Gospel Story Finder

William’s heart beat a little faster. He knew it was wrong to tease the old blind shoemaker, but at the same time, it was exciting being out after dark with his friends. Even the fear of getting caught was not enough to make him turn back. William watched as the kerosene lamps were turned low inside the houses that lined the main street of their small town. The lights flickered and went out, but in one house a lamp continued to burn.
Wilhelm Dithmer sat on his front porch playing his clarinet.
William reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of pebbles. His bare feet padded quietly through the dirt along the side of the road, and he and his friends approached the house that was Wilhelm Dithmer’s home and shoe shop.
William let his small stones fly and watched as the man jumped at the sound of the rocks raining above his head onto the tin roof.
“Stop! Come back!” Wilhelm stood and waved his fist into the air.
The boys laughed and darted away. “See you tomorrow,” William called to his friends as he headed for home.
In the light of early morning, William lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The thrill seeking of the night before was haunting in daylight. What was it his father had said about the shoemaker—something about him going blind because he had the measles when he was a boy? And had he really been an orphan in Denmark?
The day seemed longer to William than usual. What was this uncomfortable feeling? Still, after school he agreed to meet with his friends again that night.
As he crept up the street watching for the lights to dim, William heard the sounds of Wilhelm’s clarinet. The melody was high and mournful. William stopped a moment to listen. Every night, Wilhelm closed up the shoe shop and then sat on his porch to play his music. It had become almost a ritual, but tonight the notes ended abruptly. William listened, but the only noise was the croaking of the bullfrogs.
William drew back his arm to throw the stones in his hand, but suddenly someone grabbed his arm.
“Help!” William cried, but the other boys ran away. “Let me go!” William struggled to loose himself from Wilhelm’s grasp.
“I only want to show you something,” Wilhelm said.
William stopped squirming, curious why the man did not scold him or call out for the authorities. “What?” William asked.
“I want to play a song for you on my clarinet,” Wilhelm said. “But first, promise me that you will not run away.”
William didn’t know what to say. “I guess,” he said at last.
“No,” Wilhelm said. “Promise.”
“All right,” William said. “I promise.”
Wilhelm relaxed his hold. He led William to his front porch and sat down in his chair. William watched as Wilhelm took a deep breath and began to play his clarinet. The melody lifted soft and sweet into the night air.
William sat still and listened. What must it have been like to grow up alone in Copenhagen? How hard would it be to lose both a father and a mother? He couldn’t imagine leaving his home and traveling across the ocean by himself to a strange land where no one understood the language he spoke. All the heartache of Wilhelm’s life seemed to be played out in the notes that came from the clarinet.
Wilhelm finished. He placed the clarinet across his knees and waited for William to respond, but the boy was silent.
“What is your name?” Wilhelm asked.
William hesitated. He wanted to reach out and touch the clarinet, but if he told the man his name, he would surely get into trouble. Still, there were not many musical instruments in the town.
“My name is William,” he said. “Almost like yours.”
“Well then, William,” Wilhelm said with his strong Danish accent. “Would you like me to teach you how to play my clarinet?”
“You would teach me how to play?” William asked.
“I will teach you to play my clarinet. If you practice very hard and learn to play well, I may even help you buy one of these for yourself. Maybe we could start a band.”
“A real band?” William asked. “Like the ones that play at dances?” This wasn’t at all what he had expected.
Wilhelm nodded. “But you must stop raining pebbles on my roof. And you must come every day after school to practice.”
William did learn to play, and so did his friends. They played for high school dances. They played when the town put on their Christmas plays. They played in the outdoor pavilion on warm summer nights. Long after their school days ended, the band stayed together.
For years, Wilhelm gave free music lessons in the evening after working all day in his shop. When Wilhelm died, many of his students played music at his funeral. William, now a grown man, was one of them.

By candle glow and fireplace glare, 13-year-old Erastus Snow scrutinized the two overnight guests in his Vermont home. Orson Pratt and Lyman Johnson, both about age 21, told about a new church barely two years old. Erastus’s parents listened intently, knowing that two of their married sons had already converted to the LDS church. Erastus, familiar with the Bible despite his youth, liked what he heard and then experienced something powerful: “They bore their testimonies, which I readily received,” he said; “the Holy Ghost descended upon me, bearing witness that it was true, and that they were messengers of God.”

