Gospel Story Finder

When I returned from my mission, I met a beautiful young woman with long black hair down to her waist. She had beautiful, big honey eyes and a contagious smile. She captivated me from the first moment I saw her.
My wife had set the goal to get married in the temple, although back then the nearest temple required a trip of over 4,000 miles (6,400 km).
Our civil marriage ceremony was both happy and sad, for we were married with an expiration date. The officer pronounced the words “And now I declare you husband and wife,” but immediately after, he said, “until death do you part.”
So with sacrifice we set out to purchase a one-way ticket to the Mesa Arizona Temple.
In the temple, as we were kneeling down at the altar, an authorized servant pronounced the words I longed for, which declared us husband and wife for time and for all eternity.
A friend took us to Sunday School. During the meeting he stood up and introduced us to the class. As the meeting came to a close, a brother approached me and shook my hand, leaving a 20-dollar bill in it. Soon after, another brother reached out to me as well, and to my surprise, he also left a bill in my hand. I quickly looked for my wife, who was across the room, and shouted, “Blanquy, shake hands with everyone!”
Soon we had gathered enough money to return to Guatemala.

My parents experienced a similar “nevertheless” situation in 1975 when Zion’s Securities, HRI’s predecessor organization, decided to grant long-term leases on property in Laie to senior faculty members to build homes. There were several requirements, one of which was that construction had to begin within the year. My parents had $3,000 in the bank, no credit, no collateral, and no construction experience. Many in the community counseled them not to try to build a home. One seasoned contractor even told my parents that they should give up the lot to someone else who had the money and knowledge to build a home. Faced with valid and daunting reasons why it made no sense to embark on this house building project, they were fortified by a very powerful feeling that building a home would be a great blessing to our family, now and in the future, and not just because of the financial security it would provide.

So despite those valid objections, they shouted “nevertheless” and moved forward. They borrowed enough money from family members to get the walls and roof up and financed the remaining work with a series of home improvement loans. They gratefully accepted the help of over one hundred members of the community who volunteered their time to assist in the construction. Soon, the home was finished, and we celebrated with a large lu‘au.

My mom wrote 100 thank you notes. The April Fool’s Edition of the Ke Alaka‘i jokingly awarded our house the “Carthage Jail Memorial award for the most historically remarkable contribution to community architecture.” After my dad retired from BYU–Hawaii, we purchased the house and now live in the home that faith built. I can testify that our house has been and will continue to be a great blessing to all our family, for within its walls, we found faith, testimony, love, acceptance, and peace.

When I was near your age, I had returned from serving as a missionary in Uruguay, and my wife and I were making plans for marriage. At that time foreign language missions were for a period of two and a half years. I had completed two years of college, but my memory was somewhat dulled by the passage of three years of time. I wanted then to be where you are now, so I came to BYU and spoke with the chair of the Electrical Engineering Department. His first question was to ask me to invert a matrix. Then he wrote out a simple matrix and presented me with a piece of paper to do my work. I had to confess to him that I couldn’t remember how to do it. To this he replied, “Then I suggest that you go to the University of Utah.” And that is where I went.

Some years ago I was near our front gate splitting rails for a fence. A young man came to make a delivery. He had recently returned from overseas combat duty. He had falsified his age and left school to join the Marines. When I asked about his future plans, he didn’t know. Jobs were scarce; he had no skills to offer.

I counseled him to go back to high school and get his diploma. He thought he couldn’t do that; he was too old now. “If you do it,” I told him, “you probably will not exactly fit in. And the students will call you the ‘old man’ or ‘grandpa.’ But you faced an enemy in combat; surely you’ve got the courage to face that.’

The lesson is this. I only spent ten minutes with him, sitting on a log by our front gate. I did not build a school nor ask the Church to build one. I did not pay his tuition or prepare his lessons. What he needed was some direction, some counsel, some encouragement, and some vision. In this case he took the counsel and returned to school. Now he has a family and an occupation.

I only gave him vision and encouragement. It does not take additional Church budget to do that. That is the responsible role of every priesthood leader in counseling members on careers. We must help people to help themselves.

