Gospel Story Finder

“Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
Her father died on a cold night in February, on his way home from a business trip to Florida. And now her mother was explaining what had happened. She spoke in a calm, measured voice. The commuter flight to Albany had crashed taking off from Kennedy. Megan knew already. It had been on the news. They said ice on the wings was probably the cause.
The northeaster had swept up the coast over the weekend, burying the fields deeply in the freshly fallen snow. Megan stared out the living room window. The cruelest month, their neighbor Mr. Chisholm called it. Actually, it was T. S. Eliot who said April was the cruelest month, but he spent most of his life in England, so what did he know. February in the hills of upstate New York had little kindness in it, nothing but the vindictive end of winter and no hope of spring.
Andrew started to cry. Susan looked confused and frightened. Megan abruptly got up and went to the mud room and put on her riding coat and boots. She didn’t want to hang around inside any longer.
Her father and Mr. Chisholm had been working on putting the horse-drawn sleigh back together. They’d been restoring it since October. She’d saddle up William and … and …
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart almost stopped, a feeling so incomprehensible she felt it could not be happening to her. The world shimmered, fragile as fine crystal caught at the perfect pitch. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and clenched her fists.
When she opened her eyes, the shimmering had stopped.
Outside, it looked like heaven. The sky was a piercing, frozen blue, the snow cover so brilliant white it made her squint and hold up her hands to shade her eyes. It hadn’t snowed like this in years. That’s what the people said who came to sympathize, to console. Nonstop the last two days. She would prefer they didn’t. It wasn’t their business. He wasn’t their father.
She swung open the stable doors. William the Conqueror greeted her with an annoyed nicker and a bang on the side of his stall. “Oh, c’mon, William,” she said, patting his withers. She put on a saddle and bridle.
The driveway was clear. Across the county road Mr. Chisholm was finishing his long driveway with the snowplow mounted on his tractor. He always did their driveway when he did his.
She trotted William up beside him. “Good morning, Mr. Chisholm!” she yelled over the hoarse rumble of the John Deere engine.
He doffed his cap to her, old habit. “G’morning, Megan.” But he hadn’t expected her this morning. He’d heard what happened.
Megan rode up to the porch and dismounted while Mr. Chisholm parked the tractor in the barn. His dog, Gabriel, pushed open the storm door with his muzzle and limped over to her. There had been a time when he could stand and put his forelegs on her shoulders. But, however willing the spirit, the body was in bad repair. She stroked him behind the ears. “Hi ya, Gabriel. Don’t like this cold, do you?”
Mr. Chisholm shook his head. “A husky, no less. That must sting the pride.” He massaged Gabriel’s coat. “Just like people, I guess. Old is old.”
“Oh, not Gabriel,” Megan said, holding his head in her hands and peering into his weary eyes. “He’ll live forever.”
“Nobody lives forever,” Mr. Chisholm said, with a gruffness he worried later had been too sharp. He added, “Not in this life, at least.”
But Megan didn’t appear to notice or mind.
When she got home Sister Garner and Sister McAllister had stopped by. She could tolerate them, not being the weepy, feeling-sorry-for-you kind. They had brought dinner. At this rate, her mother wouldn’t be cooking the rest of the month and a good part of the next.
While they talked in the kitchen with her mother, Megan sat in the living room, staring out the window, wondering that the world could be so perfect and so deadly at the same time.
