Gospel Story Finder

I am grateful that both my wife and I were taught the important of repentance and sacrifice. We grew up with each other and went to the same junior high and high school. When we reconnected after my mission, the subject of love came up on the first night that we talked with each other (don’t ask me how). I had concluded on my mission that the truest definition of love was ­“sacrifice.” In John 15:13, Jesus taught, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

In our conversation, I asked her what she thought love was.
She paused and then said something like, “I think the best way to describe love is with the word sacrifice.”
Wow. I kneeled down and asked her to marry me right there on the spot! (Not really—in ­reality we took our sweet time and got engaged less than two months later.) We have now been ­happily married for almost twenty-five years. Now that doesn’t mean it hasn’t been without some challenges. All marriages have them. But our covenant of sacrifice with God has motivated us to lay down our selfish lives to build our family life and thus build the kingdom. That’s true in any relationship. There is power in learning that enduring love for God and others is grown in the soil of sacrifice.

I had never heard of the Mormons, so I went home, got online, and searched. I arrived at Mormon.org and ordered a free copy of the Book of Mormon. Missionaries delivered it a few days later.
I wasn’t sure I could start to believe in God, but the missionaries helped me discover that I could not only believe in Him but also know Him. As I began to pray and study the Book of Mormon, I found myself on a beautiful journey of finding happiness. I quit smoking. I stopped blaming God and started thanking Him for the good things in my life. I came to know that His Son had suffered for my sins and for all the pain I had ever felt. On October 28, 2007, I was baptized into His Church.
If I hadn’t personally experienced the change from disillusionment to happiness, I wouldn’t believe it is possible. Today I love my calling in Primary and am grateful to have had the opportunity to help organize a service project at a young single adult conference in Poland. To be able to regularly help others through Church service has added to the happiness I have found in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Everything I do now, I do with pure love because of Jesus Christ. I believe that life is beautiful and that even when we have challenges, if we follow the Savior, we won’t be lost.

I enjoy all the Church magazines very much. Until I left home and went on a mission, I never fully realized how filled they were with the words of the Lord as spoken through his prophets and other inspired men and women. I am working diligently to share the gospel with a girl back home in Virginia, and I have been turning more and more to the Church magazines in my efforts to fully answer her many questions.
My missionary apartment has a good-sized stack of Church magazines, of course, so one day I went through the whole stack, picking out those that I thought my friend would benefit from. When I finished, the stack I had picked out was larger than the stack that was left. I knew I couldn’t send that many magazines, so I tried again. About halfway through I stopped because every magazine had at least one good article or message. Finally I gritted my teeth and picked out the very best, but I still sent her a good-sized stack, along with a subscription to the New Era and the Ensign. I know that every one of those 23 issues will help her testimony grow, just as anyone reading them, member or nonmember, will be touched by them in some way.
Elder WoodmanIowa Des Moines Mission

Russ—The scriptures call this kind of conduct, rebellion, and there are myriad examples of the “Rebel” in the scriptures such as Nephi’s brothers, Korihor, King Noah to name a few. I remember a young man who had recently married but then ignored the covenants he had made and began living a life of total rebellion until he was no longer a member of the Church.

Lolly—So what happened? Did he ever come back?

Russ—We’ll have to wait and see.

Lolly—What about the young man who fell away from the Church—the one who ignored his covenants? Did he ever come back?
Russ—That’s even a happier story. When we’re in the Rebel box, it often takes longer to repent of the serious transgressions we’ve committed. And it took some time for this young man. But one day he called to invite me to attend the service when he would be re-baptized a member of the Church. He not only left his former rebellious life; he became a devoted disciple.

