Gospel Story Finder

Wilmer Buenconsejo felt privileged to be one of the drivers taking Elder and Sister Bednar to their appointments, but he was also nervous. He had to strike a balance between driving at a safe pace and making sure that an apostle of the Lord would not be late for his speaking engagements. “The calm and collected manner of Elder Bednar eased my worries and he spoke nicely to me,” he shared. “After we arrived at the venue ahead of schedule, he smiled at me and said ‘thank you.’”

Still, there were happy memories of his school days. Martin and several of his schoolmates formed a choir and sang Latin chants at St. George’s Church across the square from the school. Among Martin’s good friends at school were some older boys who would carry their young friend to school on their backs when the wintry roads became clogged with mud. Many years later, as a fond remembrance, Martin gave one of those boys a Bible in which he had written: “To my dear old friend, Nicolas Oemler, who often carried me, a schoolboy, on his back to and from school.”

The second question: “Recently we have been shocked at the tragic deaths of full-time missionaries. What shall we do, as family members and friends, in relationship to our Heavenly Father when this is allowed to strike us?”

Some of you from Honolulu knew Tony Sanchez. Others, like President Golden K. Driggs, who is in attendance today, knew him in the Louisiana Shreveport Mission. I never knew Tony Sanchez as a missionary. I only knew him as a hospital patient in the St. Francis Hospital in Honolulu, where his stake president took me to see him following a serious injury on a tricky bar or recreation bar while serving in the mission field. He had fallen and broken his back. Now he was resting motionless in the hospital. What could we say to give him comfort and hope? As we walked into his room, we met his mother standing at his side. Tony was completely immobile, unable to talk. I think the only thing he was able to move at that time was his eyeballs. While I was wondering what I should say to Tony and to his mother, his mother spoke first and said, “Elder Ashton, I have always wanted to be a nurse, and I have never had the opportunity. Now I am a nurse to my injured son.” Later she said, “Elder Ashton, I hope we will be blessed with the privilege of sending our other son into the mission field. Just because we have had this tragedy is no reason why our other son should be deprived, is it?” I understand, following the death of Tony in that hospital a few days later, that the mother, the father, and the entire family have their desire. Tony’s brother James is in the Language Training Mission on campus today, preparing himself to go to South America on a mission. It was interesting when someone said, “Could I help with funds for James’s mission?”

The family said, “No. We have a little money left over from Tony’s insurance, and that is going toward his brother’s mission.” This is a tremendous example of courage and character in action. What shall we do then? The Sanchez family knew well what to do and did it.

At the same time that I was caring for Mary, I had another patient whom I will call Jane. She was 42 years of age. Like Mary, she had a malignancy that could not be cured. Soon after she learned she had a terminal disease, she left home, moved into a local hotel, and followed a life-style in exact opposition to gospel teachings. She visited the bars and drank heavily, and she tried narcotics. In her own words, she was “living it up before she died.” She died screaming in pain, cursing God.

16-year-old Spencer Liriano Navarro, a priest in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Stake, loves to draw. Recently a book he illustrated, I Am Safe, was published.
When Spencer was about a year old, his parents encouraged him to draw during sacrament meeting so he would not make a fuss. Then, when he was 4 or 5 years old, his parents put paper on some of the walls in their home for him to draw on, since he drew all the time.
Spencer drew pictures for family members as well. One day, an editor of a publishing company visited Spencer’s aunt and uncle’s home and saw a drawing that Spencer had given them hanging on the wall. The editor asked for Spencer’s contact information, then called him and asked him to make a portfolio to present to authors when they were looking for illustrators. This led to him being selected to illustrate I Am Safe.
Spencer is grateful for this opportunity. He said, “I feel that if I am part of an artistic project, like this one to illustrate children’s books, I am contributing in my unique way. Children who see my illustrations feel part of the book, and they can have significant changes in their lives. For example, the book I Am Safe helps children know that when they feel dark thoughts come to their mind, such as fear, anger or sadness, they can feel safe. In a way, by expressing Mrs. Randa Canter’s ideas in an image, I help these children feel safe.
After he successfully graduates from high school, Spencer plans to serve a mission and then enroll at BYU-Idaho majoring in graphic design or illustration so he can continue to work doing what he likes most—drawing. He also wants to serve the Lord in whatever callings he receives.
Many times, teachers and friends told Spencer that he would not get very far drawing, but he knew that his talent was a gift from God and that he should not hide it. He continued drawing with the support of his family. Spencer said, “When I draw, I really like listening to music. I am a rock fan and a donut fan too. My favorite superhero is Spiderman, and when I saw him on television, I wanted to draw him. That’s how I began to develop my talent.”
When asked what advice he would give to a young person, Spencer said, “If you have a dream, never give up. Because I know that God is there with you to help you in everything you need. If you obey the commandments and are faithful, you can become as great as you want.”