Orphaned at the age of eleven, Daniel Webster Jones traveled from his home in Missouri to the western United States in 1847 with a company of volunteer soldiers who went to fight in the U.S.-Mexican War. “Gambling, swearing, fighting, and other rough conduct” were part of his every day activity he later wrote in his autobiography, Forty Years among the Indians, (Salt Lake City, Utah: Juvenile Instructor Office.) So Daniel Webster Jones in his early years seemed an unlikely person to join the Church, spend forty years proselyting among the American Indians, and with little formal training in Spanish help make the first Spanish translation from the Book of Mormon. As it happened, he was a good person to do all of these things.
He does not talk about his early life, but somewhere he had gained a strong belief in God. During the three years he spent in Mexico with the volunteer army, he “took part in many ways in the wild, reckless life that was common in the army;” but still would not partake of “strong drink and other worse vices that I could see were destroying the lives of my friends.”
Because of his life-style, he says, “I felt condemned, and often asked God in all seriousness to help me to see what was right, and how to serve Him; telling Him I wanted to know positively, and not be deceived.” In his rough way, he felt that people living in his time were entitled to a prophet too; that it was not right “to leave them without anything but the Bible.”
He left Mexico in 1850 with a large trading company traveling to Salt Lake City. On the way, he was badly wounded by a gun accident, but managed to survive until his companions got him to the Latter-day Saint settlements near Provo, south of Salt Lake City.
In that day, the Saints were often ridiculed by travelers, but when he overheard some of his friends reading the Doctrine and Covenants and making fun of it, he thought of his prayer asking for modern revelation. He left his companions, moved in with a Latter-day Saint family, and began investigating the gospel as he recovered from his injury. “Everyone was kind and treated me with great confidence,” he remembered. “I listened to the elders preaching and soon concluded they were honest and knew it, or were deliberate liars and deceivers. I was determined, if possible, not to be fooled, therefore I commenced to watch very closely.” He was particularly impressed by the lack of bitterness that Latter-day Saints felt toward the Indians, in spite of recent battles.
When he learned about the Book of Mormon, “it seemed natural to me to believe it. I cannot remember ever questioning in my mind the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, or that Joseph Smith was a prophet. The question was: Are the Mormons sincere, and can I be one?” When he decided that he could be, he spoke to Isaac Morley, who had been one of the first converts to the Church in Ohio.
It was 27 January 1851, wintertime, and Brother Morley “was just going out to get a load of wood with his ax under his arm.” Remarking quietly, “I have been expecting this,” Brother Morley used the ax to chop through thick ice formed over the nearby lake—and Dan became a member of the Church.
The next twenty-three years were busy ones. He farmed, traded with the Ute Indians, was ordained a seventy, married Harriet Emily Colton, acted as Brigham Young’s interpreter when he dealt with some Mexicans in Sanpete County, helped rescue the handcart pioneers stranded by winter storms, and continued his friendly contacts with the Indians, both as a member of the Church and as a government official.
Then in 1874, he was summoned to Brigham Young’s office and was called on a mission to Mexico. “I had expected this call to come some time. I had both desired and dreaded the mission,” he says frankly, knowing how hard a mission would be in Mexico. He and Harry Brizzee were both called and told to prepare themselves. Since “Brother Young said he would like to have some extracts from the Book of Mormon translated,” they “began to study and prepare to translate.”
Although both spoke Spanish, Daniel “often thought how good it would be to have a Spanish-speaking native to help us.” A few months later, Brother Brizzee met a stranger, Spanish-speaking Mileton G. Trejo, who had heard about the Church in the Philippine Islands and had come to Utah to investigate it. He soon was baptized and began translating selections from the Book of Mormon into Spanish with Daniel’s help and support.
In 1875, Daniel reported to President Young that they were ready to start on their mission. Authorized by President Young, Daniel soon raised $500 to pay for the printing of the first set of Spanish selections.
In a later conversation with President Young, Daniel was asked how he proposed to prove to the satisfaction of the authorities of the Church—none of whom spoke Spanish—that the translation was correct. Daniel suggested this test: they would select a book, Brother Trejo would translate a passage into Spanish, Daniel would take the Spanish translation and, without looking at the original book, translate the text back into English. President Young accepted the suggestion, and when the Brethren received a copy of Daniel’s translation from the Spanish, President George A. Smith, then a member of the First Presidency, “laughingly remarked, ‘I like Brother Jones’ style better [than the original]. … The language is more easily understood.’”
But that was not the only exceptional experience Daniel had in connection with the translation. He says:
“When the printing started, Brother Brigham told me that he would hold me responsible for its correctness. This worried me so much that I asked the Lord to in some way show me any mistakes [as we proofread the printed sheets].
“Brother Trejo’s manuscript was written in modern language style. When I called his attention to errors he invariably agreed with me. He often remarked that I was a close critic and understood Spanish better than he did. I did not like to tell him how I discerned the mistakes.
“I felt a sensation in the center of my forehead as though there was a fine thread being pulled smoothly out. When there was a mistake, the smoothness would be interrupted as though a small knot was being passed out through the forehead. Whether I saw the mistake or not I was so sure it was there that I would show it to my companion and ask him to correct it. When this was done we continued on until the same thing happened again.”