Some years ago, while visiting the members and missionaries in Australia, I witnessed a sublime example depicting how a treasury of testimony can bless and sanctify a home. The mission president, Horace D. Ensign, and I were traveling by plane the long distance from Sydney to Darwin, where I was to break ground for our first chapel in that city. En route we had a scheduled fueling stop at a remote mining community named Mt. Isaiah As we entered the small airport, a woman and her two young children approached. She said, “I am Judith Louden, a member of the Church, and these are my children. We thought you might be on this flight, so we have come to visit with you during your brief stopover.” She explained that her husband was not a member of the Church and that she and the children were indeed the only members in the entire area. We shared experiences and bore testimony.
Time passed. As we prepared to reboard, Sister Louden looked so forlorn, so alone. She pleaded, “You can’t go yet; I have so missed the Church.” Suddenly, over the loudspeaker there was announced a 30-minute mechanical delay of our flight. Sister Louden whispered, “My prayer has been answered.” She then asked how she might influence her husband to show an interest in the gospel. We counseled her to include him in their home Primary lesson each week and be to him a living testimony of the gospel. I mentioned we would send to her a subscription to the Children’s Friend and additional helps for her family teaching. We urged that she never give up on her husband.
We departed Mt. Isa, a city to which I have never returned. I shall, however, always hold dear in memory that sweet mother and those precious children extending a tear-filled expression and a fond wave of gratitude and good-bye.
Several years later, while speaking at a priesthood leadership meeting in Brisbane, Australia, I emphasized the significance of gospel scholarship in the home and the importance of living the gospel and being examples of the truth. I shared with the men assembled the account of Sister Louden and the impact her faith and determination had had on me. As I concluded, I said, “I suppose I’ll never know if Sister Louden’s husband ever joined the Church, but he couldn’t have found a better model to follow than his wife.”
One of the leaders raised his hand, then stood and declared, “Brother Monson, I am Richard Louden. The woman of whom you speak is my wife. The children [his voice quavered] are our children. We are a forever family now, thanks in part to the persistence and the patience of my dear wife. She did it all.” Not a word was spoken. The silence was broken only by sniffles and marked by the sight of tears.

I was nervous when I first started serving in the temple because I knew I would have to memorize the words to all the ordinances. I was worried I would mess up, so I spent hours studying the words to make sure I could get them right. And while I’ve heard stories of workers who felt like the Holy Ghost helped them memorize the words faster, that wasn’t my experience.
Sometimes I felt upset that I was struggling to memorize the words. Learning the words to the first ordinance took me almost a month. But looking back, I’ve realized that my struggle was an amazing blessing. I was able to sit in the Lord’s house and study the words of the ordinances for hours. And deepening my understanding of those words brought both peace and power into my life. I was able to recognize the voice of the Lord more clearly and more often when I was both inside and outside the temple.
This experience was a testament to me that Heavenly Father knows us personally and knows what experiences will be the most beneficial to us. The opportunity to contemplate the ordinances gave me a better understanding of what the ordinances say and strengthened my desire to keep the covenants I made in the temple.