Elizabeth “Buffy” Tateoka Fairbanks of Holladay, Utah, loves serving others, and she always wanted to work in the medical field. But by the time she graduated with a degree in biology, she realized medical school wasn’t for her.
Then she discovered a 15-month accelerated nursing program that seemed a perfect fit. Still, she would need help with tuition expenses. Buffy looked into scholarships and found that the military offers tuition assistance programs for those on active duty as well as for those who finish their military service.
“I decided to join the Navy because my husband, Tom, is already in the Navy. He received a scholarship to pay for his degree in mechanical engineering,” she says. After discussing the idea with him, and making it a matter of fasting and prayer, Buffy applied for and received a scholarship “to help me get through nursing school and become a registered nurse.”
Buffy was accepted into the Nurse Candidate Program. “I wasn’t required to do anything but go to school and pass my state licensing exam after graduation,” she explains. “But once I graduated, I was commissioned in the Navy Nurse Corps.”
Nursing school, Buffy discovered, emphasizes critical thinking skills and ways to apply those skills as a nurse. “It was exciting to come through the program knowing how to help save people’s lives,” she says. “I enjoyed learning how to care for patients and getting to know them as individuals.”
The thought of serving in the Navy appealed to Buffy’s sense of adventure as well as her desire to serve others. “In addition to getting help to pay for my schooling, I also knew the Navy would provide opportunities for experiences that I otherwise wouldn’t have.”
Serving in the military means time away from home and family. Fortunately, Buffy and her husband are stationed near each other and they can be together. Even during times of separation, the Internet helps them communicate with each other frequently.
They also know how important it is to rely on their testimonies of Jesus Christ to repel Satan’s temptations. She says, “We are all faced with adversity throughout our lives, and sincere prayer and staying in tune with the Spirit are important to keeping us on the right path, and also help us when we have difficult decisions to make.”
Buffy knows that faith and prayer are important in choosing educational and career paths—and in life in general. She knows that for her, choosing to join the Navy and become a nurse helps fulfill her desire to serve others.

I would like to share with you a personal experience I had with prayer when I was in my youth. The setting was my junior year in high school. I was making plans with my friends to attend the junior prom. We already had in mind what we were going to do before and during the prom, but we had not finalized plans for after the prom. It was common, growing up on the East Coast, to drive down to the New Jersey shore and spend the night on the beach as an after-the-prom activity. We had the location mapped out and the cars and drivers prepared to make the trip. As the date approached I thought it would be a good idea to run these plans by my mother. I explained to her what we had planned to do after the prom. She could see that I was filled with enthusiasm but said with no hesitation, “I don’t think it is a good idea that you go.”

I said, “What? I have waited 17 years for this event to take place in my life. I am going to the New Jersey shore.”

She replied, “I don’t think it is a good idea, but can you do me a favor and pray about it?”

I said, “Pray about it? Why would Heavenly Father care if I go to the beach after the prom?”

My mother asked me once again to pray about it. I said okay, and I thought to myself, “Well, this will be easy. I will go downstairs to my room and listen to my music. I will then go back upstairs and tell my mother that Heavenly Father said it’s okay to go.” So I went downstairs, turned on the music, put on my headphones, and began to relax.

Halfway through the second song, I began to feel a little guilty. I turned off the music and sat there for a moment pondering the conversation I had had with my mother. I dropped to my knees on the side of my bed and began to pray. I did not know exactly why I was praying, only that I had told my mother that I would. I told Heavenly Father about my prom plans. I then asked if He approved of them. I didn’t feel very comfortable with the stupor of thought passing through my mind. I prayed more intently to get the answer I was seeking. I felt like Heavenly Father was saying no. I could not understand what was happening to me and my plans. For some reason this was not turning out as I had wanted.

I began to ask, “Why? Why no? Why not?” The words came to me that I should read Isaiah 55:8–9. Isaiah? What does Isaiah know about the junior prom? I opened up my Bible and read:

For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts.

“Wow,” I thought to myself, “I have just received personal revelation through prayer.” It was not exactly the answer I was looking for, but I had just received an answer. I went upstairs and rehearsed the whole experience to my mother. She smiled and gave me the look only a mother can give. Not one major tragedy happened that night, but several small ones did. Mostly everyone was drinking alcohol and using drugs. Immorality was commonplace amongst my friends. It was not the atmosphere I needed to be in that night. But the most important event was that a 17-year-old boy received an answer to his prayer and gained more faith in his Heavenly Father’s game plan.