Our grandson, then six-year-old Jeffrey Monson Dibb, accompanied by a six-year-old playmate, once paused at an end table in his house on which there was a picture of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland. Our grandson’s friend pointed to the picture and asked, “Who is that man?”
Jeff replied, “Oh, that’s Elder Jeffrey Holland of the Quorum of Twelve Apostles. He’s named after me!”
This same namesake of Elder Holland’s, along with his young friend, went for a walk one day. They marched up the front steps of a home, not knowing who lived there or what affiliation they might have with the Church. They knocked on the front door, and a woman answered. Without the slightest hesitation, Jeff Dibb said to her, “We are the visiting home teachers. May we come in?” They were ushered into the living room and were asked to be seated. With total faith the children addressed the woman, “Do you have a treat for us?” What could she do? She produced a treat, and they had a nice conversation. The impromptu teachers departed, uttering a sincere, “Thank you.”
“Come back again,” they heard the woman say with a smile on her face.
“We will,” came the reply.
The parents of the two youngsters heard of the incident. I am certain they were restrained in counseling the little ones. Perhaps they remembered the words from the scriptures: “And a little child shall lead them.”

More than once I have heard priesthood leaders say that they had been inspired to go to someone in need, only to find the visiting teacher or the home teacher had already been there. My wife, who is here with me tonight, is an example. We had a bishop once who said to me, “You know, it bothers me—when I get an inspiration to go to someone, your wife has already been there.” Your faith will grow as you serve the Lord in caring for Heavenly Father’s children as the Lord’s teacher to their home. You will have your prayers answered. You will come to know for yourself that He lives, that He loves us, and that He sends inspiration to those with even the beginnings of faith in Him and with the desire to serve Him in His Church.

By Rajane S., Jamaica
I have always been fascinated by genealogy work, so when our Area Presidency gave the youth the goal of gathering 10 ancestors’ names to do baptisms and confirmations for them at the temple, I was ecstatic.
I started my research without any help, but I wasn’t getting anywhere. I had three names without any information, and at that point I felt stuck both spiritually and physically. I decided to ask my mother for help. She suggested that I call her mother. When I called my grandmother, she was more than happy to help. She even gave me permission to act as proxy on behalf of the names we talked about. I was overjoyed and grateful.
The temple trip was approaching, and I had no names from my father’s side. A few hours before I was to leave home, I felt impressed to go to the cemetery and have my father call his aunt to come. We went to the cemetery, and as I watched my father and great-aunt walk around the cemetery, I felt myself being led toward some of my ancestors’ headstones. I felt their willingness to be part of the gospel. With help from the Holy Ghost and from my family members, I had reached my target. I had the names of 16 temple-ready ancestors!
When I went to the temple, I could feel the enthusiasm and excitement of my ancestors who were ready and waiting. During the baptisms and confirmations, I could feel their souls filled with joy and peace. I felt amazing, and all I wanted to do was thank them for giving me the opportunity to be a part of something so special.

In my own life, I once prayed desperately for guidance about a very difficult decision I had to make. Days passed, then weeks, and I still felt no answer. But gradually, through impressions, through the words of others, and through quiet tender mercies, I realized He had been answering all along. His hearing was never in question; only my recognition was.