Mr. Chisholm went with them to the funeral. That night, after she got into bed, Megan listened to her mother’s and her grandparents’ voices drifting up the staircase from the kitchen. They were talking about the thing they always waited to tell her later, if at all. But she wanted to know. They weren’t going to have to move—something about insurance and double indemnity, the settlement with the airline. As for the farm, Mr. Chisholm already rented half their fields and could probably take over the rest.
“I’m worried about Megan.”
Megan leaned forward, tilting her head toward the door.
Her mother went on, “She seems so … unemotional, so distant. She and her father were very close. It worries me, seeing her … seeing her going on as if nothing had happened.”
Megan couldn’t hear what her grandmother said, but it was probably something reassuring. Grandmother was a very reassuring person.
Megan lay back and curled up under the covers. I’m not unemotional, she told herself. It’s just that I believe what the Church teaches. I’ll be with my father again. There’s nothing to be sad about. But she felt a cold clenching in her chest as she sank into her bed. She stared at the ceiling in the darkness and faded off to sleep.
The funeral marked the end of what their life had been, and the beginning of a life they could not have dreamed of. It was a season of uncertainties, and March was an incalculable month. With February so short it didn’t always know that winter was over. March was far too long, but it needed all that time to figure itself out.
You could forgive March for being that way. But not April. It occurred to Megan, walking home from the bus stop on a gray Friday afternoon, that Mr. Eliot was right. It was a cruel month, one day bright and warm and full of promise, and the next day a frost would snap the growing buds like brittle bones. It couldn’t be trusted. You always had to be on your guard.
Coming around the bend she saw Mr. Chisholm’s John Deere stopped in the middle of the north field, and Mr. Chisholm trudging through the freshly turned loam, something bundled up in his arms. It was Gabriel, and for a horrifying moment she imagined that he had been caught under the spades of the plow.
She ran up the driveway, meeting Mr. Chisholm as he struggled up from the muddy lane. “What’s wrong?”
Mr. Chisholm shook his head. “Don’t know.” He laid Gabriel carefully on the porch. “Just seemed to run out of gas.”
Megan sat down beside the old husky. Gabriel turned his head towards her. There was grief and shame in his dark brown eyes.
Mr. Chisholm leaned against the railing, took off his cap, and wiped his brow. “I’ll give Dr. McAllister a call,” he said, a weariness in his voice Megan didn’t quite understand. He kicked the mud off his boots and disappeared into the house.
Saturday morning he took Gabriel to Charlton Corners to see Dr. McAllister. Megan watched from across the road, paced up and down the driveway, sat on the porch, rested her chin in her hands.
The big red Ford came around the bend, turned in at the driveway, and made the long, slow climb to the house. Mr. Chisholm turned off the engine. He sat in the cab, hands clutching the steering wheel. Finally, he opened the door and got out, standing, so when Megan ran up to him she could not see around him into the cab.
“How is he? How is Gabriel? Is he going to be all right?”
Mr. Chisholm looked down at her. His eyes were like Gabriel’s eyes. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Megan …” he said. “Megan, he was old. He was in pain. It’s been going on for too long. There wasn’t any way to make him better.”
She stared at him.
“Megan …” he said again.
She twisted away, ran to the cab. Gabriel lay lifeless on a white canvas sheet. Mr. Chisholm pulled her away. She lashed out at him. There was a roaring in her ears that she realized was the sound of her own voice. Then she wrenched free and ran home across the fields.
She slammed the door, tripped over her brother’s galoshes in the mud room, and crashed to the floor. She kicked off her boots, viciously stubbing her toe. She could barely stand, and she clasped her arms tightly across her chest as if she might explode.
“Megan.” Her mother looked in from the kitchen. “Megan, what’s wrong?”
“Gabriel …” she gasped, blinking the tears out of her eyes.
“Gabriel?”