“Again, I found heaven in Europe:
“Elder Vogel was a local convert German boy of great faith. His parents refused to assist him in the mission which he so desired to fill. A kind American member helped with a monthly check to assist with the mission expenses. He enjoyed his work and all went well for a year and a half. One day a letter came from the wife of his sponsor, advising that her husband had been killed in an auto accident and it would be impossible to send any more money.
“Elder Vogel kept his disappointment hidden and prayed earnestly for a solution. As he and his American companion, Elder Smith, passed a hospital one day, a solution to his financial problem was born in his mind. The next day he made an excuse and was gone for a time. When he came back he said little but went to bed early. When asked the reason, he said he was a little extra weary. A few days later Elder Smith noted a small bandage on the arm of the German brother, but his question was passed off lightly.
“Time passed and Elder Smith became suspicious of the periodical bandages until one day, unable to keep his secret longer, Elder Vogel told him: ‘You see, my friend in America is dead and can no longer give support to my mission. My parents are still unwilling to help me, so I visit the blood bank at the hospital so I can finish my mission.’ Selling his precious blood to save souls! Well, isn’t that what the Master did when he gave his every drop in the supreme sacrifice?

I don’t think I will ever forget that Christmas. There was little snow that year. It was as if the world couldn’t quite decide whether or not winter had really come. Such were the conditions as I drove home from college to spend the Christmas holidays with my family.
I suspected it would be the last Christmas I would spend at home. We all knew that soon after Christmas I would leave on my mission. Then would come marriage and Christmases from then on would be spent with my own little family. Oh, I knew there would be years when I would spend Christmas Day with my family, but never again would I be there for the “season,” the days of baking, nights spent caroling, the stockings to be hung, and other activities which filled the weeks before Christmas. I was growing up. I was leaving home, and the thought scared me.
I had anticipated that last Christmas at home for months. My family had many holiday traditions which we celebrated together for years, and each held a special meaning for me. I was the second of eleven children, and my nine younger brothers and sisters also added to the excitement.
That week before Christmas was wonderful. I savored every minute of the gingerbread houses, the stockings hanging in the living room, wreaths in our windows, acting out the Nativity, decorating our tree, and all the secrets and surprises which seemed to invade every corner of our warm house. It was everything I could want my last Christmas at home to be like. Yet, despite the happy feelings, I kept being reminded that this would be the last year things would be the same.
One of the Christmas traditions which we children looked forward to the most took place on Christmas Eve. Starting with the youngest, Papa would take each child downstairs to the living room. Then, holding him or her in the old rocking chair, Papa would sing us a special Christmas song. It was the same song every year, and we all knew it by heart. The song talked about angels and dancing toys on Christmas morning. Sitting there in Papa’s arms with the Christmas tree lights shining in the dark room, you couldn’t help but feel secure. Somehow you knew you were still a child, and tomorrow would reveal all the joys that Christmas morning could bring. No matter how old we were or how big we grew, Papa always rocked us on Christmas Eve.
As I lay in my bed that night, I watched each of my sisters and brothers in turn be taken down the stairs. I was the oldest child at home that year since my older sister had left on her mission. Below me in the living room, I heard the song over and over as each child was sung to. Then it was my turn. I followed Papa down the stairs into the living room. He sat in the big chair and opened his arms.
“Do you still want me to sit on your lap?” I asked.
“Of course,” he smiled. Gratefully, I climbed onto his lap and pulled my knees up to my chin, snuggling up next to him.
“This is my last night to be rocked,” I said.
“I know,” came his quiet reply.
As the first few strains of the familiar tune began in the tape recorder next to us, I thought back to all the years I had heard this song on Christmas Eve. Suddenly something in me wanted to stay. I was so warm and comfortable, and I had no idea what the future months and years would hold. I started to cry.
Don’t let this song end, I thought.
Papa began to sing.
Heaven bless you little one while you’re fast asleep.
You’ll awake to dancing toys,
Candy canes, Christmas joys.
And I pray your whole life through,
Angels will watch over you,
Loving you the way I do,
My little one, sleep well.
Each year before this night, the song had reminded me of Christmas and what the next morning would bring. But on this last time, I knew Papa was singing about life and the years ahead—not toys that would break or wear out, but eternal joys I would find on my journey through life, joys I was not even aware of now. On this night I heard the emotion of his voice as he sang for angels to watch over me, not just for tonight but for tomorrow night and all the nights that would follow when he wouldn’t be there.
I let my tears flow, as the last strains of music faded away. Papa and I watched the lights of the tree in the darkness, and we rocked and rocked, long after the song had ended.