On the opposite end of the continent, in the world’s southernmost city of Ushuaia, Argentina, the promise of eternal families caught the attention of Amanda Robledo and her husband, Ricardo. Following the death of her mother, Amanda visited different denominations, hoping the teachings of Jesus Christ could heal her heart. When missionaries later found the couple and taught them that families could be sealed together, Ricardo felt the Holy Spirit and sought baptism. Amanda was similarly touched but remained uncertain due to rumors she had heard. Eventually, her love for her family and desire to be with them forever convinced her to join the Church and be bonded to them through temple ordinances.

Before my Cub Scout pack left for day camp, we said a prayer that we would be safe on the drive. About halfway there, a big truck moved into our lane without signaling. We got sideswiped! I felt a big bump and heard a loud honk, but our leader was able to stop the car safely on the side of the road. We were late for day camp, but no one was hurt. I was really glad we said a prayer before we left.Larsen O., age 8, Minnesota

When I was sixteen years old, I came home early from one of my first dates as my parents had asked me to. I saw the Book of Mormon on my bed stand, and since I was still wide awake, I decided to read it.
I had read bits of the Book of Mormon before, but I had never read it all the way through. That night I got into the book so deeply that when dawn came, I was reading the final chapters of Moroni!
When I finished the Book of Mormon, I wanted to test Moroni’s promise and ask Heavenly Father if it were true. I knelt next to my bed and prayed. That day I received a powerful witness from the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon is true.
The following Monday at school, one of my friends who was not a member of the Church came up to me. He gave me a piece of paper and told me that it was a list of fifty facts proving that the Book of Mormon was false. I told him, “You’re too late. I can’t explain the ‘facts’ on your list, but none of them could convince me that the Book of Mormon is not true. I have received a witness from the Holy Ghost.”
I kept the list. As the years went by, modern research helped me to understand better the culture and times of the Book of Mormon. The things in the Book of Mormon that historians once thought were false have since been proven true. One by one, I was able to cross off all fifty items on the list. From this experience, I learned that a testimony can’t come in the same way that you learn other things. A testimony of the Book of Mormon can come only through the Holy Ghost.

Paint buckets and plundering. Our lives are busy, and it was difficult to read every day. We finally decided that we would read no matter what, and we found ourselves reading in some rather unusual places—sitting on paint buckets as we worked on our remodeling project or around a campfire in our backyard. We wondered if our four-year-old was even listening at times, but then one day when asked why his room was so messy, he replied, “Someone has been plundering in there!” Buxton family, West Point, Utah, USA

One ward tackles slow roasting a turkey. It is done to juicy perfection after being hung from a tripod between columns of hot coals held erect by chicken wire, the whole contraption being wrapped with aluminum foil to keep the heat in. It is an all-day project, with girls taking turns monitoring the fire. And after being assigned to watch and replenish the coals as they cool, no one will ever take a conventional oven for granted again.

