Gospel Story Finder

In my youth I learned an important lesson about how our actions may limit our freedom. One day my father assigned me to varnish a wooden floor. I made the choice to begin at the door and work my way into the room. When I was almost finished, I realized I had left myself no way to get out. There was no window or door on the other side. I had literally painted myself into a corner. I had no place to go. I was stuck.
Whenever we disobey, we spiritually paint ourselves into a corner and are captive to our choices. Though we are spiritually stuck, there is always a way back. Like repentance, turning around and walking across a newly varnished floor means more work—a lot of resanding and refinishing! Returning to the Lord isn’t easy, but it is worth it.

When my brother Jeff was called on a mission to Houston, Texas, we were all excited. It was hard to think that we wouldn’t see him for two years, but we had a strong feeling that Jeff would be safe and do well on his mission.
Time passed quickly and soon we went with him to President Pulton’s office where he received a blessing. The Spirit was truly there.
We are very happy now even though our brother is away from us. I know that this is the true Church and that Joseph Smith is a Prophet of God. If Jeff is reading this I want him to know I love him. I hope boys and girls can plan and prepare for a mission. It truly is the work of God.

I mentioned the young man in another setting. Later I received an unsigned letter that began, “Elder Gong, my wife and I have raised nine kids … and served two missions.” But “I always felt I would not be allowed in the celestial kingdom … because my sins as a youth were so bad!”

The letter continued, “Elder Gong, when you told about the young man gaining hope of forgiveness, I was filled with joy, beginning to realize that maybe I [could be forgiven].” The letter concludes, “I even like myself now!”

The following are events that I have been privileged to witness that have taught me how simple acts of service can help us and those we are permitted to influence. Our Heavenly Father places loving individuals on important crossroads to help us so that we are not left alone to grope in the dark. These men and women help by example and with patience and love. Such has been my experience.
I recall a particularly important crossroad—the decision to go on a full-time mission. I stood on that crossroad for a very, very long time. As I struggled to decide which road to take, my family, friends, and priesthood leaders came forward to take my hand. They encouraged and challenged me and offered countless prayers on my behalf. My full-time missionary sister wrote to me regularly and never gave up.
Even today I am still carried on the shoulders of good men and women. I suspect that we all are. To some degree we all depend on each other to be able to make it back to our heavenly home.

In the private sanctuary of one’s own conscience lies that spirit, that determination to cast off the old person and to measure up to the stature of true potential. But the way is rugged, and the course is strenuous. So discovered John Helander from Goteborg, Sweden. John is twenty-six years of age and is handicapped, in that it is difficult for him to coordinate his motions.
At a youth conference in Kungsbacka, Sweden, John took part in a 1500-meter running race. He had no chance to win. Rather, his was the opportunity to be humiliated, mocked, derided, scorned. Perhaps John remembered another who lived long ago and far away. Wasn’t He mocked? Wasn’t He derided? Wasn’t He scorned? But He prevailed. He won His race. Maybe John could win his.
What a race it was! Struggling, surging, pressing, the runners bolted far beyond John. There was wonderment among the spectators. Who is this runner who lags so far behind? The participants on their second lap of this two-lap race passed John while he was but halfway through the first lap. Tension mounted as the runners pressed toward the tape. Who would win? Who would place second? Then came the final burst of speed; the tape was broken. The crowd cheered; the winner was proclaimed.
The race was over—or was it? Who is this contestant who continues to run when the race is ended? He crosses the finish line on but his first lap. Doesn’t the foolish lad know he has lost? Ever onward he struggles, the only participant now on the track. This is his race. This must be his victory. No one among the vast throng of spectators leaves. Every eye is on this valiant runner. He makes the final turn and moves toward the finish line. There is awe; there is admiration. Every spectator sees himself running his own race of life. As John approaches the finish line, the audience, as one, rises to its feet. There is a loud applause of acclaim. Stumbling, falling, exhausted but victorious, John Helander breaks the newly tightened tape. (Officials are human beings, too.) The cheering echoes for miles. And just maybe, if the ear is carefully attuned, that Great Scorekeeper—even the Lord—can be heard to say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” (Matt. 25:21).