What possible effect could a 14-year-old have on home teaching? I was just a kid. Who was I to tell an elder to do his home teaching? Not just an elder, but an elder I had never met or even seen at church. The only things I knew about him were his name and that he had been an athlete.
Three months earlier I had been called to be a junior home teaching companion, and I still had not visited anyone. It didn’t help that my two best friends were already active home teachers. One was assigned with his father and the other with a member of the elders quorum presidency. My own father was serving in the bishopric and at that time was not assigned as a home teacher. What could a 14-year-old companion do?
My feelings of guilt had to be Brother Jensen’s fault, I decided. He had been my deacons quorum adviser and had taught us the importance of home teaching. He also explained that as teachers in the Aaronic Priesthood, it was our duty to be faithful home teachers. He had warned us that we might have to remind and encourage a senior companion to go home teaching.
Well, I decided, my options were really very simple. I could wait for my senior companion to call and do my best not to feel guilty—or I could go to his house, introduce myself, and arrange to go home teaching.
On the one hand, he was the senior companion. He was supposed to take charge. Wouldn’t I be assuming too much authority by contacting him? He might even get offended. Better to wait, I thought. Then Brother Jensen’s words came back to me.
“If your senior companion doesn’t contact you,” he had said, “then you must contact him and let him know you are ready to go home teaching.” He explained that if the senior companion still wouldn’t go home teaching, the responsibility would rest on him. Until I made the effort to go, I had to share in the failure.
I finally committed to go to my companion and introduce myself.
At church that Sunday, I began to feel more and more nervous. What would my companion think? Would he laugh? Maybe he would get mad and run me off. I didn’t feel I could do it, but I had promised to follow through and make the attempt. If he responded negatively, then at least I would have done my part.
As I neared his house, I forced myself up the driveway and said a prayer, very simple, very direct: Lord, please help me. My fears left me for the moment, and I quickly climbed the steps and knocked. I knew someone would answer because I could hear what sounded like a party going on inside. The fear was coming back, but it was too late to run.
The door opened, and a woman asked me what I wanted. She may have been polite, rude, sensitive, or even abrupt. I don’t know because I was trying hard to remember what I was there for.
“Is Brother Johnson here?” I finally asked, timidly.
“Just a minute, please.” I thought I could hear laughter but wasn’t sure. I didn’t have time to breathe before a very tall man stepped to the door. He seemed none too friendly.
“Yeah?” he said.
I’m sure he knew I was scared because he started to smile a little. I calmed down just enough to utter a little prayer in my mind one last, desperate time.
“My name is John,” I began in a voice that didn’t sound scared to me, “and I’m your home teaching companion. I was wondering when we could go home teaching?”
I don’t know if he was amused or surprised, but he didn’t throw me off the porch. Good start, I thought.
He smiled and said, “Give me your phone number, and I’ll call you.”
I went home feeling pretty good. I had made a good effort, and if he didn’t call, I could say I had tried. When I arrived home, I told my parents what had happened. I don’t think they expected me to get a call.
Later that night, I received a call from Brother Johnson, my companion.
“Can you go home teaching Tuesday night at 7:00?” he asked.
“Uh, sure,” I stammered.
“I’ll pick you up then. Bye.” He hung up.
Tuesday night we went home teaching. I found out later he had called the elders quorum president after I left his house that Sunday to get the names of the families we were assigned to visit. Then he made appointments.
We established a routine. On the third Sunday of each month, I would stop by his house, and then he would set up appointments. We rarely, if ever, missed anyone in the two years we were companions. We also became pretty good friends. Brother Johnson even came to church a few times. He said he wanted to see if the quorum president would faint.
I learned two important lessons. First, an Aaronic Priesthood holder can have a positive influence on home teaching. Second, a less-active brother can be the most active home teacher.
As a home teacher, Brother Johnson taught me a lot.

At one such time, I sought Heavenly Father’s counsel through constant and heartfelt prayer for more than a year to find the solution to a difficult situation. I knew logically that Heavenly Father answers all sincere prayers. Yet I reached such desperation one day that I attended the temple with one question: “Heavenly Father, do You really care?”
I was sitting near the back of the Logan Utah Temple waiting room when, to my surprise, entering the room that day was the temple president, Vaughn J. Featherstone, a close family friend. He stood at the front of the congregation and welcomed all of us. When he noticed me among the temple patrons, he stopped speaking, looked me in the eyes, and then said, “Brother Brough, it is good to see you in the temple today.”
I will never forget the feeling of that simple moment. It was as if—in that greeting—Heavenly Father was stretching forth His hand and saying, “Here am I.”
Heavenly Father really does care and listen to and answer every child’s prayer.15 As one of His children, I know the answer to my prayers came in the Lord’s time. And through that experience, I understood more than ever that we are children of God and that He has sent us here so that we can feel His presence now and return to live with Him someday.

On a Sunday in August 2014, as I sat in the compound of our residence reading a book, I noticed a group of people my age being led by someone older in white shirt and ties approaching me. There were about seven of them, and I felt uneasy. I soon realized that the men who stood in front of me were the young men of my ward, being led by the quorum president.
All I wondered was what they were doing there. They were very happy to see me. They told me they had missed me and that the Lord needed me in His fellowship. They spoke to me about passing the sacrament and other youth activities. They then encouraged me to come to church.
I had not been active in the Church for about two years since my baptism in 2011, and I felt I had lost my path in the things of the Lord. Throughout all those times, I felt there was nowhere to look for help, nor anyone to extend a hand of assistance and that there was no turning back for me. I always had the desire to return to the Lord but often felt it was too late. When I arrived at church for sacrament meeting the following Sunday, I felt both shy and ashamed, but everyone greeted me lovingly with smiles. It was then I realized that the Lord had just used the selfless hearts of my fellow young men in a reactivation effort as a wake-up call to return one of His lost sheep to His fold.
I am filled with gratitude for the noble and selfless men out there, like the young men who visited me on that day, who are also putting in all their efforts to call upon other members who have fallen away from the faith. Indeed, He remembers His children, wherever they may be. Today I am at the point of completing my mission, having been used as an instrument in the Lord’s hands to bring many to the light of the gospel. It has been such a wonderful experience for me and I am grateful I heeded the call to return to church.