When answers seem delayed, we must remember silence is not absence. Sometimes God’s answer is “not yet,” sometimes it’s “not this way,” and sometimes it’s simply, “trust Me.”

Now for the illustration pertaining to those men whose habits and lives include but little Church attendance or Church activity of any kind. The ranks of these prospective elders have grown larger. This is because of those younger boys of the Aaronic Priesthood quorums who are lost along the Aaronic Priesthood pathway and also those grown men who are baptized but do not persevere in activity and faith so that they might be ordained elders.
I not only reflect on the hearts and souls of such individual men, but also sorrow for their sweet wives and growing children. These men await a helping hand, an encouraging word, and a personal testimony of truth expressed from a heart filled with love and a desire to lift and to build.
Shelley, my friend, was such a person. His wife and children were fine members, but all efforts to motivate him toward baptism and then priesthood blessings had miserably failed.
But then Shelley’s mother died. Shelley was so sorrowful that he retired to a special room at the mortuary where the funeral was being held. We had wired the proceedings to this room so that he might mourn alone and where no one could see him weep with sorrow. As I comforted him in that room before going to the pulpit, he gave me a hug, and I knew a tender chord had been touched.
Time passed. Shelley and his family moved to another part of the city. I was called to preside over the Canadian Mission and, together with my family, moved to Toronto, Canada, for a three-year period.
When I returned and after I was called to the Twelve, Shelley telephoned me. He said, “Bishop, will you seal my wife, my family, and me in the Salt Lake Temple?”
I answered hesitantly, “But Shelley, you must first be baptized a member of the Church.”
He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. I sort of snuck up on you. There was this home teacher who called on us regularly and taught me the truths of the Church. He was a school crossing guard and helped the small children across the street each morning when they went to school and each afternoon when they went home. He asked me to help him. During the intervals when there was no child crossing, he gave me additional instruction pertaining to the Church.”
I had the privilege to see this miracle with my own eyes and feel the joy with my heart and soul. The sealings were performed; a family was united. Shelley died not too long after this period. I had the privilege of speaking at his funeral services. I shall ever see, in memory’s eye, the body of my friend Shelley lying in his casket, dressed in his temple clothing. I readily admit the presence of tears—tears of gratitude, for the lost had been found.

As a member of a hospital volunteer association, I was asked to speak at a local school on the concept of service. Association volunteers provide free assistance to hospital patients. Of all the volunteers, I was the only one who could be available to make a presentation.
I realized what an opportunity this would be. I thought of what I could say to not only tell the young people about our association’s work, but also motivate them to service.
As I prayed for inspiration, I felt prompted to share the Lord’s parable of the Good Samaritan (Matt. 10:30–37).
I also began researching for a more contemporary example. In looking through back issues of La Stella (Italian), I came across an article by Elder L. Tom Perry in which he wrote of a young man who gave of his time as a ski instructor to blind people. Then I found a First Presidency Message by President Thomas S. Monson in which he discussed the concept of service to others.
On the day of the presentation, I faced an audience of six hundred students. I was very nervous, and I prayed for the help I needed. I spoke for fifteen minutes on what motivates people to serve their fellowmen. I spoke of the search for happiness and said that no one knows what happiness really is until they have served others.
Most importantly, I was able to tell them of my membership in the Church and explain the service given by the full-time missionaries.
My talk was very well received, and I felt that I had touched the hearts of many there. I was very grateful to the Lord. I feel I was blessed to have the opportunity to perhaps prepare some of these young people for the gospel message.
Thank you for the work you do.
Fabrizio GiannelliLa Spezia, Italy