Governor Lilburn W. Boggs issued his infamous extermination order on October 27, 1838: “The Mormons must be treated as enemies and must be exterminated or driven from the state” (HC 3:175; emphasis in original). Shortly thereafter, Joseph, Hyrum, Amasa Lyman, Sidney Rigdon, Parley P. Pratt, Lyman Wight, and George W. Robinson found themselves chained together in an old log house in Richmond, Missouri, under heavy guard. The charges were treason, murder, arson, burglary, larceny, and stealing. The human emotion emerging from these heart-wrenching separations from his family are perhaps best illustrated by his personal letters.

On November 12, 1838, he wrote his beloved Emma:
My Dear Emma,
We are prisoners in chains, and under strong guards, for Christ’s sake and for no other cause. . . . I received your letter, which I read over and over again; it was a sweet morsel to me. Oh, God grant that I may have the privilege of seeing once more my lovely family in the enjoyment of the sweets of liberty and social life. To press them to my bosom and kiss their lovely cheeks would fill my heart with unspeakable gratitude. [The Personal Writings of Joseph Smith, comp. Dean C. Jessee (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1984), 367–68; text modernized]

On December 1, approximately three weeks later, the prisoners were taken to the hostile dungeon known as Liberty Jail to suffer a cold, damp winter. On March 21, 1839, Joseph wrote:
Affectionate Wife,
My dear Emma, I very well know your toils and sympathize with you. If God will spare my life once more to have the privilege of taking care of you, I will ease your care and endeavor to comfort your heart. [Personal Writings, 408; text modernized]

Again, on April 4, 1839:
Dear and Affectionate Wife,
Thursday night I set down just as the sun is going down, as we peek through the grates of this lonesome prison to write to you that I may make known to you my situation. It is, I believe, now about five months and six days since I have been under the grimace of a guard night and day, and within the walls, grates, and screeking iron doors of a lonesome, dark, dirty prison. With emotions known only to God do I write this letter. The contemplations of the mind under these circumstances defies the pen, or tongue, or angels, to describe, or paint to the human being who never experienced what we experience. . . . My dear Emma, I think of you and the children continually. . . . And as to yourself, if you want to know how much I want to see you, examine your feelings, . . . I would gladly walk from here to you barefoot, and bareheaded, and half naked to see you and think it great pleasure and never count it toil. [Personal Writings, 425–26; text modernized]

And here is Joseph’s letter to God on March 20, 1839: “O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?” (D&C 121:1).

And then comes God’s answering letter to Joseph:
My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes. [D&C 121:7–8]

Late one evening on a Pacific isle, a small boat slipped silently to its berth at the crude pier. Two Polynesian women helped Meli Mulipola from the boat and guided him to the well-worn pathway leading to the village road. The women marveled at the bright stars which twinkled in the midnight sky. The friendly moonlight guided them along their way. However, Meli Mulipola could not appreciate these delights of nature—the moon, the stars, the sky—for he was blind.
His vision had been normal until that fateful day when, while he was working on a pineapple plantation, light turned suddenly to darkness and day became perpetual night. He later learned of the Restoration of the gospel and the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. His life had been brought into compliance with these teachings.
He and his loved ones had made this long voyage, having learned that one who held the priesthood of God was visiting among the islands. Brother Mulipola sought a blessing under the hands of those who held the sacred priesthood. His wish was granted. Tears streamed from his sightless eyes and coursed down his brown cheeks, tumbling finally upon his native dress. He dropped to his knees and prayed: “Oh, God, Thou knowest I am blind. Thy servants have blessed me that if it be Thy will, my sight may return. Whether in Thy wisdom I see light or whether I see darkness all the days of my life, I will be eternally grateful for the truth of Thy gospel, which I now see and which provides me the light of life.”
He arose to his feet, thanked us for providing the blessing, and disappeared into the dark of the night. Silently he came; silently he departed. But his presence I shall never forget. I reflected upon the message of the Master: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.”