My name’s Cindy. I laugh a lot. I like flowers and dogs and cats, even though Daddy says I love them too hard. And I like to blow out candles on birthday cakes. I’m twenty years old now. I watch Mickey Mouse on TV and other cartoons too. I can tie my shoelaces all by myself. It makes me happy when I hear other people laugh. Then I laugh.
You know what makes me smile most? When Mama says she called me her little china doll—I was a baby then. I don’t remember much about that but I remember some kids saying, “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, yeah, yeah, yeah,” and making funny faces, and Mama shooing them away and then holding me against her and crying. I don’t understand it yet.
I can go real high in the swing, and I like to have a shower bath and let the water run over my head.
I remember when Daddy worked on the new chapel in the evenings and he took me with him. He was a bishop then. He gave me a little bucket and I’d pick up things. Daddy would put me on his shoulders when we’d go home. That would make me laugh too.
“Cindy’s helping build the chapel,” he’d tell Mama and swing me down. “It’s Cindy’s chapel too.”
That made me feel funny inside, and sometimes I’d feel like I was bursting; but try as hard as I could, my words wouldn’t come out right, and Mama would look sad and turn away. I would be sad too because they couldn’t understand what I was saying.
I’ve been riding on a horse, and I’ve seen a circus. I was afraid of the big elephant. But I wasn’t afraid of the clowns. They fell down and I laughed.
I remember when a strange man came to our house when the chapel was finished. He was from Salt Lake.
“He’s an apostle of God,” Daddy told me. I stood and stared at him and pinched his arm until Mama pulled me away.
“Don’t bother Brother Kirkham, Cindy,” she said.
“It’s all right, Sister Abbott,” he said. His eyes twinkled and he lifted me onto his lap. He put one hand on my hand.
“Cindy’s no bother.” He smiled, and I felt something warm inside of me. “Brother and Sister Abbott, this spirit is so special in God’s eyes,” he went on, “that she was sent to earth for her mortal body in such a way that she cannot be tempted by this world. She will return to God as pure as she came. You have been chosen to take care of this special spirit. Try to understand her for she certainly holds hands with God.”
Mama didn’t cry as much after the apostle went away, and Daddy began to whistle. The children didn’t say, “Cindy, Cindy, Cindy, yeah, yeah, yeah” anymore. They took my hand and said, “Come and play with us, Cindy.”
Once I followed the children to school, but they wouldn’t let me stay in school, so Mama bought me a book with pictures in it. There were pictures of Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery and Brigham Young, and I looked and looked at them while Mama told me stories, and sometimes at night I’d think about the book and try to remember what Mama said.
In church I’d hear a name and I’d find the picture in my book and pull on Mama’s sleeve.
“That’s very good, Cindy.” She would smile.
I wanted to stand up in testimony meeting and tell everyone I knew the Church was true too, but when I tried to stand up, Mama and Daddy held me down.
“The children will laugh at you, Cindy,” they said. I would cry until Mama had to take me out.
I can ride a bike and go to a school now. I’ve learned to stuff envelopes, and I have some money in a bank.
Every testimony day I tried to stand up, and Mama kept taking me out. One Sunday night after fast meeting, after I had cried all afternoon, Mama said she didn’t know what to do about me; maybe they shouldn’t take me to fast meeting anymore. No one seemed to understand. The turmoil inside me was more than I could stand, and I didn’t know what to do about it, but I knew I had to stand up and bear my testimony. Then all of a sudden there was a light in my room, but I knew Mama had turned out the lights. I got up to see if the moon was shining. I felt so strange; the light around me was warm and I got on my knees and prayed. Then I felt a hand touch mine, soft and warm like the light in my room.
“Cindy, Cindy, what is it?” I heard Mama’s voice. She helped me up, and Daddy put his arms around me because I was crying. For a long time Daddy and Mama sat on the bed talking about how they could help me; I wanted to tell them about the light and the hand that touched mine.
“If Cindy feels that deeply about bearing her testimony,” Daddy said, “then next month she must stand up. We surely can’t deny her the right or privilege to share her testimony with others.”
I felt calm inside and went to sleep.
I go on picnics with the school, and we go on big yellow busses. I have friends and we laugh at each other.
It seemed like a long long time before testimony meeting came around again, and I sat there calm and listened. Then Mama handed me the microphone and smiled. I stood up.
“I love my Daddy. I love my Mother and I love my brothers and sisters. In the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.”
I said it just like I’d heard the other children say it. No one laughed. It was quiet for a long time. Mama was crying. Daddy too. Then a man stood up in front.
“These spirits are special in God’s eyes,” he said. “They are sent to earth for their mortal bodies in such a way they can’t be tempted by this world. Cindy will return to God as pure as she came. We don’t know how deep their emotions run, but we do know these special children hold hands with God.”
I felt a warm soft hand close over mine. This time is was my daddy’s hand.

One Young Women group in Oklahoma sought Heavenly Father in prayer to determine how to best include a new Beehive who was deaf. They worked hard to be His instruments and His hands (quite literally) in helping this young woman. A miracle swept over their entire ward as they became the angels that would bear up Alexis, the new Beehive.

Alexis said: “I was nervous and excited to start Young Women. Mom always comes with me to sign for me because I am deaf. After the opening prayer and song, Sister Hoskin, my Young Women president, said, ‘Alexis, we have a gift for you.’ Then all the girls stood up and started signing something. I knew it was special. Later I learned it was the Young Women theme. All the girls in our ward had learned it to surprise me.

“I know Heavenly Father loves me because of wonderful people here on earth that show me love, especially the girls in my Young Women [class] and my Young Women leaders who sign for me and help me learn the gospel” (letter to Young Women general presidency).

Sister Hoskin, the Young Women president, had prayed diligently to know how to help Alexis. She wrote:

“I had been the Young Women president in my ward for only one week when I began to worry about one of my upcoming Beehives. Alexis is hearing impaired, and I worried about how I could help her fit in and show her that she was one of us. After being troubled for many days and after many prayers, I woke in the middle of the night from a dream where I saw my group of young women standing together, doing the Young Women theme in sign language. I knew the answer to my prayers.

“It was a big challenge. It took hours—one entire night of Mutual, then weekly practices before we were ready. When Alexis’s birthday came, everyone was excited and nervous about our surprise. I pulled Alexis and her mom in front of the girls and said (signing to Alexis), ‘We have a gift for you. Now you are one of us.’ Then we stood and repeated the theme and did it in sign language. The Spirit was so strong, and there weren’t many voices because we were all crying, but the girls did a beautiful job. Alexis was beaming. She knew she was one of us.

