopen the path so that the baptismal party wouldn’t have to fight limbs and thorns.

Unfortunately, that Saturday morning dawned rainy and cold. Low clouds brushed the mountaintops. The trees and brush along the river dripped water. The steep path was slick and muddy.

The three young men went ahead with the job anyway. They worked in the rain, getting drenched. Occasionally one of them slipped and went sliding down the hill. But they had a lot of fun too, as young men working together usually do. They even found a little time for skipping rocks on the Susquehanna. The young women of the branch came along to prepare a feast for the workers. Well, one of the young women came—Rodney’s sister. And damp hot dogs can be a feast if you go at it with the right attitude. At any rate, they worked on until they had cut a wide path down to the river.

After the project the young men got together at Rodney’s house in Hallstead, Pennsylvania, to dry out, watch some television, play some computer games, shoot a few baskets (Chris and Randy are on their school teams), and talk a little bit about the gospel and themselves.

I live in Lagos, Nigeria. When I was 13 years old, a missionary couple, Elder and Sister Grimshaw, started visiting us. They taught us the gospel, and at first I was unreceptive.
As time went on, I started listening attentively to them and asked questions which they answered satisfactorily. Yet I still did not believe them and planned to refuse baptism. On the day of our last discussion, they asked us to pray sincerely about what they had taught us. This touched me so much that I decided to be baptized with my family.
After baptism, I started studying the Book of Mormon, with frequent fasting and prayer. I did not feel bold talking to people, but as I studied, I began to feel a strong desire to lead a righteous life.
After completing the Book of Mormon, my testimony became very strong and a sudden desire to share the gospel came upon me. I started feeling the spirit of peace within me. I started telling my friends about the Church with boldness unlike before. My testimony grew so much I began to share it at fast and testimony Sunday.
My family was overwhelmed at my spiritual growth, and joy filled their hearts. All this happened two years after I joined the Church. The fear and shyness I used to have suddenly fled away. I was convinced that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the only true church on earth this day.