Two weeks later, the teachers at the Consolidated let us out early without telling us why. My sisters and I ran home and crashed through the door only to find Mom and Dad sitting at the kitchen table. Their faces were white and gray, the color of locomotive steam, and they told us the mine had closed and Dad was heading east that night—to find work in the Ontario mines. He’d send for us when he got settled.
I turned cold. My younger sister yelled that she couldn’t leave. I remember Mom and Dad holding her and saying something comforting, despite her rage. And I remember taking Dad down to the station, carrying one of his heavy suitcases.
“Sell the Ford if you have to … if you can,” he said to Mom on the platform. Then he kissed her.
The train let out a groan and inched away from us. Dad reached down the stairs and shook my hand. “Don’t let Sam slip away,” he said, and our hands were pulled apart.
I resented that, at the time. I hated that my father’s last words to me were about Sam, and I kept it in the pit of my stomach for a long time.
Several weeks later, we had a big meet. I saw Sam from the front room window peddling his bike up the street. We had a 10-mile ride to make, and the district finals began at five, so I didn’t expect him to stop for long. But he didn’t stop at all, and I had to grab my shoes, run outside, jump on my bike, and race to catch up.
“In a hurry?” I asked near the corner.
“What took you so long?” he asked, smiling.
We rode to Crowsnest in near silence; the only sounds were the rhythmic metallic clink of my peddle rubbing against a chain guard and the heavy rumble of passing lumber trucks on the highway. By five we were waiting in a hot gym as a man with a megaphone and a few sheets of paper stood on a chair and began reading rules. The wrestlers were grouped according to weight and record, the man explained. The athletes with the best league records, like Sam, would face the wrestlers with the worst league records in the first round. Losers would go home; winners would go on to the medal round. So-so wrestlers like me would face the other so-so wrestlers, and then, if we won, would meet the top kids.
He began to read names, and Sam’s was one of the first called. He’d wrestle third. I’d go sixth, which meant I’d have to wait almost an hour. I was excited and nervous and knew that I’d be tired for the match if I didn’t relax. I moved Sam into a corner of the gym and spent my time getting him warmed up for his match. I remembered what Dad used to do—practice moves, stretching, and the like, although my jokes weren’t as good. We kept ourselves away from the crowd and the faint ring of the bell and cheers of the boys. Finally I heard, “The winna!” and looked around to see the ref holding one boy’s hand in the air.
That’s when I noticed a familiar figure in the doorway—out of place. It was Mom. She smiled and waved, and I ran over to her.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said. “It’s a gym.”
“I can go anywhere I want,” she said. “I’ve come to see you and Sam wrestle.”
I shook my head, but it was obvious she was staying.
“And I brought you something.”
She held a box tied with string. It had a return address in Ontario.
“Your dad found work,” she said.
I nodded and ripped the box open. Inside was a letter and something bulky wrapped in newspaper.
“Open the letter first,” said Mom.
I shrugged and did as she said, pulling the letter out of its envelope as I walked outside to read it alone. It was in Dad’s unmistakably bad handwriting made worse because it was written on a bumpy ride. He began:
“Dear Jed,
“I’m here. The train ride is long, three days of wheat fields and another couple of pine trees, so I got to thinking about you and Sam.”
I stiffened with the thought of Sam sharing my only letter from Dad, but I read on.
“As you know, I did some missionary work with him, and I hope the Spirit can touch him. He needs that direction in his life. I guess it was embarrassing for you sometimes to be put on the spot, but I wanted you to share that missionary experience with me. I care a lot for the Church and believe in the restored gospel with all my heart. I hope you can carry on the work without me.
“Somewhere near Winnipeg, as the wheat fields began to end, another thing occurred to me. I got to worrying that you didn’t know why I paid so much attention to Sam, and that maybe you felt like I was a better dad to him than to you. I guess I need to apologize for that, but after Sam’s own dad died, it was obvious that he needed a father in his life, even more than you did at the moment. You have a maturity and a direction that Sam doesn’t. I can’t tell you how proud I am that you’re my son.
“I guess that’s all for now. We’ll meet up soon enough and talk then.
“P.S. The package is for you. I hope you do well in the district tournament, but remember that Sam is a much greater challenge in the grand scheme of things. Good luck.”
I folded the letter carefully and reached into the loose paper inside the box. Even before I unwrapped it I knew by the feel that it was a book. I pulled it out and breathed in the deep scent of new leather on the copy of the Book of Mormon.
I don’t exactly know why, but I had to shake my head to fight back tears. I can’t say what moved me—if it was the valuable gift from my penniless dad, or the fact that I finally understood that he was not playing favorites with Sam. He was just trying to be an example.
And something whispered to me, just then, that I could do the same. Suddenly I knew that it wasn’t important if I won or lost my match that night. It was more important to be there for Sam, to be an example, to lead the way.