“We learned that Heavenly Father loves all of us and that there are times we will be His voice and His hands to help others feel that love. We learned that serving brings the greatest joy. I learned the importance of following promptings, even when it involves a lot of work and seems improbable” (letter to Young Women general presidency).

Imagine how through the years Alexis’s mother has prayed for her daughter, having all the same hopes and dreams for her that each mother has for her daughter. She said:

“As the mother of a handicapped daughter, I am used to doing a little extra to help things work out for her. Because she is deaf, I am often at her side interpreting for her. You can imagine the feelings that flooded through me as the young women all began to sign the Young Women theme for her. As I stood there watching with tears in my eyes, the verse that ran through my mind was from Matthew 25:40: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’

“The remarkable love and service these young women have shown just began on that day. Many of them have given of their time and effort to learn sign language and now help with interpreting at church for Alexis. My prayers for Alexis have always been that she would be happy, be progressing, and know that she is loved.

“As a parent, my testimony of the Savior has been strengthened as I have seen the service and love of these girls and their leaders. At times, our concern for our daughter has been a heavy burden, but it has been made lighter by the actions of these faithful young women and their wise leaders.”

This mother had prayed for the Lord’s help, and now through the help of others, angels on earth, she saw all things working together for the good of her daughter.

Other young women in this ward told how they grew in giving this service. The Laurel class president related that learning the theme in sign language was hard work, but they felt the Spirit helping them in this effort. She said, “We did not rush through the theme just to say it like usual. We thought about the words and signed it for someone else so that [she] could know the words too, and that made me happy to know that she could understand our theme and know that she was a daughter of God too.”

Even the young men got involved. They learned how to sign “Will you dance with me?” in preparation for an upcoming dance at a ward Mutual activity. Consequently, Alexis danced every dance. The priests learned to sign the sacrament prayers for her. The spirit of love enveloped the entire ward.

It was a beautiful, clear morning in San José Pinula, a small town near Guatemala City. “I can’t wait!” Joshua told his little sister. Today was his baptism day!
After the family arrived at church, Joshua and Papá dressed in white clothes. At first, Joshua felt a little nervous. But Papá held his hand as they walked down the steps into the font, and he didn’t feel so nervous. When Joshua came up out of the water, he had a big smile on his face.
Joshua and Papá changed into dry clothes. Then Papá and Joshua’s uncles and grandpa placed their hands on Joshua’s head. They confirmed him a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Joshua heard Papá say, “Receive the Holy Ghost.”
“I’m so happy!” he said as he gave Papá a big hug.
“Remember the promises you made today,” said Papá. “If you do, the Holy Ghost can always be with you. You’ll never really be alone.”

After graduation I headed off to Brigham Young University. While there, I kept pondering a part of my patriarchal blessing that mentions sharing the gospel. In the past, I’d always thought, “There’s no way I can ever serve a full-time mission. It’s too risky with CF!” In addition to the health risks, I was afraid my daily treatment routine wouldn’t fit with a typical missionary schedule.
Still, the thought wouldn’t go away. Could I actually serve a mission?
As I pondered and prayed, I kept thinking about my favorite scripture. In Mosiah 2:20–21, King Benjamin taught how the Lord had “kept and preserved” His people, “lending [them] breath” each day. These scriptures helped me see how the Lord had “kept and preserved” me.
Though I was still a bit scared, I knew it was God’s will for me to serve. I received a doctor’s clearance, submitted my papers, and was called to serve a mission. I believed the scripture that teaches that God is “supporting [me] from one moment to another” (Mosiah 2:21). As I served my mission in Boston, Massachusetts, that promise was definitely fulfilled.
My mission days were a treasure. One of the greatest blessings was developing a deeper relationship with Heavenly Father and with Jesus Christ. Part of that closeness meant achieving a better understanding of Their will concerning me, including the importance of safeguarding my health.
As a missionary, you’re focused on serving others. Yet I knew that to stay on my mission, I had to remain healthy. I decided to never miss a lung treatment. I would exercise every morning. And I would maintain good eating habits.
As a result, I was better able to be His instrument and serve others. It was a valuable lesson to know I can still serve, even with my illness. I’ve learned that what you can do, despite any limitations you have, is much better to focus on than what you can’t do.