Isn’t Christmas exciting! Don’t you relish the time with friends and loved ones, fun gatherings and gifts, and especially the reason to celebrate it all? Have you ever wished you could celebrate the whole year long? Well, if you happen to live in West Plains, Missouri, you can.
During the month of July, West Plains is like the rest of the Midwestern states—hot and sticky. Not exactly the time of year when most people are thinking about singing carols or wrapping gifts. But the youth decided it would be the perfect time to begin their preparations for a holiday celebration. Since they hosted their stake’s youth conference, they decided to include all the youth in a project that is ongoing in West Plains. Every year, members of the West Plains Ward find a way to help their local hospice, a program that provides support services to terminally ill patients and their families.
“The Relief Society in our ward has made lap quilts and other service projects for hospice,” says Stephanie Jones, a Laurel. “We decided that it would be fun to do some service projects that the youth could be involved in.”
So a few of the Laurels in the ward spearheaded the youth conference efforts as value projects, and everybody got to work.
The youth and their leaders decided that one of the nicest things they could do for the hospice patients and their families was to provide a simple Christmas decoration to brighten their homes. They decorated small, tabletop-sized Christmas trees, complete with ornaments and tinsel.
“When you or someone you love is ill, things like decorating for the holidays are sometimes forgotten,” says Angie Periera, the liaison from the hospice program who helped the youth put their project together. “But if someone else will do it for you, it makes it feel like Christmas. It’s a small thing, but it makes a big difference.”
Next, they decided that a message of love and hope would also be a great boost to people’s spirits, so they made personalized Christmas cards for each person who would be receiving a tree. Kyle La Brue and Buddy La Rue, two young men from the Osage Beach Ward, wrote “The Lord loves you and so do we” in their cards. Other youth used scriptures or wrote brief testimonies.
“Doing a project like this makes you think about your own family and friends,” says Mia Maid Julia Jones. “When we did our cards, we tried to let people know that we really did care about them, even if we didn’t know them.”
After the last tree was decorated and the last card was signed, the youth set out to show the hospice patients how much they cared through their actions. They spent the afternoon doing yard work, scraping and painting houses and sheds, even doing housework.
“Helping people at their homes can be awkward at first,” says Priest Justin Saunders. “But they really appreciated it and seemed glad to have us. It turned out to be fun.”
Apparently, people were more than appreciative. They were ecstatic. One woman, whose husband had been bedridden for some time, took pictures of the youth scraping and painting the shed outside their home. She wanted him to see them in action, even though he couldn’t get outside.
Another woman, Mrs. Estelle Conquest, needed a wheelchair ramp built outside her home to help her get out for simple things like collecting the mail.
“You have no idea how much something like this helps me,” says Mrs. Conquest. “These kids are just the greatest.”
After the projects were complete and youth conference was over, the gifts were stored and forgotten—but not for long.
Marie Taylor, a Laurel, spent a lot of time on her Laurel project. She coordinated the collection and wrapping of several large boxes—giant Christmas containers to be filled with food and delivered to hospice patients and their families. During youth conference, the boxes were wrapped and made ready to go. They wouldn’t be filled with food until the holidays, so they needed to be in storage for a while before they were used. But after being transported a few times, some of the boxes looked a little worse for the wear.
“I did a lot of crazy things to get those boxes,” says Marie, who rounded up her friends to help and then asked local merchants to let her take boxes they no longer needed. “Most of the store owners were nice, but I had to work for those boxes! At one place, with the permission of the owners, I actually climbed into the Dumpster to get a bunch of boxes out.”
So you can imagine her dismay when, just before the holiday season, she discovered that some of the carefully wrapped boxes had come unwrapped or were otherwise unready to be used for food.
“It was discouraging to do things over again,” says Marie. “But we really wanted them to look good. So the other girls in the ward and I had a wrapping party to re-do the damaged boxes. It turned out to be pretty fun.”
After the boxes were prepared to go again, they were finally ready to be given to the coordinators at the hospice office, which was just down the street from the business where the boxes were being stored. But this time the youth decided that loading piles of boxes into a car for transport wasn’t such a good idea. After all, that was what had damaged many of the wrapping jobs the first time around. They decided that since the boxes had such a short way to travel, they would form a human chain from the location where the boxes were being stored to where they needed to go.
There aren’t too many LDS youth in West Plains, so they invited Primary children, adult leaders, and anyone else who wanted to help. They donned elves’ caps and spread out right through the heart of downtown West Plains. The boxes were handed from one person to another, and soon they were all safely at their destination, ready to be filled with food from the West Plains Ward and other community groups.
The group attracted a bit of attention from passersby, who were invited to join in. They didn’t have many takers, but several people did find out where they could donate food to go inside the boxes.
“Doing a project like this really makes you feel good,” says Heather Camier, a Beehive. “It’s great to work together as a group for a good cause. It’s the best this time of year; it really makes it feel like Christmas.”
Most of the food boxes and gifts were delivered by hospice employees, but a few were given to the youth to deliver on Mutual night. Bundled in coats and singing carols, they carried food boxes, trees, and cards to a few of the people they had been able to serve in July. Of course it was a lot colder that night than it had been during the summer, but the warm feelings that come with service are the same no matter what time of year it is.
“Delivering the gifts and seeing how happy it made people was a lot of fun,” says Joe Jones, a priest. “It was also great to see how our service during youth conference really paid off.”
Soon after Mutual was over, the youth were at home, preparing to spend Christmas with their own families and loved ones. But the good feeling of helping others is hard to forget. It’s the kind of feeling they’d like to enjoy all year, not just at Christmas. And with youth conference coming up again this summer, they won’t have to wait till December.

At the end-of-the-year basketball banquet, Frankie, Mark, and Jason, seized another opportunity to share their religion. They presented their coach with a gift, a Book of Mormon.
“We hope you’ll hold on to this book like you would hold on to a basketball,” read the inscription from the three boys.
The coach did more than that. Not only did he hold on to the book; he read it and believed it. Not long after he received his gift, he and his family were baptized.