I would like to mention an experience to indicate what I think he meant when he said, “… unto him will I give power to bring forth my word … and not to the bringing forth my word only, … but to the convincing them of my word, which shall have already gone forth among them.”

While I was on my first mission in Holland, I was invited to speak to a Bible class of businessmen in The Hague. They met every week, holding a Bible class. We met in the home of a prominent furniture dealer; the only woman there was the daughter of the man of the house.

They invited me to speak for an hour and a half and explain our doctrine of universal salvation, which includes the work for the dead. I gave them chapter and verse and let them read these passages from their own Bibles so they would believe more completely, as they seemed to think we have a different Bible. Then I closed my Bible and laid it on the table, folded my arms, and waited for their comments.

The first comment came from the daughter of the man of the house. She said, “Father, I just can’t understand it. I have never attended one of these Bible classes in my life that you haven’t had the last word to say on everything, and tonight you haven’t said a word.”

The father shook his head and said, “My daughter, there isn’t anything to say.” He said, “This man has been teaching us things we have never heard of, and has been teaching them to us out of our own Bibles.”

That is what the Lord meant when he said that the prophet he would raise up would not only bring forth his word, but would bring men to the convincing of his word that had already gone forth among them.

To a child of seven, the phrase “a judge in Israel” seemed much too profound a term to understand. In my teenage years, however, I learned that this was a phrase used to describe a bishop. I couldn’t imagine myself being a bishop, but I knew that if I was going to be one, I’d better live worthily. I charted a course that included honesty, high standards, and moral cleanliness. (And eventually, I was called to be a bishop, by men who did not know of that patriarchal promise.)

I carried my patriarchal blessing with me during service in the United States Navy in World War II. I had grown up in Taylorsville, Utah, sheltered and shy, the product of a tranquil pioneer community. I now entered a harsher life, where oaths and profanity were common, where some men made bragging about sexual exploits part of their daily ritual. But again, my patriarchal blessing served as a beacon. Its promises gave me hope that I could stay clean, that I could survive the conflict and live to serve in our Heavenly Father’s kingdom.

Throughout my mission in Europe, a phrase in my patriarchal blessing about preaching the gospel in power reminded me I was on the Lord’s errand, and therefore I should speak with authority. When I returned home and began searching for a wife, I knew I must find someone who would help me be worthy. After all, my patriarchal blessing made reference to the joys of a righteous posterity. Today, I am thrilled to go to the temple with my six children and their companions, and I do find joy and rejoicing in my posterity.

There is one sentence in my patriarchal blessing that has always intrigued me. It says, “You shall see great progress in the work of the Lord; for Zion shall be the head and not the heel.” This phrase has repeatedly come to my mind in recent times as we all have observed the growth and progress of the Lord’s Church throughout the entire world.

I can truly say that my patriarchal blessing, though short, has been a guide to me during my entire life. Your patriarchal blessing can do the same for you, if you read it often and chart your course by it. In these challenging times, when you are faced with temptations and pressures to compromise your beliefs, a patriarchal blessing can be the source of great strength that will instill faith in a loving, personal Heavenly Father.

How do you obtain a patriarchal blessing? Begin the formal process by talking to your bishop. He can answer questions and help you prepare. When you’re ready, he’ll give you a recommend.

Bishops are instructed to issue recommends only to those who are old enough and have been in the Church long enough to appreciate the sacred nature of the blessing.

The blessing is given in private, although a few family members may be present. Come to your appointment in an attitude of humility and prayer. You might also choose to fast.

Don’t compare blessings or share them, except with close family members. They should not be read in Church meetings or public gatherings.

A patriarchal blessing is not having your fortune told. It is a source of guidance as you grow in maturity and spirituality. As with all blessings, the fulfillment of your patriarchal blessing depends on personal worthiness and staying close to the Spirit.

Patriarchal blessings are not just for the future. The experience of receiving one is a blessing itself, an experience of learning firsthand how important and wonderful you are in the Lord’s sight. Just the same, you may have some concerns.

I’m not sure if I’m old enough or ready enough for a patriarchal blessing.
Why not talk it over with your parents or your bishop? Ask them if they think you are old enough and if you’re ready.

Can my parents tell me about their own patriarchal blessings?
If your parents have received their blessings, ask if there are portions they would feel comfortable sharing with you. You will probably find you are one of the blessings they were promised. For example, if they were promised righteous posterity, you are an important link in that chain.