The organ music was playing softly as Johnny followed his dad, mom, and little sister into the chapel. He stuck his hands into his pockets, resisting the urge to give Kevin a friendly poke as he walked past. Johnny had learned from an earlier experience that this was not the time or place for greeting a friend that way.
His family quietly filed into the fifth row where they customarily sat. As Johnny sat there, he ran his fingers along the crease of his new pants. It was hard to pay attention to the man at the pulpit. He was just talking to the grown-ups, anyway.
Johnny began thinking about his birthday. Soon he would be eight years old. In three weeks he would be baptized. He had talked to Dad about it last night.
“When you have been baptized, Johnny,” Dad had told him, “all the things you do wrong will be your responsibility.” Dad talked to him about how the Holy Ghost would help him make good decisions so that he would do the right things.
Dad also talked to him about the importance of the sacrament and the reverent feelings he should have. “Now that you’re old enough to be a member of the Church, you’re also old enough to try to be more reverent at church and to know about the blessings of the sacrament. It’s important for your thoughts to be reverent too. The sacrament reminds us of the promises we make at baptism.”
Johnny didn’t understand how his thoughts could be reverent. His teacher had talked about being reverent during sacrament meeting, and she seemed to think that Johnny knew just how to do it. Maybe it means just being quiet, Johnny decided. I’ll try sitting here as quietly as I can and see if I feel different while the sacrament is being passed.
He sat there quietly for a while, his legs dangling over the seat of the pew. Then his toes started to feel funny. He began swinging his legs back and forth. He swung them harder and harder until he was making a kicking sound against the bottom of the bench.
“Shh!” his mom whispered. “Johnny, be reverent!”
Johnny thought he was being reverent—he hadn’t been talking. I guess being reverent means you don’t kick your feet—even if your toes feel funny, he decided.
Johnny sat very quietly. He was trying to feel reverent during the sacrament, but all he felt was tired from sitting on that big, hard pew. He saw Brother Willey sitting in front of him. He was an older man with large glasses. The glasses had thick lenses. If Johnny wiggled up onto the edge of his seat and Brother Willey held his head just right, Johnny could look right through his glasses. They made everything look funny. Ricky, Johnny’s friend, looked fuzzy, as if he were underwater. Johnny moved around so he could see how Brother Willey’s glasses made other things look.
“Stop wiggling, Johnny. Be reverent,” his mom whispered.
Johnny had forgotten about being reverent. He slid back against the hard bench. He tried to get comfortable so that he could sit quietly and be reverent.
Then he noticed a man with a mustache sitting next to his Primary teacher. As Johnny watched, the man fell asleep. Then the most remarkable thing happened. Each time the man breathed out, his mustache wiggled, just like the wind was blowing it. Johnny had never seen anything quite like it. The longer he watched, the funnier it looked to him. All of a sudden, the man made a long, soft, whistling noise. His whole mustache looked like it jumped. Johnny started to giggle.
“Shh! Don’t giggle, Johnny! Try to be reverent.”
Johnny turned the other way so that he couldn’t see the sleeping man. As he turned, he noticed the speaker standing at the microphone. It’s Brother Curtis, our home teacher, Johnny thought. He listened to Brother Curtis.
Brother Curtis was talking about when the Savior died. Johnny remembered the picture that his Primary teacher had shown the class of Jesus hanging on a cross. There were nails through his hands and feet, and blood—
Blood! That reminded Johnny of the day the previous week when he was trying to ride his new bike. He had fallen from it onto a sharp rock and cut his knee. Blood had streamed down his leg and onto his pants. Boy, it sure hurt! Johnny thought, pulling up his pant leg. His knee still looked pretty bad, even with a bandage on it.
Johnny sat there very quietly. He thought about how it would feel to have someone pound a nail through his hand. Why would Jesus let those men hurt Him like that? he wondered.
“I know the Savior suffered, bled, and died because He loves us so much,” Brother Curtis was saying. “And when we partake of the sacrament, we promise to always remember Him.”
Jesus really must have loved me to die for me, Johnny thought. When I ate the bread and drank the water during the sacrament, it was in remembrance of His body and blood. Suddenly it was almost as if Jesus was sitting there beside him on the pew. Is this the reverent feeling that Mom, Dad, and my teacher were talking about? Johnny remembered a song he liked to sing in Primary: “This is God’s house, and he is here today. He hears each song of praise and listens when we pray.”
When Sister Watene offered the closing prayer, Johnny folded his arms and bowed his head and listened carefully.
Next week, he promised himself, after adding his “Amen” with the other members’, I’m going to be reverent all during sacrament meeting. I won’t talk, or wiggle, or giggle, or kick my feet. And during the sacrament, I’ll think about Jesus and try to feel Him close to me again.