The year 2000 was full of significant events for my family and me. My wife and I celebrated our first anniversary. We became parents for the first time. It was also the year I became paralyzed, just five weeks after our daughter’s birth.
That summer I had been helping an elderly sister in our ward by regularly biking the few blocks from our apartment to her home to mow her lawn, but one morning I was very tired and not as alert as I should have been—and I was accidentally hit by a car. While it is a miracle that I survived, I unfortunately did not escape without injury. One week after the accident, I awoke to the realization that I was paralyzed, unable to move any muscles below my lower chest.
Paralysis is a permanent disability. Even with all of today’s great strides in modern science and medicine, it cannot be cured. And naturally I was afraid at first, concerned with how I was going to be a husband and a father. The fear was then replaced by anger at myself for being foolish—for not stopping at that intersection and for not wearing a helmet.
I felt like a burden. It took many months at a rehabilitation hospital to teach me to live the rest of my life with my disability and how to become independent again. At the same time, living with my paralysis has helped me better understand the scriptures and our Savior’s Atonement.
Christus im Getsemani-Garten betend, by Hermann Clementz
One particular insight came while I was pondering the miracles that Christ performed. In Mark 2, Jesus forgives a paralytic of his sins and then heals him. When the scribes questioned His offer of forgiveness, Jesus said, “Whether is it easier to say to the sick of the palsy, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and take up thy bed, and walk?” (verse 9).
I had read this scripture many times before, but I never understood it until after my accident. In reading the chapter, we are reminded of how truly miraculous the healing was. Today, even after 2,000 years and many medical advancements, such a healing still cannot be achieved by man alone, and I live with this reality every day. Many think that this is the lesson behind this scripture—that Christ has the power to cure even the incurable. But there is so much more to this scripture, especially as we look past the physical miracle and instead focus on the spiritual miracle.
Just as it is impossible for one with physical paralysis to “arise” and “walk,” it is equally impossible for man alone to overcome the spiritual paralysis caused by sin. I have learned that the Savior’s Atonement is the true miracle in this scripture. I may never experience the miracle of being able to physically arise and walk again in my earthly life, but I have received the greater miracle of the forgiveness of my sins through the Atonement of my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. The reality of this miracle is affirmed in verses 10 and 11:
“But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (he saith to the sick of the palsy,)
“I say unto thee, Arise, and take up thy bed, and go thy way into thine house.”
Being healed of the effects of sin is the greatest miracle we each receive in our lives, all because of Jesus Christ. In atoning for our sins, Christ took our infirmities and sins upon Himself. He knows what we go through in life. He understands our individual disabilities, weaknesses, and challenges, no matter how big or small. There is no other person in the world who can heal the spiritual paralysis of sin.
I am thankful for the insight that I have been blessed with. It provides needed perspective as I live with my disability and strive to use it to help me learn and grow. I have been able to stop feeling sorry for myself and go do the same things I loved to do before my accident, and I have been blessed to be able to serve in spite of my condition. Some may find it difficult to be thankful when living with a disability, but God blesses us continually—even in these times. I am grateful for my Savior, for His Atonement, and for this amazing miracle in my life.

Even though it was a cold, hard piece of plastic, at that moment my chair was my only friend. Our English teacher had asked us to express our opinions about controversial statements. If you supported a statement, you were to move to the left side of the room. If you didn’t support it, you were to stay to the right. “First statement: Coed sleepovers should be allowed,” she said. There was a brief pause, then a giddy stampede to the left side of the room. I was the only one left sitting.
In my mind it wasn’t an option to go to the left side of the room. I knew what I believed. So I stood up, faced my friends, and told them I didn’t think coed sleepovers were appropriate. As I did so, I said a silent prayer that my words would make sense and testify of truth. Then the bell rang, and the students scrambled to collect their backpacks. A girl from my class stopped me in the hall. “I just wanted to say that was really brave of you,” she said. “I don’t think I would be able to do that.” I smiled and said a silent prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for showing me that I was able to touch someone.
Although that was a difficult experience, I was able to define myself. Because I had the gospel in my life, I knew where I stood and I knew nothing could shake me. I eventually found friends who really cared about me and respected my beliefs. I am a much happier person because I understand that when I stand up for my beliefs, the Lord is with me and He will never leave me alone.

Several years ago I was immersed in one of my favorite callings in the Church: I was working with the youth. On one outing we were deep in the middle of a several-day rafting trip on the Grande Ronde River in the Wenaha-Tucannon Wilderness of northeastern Oregon. After a long stretch of rapids and splashing each other’s boats, we stopped for a rest, and the Varsity Scouts were anxious to run wild. As they began to run up the steep hillside, my co-Scout leader yelled at them with his best drill sergeant’s voice: “STOP!” Surprisingly, two or three of them actually did stop, which I found amazing. He said, “Look around you.” They looked and shrugged with a look of blank indifference. Then he said, “You are standing in the middle of a large patch of poison oak.” Suddenly, the world looked very different to them. What had before been harmless brush now became dangerous, vivid, and brilliant. Their training about three shiny leaves jumped out at them in dazzling reality.