However, I would like to tell you about one Weston High School student who was too busily engaged in other pursuits to become involved with drugs or alcohol. This young man spent a lot of time on the ski slopes. Being an avid skier in New England is not unusual, but what this boy did with his talent is unusual. He was an expert skier and loved the sport. In fact, he was an instructor and spent even his spare time teaching others to ski. You could regularly see him coming down the mountainside very close to one of his pupils, who was oftentimes years older than he. They would start slowly but gather speed as they made graceful turns down the slope, all the time carrying on a conversation, laughing, enjoying the invigorating air and the sparkling sunshine. Observers would take note and follow the pair with their eyes until they reached the bottom, regarding them as just two more skiers having a great time.
What the onlookers did not realize was that one of the skiers was blind. This young Weston High School student was teaching the blind to ski. He did it free of charge. When he first had the idea, he discussed it with others and was advised by all to forget it. He was told over and over that it would simply be impossible.
But this young man had witnessed the hopelessness of some of the blind people and wanted to share with them one of the pleasures of his life. He wanted them to have a feeling of accomplishment and success. He wished to give them a new dimension to their lives. He wanted them to feel that they were real, whole individuals. He really cared. He cared enough to devote the time necessary to develop a rapport of love, encouragement, and understanding with these people to help them build faith in themselves and in their own abilities. Gradually mutual friendships blossomed.
These blind people placed their trust in this young man. He was their friend. He was the only one they would permit to put on their boots and snap them into their bindings. In their training, he said that helping them develop an attitude of trust and faith in themselves was the important thing. After that, the technique would come easily.
The last I heard, he had been successful in teaching 13 blind people to ski and was in the process of teaching more. He had even been requested to write a manual on teaching the blind to ski. He possessed then, and I am sure he still does, the confidence which comes with success. But more importantly, he has developed lasting friendships and has learned how to love and share through worthwhile service.

Beckham loved to fish with Grandpa. He even caught a little fish!
But when Beckham told Mom about it later, he might have told a little lie.
Beckham won a jumping contest with his friends.
But when he told Dad about it, he might have told a little lie.
The next day, Beckham’s family went to the zoo. He even got to feed a monkey!
But when he told Grandpa about it, he might have told a little lie.
Wow! Did you really feed a dragon?
Well, no … it was just a monkey. But people won’t think I’m cool if I tell them what really happened.
You don’t need to make up stories for people to like you. Telling the truth is the best choice. And just being you is enough! Heavenly Father thinks so too.
Besides, feeding a monkey is pretty cool.
This story took place in the USA.

I received permission from my dear friend and emeritus General Authority Seventy, Elder Robert E. Wells, now 97 years old, to share his experience of more than 60 years ago:

While living in Paraguay in 1960 and employed as an international banker, Robert Wells, then 32 years old, and his wife, Meryl, were each a pilot in two different planes, flying home from Uruguay to Paraguay. Encountering thick clouds, Robert and Meryl lost visual and radio contact with each other. Robert quickly landed, where he learned his wife’s plane had crashed. Neither his wife nor the two friends flying with her had survived. His children, at home in Asunción, were ages seven, five, and two.

Elder Wells spoke of his grief:
“Words will forever be inadequate in expressing the pain that swelled within me, consuming my emotions and numbing my senses. Profound tears of sorrow simply wouldn’t stop flowing. To make matters worse, as my mind was attempting to deal with the devastating realization of my wife’s passing, I found myself experiencing tremendous guilt for feeling I was responsible for the crash.”