At the heart of their celebrating, however, is the remembrance of Jesus Christ, and Finnish members use the season, like mission president Mel Luthy and his family, to live even more fully His teachings. On Christmas Eve in Finland, families often visit the graves of loved ones and leave lighted candles in the snow. An elderly sister, a widow, wished to travel from Helsinki to Porvoo so that she could visit her husband’s grave. She had, however, no means of transportation. The Luthys volunteered to share their holiday with her by driving her to the distant cemetery. It turned out to be a magical night—candles glowed and light danced. All was calm. All was bright.
Christmas had come to Finland!

Sister Afton Pettigrew was one of the best Primary teachers I ever had! In many ways, she changed my life. Even today I still remember one special lesson she taught about the Holy Ghost when I was about eight.
I was a pretty lively child. I didn’t like having to sit reverently through a whole Primary lesson. On this day, she couldn’t get me to understand what or who the Holy Ghost was. To me, a ghost was a scary thing, and I thought the Holy Ghost was something to be afraid of.
Then Sister Pettigrew said, “Ronnie, I’d like to have you stand in front of the class and read a scripture for us. It’s 1 Kings 19:11–12.”
I didn’t want to stand in front of all those Primary kids and read a scripture. But I took the Old Testament she handed to me and began to read what the Lord said to the prophet Elijah:
“Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the Lord. And, behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the Lord; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire a still small voice.”
I finished reading and looked up. Sister Pettigrew could tell I was a little confused about what I’d read, so she explained. ”That means that when the Lord speaks to you, He won’t speak in big, loud ways, like wind storms or earthquakes or fires. You’ll hear Him speak very quietly, like a still, small voice in your heart.”
Then she said, “By the way, Ronnie, you have a very pleasant voice. You read and speak very well.”
I couldn’t believe it! Not only did Sister Pettigrew teach me about the Holy Ghost, but she also helped me see one of my talents!
I was a changed boy after that. I learned that the Holy Ghost speaks to us through thoughts in our mind and peaceful feelings in our heart. I tried to remember to listen inside me for those thoughts and feelings. If I was doing something wrong, like not being reverent in Primary, I listened. Or if I had to make a decision about something, I listened. Sometimes the voice was very soft. I had to be quiet on the inside and on the outside to recognize it. And if I didn’t listen the first time or the second time, it became softer and softer until I couldn’t feel it anymore.
Listening to that still, small voice also helped me find and improve the talents Heavenly Father blessed me with.
Today as a grownup, I still think of Sister Pettigrew and how she helped me. How grateful I am for her and for all our Primary teachers all over the world who teach children how to bring Heavenly Father into their lives and how to grow their talents.

Melanie, Wendy, Tony, and Matthew Hardman are working hard to follow in the footsteps of older siblings Andrew, Daniel, and Katrina. This family from the Eight Mile Plains Ward, Brisbane Australia Stake, isn’t shy about sharing the gospel, or the high standards it embraces, with others.

Both older brothers have served missions, and older sister Katrina recently led an effort to have an offensive advertising campaign removed from her university campus.

“I collected signatures to have offensive posters removed,” says Katrina, 19. “I met many good people during this process, and one of them came to church with me.”

Melanie, who is the next in line for university study, will join Katrina, Daniel, and Andrew at the Queensland University of Technology. She is 17 years old, and is looking forward to participating in institute.

At the age of 17 I went with my parents on a trip to Mexico and Central America. I am the youngest and with the others gone from home it was just the three of us. We saw so many wonderful places and ancient archeological sites. On one occasion, we arrived at a pyramid, we stood at the base and marveled at the grand structure before us. With much excitement and anticipation, we started up the steps. There were so many people, going up and down so many steps. In his excitement, my dad soon outpaced us in our ascension. We were perhaps an eighth of the way up when my mom suddenly froze. Grabbing on to the step just in front of her so tight she exclaimed “I can’t do this. I’m stuck! “I can’t go up; I can’t go down. I will just have to stay right here.” I Looked around for my Dad only to find he was nowhere in sight, so, I tried to reason with her saying, “Let’s just take a break for a bit.” But each time I ventured some encouragement she would announce firmly, “but I can’t move.” So, there we were. I was sitting next to her on the very step she was clutching with her hands while she faced upward, absolutely frozen.