I am so grateful that I was born to a family that knows about the true gospel of Jesus Christ. My eighth birthday fell on Easter Sunday, and I felt great joy to be baptized on the day we celebrate the Resurrection of the Savior. I was a little nervous, but my father was there, and I knew that I could trust him. During the baptism I had a warm, happy feeling in my heart, and then I knew that I could trust Heavenly Father the same way I trust my father.
I am 11 now, and I am looking forward to going to the temple to be baptized for the dead. I know that only through baptism can we return to our Heavenly Father.
Mirjam S., age 11, Switzerland

Cindy liked to paint and draw and play with her favorite dolls. She liked ruffled dresses, pretty hats, and shoes. In fact, she liked just about everything that most girls like. But more than anything, Cindy liked to play baseball!
Cindy had practiced pitching balls to George and Sam, her two older brothers, and she was really good.
“You should play baseball,” George told her one day. And Sam agreed.
“I’d like that,” Cindy said. There was nothing she wanted to do as much as play baseball during her vacation, even though she was a girl. But she knew there was little chance of her being able to do so. There was just one team in town, and only boys played on it.
Every afternoon she passed the city park on her way home from school. She always stopped at the baseball field to watch the teams warm up.
One afternoon while Cindy watched from the bleachers, she had an idea. She hurried over to Mr. Turner, the manager. “Can I join the team?” she asked.
The tall man smiled. “Are you joking? This is a boy’s sport! No girls are allowed on the team!” he replied.
“Why not?” Cindy questioned.
Mr. Turner thought for a moment before he answered, “I … well … we just don’t have girls. That’s why!”
“What if a girl can play as well as or even better than a boy? Could she get on the team then?” Cindy asked.
Mr. Turner thought about her question for a moment and then said slowly, “Well, I don’t know. It’s never been done here before, and I know the boys wouldn’t like it.”
Cindy shook her head. It isn’t fair, she thought. I know I can pitch better than any boy on the team, but they still won’t let me play.
The next day Cindy was back in the bleachers watching the ball speed back and forth. Suddenly there was a loud smack, and Cindy heard the pitcher cry out as he dropped the ball.
“What’s wrong?” Mr. Turner asked, as he rushed out to the mound where the pitcher stood holding his wrist.
“I think I sprang my wrist,” the boy moaned.
Putting his arm around the boy, Mr. Turner walked back to the bench with him.
“What’ll we do now?” the boys asked. “Our big game is this weekend. No one on the team can pitch as well as Mike!”
Cindy knew she could help the team. She hurried down from the bleachers and ran over to the boys who were huddled in a group trying to decide what to do.
“I can pitch for you!” she suggested.
The boys turned around and looked at Cindy. They began to smile.
“You? You’re a girl!” one of them laughed.
“I’m a girl,” Cindy agreed, “but I can pitch. Please give me a chance.”
The boys looked at one another. No one said anything for a moment. Finally Mr. Turner smiled. “Why not, boys?” he asked. “Let’s give Cindy a chance.”
Cindy walked to the pitcher’s mound, and the other team members returned to their positions. The catcher threw a few balls to Cindy, and the game started.
Cindy pitched the rest of the game. Afterward Mr. Turner came up to her and said, “Congratulations! I didn’t think you could play ball, but I was wrong!”
The boys agreed. “But what about the game this weekend?” they asked.
“I can play for you, Mr. Turner,” Cindy offered.
He looked at her and then at the boys. Finally he said, “Okay, Cindy. It might work out just fine this time.”
The boys cheered, and Cindy beamed with excitement.
The rest of the week Cindy practiced every afternoon with the team. And when Saturday finally arrived, she was ready for the big game.
At first the crowd laughed when they saw a girl walk out to the pitcher’s mound with long braids showing beneath her cap. But they soon saw what a good ball player Cindy really was.
“You were great, Cindy,” the boys said as they crowded around her after winning the game. “We couldn’t have won without you!”
It had been a wonderful afternoon for Cindy. She was too happy to say anything. All she could do was look around at the team, toss her braids, and smile!