Robert blamed himself for not having had the plane inspected more thoroughly and for not giving his wife better instrument flying instructions. He felt he was guilty of neglect.

Robert said:
“My mind went into a dark daze. … I simply existed—[for the sake of the children,] nothing more.”

“I … lost my desire to continue on.”

In time, Robert was blessed with a deeply spiritual experience. He recounted:
“One evening, about one year later, while on my knees in prayer, a miracle occurred. While praying and pleading to my Heavenly Father, I felt as though the Savior came to my side and I heard an audible voice speaking these words to my soul and to my ears: ‘Robert, my atoning sacrifice paid for your sins and your mistakes. Your wife forgives you. Your friends forgive you. I will lift your burden. …’
“From that moment, the burden of guilt [and despair] was amazingly lifted from me. I had been rescued! I immediately understood the encompassing power of the Savior’s Atonement and … that it applied directly to me. … I … experienced light and joy like I had never before known. … I had been given an unearned gift—the Lord’s gift of grace. … I didn’t deserve it—I had done nothing to merit it, but He gave it to me nonetheless.”

One time the impression came to me and said, "Quit your job." I had a great job; I lived in San Diego. The Lord came and said, "Quit your job," and I didn't. Months later, the same inspiration. A year later, the same inspiration over and over again, the Lord said, "Quit your job. Go get another one." I wanted to be promoted. I was well-respected in the company. I was advancing rapidly. I wanted more money, more prestige; I thought, I'll quit later after I get up a few levels. I have to tell you that I then went through one of the darkest times of my life. Coming out of that experience, I thought, if those feelings ever come again, I'm going to do it. I'm not going to put myself in a situation where the spirit will remove itself from me and leave me by myself, saying, "If you think you can handle this, you go ahead and try it on your own." I tried it on my own, and I fell on my face.

A few years later, I had another great job. We were living in Peachtree City, Georgia, one of the prettiest places on the planet” almost as pretty as Laie. And the spirit came to me again, and said, "Quit your job, and move to Salt Lake City." I was relatively successful, having a great life, but I thought, "Whoa! That was the same message as last time. How fast can I quit? Let's get out of this town. I'm moving to Salt Lake City." We sold the house, quit the job, got in a moving van, and, a few days later, we woke up in Salt Lake City and said, "Now what do I do? Here I am?"

The inspiration came and said, "Serve a mission." So at 39-years-old, no questions asked, I turned my paperwork in. I served a full-time service mission four kids at home, took myself out of the job market, and served my served my second mission. At the end of that mission, the spirit came again, and said, "Move to Laie." I said, "Laie? I have taken myself out of the job market, I no longer have an income, where I am now, on this mission in Salt Lake, the Lord has brought me here, and you want me to move to Laie?" So I said, "Yes, Sir. I will do it. We packed up the family, Brett and I moved out here first, didn't have a job, didn't have a place to live just moved to Hawaii.

The faith of the young men of this Church is remarkable!

On June 12 of this year, I received an email telling me that the bishop from a Utah ward, his wife, and two of their children had been killed in an airplane accident. Bishop Mark Openshaw had been piloting the plane as it left a small airfield, when it suddenly fell from the sky and crashed to the earth. Bishop Openshaw, his wife, Amy, and their children Tanner and Ellie were killed in the accident. Miraculously their five-year-old son, Max, thrown out of the airplane in his airplane seat, escaped with only broken bones.

I learned that their son Elder Porter Openshaw was serving in the Marshall Islands Majuro Mission and that their 17-year-old son, Zane, was on a school cultural exchange in Germany.

I called Elder Openshaw on Christmas Island. Although heartbroken by the unexpected death of his mother, father, brother, and sister, Elder Openshaw immediately turned his concern to his two younger brothers.

Ultimately it was Elder Openshaw and his brother Zane who decided that others could help at home and that Porter should stay on his mission. They knew it was what their parents would want.