President Thomas S. Monson tells of a Sunday School teacher from his youth, Lucy Gertsch. One Sunday, partway through a lesson about selfless service, Sister Gertsch invited her students to give their class party fund to the family of one of their classmates whose mother had passed away. President Monson said that in giving that invitation to action, Sister Gertsch had “closed the manual and opened our eyes and our ears and our hearts to the glory of God” (“Examples of Great Teachers” [worldwide leadership training meeting, Feb. 10, 2007], Liahona, June 2007, 76; Ensign, June 2007, 108). Sister Gertsch had clearly used the manual to prepare her lesson, but when inspiration came, she closed the manual and invited her students to live the gospel principle she was teaching.

The Warwoods always planned to go on a senior mission, and Sister Warwood was certain she knew where the Lord needed her to serve. As a neonatal nurse practitioner, she felt drawn to humanitarian work in developing countries.
“I always thought I would serve a humanitarian mission in a third-world country, something with mothers and babies,” she explains. But when they visited Africa a year before their mission call, something unexpected happened. “When I thought to myself, ‘We’ll be here in a year,’ I just had this dreaded feeling,” Sister Warwood recalls.
Back home, during a senior mission meeting, coordinators asked about their preferences. She answered, “Third world, something medical, saving lives.” The dread returned. “I thought, ‘I guess I don’t really want to serve a mission. This is a horrible feeling.’”
Everything shifted when coordinators learnt the couple’s backgrounds—he an accountant, she in healthcare. They explained that “the Mission Health Adviser (MHA) is the most coveted job in the mission because you get to know, love, and serve all of the missionaries.” Sister Warwood realised the MHA “did many of the things I did in the NICU—just with much bigger babies!”
“By the time we left the meeting, instead of feeling dread, I was very excited.” She realised: “The Lord’s been trying to tell you third-world humanitarian is not where you’re supposed to be. He couldn’t have made it more obvious.”
The Warwoods accepted a call to the Auckland New Zealand Mission, where that guidance proved itself many times.

I can’t wait to be a deacon. Ever since I was little, I’ve watched with envy as the older boys passed the sacrament. It’s an important job, and they always seem to know just where to go when they pass the sacrament. Now it’s my turn. My twelfth birthday is this week, and I’ve been learning about the priesthood in Blazer class. I’ve been dreaming about passing the sacrament myself. I wonder if I’ll get to pass it to the bishop?

My Blazer teacher had told us that we would be interviewed by the bishop before we could be ordained. This would be my second interview—he had already interviewed me when I was going to get baptized. But I’ve lived half my life again since then!

I like my bishop. I see him every Sunday, and he knows my name. Sometimes he says hi. But I still worried about that interview. Did I know enough to be a deacon? Would he ask me about things I keep secret? Could I share my secrets with him? If I did, would he keep them secret?

Friday after dinner the bishop’s secretary called and said the bishop wanted to see me after my Blazer class on Sunday. I said OK, but I was nervous. In my mind I went over everything I thought that he might ask me. I began to remember all the things that happened this year. Some of them I wished hadn’t happened.

Sunday after class I headed for the Bishop’s office. What a busy place! I thought. Everybody wants to see him. I think I’ll go home and come another day.

But he saw me. “Hello there, Bobby,” he called. “Come in and sit down, please. Excuse me just one moment.” He stepped out into the hall to talk to someone about something. I wondered what they were talking about. I looked around his office. He had a big chair and a desk, a picture of the Savior, and a picture of President Benson. I saw the scriptures on his desk. They sure were ragged. I wondered what it would be like to be a bishop.

The door opened, and the Bishop came back in and sat next to me. He shook my hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “You’re almost twelve, the age at which we normally confer the Aaronic Priesthood and ordain boys as deacons. I’ve talked with your father, and he also felt that you and I should have this interview. Tell me what you know and how you feel about the priesthood.”

Oh no, I thought. What shall I tell him? He probably knows everything about the priesthood. I started by telling him some things from Blazer class and some things my mother had taught me. He didn’t interrupt, and once I got started, my nervousness went away.

When I finished, he said, “Very good. I can see that you’ve been paying attention and that you understand some important principles. There are some scriptures about the priesthood that I’d like to share with you. They’re some of my favorites.”