“He had him put to sleep,” she stated bluntly. She limped into the living room and collapsed on the couch. Her mother followed her, but Megan averted her gaze, and presently, she left. Megan curled up on the cushions, resting her head on the armrest. The knuckles of her right hand throbbed.
She hardly felt the pain. She was afraid. She knew she was afraid, afraid she could not hold the world together. A clear, aching tone rang through her temples. If the crystal shattered, she would never find all the pieces, never put it back together. If she could just be more careful, see these things coming, not hurt, not feel, have a heart of stone.
She whispered these things to herself, a quiet mantra of unemotionality. Through the window, across the road and fields, she watched Mr. Chisholm mark out a plot in the garden by the porch and begin to dig a grave.
She looked up at the ceiling, tasting bitterness and regret in her mouth. When she looked back her mother was standing next to Mr. Chisholm, and then she was walking away. The door opened and closed, and she heard her mother’s footsteps in the hall. She closed her eyes tightly. She did not want her mother to try to talk again.
Megan knew how unfair she was being. She ran to the mud room, flung on her jacket, and pulled on her boots and flew out of the house.
Gabriel lay on the white canvas sheet next to the grave. “He was a good dog,” Megan said, softly.
Mr. Chisholm turned to her. There was an angry red welt on his jaw, and she remembered how she had bruised her knuckles. “Aye, he was.” There were tears in his eyes, and she felt sorry for what she had done.
She knelt next to him and stroked Gabriel’s silver coat.
“There wasn’t anything Dr. McAllister could do. He didn’t suffer in the end.”
“I know.” She managed to smile reassuringly.
They sat together on the damp earth. Mr. Chisholm said, “We’d better get it done.”
She nodded, and then realized he meant her to help him. She grasped the corner straps of the tarp, he the other two. It was almost too heavy for her, especially with her right hand growing numb, but she braced herself, and they lowered him into the ground.
When she got home she told her mother, “We buried Gabriel.”
After she said her prayers that night, Megan told herself she had done right by Gabriel and Mr. Chisholm. She reminded herself that the past was past, her father was gone, it was all behind her, she would be fine. But it wasn’t true.
She told herself again. The words only disappeared into the air.
She told herself again, but a voice interrupted her, a voice she somehow recognized, a voice saying, “No, Megan.” A voice insistent, not reproachful. “Everything breaks, Megan. But everything mends, if you only give me the pieces.”
She did not remember awakening. She did not remember how she cried, sobbing so she could not breathe. But she remembered her mother’s arms around her, holding her, the universe of love enclosing them, her mother whispering it was okay to cry, to feel the hurt of her loss.
And then it was morning.
It was early, and she found her mother in the kitchen, at the stove. Together they stirred and tasted the tomato, pepper, and garlic that would go on the spaghetti for lunch after church. It was always better this way, when you cooked it up in the morning and let it sit for a few hours before warming it up again. Then her mother looked at her, touched her cheek. “We’re going to be all right, you know,” she said. “Your father loved you a great deal and always will.”
Megan knew, but at the same time she felt something missing from her life, a vacancy where there should be a presence, a hollow in her heart. And yet she would not deny it now, for it marked a sacred place in her memory and held the distant hope of heaven.
She walked outside into the cool, wet sunlight. Mr. Chisholm had just stepped out onto his porch. She cupped her hands and shouted, “Good morning, Mr. Chisholm!” and waved. Not the most reverent way to begin a Sunday morning, but she strongly suspected at that moment she might be happy, or at least capable of happiness. And it would not do to keep the moment only to herself.