Until this point our life’s roles had been reversed, with her helping me. Gently guiding me through life’s big problems, big pyramids which seemed insurmountable at the time. She was gentle, soft and soothing. This time however, she needed me. Was I ready? Certainly, her example through my life had provided me with sufficient preparation.

Initially I needed to get my mom’s focus away from her predicament, so, very tenderly I coaxed her to turn around and sit down. Then, I suggested to her to just think of one step at a time. This seemed to be something she could do. So, gingerly at first, we ventured down one simple step. At first, I actually had to move and place her feet on the next downward step. Our progress was slow but steadily we made our way down. We went down that pyramid together scooting on our rear ends one step at a time. Until we made it safely to solid ground.For the rest of the pyramid sight-seeing, my mom spent her time on the ground, under a shady tree while my Dad and I climbed around, up and down.

When President Spencer W. Kimball was serving as president of the Church, it was my privilege to be called to serve as his bishop. This close relationship gave me the opportunity to closely observe the importance of scriptures in his life. Often I would walk or drive by the Kimball home late at night where I noticed that the only light on in the Kimball home was the light in President Kimball's study. I knew that he was occupied in either studying the scriptures or writing in his personal journal.

President Kimball recommended the practice of "Daily reading of the scriptures. . . as a powerful tool against ignorance and the temptations of Satan." In an Ensign article, President Kimball wrote: "I am convinced that each of us, at least some time in our lives, must discover the scriptures for ourselves and not just discover them once, but rediscover them again and again."

"All through the scriptures" President Kimball said, "every weakness and strength of man has been portrayed, and rewards and punishments have been recorded. One would surely be blind who could not learn to live life properly by such reading."

President Kimball found that the scriptures were a bridge connecting him to his Heavenly Father. "I find," he said "that when I get casual in my relationships with divinity and when it seems that no divine ear is listening and no divine voice is speaking, that I am far, far away. If I immerse myself in the scriptures the distance narrows and the spirituality returns."

President Clark: When I was about four years old, my mother took me shopping in downtown Salt Lake City. While my mother was shopping, I wandered off to explore the store. Very soon I was lost. I can still remember what I felt. I was frightened and worried and very sad. I must have started to cry because one of the clerks found me. It was not long before I saw my mother coming for me.
As my mother held me in her arms, feelings of happiness and joy flooded my little boy heart and soul. I was just a small child, but the Lord blessed me with a taste of the joy and happiness of heaven in my mother's love and in the safety of her arms.

Some of those involved in the project were able to submit names for family members who had researched names but had not submitted them for temple work. For Amanda Gardner of the Pioneer Ward, researching names helped draw her closer to family members. She helped her grandparents, Allen and Helga Willie, submit names they had been researching for 30 years. Her other grandfather, Sterling Gardner, helped her friend research names. Amanda says, “One of my good friends had no names to submit, so she came to my grandpa and he helped her find about 175 names. At first she was like, ‘Oh, they’re just names on paper.’ But I realized they’re not just names on paper; they’re family members.”

An unforgettable and frightening experience I once had with President Lee was when he invited me to come to his home to participate in giving a blessing to a very sick mutual friend. As we gathered with a few family members, President Lee asked me if I would anoint the brother’s head with consecrated oil. This I did humbly and in a spirit of inadequacy. I had never before had the opportunity of having this rich spiritual experience of having a prophet of God seal an anointing that I would pronounce. I recall with vividness even today President Lee’s sealing of this ordinance. It seemed to me he was struggling for words, direction, and guidance to give encouragement to this good brother. I had the feeling he wanted to promise him complete recovery and health, but the words didn’t come as he pronounced the sealing. It was evident as the seconds passed that he was not only troubled, but was groping for direction that would be positive and rewarding—not only to the recipient, but also to others in the room who had grave concern over the individual’s health. President Lee never did promise health, strength, and recovery to this individual. He gave words of encouragement and touched on the basics of the total gospel plan, but the promise of healing was not forthcoming.

Immediately following this experience, President Lee took me aside in another room and said softly and in perfect mildness, “Marvin, he’s not going to get better, is he?” I responded to President Lee, “No. I could tell you wanted to promise this type of blessing, but it was apparently not to be.” I recall that his final comment as we walked away from the hearing of family members was, “The Lord has other plans, and he determines not only what we promise but what will happen.”