He turned first to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 20]. We read from it and talked about the duties of a deacon. Then we read from section 84 [D&C 84] and talked about the covenant of the Aaronic priesthood. After that, he turned to what he said was his favorite scripture—section 121. We read from verse 34 [D&C 121:34] to the end of the section. He helped me understand what the promise in verse 38 [D&C 121:38] meant.

Then he looked me right in the eyes and asked if I was paying tithing. I thought about how hard it had been to start. I was sure happy that I could say I was a full tithe payer. I told him how good I felt when I paid my tithing.

Next he asked me if I ever smoked or drank alcoholic beverages or took drugs. I remembered the time my friends and I had tried a cigarette, and I didn’t want to say anything. I hadn’t even told my parents. I knew it was wrong when I’d done it, and I still felt bad about it. Something inside me said, “Speak up,” but I just couldn’t. My silence must have told the bishop I was wrestling with something, because he talked to me about keeping secrets. He called it “confidentiality.” He said that he would keep anything I told him a secret unless I gave him permission to share it with my parents. Then he waited.

It seemed like a long time while I figured out what words to use. I told him about smoking and how ashamed it made me feel. We talked about how it had happened and what I should do to repent. I didn’t tell him who I’d done it with, and he didn’t ask me to. He said that his knowing their names had nothing to do with my worthiness to receive the priesthood. We discussed the help my parents could give me, and I decided to tell them. A calm feeling came over me. I guess that’s what happens when you do something that you know is right.

When the bishop asked me if I was morally clean, I didn’t know what he meant, so I asked him. He explained about keeping my mind and body clean. We talked about how to do that. He explained that if I lived righteously, the power of the priesthood would always be with me.

He asked me to kneel with him and say a prayer, so I did. It was a short one. Then he prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to bless me, and that made me feel good. I knew that my bishop liked me.

I can hardly wait to tell Mom and Dad about my interview. They’ll be happy for me and will help me be a good, worthy bearer of the priesthood. Just think—next Sunday I’ll be presented in sacrament meeting by the bishop to be sustained to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and be ordained a deacon. Then after the block meetings, the ordinance will be performed. And the week after that I’ll pass the sacrament. I’m going to be reverent when I do and try to set a good example. Maybe some younger boys will be looking up to me.

During the difficult economic conditions of postwar Germany, opportunities for education were not as abundant as they are today. But in spite of limited options, I always felt an eagerness to learn. I remember one day, while I was out on my bike delivering laundry, I entered the home of a classmate of mine. In one of the rooms, two small desks were nestled against the wall. What a wonderful sight that was! How fortunate those children were to have desks of their own! I could imagine them sitting with open books studying their lessons and doing their homework. It seemed to me that having a desk of my own would be the most wonderful thing in the world.
I had to wait a long time before that wish was fulfilled. Years later, I got a job at a research institution that had a large library. I remember spending much of my free time in that library. There I could finally sit at a desk—by myself—and drink in the information and knowledge that books provide. How I loved to read and learn! In those days I understood firsthand the words of an old saying: Education is not so much the filling of a bucket as the lighting of a fire.

Polly and Ruth were blessed by their contributions. Their mutual generosity created a strong bond that lasted their whole lives. When Polly was 77 years old, she was still living in Boston, but she wanted to gather with the Saints in Utah Territory. So Ruth traveled to Boston and accompanied Polly to the Salt Lake Valley in 1857. “Aunt Polly” was beloved among the Saints in Utah until her death in 1866. When Ruth died in 1884, she was buried alongside Polly.7

Illustrating the faith of his mother, Elder Uchtdorf retold an experience his family encountered as refugees from Czechoslovakia during World War II. During a brief stop, his mom left the train to look for food. Upon returning, she could not locate the train and prayed for help. After the prayer she noticed her family and the train on a parallel track.
“Some of my memories of these days are of darkness and cold, but with the help of God, we were moved into days where a light was shining forth to all who came out of that darkness and coldness and were willing to accept the Savior,” he said.

As a small boy on the farm during the searing heat of the summer, I remember my grandmother Mary Finlinson cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently pick up the box, go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so insensitive and interested in the conversation in the kitchen, I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill the kitchen wood box. I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.