We went on a boat. A money machine there was stuck. A woman said, “Why did the machine give me one euro (about 88¢) when I was supposed to get 20 marks (about $2.96)?” A man told her to look for the code on the left, but the woman couldn’t find it.
I looked for it and found it. The woman didn’t tell me thank you. I thought, “What a silly woman!” But then I thought about what I was thinking and was sorry. I prayed and said, “Heavenly Father, I am sorry for what I was thinking, so I am apologizing. I am very, very sorry about it.”

I was searching for truth, so I started meeting with the missionaries. After taking most of the lessons, I knew I needed to get baptized. But as the day of my baptism approached, we held a lesson that was hard for me to hear. That lesson was on the Word of Wisdom.
That lesson was hard for me because I drank a lot. My work environment was tough. Everyone I worked with drank, and so I did too. I would often go out drinking after work and come home late at night.
But the missionaries did a great job. I still love them for it. They taught me that God wants us to be strong and that He gave us the Word of Wisdom to bless us. Obeying this law was really hard for me, but slowly, I started to keep it. I remember calling the missionaries every day, updating them on my progress, and telling them that I did not drink that day. They were so happy with my progress.
With their help, I got baptized and entered the fold of Jesus Christ. I felt the Spirit that beautiful day! But I was alone when I joined the Church. I wanted my family to be with me.
When I talked to my wife, Clirime, about the Church, she would not listen at first. Her grandfather belonged to a different religion, and she wondered why The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had even come to Albania. I knew that the only way I could bring her into the gospel was through my example. Through our actions, people can see who we really are.
Clirime noticed changes in me as I gave up alcohol and started coming home early from work. Because of the changes I was making, she started to feel the Spirt of God as I told her about the Church. I cannot describe the happy feeling I had when she told me that one day she would also get baptized. Soon she began taking the missionary lessons, which I helped the missionaries teach. I was especially happy when she set a date for her baptism, six months after I was baptized.
With her baptism, and the baptism of our two children when they each turned eight, I felt that we could become an eternal family. But baptism was just the beginning. To prepare to go to the temple, we knew that we had to follow God to the end of our lives, keeping the commandments, going to church, partaking of the sacrament, serving in callings, reading the scriptures, and learning more about covenants and the plan of salvation.
The day we were sealed as a family in the Frankfurt Germany Temple was another beautiful day. In the temple, I came to understand more about the plan of happiness our God has for us, and I felt His love.
I still remember the promises Clirime and I made in the temple. Whenever something goes wrong or we are having a hard time, my mind goes back to those promises.
As a family we try to live in harmony with each other because that is what we felt in the temple. Every time I think of the temple, I feel happy and blessed. I know that God is real and that He loves us and wants us to be happy.

A local Church officer called me one day. He was a lawyer and said that one of his neighbors had come seeking his help in getting a divorce. He said that his marriage was in serious trouble. He and his wife had been living far beyond their means, they were hopelessly in debt, money problems had led to constant bickering, and the marriage had deteriorated to a point where they could not go on together.

We discussed the case, and the end result was that three of the man’s priesthood quorum members were assigned to work with this brother and his wife toward a solution of their problems. One was a lawyer, one was a banker, and one was an accountant. The couple agreed to place their affairs in the hands of these, their neighbors and brethren.

With the expertise that came of their professional and business experience, the committee went to work. They called on the man’s creditors, who, with confidence in the ability of this committee, agreed to give them time to work out his problems. These problems had been entirely beyond his ability to manage, but they were only one more challenge for his experienced brethren.

Order was brought out of chaos. Peace was restored in the home. A new sense of security came into his life. His wife developed for him a respect she had never previously shown. Over a period of two or three years his creditors all received what was due them. And the man and his wife learned principles that qualified them to manage a home as it should be managed.

The completion of the Kirtland Temple was foundational for the entire Church. It was accompanied by spiritual outpourings, doctrinal revelations, and restoration of essential keys for the continuing establishment of the Church. Like the ancient Apostles on the day of Pentecost, many members experienced marvelous spiritual experiences in connection with the dedication of the Kirtland Temple. But, as in our own lives, this did not mean they wouldn’t face challenges or hardships going forward. Little did these early members know they would be faced with a United States financial crisis—the panic of 1837—that would test their very souls.

One example of the challenges related to this financial crisis was experienced by Elder Parley P. Pratt, one of the great leaders of the Restoration. He was an original member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. In the early part of 1837, his dear wife, Thankful, died after delivering their first child. Parley and Thankful had been married almost 10 years, and her death devastated him.

A few months later, Elder Pratt found himself in one of the most difficult times the Church has experienced. In the midst of the national crisis, local economic issues—including land speculation and the struggles of a financial institution founded by Joseph Smith and other Church members—created discord and contention in Kirtland. Church leaders did not always make wise temporal decisions in their own lives. Parley suffered significant financial losses and for a time became disaffected with the Prophet Joseph. He wrote a stinging criticism to Joseph and spoke in opposition of him from the pulpit. At the same time, Parley said he continued to believe in the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants.

Elder Pratt had lost his wife, his land, and his home. Parley, without telling Joseph, left for Missouri. On the road there, he unexpectedly met fellow Apostles Thomas B. Marsh and David Patten returning to Kirtland. They felt a great need to have harmony restored to the Quorum and persuaded Parley to return with them. He realized that no one had lost more than Joseph Smith and his family.