At the time, my mom and I were living in New Delhi. I was close to my aunt, so when I was 11, I went to visit her and Uncle Reza in Toronto for the summer. While I was there, my aunt invited me to church. In my first meeting, I loved seeing families sing the hymns together. I had never experienced anything like that.
“What is this place?” I asked my aunt after the meeting. “Everybody’s so happy and friendly. I want to know more.”
Two sister missionaries came and taught me the lessons. I knew I wanted to be part of what I was learning. The gospel made me happy, and I wanted to join the Church, so I did.
Tahira at her baptism with her Aunt Assiya, Uncle Reza, and Sister Jane Rogers, who taught Tahira the gospel.
I attended boarding school while growing up, so I had long summer vacations. My mom worked and my parents were divorced, so I began going to Canada in the summertime. My aunt and uncle became like second parents.
Uncle Reza, originally from Pakistan, enjoyed translating Church hymns into Hindi and Urdu. In sacrament meeting, we would often sing his translated versions of the hymns.
Uncle Reza, pictured above with the author, enjoyed translating Church hymns into Hindi and Urdu. “In sacrament meeting,” Tahira says, “we would often sing his translated versions of the hymns.”
Eventually my mom wanted to know more about the church her daughter and sister had joined. She met with the missionaries and was soon baptized. My mom and aunt made sure I went to Toronto every summer so I could attend church and participate in Church activities.
When it was time for me to choose a college, my aunt and uncle helped me get into Brigham Young University, where I met my husband, who is from Argentina. I often think about what brings our families together. Because of the Church, a young man from Argentina met and married a young woman from India.
As the music supervisor in the Church’s hymn-translation team, Tahira says, “I’m sharing the gospel through the hymns.”
Photograph by Christina Smith
Today, I am the music supervisor in the Church’s hymn-translation team. I work on projects in six different languages. I’m working on translating hymns into Nepali and Burmese, which is my mother’s native language. It’s fun and rewarding. I also work on Amharic from Ethiopia, Twi and Fante from Ghana, and Sinhala from Sri Lanka.
I love my work because music has come full circle in my life. Music was my introduction to the Church. Now I think about how many people will hear the hymns in their own language and be touched. I’m sharing the gospel through the hymns, and I can see how my work fulfills promises made in my patriarchal blessing.
My uncle and aunt have passed away, but through the hymns, I feel the legacy of their strength and testimony. My uncle loved sharing his testimony in song.
“Someday members of the Church will hear and sing these hymns in their own language,” he said. “People will understand what the hymns are saying, and the words will touch their heart.”
I get to be part of that project. It has been a great blessing in my family.
The author and her family at their home in Payson, Utah, USA.
Photograph by Christina Smith

Hi. We’re brothers. During the pandemic, we read more and spent more time outside. We especially like swimming and football (soccer). Here are other ways we grew.
Jannis: I appreciate my parents more. They help a lot with school at home. To help them, I’m spending more time with our little sister so my parents can have some peace. I’ve been more involved in the sacrament each week. And I also started studying the scriptures in seminary. These things have strengthened my faith. I am impressed with how Joseph Smith kept going in spite of difficulties. From him I’ve learned that I shouldn’t give up and that when I have questions, I should read the scriptures and find my answers there.
Till: At school, I really like math. When I need help with school, my parents always offer to help. I also help look after our sister. Lately, my faith has increased through being more involved in the sacrament. I’m also reading the Doctrine and Covenants.
Share your story and read stories from other youth at the @StrivetoBe Instagram.

Hearing stories got me excited to serve a mission. I couldn’t wait! I wanted to serve in Mexico, just like my grandpa. But the Lord called me to Guatemala. Years later I had the opportunity to serve as a mission president. I thought, “This time I’ll go to Mexico.” But the Lord wanted me to serve in Spain. When we serve where the Lord wants us, we’re blessed. I love the people of Guatemala and Spain.

The ferry was sitting low in the heavy seas, bumping the waves like a fat mallard barely making headway. As it inched closer to the dock you could see the captain in the wheelhouse surrounded by young men. The whole boat seemed covered with people, and the forward deck and rails were packed with eager young faces with a few adults interspersed.
The moment the ferry nudged the pilings and the heavy ropes were thrown ashore, people in Scout uniforms started pouring onto the dock.
Australian Scouts of all sizes were everywhere for a moment, and then they quickly formed a human chain from the dark interior of the boat, leading up into the light and out onto the dock. Supplies started flowing down this human chain. Boxes, billies (pails), tins, sleeping bags, tents, packs, and enough oil drums and surplus army ammunition boxes and weapons boxes to establish a beachhead were piled on the wharf. In no time at all the gear was sorted and loaded onto backs or carts pulled by more Scouts and Explorers, and the first Hobart Australia Stake all-LDS Scout camp was underway.
Sixty-eight excited Tasmanians climbed off of the ferry for their adventure on Maria Island. Many had never seen or met the people from the other wards. They also brought many of their nonmember and non-Scout friends. And they had many good leaders, including their stake president and several bishops and fathers, in addition to their Scoutmasters and other priesthood leaders.