What if my parents aren’t members of the Church or don’t support me in Church activities?
Check with your bishop or patriarch—they may have suggestions about how to appropriately include your parents.

I don’t feel worthy to receive a patriarchal blessing.
If you feel unworthy, become worthy. Put your life in order. Talk to your parents and to your bishop if necessary. But also remember that we’re all learning and growing. One of the important reasons for obtaining your patriarchal blessing is to receive guidance and strength.

I’m afraid the Lord will reveal what he expects of me, and then I’ll be obligated.
Actually, the Lord has already revealed many things he expects of you: righteousness, obedience, compassion, honesty. You’ve been taught about them all your life. And you’ve already made commitments—at baptism, each time you take the sacrament, when you receive the priesthood. Remember, a patriarchal blessing is an expression of the Lord’s love for you personally. More than anything else, it will help you understand through the Spirit your own marvelous potential and some of the great blessings the Lord has in store for you as you keep his commandments.

Illustrations by Jennifer Tolman
Dear Journal, Jarom wrote as he sat at the kitchen table, I’m getting really excited about going on a mission. Did you know I can now go when I turn 18? That’s only eight years away! I can’t wait!
Jarom kept writing about how much he looked forward to his mission. His younger sister Taran was also writing in her journal. Kelcey, Ben, and Alyssa drew pictures in their journals instead. They were still too young to write.
I used to be kind of nervous about the idea of leaving home to go on a mission, Jarom wrote. But now I know better. A mission is going to be great. I wonder where I’ll go.
He kept writing about his future mission. Every Sunday his whole family wrote in their journals for 15 minutes as part of Family MTC—their family’s own “missionary training center.”
They’d already done their 15 minutes of personal scripture study. Jarom knew that was important too, even if it wasn’t always easy. Sometimes the scriptures confused him. But he kept doing his very best. And Mom and Dad could always answer questions when he got really stuck.
Journal time, though, was always one of his favorite activities. He especially liked when they shared journal entries with each other.
“OK,” Dad said. “Time’s up. Ready for class time?”
Everybody cheered. Class time was fun. They each picked favorite articles from the Friend to teach the rest of the family. Jarom chose a baseball story he found—he loved baseball, after all. And his younger brother, Ben, couldn’t wait to tell about a boy who tried building the biggest block tower in the universe. Everybody had something to share.
The 15 minutes zoomed by with favorite stories. That meant only one thing was left.
“It’s time for family devotional,” Mom said.
Jarom grinned. Family devotional usually meant watching Church videos on the computer. The whole family loved those videos. They sometimes couldn’t decide which videos to watch for the 15 minutes. There were so many to choose from.
“Can we watch the one about the scorpion again?” Jarom asked before they even made it to the computer. “Please?” The video about the scorpion showed how Elder Patrick Kearon of the Seventy learned to obey his parents and avoid dangerous things.
“We just watched that last week,” Dad said with a laugh.
“I know, but it’s awesome!”
“I want to watch ‘The Coat,’” Kelcey said.
In no time at all, it seemed, Family MTC was over for another week. And yes, they’d gotten to watch Jarom’s favorite video again. Sooo awesome, Jarom wrote really fast in his journal.
Then it was time to get ready for church. Jarom grabbed his scriptures and headed for the door.
He remembered a couple months ago when they started Family MTC. At the time he didn’t really know what to think of it. Would it feel like one more hour of church? Sometimes three hours felt like a long time already.
But he was surprised by how much he loved Family MTC. Going on a mission was one of his big goals in life. He knew what he had to do to be ready. Learning as a family made it that much more fun.
Besides, if it meant he got to watch the scorpion video a few more times along the way, well that was just fine by Jarom.

I’ve found that I allow more time for my family if I remind myself that playing with the children is church work. While I was mission president, I would often go to a beautiful amusement park with my family. I would just walk around the park with a smile on my face, holding hands with my children, eating candy.
Once in a while, the thought would enter my mind. “You’re the mission president. You’d better get back to the office.” But then I’d smile again and say to myself, “Well, I’m doing my church work here. I’m with my children and my wife. We’re having a fun day, and tonight I’ll be able to write in my journal that I did six hours of glorious church work today.” I’d eat a little more candy and let the children lead me wherever they wanted to go.