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

I know this feeling. I once had a similar experience. It happened 45 years ago. It happened on this very campus. It turned me into a life-long learner.

I had been on my mission for 13 months. I was obedient, and I was working hard. Yet I was having no success. To fix this problem, I committed to work harder. This solution did not work. I was getting quite discouraged and I blamed my external circumstances.

One day I received a call from a Samoan man who lived in Hauula. He said he had someone for us to teach. That night, in the Hauula chapel we taught a first discussion. At the end of the lesson I said these words." I know Joseph Smith is a prophet of God."  I turned to our friend and asked if he would like to share his testimony. He said, "I know that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God."  When he spoke, the room filled with power. The woman started to cry. She was converted in that very moment.

That night I did not sleep. I kept replaying the event. I said some words and nothing happened. My Samoan friend said the same words and the room changed. It became a sacred place. While I rejoiced in the conversion that took place, I was troubled by my lack of power. As I focused on my weakness, I became increasingly negative. I began, like Lehi, to travel in darkness. Like Lehi, my desperation became so great, I pled for mercy.

Mercy came. A very short time later I had a conversation with a man who was visiting this campus. I explained my concerns. He ask me, "Elder, when these pretty girls pass you on campus, what do you think about?" Before I could answer, he asked more questions. Did I ever become insensitive, angry, controlling, unkind, and so on?

He explained the need to change my heart. I asked how to do this seemingly impossible thing. In response, he asked, where did Jesus bleed from every pore? Was it on Calvary, where he was crucified, or in Garden the night before the crucifixion?

He explained that Jesus bled in the garden because he spiritually lived the temptation and pain before he lived it physically. He then said, "Go home and fast for a day. In the attitude of fasting and prayer, make a list of every behavior that pokes at your spirit. Once you have made the list, covenant with the Lord that you will be obedient." 

"You cannot just stop the old behaviors and start the new ones. You need to live through your temptations spiritually before you conquer them physically. So each morning go to the Lord with your list. In regards to each item, envision the temptations and specifically promise Him what you will quit doing or what you will start doing. Then go out. At night kneel down and report on each item. If you succeed on one, thank Him for his help. If you fail, ask His forgiveness and commit to keep that principle the next day. Then repeat the entire process. Do it every day for 40 days." 

We went home determined to do what he suggested. We began to fast and make our lists. It proved much harder than we assumed it would be. I would pray and then I would feel impressed to write down some item. Then arguing that there was nothing wrong with the particular thing, I would fight the impression.

For example, I felt impressed to put the word golf on the list. My argument was, "There is nothing wrong with golf. It is not against the rules and we only play on preparation day." What I did not admit, is that I spent a lot of time thinking about golf. I wrestled with the Spirit and I kept losing. Finally I wrote golf. Then I wrote down a number of other things that I did not want to write.

From the moment I wrote golf, I experienced the most intense desire to play golf. Everywhere I turned there was some reminder, some temptation to think about golf. I was in agony. So it was with each item on the list. Each day I had to fight all my natural inclinations and turn to the Lord for the help necessary to overcome myself. Sometime between the 30th and 40th day, I realized that my desire for the negative things on the list had disappeared. It was as if a great anchor had been cut from my ship. My capacity to do the positive things on the list had increased. It was as if a new engine had been added to my ship.

On the fortieth day my companion and I prepared to leave the apartment. We had prayer and walked toward the door. I felt impressed to go back and pray again.

The words of the second prayer were given to me: "Father we are now doing all in our power to serve Thee. These are Thy children. Please take them the rest of way. And let the glory be unto Thee forever." 

We went to our next appointment. As we taught, the room was filled by the third member of the Godhead. This means God was present in that room. Our words were filled with power. Our investigator was converted. We went to our second investigator, and again there was a manifestation of power. This investigator was also converted, as was the next and the next. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas we remained constantly in the presence of God and many people were converted.