It was during sixth grade that Syndi’s interest in science was piqued by school experiments. “We did stuff like grow crystals and turn eggs to rubber in vinegar,” she recalls. “I loved it.” In seventh grade her experiments became a tad more sophisticated. She built a direct current motor as part of an assigned science project.
“Dad was terrified I was going to electrocute myself,” she says with a grin. “I didn’t, but I have come close. See.” Syndi thrusts out her hand to show a tiny scar.
Her mother said, “I had no idea Syndi had all this potential. In seventh and eighth grades, she just exploded.”
But it was in ninth grade where Syndi began leaping tall buildings and winning awards faster than a speeding bullet. Her solar tracker alone won four first-place awards—one at the Utah State Science Fair and three at the International Science Fair in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She was invited to the Idaho National Engineering Laboratory for a week; the Solar Energy Research Institute for four days; the Colorado School of Mines, Energy, and Minerals Field Institute for six days; the Jet Propulsion Laboratories in Pasadena, California, for four days; and most recently the World Energy Congress Conference in Montreal for eight days. Her trips were all paid for by the U.S. Department of Energy, NASA, or other government agencies.
Representatives from 93 nations attended the conference in Montreal to which youth were invited. Of the approximately 80 young people in attendance from countries around the world, Syndi was one of only a handful of girls. She also had the distinction of being the youngest in attendance.
“It was great,” she says with excitement, “except I don’t speak French, and they kept serving me wine. Someone finally told me to turn my glass upside down, and I wouldn’t be served.”
According to Syndi, she’s learned far more in the past year than just biotechnology, hydropower, and fossil energy. “I’ve learned a whole lot about everything!”
She returns from each conference ten to fifteen pounds heavier. Not from junk food, but from the reams of printed material she lugs home. “Boxes of it,” says Wanda. “And she really reads it.”
She also enjoys discussing each conference with her father, who is still one step ahead. The other day she and her dad had a heated discussion about the ozone layer while pushing Wanda through the grocery store in her wheelchair.
And it’s her mother who has introduced Syndi to another world—art and literature. Syndi has taken to it just as she has with science. She has won awards at her high school for her poetry.
If it’s not global monitoring Syndi’s batting around, it might be Nephi and the brass plates. Religion seems to crop up wherever she is. After her first few trips she decided there were two things she couldn’t leave home without—her Book of Mormon and Church pamphlets.
“The people I’ve met seem to respect my beliefs,” says Syndi, “and no one has tried to pressure me to do things I don’t believe in. Many have made an effort not to swear around me. One night I stayed up really late explaining the Church.”
Dedicated to the gospel, Syndi has read the Old Testament, Pearl of Great Price, and Doctrine and Covenants. She has also read the Book of Mormon three times and the New Testament twice.
Syndi wishes more girls would join her in the math and science arena. Only a small percentage of the nation’s students are going into the technological fields, a fact which has not escaped the notice of many large corporations and government agencies concerned about the nation’s future.
“I know the things I enjoy don’t appeal to everyone,” says Syndi. “But there are girls who are being stopped or who are stopping themselves simply because they’re girls, and that’s not right. I’ve never worried that boys would like me less because I’m good at math and science, but I know a lot of girls do. I have a friend who loves chemistry but can’t handle competing with men. I wish girls would realize there’s a lot they could contribute to the field and that being smart in math and science doesn’t make them less appealing. I think it makes them more so because guys can communicate with them better.”
In addition, women often have a different perspective than men, according to Syndi, therefore their voices need to be heard more. “In Montreal, for example, I noticed during a debate that the men tended to hold the economy above ecology and women vice versa. But I think that’s beginning to change.”
With so much sizzle at such a young age, will Syndi burn out?
“Definitely not!” she says. “Every year it gets more interesting and exciting.” Her mother says that when Syndi gets home from a seminar, she’s literally dancing around the room because she is so excited by what she is learning.
Her long-range goals (not necessarily in order) are to earn an engineering degree at Cal Tech on scholarship, be married in the temple, raise a family, and improve the world’s energy outlook.
“I think I can make a difference,” she says simply.