Parley sought out the Prophet, wept, and confessed that what he had done was wrong. In the months after his wife, Thankful’s, death, Parley had been “under a dark cloud” and had been overcome by fears and frustrations. Joseph, knowing what it was like to struggle against opposition and temptation, “frankly forgave” Parley, praying for him and blessing him. Parley and others who remained faithful benefited from the Kirtland challenges. They increased in wisdom and became more noble and virtuous. The experience became part of their foundations of faith.

The Young Men and Young Women of the Terreton 2nd Ward, Roberts Idaho Stake, collected and made toys for children in Acuna, Mexico.
The Young Women crocheted the clothing for 32 dolls. The Young Men made trucks, slingshots, and sets of blocks. A missionary couple from the Terreton 2nd Ward had been working with the people in this area of Mexico. The couple suggested the service project to the young people, who met the challenge with enthusiasm.

I had other positive experiences and challenges during those early years. My parents liked to dance, and as children we took our turn being danced around the room in the arms of one of them or standing with our feet on top of theirs as they danced us around the room. One experience that made a lasting impression on me, relative to challenges, was an attempt to cross the irrigation ditch. When I told my father I wanted to get across the ditch, he said, “Jump.” When I said, “I can’t,” his answer was, “You can jump halfway, can’t you?” I tried, landing in the middle of a ditch full of water. That experience taught me two things: (1) not to trust my father—he loved to give challenges, and he loved to have a good laugh; and (2) never try to jump a ditch of water until you have tried it out on a dry ditch.

Not long ago President Eyring’s home teacher, Brother Moore, challenged him to get out and meet the people around the campus. President Eyring knew it was a good idea but, due to his concern over new changes and programs that were being explored and researched, he was a little slow to accept the challenge. Not long after receiving the first challenge, President Eyring received a call from Brother Moore. In his voice there was an apparent sense of urgency. “Have you made your visit?” he asked. President Eyring replied that he had not but that he had set aside some time for it in the next week. Brother Moore’s voice lowered and he said, “President, you had better not wait. I’ve been told twice now that you should be out there.” Nothing further needed to be said. President Eyring was out on campus that day. The priorities of the president of Ricks College were literally changed by the spirit and caring of a humble but dutiful home teacher. And the results? The president has had incredible experiences that have brought him closer to the pulse of Ricks College. Now he spends one morning every week just walking and moving about the campus to find out more about his stewardship.

The Saints continued to sacrifice in many ways in order that the work might continue. Around 1890, John Hafen and Lorus Pratt, two Utah landscape artists, approached George Q. Cannon, First Counselor in the First Presidency, about the possibility of the Church supporting their art study in Europe. In exchange, they agreed to labor in beautifying Church buildings upon their return. The First Presidency sent them, along with several others who had shown artistic promise, on “art missions” to Paris, France. The Brethren did not want them only to beautify Church buildings upon their return, but to paint murals in the temple endowment rooms to enhance the experience of the participants. Covenants and sacrifice were once again intertwined as the men left families and friends in the familiar valleys of Utah for the urbane life of an unknown France. Using sacred and increasingly limited funds, Church leaders sent these men to improve their talents to add to the special building in Salt Lake City.

One of those art missionaries who willingly left the comforts of home was John Fairbanks. He arose at 4:00 A.M., Monday, 24 June 1890, in preparation for the long journey to Europe. “At 6 o’clock I kissed our three youngest—Claud (the baby), Ortho, and Leroy while they slept. Then my wife, and bid her good bye.” Brother Fairbanks noted with some remorse: “She was very much affected by the parting, but part we must. The rest of our children beginning with the youngest Ervon, Vernon, Nettie, and Leo walked to the depot with me. When the train came I bid them good bye [and] got on the train leaving the darlings standing on the platform with sorrowful faces and tears standing in their eyes.”