How did this happen?
Because I could stand the pain no longer, like Lehi, I pled for mercy. When we make such a plea, it is a sign of a broken heart and a contrite spirit. The mercy came. The Holy Ghost ministered to me, and I increased in faith, hope and charity. To be filled with the pure love of Christ is to commune with Christ. To commune is to be one with.

In Ephraim’s mind the winter, the cold, the flutelike sound began to dissolve. It was summer, July. The sun burned hot and bright in the sky. There was the spicy, warm smell of hot sagebrush. A lizard with a gray body and bright blue sides sat motionless on a rock with only his transparent eyelids moving.
Sweat streaked Ephraim’s face. He had arrived in Salt Lake Valley a few weeks before and was building his first home. There was a strong frame of thick pine poles. Next to the frame, piles of yellow-brown adobe bricks were stacked neatly. They were good, strong bricks made from fine clay, the finest in the valley.
To help him build the walls, Ephraim had hired a bricklayer. They had finished laying the brick walls waist high when they heard the carriage coming. The lizard vanished beneath the rock.
Brigham Young leaned forward in his carriage. His shirt and trousers were gray with dust.
“Brother Hanks, how thick are you building the walls?”
“Eight inches, President Young.”
Brigham licked his lips, moved his eyes slowly over the building frame and partially finished walls, over the stacked pile of bricks, and then directly into Ephraim’s eyes. Ephraim felt their deep, blue embracing power. Brigham’s lip curled up and a broad smile spread across his face.
“Double that,” he said. “Make those walls 16 inches thick.”
Before Ephraim could ask questions President Young disappeared behind a cloud of dust. The dust settled slow in the still, hot air.
“Sixteen-inch walls,” the bricklayer exhaled. “That’s crazy. That’s twice as many bricks. We’d have to tear everything down, start over. We’d even have to build new frames. Most people only build six-inch walls. Sixteen inches is crazy.”
The bricklayer looked down at his hands and then took off his hat and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It left a dark streak.
“You’re not going to do it are you, Eph?”
“Sixteen-inch walls,” Ephraim repeated the words. Silent, he watched the dust settle. The lizard came from under the rock and sat motionless in the sun. Ephraim tasted the hot air.
Sixteen-inch walls, why? He thought of the work already put into the house. It would take two more weeks just for brick with 16-inch walls. Was President Young just throwing advice out of the top of his hat?
Ephraim squatted down and drew a circle in the gray soil. The hot stillness was intense. He could hear the bricklayer’s breathing. Anger came into him suddenly. He took a handful of soil in a tight fist.
“No. I will not do it.”
His muscles tensed. The veins stuck out on his arms.
Then he relaxed his hand. The soil sifted through his fingers.
“Have I come this far for nothing? Nauvoo, the Mormon Battalion? I’ve followed him here. I won’t stop now.” He exhaled softly.
“Sixteen-inch walls,” Ephraim smiled and looked at the bricklayer. “Maybe President Young is just throwing advice out of the top of his hat, maybe not. It doesn’t matter. The Lord chose him to lead, and I’m gonna follow.”
A week after the house was finished, the rain came. After a month of no rain, it came in hard driving waves from fierce, black clouds. At first it pocked the earth with small craters, the dry soil unable to hold it, and the water rolled off, cutting little, growing furrows. Then the furrows snaked down and met with a hundred more furrows until the dry wash beds filled with angry, gray water. The floods came out of the canyons, newborn rivers, covering, fanning out, ripping, and tearing.
Then the rain stopped, and the sun sent warm, orange radials down from a rift in the clouds. Most of the new houses along the foothills were gone, clothing, furniture, everything not carried to high ground, lost beneath alluvials of mud and rock.
But in the orange glow the 16-inch walls still stood.

Riiiing!
Got to go! I have lots of homework. Thanks for dinner!
But we just barely sat down!
The next day …
I haven’t finished my math homework or my history paper.
I haven’t seen my family very much.
I’m really tired.
I haven’t read the scriptures or prayed in a while.
“We have to forego some good things in order to choose others that are better or best because they develop faith in the Lord Jesus Christ and strengthen our families.”
President Dallin H. Oaks, First Counselor in the First Presidency, Oct. 2007 general conference (Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2007, 107).
I think I need to make some changes.
Hey! Are you coming to chess club today?
No, not today.
Good move!