As I spoke with Elder Openshaw, I felt his sadness but also his unquenchable fire of faith. “I have the confidence,” he told me, “and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I will see my family again. … Strength in our trials is always found in … our Lord, Jesus Christ. … God’s omnipotent hand has been so apparent in helping [me] and my brothers throughout [this] very difficult challenge.”24

I met Zane for the first time at the funeral. As I looked at the four caskets before us in the chapel, I marveled at the faith of this 17-year-old as he addressed the congregation. “Today,” he said, “we have gathered with humble hearts and weary souls to remember the lives of my mom, dad, Tanner, and Ellie. … We have talked together, cried together, remembered together, and felt the hand of God together. …

“The day after I heard the news of the accident, I found a letter in my bag from my mom. In the letter she wrote: ‘Zane, remember who you are and where you come from. We will be praying for you and missing you.’” Zane continued: “There could not be more fitting last words from my mother. I know that she, along with Tanner, Ellie, and my dad are … praying for [my brothers and] me. I know that … they pray that I remember who I am … because I, like you, am a child of God, and He has sent me here. I testify [that] … no matter how alone we feel, God will not forsake us.”25

Beginning earlier this summer, my wife underwent a series of three separate surgeries in an attempt to repair the long-term injuries that she sustained as a result of a fatal car accident that occurred nearly 14 years ago. Within a week after being released from the hospital following her first surgery, I was out in our yard on a Saturday afternoon when I noticed an unfamiliar car turn into our driveway. As I approached the car I quickly recognized the two young ladies sitting inside as being social work majors from one of my classes here on campus. Surprised and delighted by their unexpected visit, I quickly invited them to come inside and meet my wife. As they got out of their car I observed them carrying several containers, which I would quickly learn was a delicious full-course meal consisting of mashed potatoes, chicken, and homemade rolls.

The following evening a knock came at our door and we were once again pleasantly surprised to see yet another student of mine, a handsome, energetic young man who greeted us with a huge smile on his face, and you guessed it--containers of food in his hands. "Hello Brother Wray, my roommates and I just finished our Sunday dinner and realized we had some extra steaks, potatoes, and corn left over, and I was wondering if you would like to have them?" I accepted the food, thanked him for his kindness and told him how much we appreciated his thoughtfulness. As he drove away my wife and I simultaneously had the distinct and overwhelming feeling of gratitude come over us. We were witnessing the blessings from a loving Father in Heaven being carried out by a few selfless students who were willing to drive over 40 miles round trip to deliver not just a meal, but a powerful message of kindness that would lift our hearts and spirits.

The story doesn't end there. Over the course of the next week, Sister Wray and I would be taught several lessons on what it means to be Christ-like. Our love for you wonderful students who attend this, the Lord's dedicated university, was renewed as cards filled with hope, along with visits from more "leftover food bearing students" continued to show up on our doorstep, bringing with them tasty meals of frozen lasagna, tacos, and an enchilada casserole dish made from a special recipe. These delicious meals not only provided nutrition and physical strength to our bodies; these simple Christ-like acts of kindness and charity also brought spiritual nourishment to the heart and soul of Sister Wray and me.

“Many years ago, before you were born, Daddy and I bought this house. I was expecting Rachel and became sick not long after we moved in. I had to stay in bed for about a month. One day, not long after I became ill, Sister Chester came over. She cleaned the kitchen; made dinner for your dad and me; and washed, dried, and folded all the dirty clothes. I tried to get her to stop, but she smiled that special smile of hers and said, ‘Just being neighbors, girl. Just being neighbors.’

“She came over almost every day to fix dinner and do chores until after I had Rachel. On days when she couldn’t come, she sent her granddaughter over with dinner.

“Now that she is older and can’t do as many things as she used to, it is my opportunity to help her. Doing things for others helps us to feel useful and good inside. Besides, it is what Father in Heaven wants us to do.”