The train sped south from Salt Lake Valley to Provo, where Brother Fairbanks met Lorus Pratt. At Springville, Utah, the next stop, the third missionary, John Hafen, was waiting “with tears in [his] eyes.”

At supper that evening Ethan asked, “Dad, do you think that lucky socks can really help someone spell well?”
“Are you kidding!” Ethan’s sister chortled. “Socks have nothing to do with spelling well.”
“That’s true,” Ethan’s father agreed. “Let’s set up a hypothetical situation: All the students have studied and know the words, and one student has a special good-luck charm—”
“Like Blake’s lucky socks?” Ethan broke in.
His father nodded. “This student really thinks that the charm will help him, and because he believes that he has more ‘luck’ than anyone else, he has more confidence and he does do better.”
Ethan thought for a minute. “But what if he doesn’t learn the words and only counts on his lucky socks?”
“What do you think, Ethan?”
“I think that he’s in a lot of trouble.”
“I think that you’re right,” his father agreed, smiling.

Shortly before the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, a group of us stood in an unfinished room. Building materials and tools were scattered over the floor and craftsmen were busily engaged in placing finishing touches on the walls and ceiling. Though the room was untidy and a beehive of activity, we were subdued by the emerging beauty of the temple.
I asked Brother Henry Haurand, the construction supervisor, “Do the workers appreciate the significance of this project?”
“No,” he answered, “they are not members of the Church and they don’t understand the sacred nature of temples. To them,” he added, “this is just another job.”
My wife inquired of Henry, “Do you always feel the Spirit of the Lord when you come here?”
“No, I do not,” he responded. “When I enter the temple during the working day, I do so as a building supervisor and I look with a critical eye for flaws in the construction. In this inspective mood, I feel nothing special about the place. But,” Brother Haurand continued, “when I come here in the quiet of the evening and the place is free of noise and confusion, and I am able to reflect upon the holy purposes of the temple, I am overwhelmed by the Spirit of the Lord.”
I have pondered Brother Henry’s words many, many times. I’ve concluded that he taught us two profound truths: (1) sacred things are seen and appreciated only through “the eyes of faith,” and (2) things of the Spirit can only be discerned by “purer eyes” (Alma 5:15; D&C 131:7).

The teacher nurses a knife wound in her back. Gladys Saiah is not much older than her students. She was running an errand for her mother in an unfamiliar part of town, when she was attacked and stabbed by a group of men. She and her sister were allowed to go without further injury.
“As my sister and I walked home,” she says, “I told Ellen we must first thank Heavenly Father for sparing our lives. We did, and then, arising from our knees, I asked Ellen, ‘Now will you please clean my back?’”

That trust has blessed my life and the lives of my family. Years ago I heard President Ezra Taft Benson speak in a conference like this. He counseled us to do all we could to get out of debt and stay out. He mentioned mortgages on houses. He said that it might not be possible, but it would be best if we could pay off all our mortgage debt.9
I turned to my wife after the meeting and asked, “Do you think there is any way we could do that?” At first we couldn’t. And then by evening I thought of a property we had acquired in another state. For years we had tried to sell it without success.
But because we trusted God and a few words from the midst of His servant’s message, we placed a phone call Monday morning to the man in San Francisco who had our property listed to sell. I had called him a few weeks before, and he had said then, “We haven’t had anyone show interest in your property for years.”
But on the Monday after conference, I heard an answer that to this day strengthens my trust in God and His servants.
The man on the phone said, “I am surprised by your call. A man came in today inquiring whether he could buy your property.” In amazement I asked, “How much did he offer to pay?” It was a few dollars more than the amount of our mortgage.
A person might say that was only a coincidence. But our mortgage was paid off. And our family still listens for any word in a prophet’s message that might be sent to tell what we should do to find the security and peace God wants for us.