It is not uncommon for family members to have mistaken ideas about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Loving and clear communication can do much to ease any tension that may arise in these situations. I joined the Church when I was a teenager. Shortly after my baptism, I learned that my Catholic grandmother believed I would no longer consider myself her grandson due to my newfound faith. What a relief it was when I was able to clear up this misunderstanding!

In 1856, at age 13, Mary joined the Church with her family in England, traveled to America, and joined the Martin handcart company. In her personal history she recounts the difficulty of the journey—the loss of her baby brother and older brother, the freezing of her own feet, and finally the death of an infant sister and her mother. When she arrived in the Salt Lake Valley, the doctor amputated her toes, but she was promised by the prophet, Brigham Young, that she would not have to have any more of her feet cut off. She recounts: “One day I sat … crying. My feet were hurting me so—when a little old woman knocked at the door. She said she had felt someone needed her there for a number of days. … I showed her my feet. … She said, ‘Yes, and with the help of the Lord we will save them yet.’ She made a poultice and put on my feet and every day after the doctor had gone she would come and change the poultice. At the end of three months my feet were well.”

But Mary had sat in her chair so long that the cords of her legs had become stiff and she could not straighten them. When her father saw her condition, he cried. He rubbed her legs with oil and tried to straighten them, but it was of no use. One day he said, “Mary I have thought of a plan to help you. I will nail a shelf on the wall and while I am away to work you try to reach it.” She said that she tried all day for several days and at last she could reach the shelf. Then her father put the shelf a little higher. This went on for another three months, and through her daily diligence her legs were straightened and she learned to walk again.

I believe that you are learning, like Mary Goble, to reach just a little higher to the shelf our leaders have raised for us, and that if you will reach higher as those ideals are raised, you will become able to walk into the future with confidence.

Writing in your journal should not be just for your posterity though, cautions Colleen Bell, 17, of Chicago, Illinois. You should get satisfaction from it, too. “When I began writing in my journal three years ago, I was painfully aware that I was writing for posterity. I felt that my life should be recorded and that I should portray the best part of me that nobody knew. I wanted my great-grandchildren to see what I had been and to like me. I’m afraid that the first few passages of my journal were a bit stilted because of this.
“Yet as time went on and I became more used to writing thoughts that had always remained unexpressed, I was no longer writing for posterity, but for myself. It became the most effective way for me to talk to myself and figure out what I was thinking. Reading it over now, I see my growth over the past three years.”

Our daughter Leah taught me a valuable lesson when she was just three years old. As a family, we’ve prayed together morning and evening, and we’ve encouraged our four children to take turns giving the prayer.
One morning I was running late and needed to leave quickly, but the family pleaded with me to have prayer before I left. As we knelt in a circle, I thought I would offer the prayer so I could make it quick. But Leah spoke up and said, “I want to say the prayer.”
I was a little surprised, because it would be her first time saying the prayer for the family.
I thought Leah’s prayer would be short and simple, so I asked her to begin. Her prayer started to get longer and longer. Realizing that I needed to go, my wife waited until Leah took a breath and then gently encouraged, “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Undeterred, Leah said, “No, I haven’t finished yet,” and she continued praying to Heavenly Father as if she were visiting with a friend. I was reminded of Abraham talking “with the Lord, face to face, as one man talketh with another” (Abraham 3:11) and how he was called a “Friend of God” (James 2:23). Somehow, Leah already knew that praying to God could be like talking to a loved one in the same room. I felt humbled by the reminder.
I learned a good lesson that day, and so did all our family. Leah taught us that family prayer can be a time for our family to draw closer to God in our daily lives and that it’s always worth our time to speak with Heavenly Father as one person speaks with another.

There is an urgency in this work that motivates us to extend the blessings of the temple to as many of our Heavenly Father’s children as possible. I was impressed with an experience of President Wilford Woodruff when he told of a visitation he received from the Prophet Joseph Smith some time after the Prophet was martyred. According to President Woodruff’s own account: “[Joseph Smith] came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.

“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’

“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry … to accomplish it.’

“Of course, that was satisfactory,” President Woodruff concluded, “but it was new doctrine to me.”