I am a young adult now, but an experience I had when I was a little girl has helped me all my life. I’m from Renaico, a small town in Chile. I remember with some emotion when my mother, Ruby, was the president of the Primary. We had a small branch then; I was the only child who attended. She would teach the class. When we got to church on Sunday morning, she would say, “Good morning, Jenny. I’m your Primary teacher.” This phrase was repeated every week. We would have an opening prayer and sing a song, and then she would proceed with the lesson.
She regularly visited children who were less-active, whom she lovingly called “my little darlings.” Often we would find these children playing in the street, and Mama would stop the car and say in a cheerful voice, “Hey, see you at church on Sunday.” Most of them said OK. But on Sunday it would be just Mama and me.
Sometimes I got frustrated when those children didn’t come to church. I would say, “That’s enough, Mama. They don’t want to come.” But she, in her loving way, would reply, “I need to be responsible in my calling and persevere.”
One day the unbelievable happened. A boy named Carlos came to church and said, “See, Sister Ruby, I told you I would come.” Well, at least now there were two of us. This made my mother’s face shine with joy, and every time Carlos came to class, she would say to me, “See, sweetheart, we need to be persistent, and God will do the rest.”
One day Carlos started coming with a boy named Alexis. The three of us loved playing together, and we are still friends today. From that day, more and more children started coming.
My mother was released from her calling after two years. When she left the Primary, 35 children were attending every week. How wonderful it was to see that my mother’s love for the children was returned. More than 10 years have passed since she was released, and the Church is larger here now, but nobody has ever surpassed her achievement of getting 35 children to attend!
I am the Primary president now. I love these little children, who have taught me so much. I’m so grateful for this wonderful calling and for my mother’s example of perseverance. I know that Heavenly Father lives and that it is true what my mother says: “I do my part, and He does the rest.”

When the prophet dedicated the Curitiba Brazil Temple on June 1, 2008, he called a lad up to assist him at the cornerstone ceremony. A photographer suggested someone take off the boy’s hat for a picture. The boy had no hair and was obviously undergoing cancer treatments. President Monson lovingly put his arm around him and helped him place mortar on the wall. One of those accompanying the President mentioned it was time to go back in the temple to finish the dedication on schedule. President Monson shook his head. “No,” he said, “I want to call up one more.” Looking over the crowd, he settled on a woman at the back, and as their eyes met, he motioned for her to come forward. He put his arm around her and with loving care escorted her to the wall to finish the cornerstone sealing.
The day after the dedication, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had also been at the dedication, asked President Monson how he knew the woman was the boy’s mother.
“I didn’t know,” he replied, “but the Lord knew.”
It was not many months later that the boy died. Elder Nelson says: “You can imagine what [the experience at the dedication] meant to the mother of that family. That was the Lord’s way of saying, ‘I know you, I am concerned for you, and I want to help you.’ That’s the kind of man we’ve got in this prophet of God.”11

Last summer, the Olympic Games were held in Sydney, Australia. Certain rules and disciplines were attached to the various Olympic events: runners and swimmers had to stay in their lanes, shot-putters had to stay within the circle marked on the playing field, wrestlers had to stay on the mat—or the athletes would be disqualified. In addition, the use of performance-enhancing drugs was forbidden.
One young man from Denver, Colorado, who won an Olympic silver medal later was awarded the gold because the gold-medalist in his event was disqualified for using a banned steroid. In his response, he referred to his unfortunate competitor’s loss of the medal:
“I do feel sorry for him. But we all have choices. … He made his choice, and I made my choice. …
“I believe God was watching out for me. I believe he watches out for all of us. I’ve learned so many lessons from how this has taken place. I experienced the agony of defeat before the thrill of victory. That made me so much more of a stronger person, mentally and spiritually.”6

For the past ten years a spring tradition of snowshoe hiking from Alta to Brighton ski resorts (Utah) has meant cold feet, frozen fingers, and lots of fun for members of the Valley View Eighth Ward, Salt Lake Valley View Stake. This year was no exception.
One hundred and twenty-two persons gathered up snowshoes and backpacks and rode the Alta ski lift to its top. From there the group hiked over the mountain through Kathryn Pass. After the four-hour hike the summit was reached and members of the group rolled, jumped, and wrestled off the overhangs on the saddle of the pass, dropping down almost vertical sides.
Snowshoes don’t have the maneuverability of skis, so the group sat back on the snowshoes and just bombed down the chute end at Brighton—where everyone started planning next year’s hike.