Growing up in Brazil, my father always told me stories about my grandfather—how he immigrated from Germany to Brazil at a very early age and did not have the opportunity to study. My grandfather worked as a painter in the local community. He took a lot of pride in his work and would always do his best to exceed his customers’ expectations. As a result, he always had a lot of work available to him. Through his work, he was able to provide a good living for his wife and their five children. They were not rich. Life was still challenging, but they had their own house and covered the basic needs of life. They were happy.

Every day that Cheya Wheeler’s friend picks her up for school, the same thing happens. They drive by a stately red brick building, one tower topped by a golden figure, and Cheya’s friend starts singing, “I Love to See the Temple.” Cheya usually joins her. “It brings a good spirit,” she says.
Cheya and her friend live in Vernal, Utah. The temple, created from the old tabernacle, has brought a whole new spirit into their valley. The Vernal Temple has stood as a building for more than 90 years, but during its first 90 years, it served as a tabernacle, a meetinghouse for a local ward and stake, a lecture hall, a place for musical recitals, a gathering place for the community. This great old building eventually fell into disuse and was closed. Most teenagers in Vernal had never actually been inside the tabernacle.
“When they first announced that we were going to have a temple at stake conference,” says Jeff Ross, 15, “I was there. It took forever for the meeting to go on. Everyone was turning and talking to each other. It was great.”
The Vernal Tabernacle had always been a prominent landmark and favorite spot in the town. Growing up, most young people in the area have ridden their bikes around the block containing the building and had picnics on the tabernacle lawn. It was a great old building, but it was no longer feasible to hold church functions there any more. What would become of it?
In 1907, after seven and a half years of work, the Vernal Tabernacle was completed and ready for dedication. A little seven-year-old named Porter Merrell was there, ready to attend the dedication with his parents. His father had worked as a carpenter on the tabernacle.
Approaching his 98th birthday, Brother Merrell remembers that day. “When it came time for the dedication, there were too many people to fit inside. They rounded up all of us kids about the ages from seven to ten and took us down to the east of the tabernacle. Before I left, I looked down from the balcony. All the ladies wore hats. They decorated their hats, and looking down it looked just like a flower garden.”
President Joseph F. Smith had made the long journey from Salt Lake City to dedicate the tabernacle. Brother Merrell was in the group of children chosen to greet the prophet as he arrived in their city. President Smith also visited every ward in the Uintah Stake. Porter was seated with the other children on the little chairs in front of the prophet. He still remembers what the prophet with the flowing snow-white beard said.
“He told us,” says Brother Merrell, “that he wanted us all to remember. The Spirit of the Lord was going to be poured out upon the world. There would be more development and more progress in the world during the next 30 to 40 years than there had been in the history of the world. He looked at us and said, ‘I want you little fellers to remember that and see if there won’t start to be progress.’”
Once again, 90 years later, Brother Merrell attended a dedication in the Vernal Tabernacle, only this time it was a temple, the house of the Lord.
It has always been difficult traveling in the area that is now the temple district of the Vernal Utah Temple. It includes parts of Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado. It is a country where the weather is unpredictable and the winters can be downright dangerous. Several youth choirs that were planning to sing for the Vernal Temple open house had to cancel at the last minute because winter storms had closed roads, preventing them from traveling.
One group, the Smart family choir, was asked to sing an additional hour in the cold morning hours of the temple open house because another choir had been prevented by the weather from making the trip.
The Smart family chose to hold a family reunion and form a family choir to coincide with the open house of the Vernal Temple. They have a particularly warm feeling about the tabernacle building itself. Their relative William H. Smart was the stake president of the Uintah Stake when the tabernacle was dedicated. For the teenagers attending the reunion, the trip to Vernal meant learning a little more about their heritage and about temples.
“There’s always a special feeling in the temple,” says Michelle Maddocks, 20, from the Salt Lake Grant 12th Ward, and a member of the Smart family choir. “You feel the Spirit there.”
Another Smart descendant, Hales Swift, 15, from the Academy Ward of the Colorado Springs North Stake, was looking forward to going through the Vernal Temple after the family choir’s performance. For Hales, his knowledge about the truthfulness of the Church came from his family. “Prayer is a peaceful time for me. I have always accepted the gospel as being true, partially because I was brought up in it, and also because it makes sense.” In a serious moment, Hales tries to explain what the Spirit of the Lord feels like. “It’s something hard to put your finger on. It’s overpowering. It testifies of the truthfulness of the gospel. It’s sort of like when you hear something that is really truly good. It’s the same sort of feeling.”
Also singing in the family choir, JoAnnie Everett, 14, from the Grove Creek Fifth Ward in Pleasant Grove, Utah, was looking forward to going inside the Vernal Temple. She has been to several temples, including the Mount Timpanogos Temple near her home. She had the opportunity to go when her brothers and sisters were sealed to their family after their adoption. “The temple is special before it is dedicated, but it has an even better feeling after.”
The Young Men and Young Women of the Vernal Third Ward have a unique outlook on the new temple. In Sunday School class, they just have to glance out the window to see the temple. They can’t be rowdy in the parking lot after Mutual, because it somehow doesn’t feel appropriate when it’s right next to the temple.
“I live right across the street. The angel Moroni looks down on my house,” says Curtis Ogden, 17. “It’s just a reminder every day when I walk outside and I see the temple. It makes my day a lot better.”
Emily Malouf, 15, says, “I think with the temple being next door to our church house, it’s brought a level of reverence to our ward. When you drive past it every day, you have to strive for the goals you know are right so that one day you can get married there.”
“When I went through the open house of the temple, something occurred to me,” says Jeff Ross, 15. “It’s perfect. It sets the standard. It’s kind of a wake-up call to me that we need to strive to make our bodies, our minds, and our homes like the temple, perfect like that. It sets the standard for everything else in our lives.”
These young people watched the transformation take place. An old, dilapidated tabernacle was turned into something heavenly—a temple. They heard the stories of the miracles that took place during the construction. They saw the dedication of those who worked on the project. They noticed as their friends and neighbors started reconstructing their lives to be worthy to enter the temple.
“The building was in bad shape,” says Leslie Richards, 16. “It’s the same kind of thing with our lives. If you get off track and wicked, it takes a lot of work and time. No matter how long it takes, you can still come back to the temple.”
The Vernal Temple brought a spirit of change. “A lot of that is taking place in this valley,” says Sam Malouf, 17. “There are a lot of people who have changed so they can attend the temple. I’ve seen a lot of kids our age quit drinking, quit doing a lot of things so they can be worthy to attend the temple.”
For most of the young people in this ward, the most impressive and memorable moment of the temple open house was when they entered the celestial room and saw the welcoming portrait of Christ. “It took my breath away,” says Cory Hunter, 17. “It was just like, this is where it is. This is where it happens. He’s here. It was amazing.”
The Vernal Temple is the 51st temple in operation. It is also the first temple ever made from a building originally built for a different purpose. But somehow it seems appropriate that it should be put to use serving the Lord again. The Vernal Temple quite literally stands as a monument to change. Just as a decaying building can be rebuilt, we each can rid ourselves of the rubble of sin in our lives and change, change into something worthy of heaven.
Restoration of the Vernal Temple went carefully, brick by brick. However, some of the native brick was damaged and needed to be replaced. What’s more, additions to the building itself needed to match. A long-time Vernal resident had a pioneer home built of the same brick as the tabernacle. Though not a member of the Church himself, he graciously agreed to donate it to the temple. So two years before the temple was completed, youth groups from all the wards in the four stakes surrounding Vernal spent service time dismantling the house and cleaning the brick. Each small effort toward the restoration gave joy and satisfaction to those who helped.