Similarly, at the moment any of the Father’s children write, none can realize the fruitfulness of such a work.
Susan Larsen of Blackfoot, Idaho, for example, didn’t realize that her entry, written after the birth of her first child, Stephani, would work a miracle for her five years later.
When her second child, Rebecca, was born, five-year-old Stephani was mature enough to sense a shifting away of all the attention. She didn’t understand why it was so, but it was, and she resented it. She became a difficult child. She pouted and whined around the house, until finally Susan went to her.
“You love Rebecca better than me,” Stephani cried. “You do, Mama; you do!”
What Stephani said was just not true, but how could Susan convince her of that fact. Telling her of her love would not truly convince her, but her journal might. So mother and daughter sat down together, and Susan read to her out of her journal.
“January 29, 1967. Yes, the baby finally arrived—an 8 1/2 pound girl. … Steve really beamed about the whole thing. Stephani was born on December 4, at 12:10 A.M., and that same morning, Steve passed around her picture in priesthood meeting. She looks just like him, bless her heart. Although she doesn’t sleep much during the day, she really is a good baby. … We really do love her.”
Through her mother’s journal, Stephani was able to share the birth-light for a few moments with her baby sister. When she was new, she, too, had been the focus of her family’s attention. They had loved her then, and they loved her now. She was happy again.

Will wanted a picture of the temple. He wanted to put it in his room. He had heard the prophet say it would be a fine thing for everyone to have one.
“Mom, did you get me a picture of the temple yet?” Will asked.
“Not yet,” Mom said. She was busy taking care of the new baby.
“OK,” Will said.
Will loved the temple. He knew it is a special place where families are sealed together.
Will felt a little bit sad. Mom was too busy. How could he get a picture of the temple?
Then Will had a great idea. He didn’t need to wait for Mom!
Will ran to find his crayons and some paper. Then he sat down at the desk and started to draw.
After a long time, Will put down his crayons. He ran into the kitchen and held his picture up to show Mom.
“What a beautiful picture of the temple,” Mom said.
“Let’s go hang it in my bedroom,” Will said.
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea!”

The incident at the pond was just one of many times that Elder Wirthlin and his father learned from each other. He related the following incident too.
“Once, when I was about seven, Father gave me five dollars to buy some items at the hardware store about a mile away. When I came back, we accounted for the money and found that they had given me a dollar too much in change. Father said, ‘Whenever you purchase anything, make sure that you get the correct change back, and be especially careful that they do not give you too much change.’ He insisted that I immediately walk back and return the dollar, which I did. This was a great lesson in honesty and in promptness in correcting an error.