We talked long into the night. “Should we or shouldn’t we?” The bishop had announced in priesthood meeting that they needed a full-time custodian for the stake center. My husband Ace had inquired about it after the meeting and had been told to talk it over with his wife and then meet with the three bishops the next evening.
Would he like such a job? It was a large church house that served three wards and a stake. With all the activities, there would be plenty of work. I would undoubtedly help, dusting the organ and piano and washing a few windows. Since we lived close by, he could come home for lunch and also reduce transportation expenses. There would be no more long hours working in the sun, rain, wind, and snow that his present job with a plumbing supply company demanded, and no more need to work a second job at night as a warehouse custodian. But at age fifty-nine it’s hard for a man to change jobs. Suppose the new job didn’t turn out well?
Monday the big decision was made. We would take it! Ace gave his employer notice that he was quitting Sunday; we went to church and for the first time really looked at the building. There was a lot to do.
The first task we undertook was to clean the stairways on each end of the hall. One was four feet wide, the other six feet wide, each with seventeen steps. It had been some time since they had been cleaned and they were a dull gray, covered with black marks from shoes, spills, etc. For two hours we worked with suds, cleanser, and steel wool. How pleased we were, though, to discover they were a light, cream-colored vinyl with dark streaks that resembled marble.
Ace found there was always something that had to be repaired or replaced. He changed all the locks on the outside doors and replaced the latches on the rest room doors and cultural hall doors. He fixed the showers in the girls dressing room and this does not mean “bolted them shut” but “bolt (anchor) them to the floor” the lockers (which were in the middle of the floor for some unknown reason) back into place. He mended several broken classroom tables that had been stacked in the furnace room.
We hadn’t been working long when construction was started on a new stake president’s office and high council room in a cemented area that had been used as a patio. The laborers worked just a short time each day, drilling and crushing cement and creating dust that permeated the building. We would just get the building cleaned when they would start working again. The ward members didn’t understand the situation, so there was a lot of criticism. This went on for about three months.
One day we were told they were going to have a youth conference in the Junior Sunday School room. The leaders asked if it could be fixed up a little special, so we really went to work. We washed all the windows and woodwork, scrubbed and polished the floor, and even sent the curtains out to be cleaned. Everything just sparkled. After the meeting was over I asked Ace if they were pleased. He said, “Well, one of the counselors in the bishopric asked if we couldn’t be a little more careful about dusting the chairs.” They had needed extra chairs for the large crowd, so someone had brought them from the construction area! We had a good laugh, realizing for the first time that it was not the things we did that were noticed but the things we didn’t do.
It took some time to get all the plastered walls throughout the building washed. We started with the rest rooms, then did the foyers and halls, the Relief Society room, the high council room, and the classrooms. We painted all the heat convectors, door frames, stair railings, entrances, and various other places. The carpets in the foyers and the Relief Society room were worn and soiled with several orange punch stains that were impossible to remove. Ace asked the bishops if someone could be hired to shampoo the carpets but was told not to bother since they planned on replacing them right away. After waiting a few weeks, Ace rented a shampooer and cleaned the carpets himself. This made an immense improvement. Little by little the building began to shape up.
After two years of custodial work, another ward was added to our building, making a total of four. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday we had Relief Society, with the officers arriving as early as 8:30 A.M. The Relief Society room, foyer, kitchen, south steps, nursery, and rest rooms had to be ready. While Relief Society was in session, we cleaned the rest of the classrooms, the chapel and the cultural hall.
Then at 3:00 the Primary officers began to arrive. The relief society room, nurseries, kitchen and rest rooms had to be checked and cleaned if needed. When Primary was over we picked up, swept, straightened chairs, and cleaned backboards to get ready for activity night. This went for about a year; then two wards moved out of the building. It seemed like we were on vacation!
One beautiful morning a salesman sold us a can of chemical cleaner to be used on stainless steel sinks, drinking fountains, and other types of metal. I decided to try it out on the brass light switch plates, which were covered with film and grime. After polishing a half dozen with good results, I went into the boys rest room where there was a larger plate with three switches on it. I wiped it off with the chemical, and was reaching for my damp sponge, when I heard a crackling sound. I turned to see flames shooting out of the plate clear to the ceiling! I raced down the hall shrieking. “Fire! Fire! I’ve set the church on fire!” Ace came bounding down the hall into the rest room. The fire was out and it was pitch dark. The switch box had completely burned out. I learned that chemicals and electricity don’t mix.
Last summer we began our two-week vacation on a Monday morning. Ace insisted on coming home both of the following Saturdays in order to clean the building before Sunday. I was feeling rebellious at having to come back before our vacation was over. As I cleaned, I said to myself, “This is absolutely stupid. Nobody cares whether this place is clean or not. If they did care they wouldn’t throw trash around. Nobody will even notice that the work was done.”
All at once I felt as if someone was there with me. It seemed as though someone spoke to me and said, “I care. It is my house and I care! Suppose we had visitors tomorrow and the house was dirty? What would investigators think? I would be embarrassed.” I was really shaken. It was such a strong impression. Never again have I begrudged the time I have spent cleaning His house.
During our first few months as custodians we were either ignored by the members or treated with what we felt was condescending sweetness. Gradually as we became acquainted, their attitudes began to change. Ace was always there, ready to set up tables or help in any way. He made friends with the children and young adults, letting them in the building to play basketball or volleyball whenever he was there. They reciprocated by trying not to track up the foyers, especially on Saturday when he had it all cleaned for Sunday.
After the first year or so people began treating us more warmly. Some of the Primary teachers and classes brought us goodies and baskets of fruit for Christmas. One year a group of boys made a nativity scene for us out of cardboard and molded sugar. They also brought a wreath made of pine cones and nuts. Another Primary made a lovely poster with all their names on it telling us how they loved us and appreciated the way we kept the building clean.
The Relief Societies invited Ace to eat lunch on work day. Once we were even invited by the stake presidency to have dinner with them and the high council while they entertained the visiting General Authority at conference time.
We retired last spring after six years of keeping house for the Lord. We have worked hard; we have laughed; we have cried. We have made hundreds of friends and hope we have made no enemies.
The tears and troubles have been many, but just the same, this has been a wonderful experience in our lives!