In that same inner-city ward, I observed a similar type of faith in the gentle, loving care of a bishop who wasted no time despairing over the vast needs of an ever-growing number of new converts. Rather, he pressed forward by rallying the more experienced members of the Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood quorums to help prepare new converts from Africa and Latin America for their priesthood responsibilities. The newer brethren were taught how to hold the trays while passing the sacrament, how to kneel and reverently bless the bread and water. Their more seasoned, often younger brethren, practiced along with them the words of the sacramental prayers so they would feel confident in giving them. Then, together, all the brethren discussed the sacred nature of this important priesthood ordinance.

After I got a concussion playing [American] football, I started having headaches daily. I had a hard time not focusing on the pain I was feeling. One day I felt an impression from the Holy Ghost that happiness doesn’t come from our circumstances but from our focus. I realized that my focus was always on my pain instead of the daily blessings I receive from God.
I started to wonder, what else was stopping me from growing spiritually? With a humble heart I asked Heavenly Father this question. I knew I could not come up with the right answer on my own, but our Heavenly Father has all of the answers.
The answer I received seemed very simple, but it was customized to what I needed: “Get out of bed and exercise again.” I started exercising despite the constant pain I felt. I found myself moving closer to God.
God has given me so much love. By exercising both physically and spiritually, I grow closer to Him. Being close to Heavenly Father is my biggest comfort and form of peace. When you take the sacrament, I invite you to focus on the spiritual growth you can make in the coming week. The Holy Ghost will give you the personal guidance you need.