Bri-i-ing! went the alarm clock, breaking into the stillness of the dark room. Brad groaned and, pulling his pillow over his head to shut out the noise, burrowed deeper under the covers of his nice warm bed. It was much too early to get up. The sun wasn’t even up yet.
Suddenly Brad sat up. Today was going to be an important day for his big brother, Andy. He was going to the Missionary Training Center (MTC) in Provo, Utah.
What a wonderful time this was for the family! Just last night everyone had gathered in the living room, and Dad had given Andy a father’s blessing. Brad was glad that Dad honored his priesthood. Many times he had laid his hands on Brad’s head and asked Heavenly Father to guide him or to protect him or to bless him with health. Last night he had blessed Andy with those same great blessings for his mission.
Brad dressed in his Sunday clothes and hurried downstairs. The rest of the family was already in the brightly lit, cozy kitchen. Dad was making pancakes, and Andy was looking tall and a little awkward in his new dark blue suit. When Dad saw Brad, he shut off the stove, and the family knelt around the table for prayer. As they seated themselves, Brad felt sad for a moment because this would be the last meal they would all have together for a long time.
Andy reached over and ruffled Brad’s hair. “C’mon, Brad, smile. I don’t want to remember you all full of frowns. Shall I help you smile like Dad does?”
Just thinking about Dad’s way to get smiles brought grins to the entire family. Dad would turn a frowning child upside down and hold him by his ankles if he wouldn’t smile. When he was little, Brad would frown, suppressing a giggle, just to get Dad to turn him upside down.
“I’m much too big for that anymore,” said Brad.
“You’re certainly growing fast, all right,” Dad remarked. “By the time Andy gets home, you’ll probably be able to turn me upside down. You’d better hurry and finish your breakfast now, though. The bishop and Brother Terry will be here soon, and Grandma and Grandpa are on their way.”
A moment later the doorbell rang, and Bishop Maxwell and Brother Terry, their home teacher, were at the door, stomping the snow off their feet. As Brad started to close the door behind them, he saw another car pull into the driveway—and another one pulled in right behind that one. “It’s Grandma and Grandpa!” shouted Brad as he ran to greet them.
Between hugs and introductions, the group entered the house. President Cox, the stake president, was in the third car. He had come to set Andy apart for his mission.
President Cox began by talking to us about Andy’s mission and about how important it was to support him with prayers and letters. Then he laid his hands on Andy’s head and set Andy—no, Elder Andrew Spencer Brown—apart as a missionary to the New Zealand Christchurch Mission. Andy was now an official fulltime missionary!
The bishop, Brother Terry, and President Cox all shock hands with Andy and clapped him on the back. Then they had to leave to go to work.
Looking at the clock, Dad urged everyone to hurry: “Andy has to be at the MTC by 8:30.”
Finally everything and everybody was jammed into the car, and off they went. Andy looked back over his shoulder until the house was long out of sight.
As Dad pulled into the parking lot of the long, low brick Mission Training Center, the Provo Temple up the street shone in the early morning light. Mom and Dad had gone with Andy to the temple the week before. Andy had come home different somehow, a little more serious and more determined to be the best missionary he could be.
Entering the large lounge area of the MTC, they were met by a smiling brother who directed them to put Andy’s luggage in a room that had the appearance of a baggage terminal. Suitcases and garment bags were everywhere. What a large group of missionaries must be arriving!
Andy’s name was checked off a list, and they were directed to a room filled with young men and women, mothers, fathers, and other family members and friends. Most missionaries seemed to be in the middle of a group, hugging someone. Brad thought he’d never seen so many hugs in his life. He’d settle for a handshake!
A tall distinguished brother entered the room and asked everyone to be seated. He introduced himself as President Bishop, the president of the MTC, and told them a little about the MTC and missionary life.
Brad had thought that while Andy was on his mission, his brother would only knock on doors and teach discussions all day. But President Bishop explained that letter writing, journal writing, laundry, and exercise were part of the program too. A large gym at the MTC provided a place for exercise for the missionaries while they were there. They needed to keep in good shape for the hours of missionary work.
President Bishop talked to the missionaries about living within their budgets. And he hoped that all of them had learned to cook and to mend and wash their clothes. Brad knew that Andy had learned to cook—a little, anyway. The night that he’d baked a casserole with tomatoes, cabbage, and macaroni, Brad had managed to wangle an invitation to a friend’s house. But Andy did make pretty good omelets and hamburgers.
Andy had also learned how to mend his clothes and to sort, wash, and dry them. Mother had been giving them all lessons in housekeeping since they were little. She said that they didn’t have time to learn those things in the mission field.
After President Bishop finished his talk, they saw a film about the MTC. When the film was over, the missionaries were to say good-bye to their families and friends; then they were to leave through a door at the front of the room. Andy shook Brad’s hand and told him to take good care of things while he was gone. Brad blinked rapidly as he watched Andy walk up the aisle. It would be eighteen long months before he would see him again!
Forgetting that he was too big for hugging and stuff, Brad ran down the aisle and threw his arms around his brother. “Be the best missionary ever, Andy—at least till it’s my turn.”
“I’ll do my best, Brad. Don’t grow too much while I’m away. I want to be able to recognize you when I get back.” Turning, Andy quickly walked to the door, gave a last wave, and was gone.

Let me relate a personal experience to show the importance of keeping your future continually in mind. When I was in the Aaronic Priesthood, I and one of my friends attended general priesthood meeting in this tabernacle and found ourselves over here by the stairs where we didn’t belong. President George Albert Smith, in his kindly way, saw our plight and invited us to sit on the stairs. As we sat there and watched the proceedings of the meeting, I did not believe that I ever again would get that close to this pulpit. I remember saying to my friend as we left the Tabernacle, “It would sure be nice to be a General Authority; then you would have one of those seats on the stand to sit in.”

I know now by personal experience that, in some ways, brethren, the benches you are sitting on are much more comfortable than these on the stand. Now the point: As an Aaronic Priesthood holder, I had no idea that the time would come in my life when I would serve as a bishop, a mission president, a Seventy, and now as an Apostle. We cannot foresee what the Lord has in mind for us. Our only course of action is to be prepared and worthy for whatever he requires. We must govern our actions every day with our future in mind.