Joe’s sister Sariah was sick. Not the kind of sick where you cough or have a stomachache. Mom and Dad said she might have diabetes.
Joe didn’t know what diabetes was, but it sounded scary. Then Mom and Dad explained that it’s when people’s bodies have trouble using sugar from the food they eat. Sariah had to spend a few days in the hospital to find out if she had diabetes.
Sometimes Sariah got on Joe’s nerves. She tried to play with his friends. She even lost his video game controller once. But he still loved her so much. I don’t want her to be sick, he thought as tears came to his eyes.
Joe’s sisters helped Sariah get ready for the hospital. Mary got out Sariah’s backpack. Hannah helped pack her pajamas. Lilly added a fuzzy blanket. Joe wanted to help too, but he didn’t know how.
Soon Sariah was all packed.
“Let’s pray before we go,” Dad said. “Joe, would you say it?”
Joe nodded. “Dear Heavenly Father,” he began. “Please bless Sariah to not have diabetes. Please bless her to be OK.” As he prayed, Joe felt a little better.
As the family came together for a hug, Joe had an idea.
“Wait!” he said. He went to his room and grabbed the portable music player he got for his birthday. He made sure Sariah’s favorite songs were on it.
“Here,” he said, handing it to Sariah. “You can take this to the hospital.” She smiled and held it tight as she walked to the car.
The next day, Mom took Joe and his sisters to the hospital to visit Sariah. Joe was nervous as they walked through the hospital. “Please bless her to not have diabetes,” he prayed for what felt like the hundredth time.
When they got to Sariah’s room, she was sitting up in bed with tubes attached to her arms. She smiled a little when she saw everyone.
“We got the tests back,” Dad said. “The doctors say Sariah has type 1 diabetes. We’ll have to change some food we eat as a family and help her with her medicine. But she’ll be OK.”
Joe’s stomach dropped. He went out into the hallway and sat down next to the door. He buried his face in his arms.
“What’s wrong, Joe?” Mom said as she sat next to him.
“I prayed that Sariah wouldn’t have diabetes,” Joe said. “Why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer?”
Mom put her arm around him. “Heavenly Father always answers our prayers. But it’s just not always in the way we want. Sometimes, instead of taking hard things away, He answers by giving us peace and helping us be strong. I know Heavenly Father will help Sariah.”
Joe nodded slowly. He didn’t feel peaceful or strong right now. But he remembered the good feeling he had during their family prayer.
Together they walked back into the room. Joe’s sisters were playing a card game, just like they did at home. And they all looked happy, even Sariah.
Then Joe noticed something. Sariah had headphones around her neck and his music player in her lap.
“She keeps listening to the songs you picked for her,” Mom said. “It really helps her feel calm.”
Joe felt warm inside. He knew that Heavenly Father was already helping them.