As a young boy of five or six years of age, I had a powerful experience with prayer. My grandfather, who was not very old at the time, was very ill—feverish, ashen, and almost unconscious. It was a real crisis for our family. He lay in a bed that had been set up for him in his living room, and many of our family members, as well as our stake patriarch, knelt in a circle around his bedside to pray for him.

Although I was the only child in the room, I was invited to be in that prayer circle. Each member of the circle took a turn saying a prayer out loud. Then I, as the youngest one there, was called upon to pray last. I had participated in family prayer, the blessing on the food, bedtime prayers, and the other prayers that children say, but I had never experienced prayer like this before. People were crying, and everyone was anxious and concerned. It all seemed awfully important and urgent and somewhat frightening.

As a result of these prayers, my grandfather’s health was restored. The patriarch later told me that he felt my grandfather had been healed primarily because of my prayer. I have never forgotten that experience. Because I was so frightened at the responsibility to pray in such a setting, prayer took on a deeper meaning for me.

A true story from South Africa.
Allyson’s heart pounded. It was almost her turn to give her history presentation. She had practiced again and again with her mom the night before. But still, she felt really nervous. She hated talking in front of people!
“Next up is Allyson,” Mrs. Tanner said. “Please come present your report.”
Allyson stood up from her desk and nervously walked to the front of the classroom. She looked out into the faces of her classmates and took a shaky breath. Her palms felt sweaty. She wiped them on her school uniform.
She opened her mouth to start. But suddenly she didn’t know what to say. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her to speak. It felt like all the words she had memorized were stuck in her throat. Her stomach felt all twisty.
Then Allyson remembered something. A few weeks ago, her dad had told her a story about how he prayed for the Holy Ghost to help him.
Quickly Allyson said a prayer in her mind. Heavenly Father, she prayed, please help me be calm and do well with my presentation. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
As soon as Allyson finished her prayer, the panic began to melt away. Her shoulders relaxed, and her mind felt clear.
This time when she opened her mouth, the words came easily. “My report is on the early settlers in South Africa in the 1600s,” she said. She shared the facts she had memorized. As she got to the end of her presentation, a feeling of happiness spread through her. She had done it!
Allyson sat down with a smile on her face. Her report wasn’t perfect, but she was really proud of how she did.
“Hey,” her friend Emily whispered from the desk beside her. “You did so good! I thought you hated talking in front of people.”
Allyson laughed quietly. “I thought so too! I just prayed and asked God for help, and He helped me.”
Emily was quiet for a second. Then she whispered, “Wow, maybe I should pray more too.”
As the next student began, Allyson thought about what had just happened. She felt so different after saying her prayer. The Holy Ghost really had helped her feel calm and brave!
Allyson said another quick prayer in her mind. Thank Thee, Heavenly Father, she prayed. Thank Thee for sending the Holy Ghost to help me.

After 50 years, the living posterity of a French Polynesian couple has returned to the Hamilton New Zealand Temple for a glorious anniversary celebration of their parents’ lives and legacy.
In September 2023, fifty years after their first trip to New Zealand, the remaining Mou Tham children and other family members gathered in the Hamilton New Zealand Temple for this incredible anniversary.
“Our family on both sides, my father in New Caledonia and my mother in Raiatea, have unforgettable memories about those times,” Gisele shared. “Being here 50 years later, it’s a wonderful way to thank Heavenly Father for the help He gave us to make that dream come true.”
She said the family is united in gratitude to their parents for the gospel legacy they left, and their example of temple work. “We deeply felt their presence around us, as well as the presence of our beloved ones who are gone.”
“We are aware of the huge responsibility it is to pass on this legacy to our children, grandchildren, and next generations,” Gisele continued to share. “The light our parents started must stay strong. It will guide our steps on the covenant path leading to our celestial home.”
Her brother Gérard, who never returned to Raiatea after working with his father in New Caledonia, adds: “The blessing of this temple sealing 50 years ago is with me every day of my life. It helps me to stay strong in my faith and in the testimony of the true house of the Lord.”
As he attended the temple, he said he also felt his parents’ love there. “I felt their joy to see all their children in the temple so many years after their first visit. I felt Heavenly Father’s love through the Atonement of His Son, Jesus Christ.”