The enthusiastic young people of the Cleveland First Ward, Huntington Utah Stake treated the senior citizens in their ward to a Red Carpet Honor Night. The Young Men, dressed in suits and ties, first delivered an invitation to each home. Then on the night of the activity, they served as chauffeurs and escorts; they drove to each home, rolled out the red carpet, and escorted their guests to the meetinghouse. There they seated the elderly members of their ward and served them a delicious meal prepared by the Young Women.
After dinner, the senior ward members were seated in a semicircle at the front of the auditorium. They were each given an opportunity to tell how they arrived in the community, what life was like when they were growing up, and how they met their companions. They also answered questions from the audience, offered several good words of advice to the youth, and thanked them for a wonderful evening.

I understood that it was common for members to receive their temple endowment before entering the mission field, so I started preparing to enter. I knew that one of the changes that would occur in my life would be committing to wear the temple garment. I hadn’t thought much about garments before I started to prepare for the temple, so I didn’t have any preconceived notions about wearing them.
After moving to college, I worked with my bishop and went to institute every week. My institute instructor was kind enough to offer tailored temple preparation instruction for several weeks up until my endowment date. This was a tender mercy, considering that I was away from my home ward and didn’t have any family in the Church to guide me. Eventually I received my mission call to Paraguay, and I was ready to go to the temple for the first time.
Going to the temple felt like returning home. Even putting on garments for the first time felt like the missing piece to a puzzle I was trying to solve. I understood that my covenant to wear the garment was an important step in my spiritual progression, and although this decision is sacred and personal, I made it happily because I knew that the knowledge I would gain about my divinity as a daughter of God was above anything the world could offer me.
After I received my endowment, the biggest adjustment was not in how I felt when wearing garments but in the new wardrobe I had to build up thereafter. I purged a lot of clothes in my closet that wouldn’t cover my garments.
However, making those changes in my life felt right. Because I put in the time to prepare for the temple, the adjustment to my wardrobe was a happy, easy experience. And as I strived to learn more, I deepened my testimony that committing to wear the temple garment is more than just an adjustment in wardrobe—it is a symbol of my devotion to my Savior, Jesus Christ, and my choice to follow Him. It is also a gift—a tangible reminder of my temple covenants and the power, protection, and blessings available to me through the Savior’s atoning sacrifice.
My only expectation going into the temple the day of my endowment was to feel God’s love for me. I was able to feel that in the temple more abundantly than ever, and I was determined to keep my covenants and wear my garments because I never wanted that feeling to go away.
During the loneliest and most treacherous times of my life, my testimony of simple, bedrock gospel principles has nudged me to wear my garments always and intentionally while striving to keep the covenants I made in the temple.
I find great comfort in these words from President Russell M. Nelson:
“Whenever any kind of upheaval occurs in your life, the safest place to be spiritually is living inside your temple covenants!
“Please believe me when I say that when your spiritual foundation is built solidly upon Jesus Christ, you have no need to fear. As you are true to your covenants made in the temple, you will be strengthened by His power. Then, when spiritual earthquakes occur, you will be able to stand strong because your spiritual foundation is solid and immovable.”1
My life has not become easier since joining the Church. In fact, the most trying times of my life occurred after my baptism. However, I know that my knowledge of the restored gospel and the strength from the covenants I made in the temple have made these challenges bearable, and the outcomes would have been drastically different without my faith in Jesus Christ.
It’s challenging to live intentionally as a disciple of Christ when the world seems to be at odds with the standards that I strive to keep. But as President Nelson stated, the best refuge for me is living within my temple covenants, including wearing my garments the way I promised to. And as I continue to do so and stay on the covenant path, I know I will experience joy.

My wife and I taught our children the importance of setting aside tithing each week as they received an allowance or earned money babysitting or doing special jobs. They put the tithing in a little box. On fast Sunday they gave the tithing to the bishop. They also learned the value of money by saving a goodly portion of the balance of their income for a future mission and education.
Our grandchildren are now following a similar pattern.

Developing self-reliance means exercising our agency to care for ourselves and our families and doing our best to find solutions to our own problems. Becoming more self-reliant gives us increased capacity to serve in our homes, the Church, and our communities. One of the best ways to teach these concepts is by example, as this member describes:
“For as long as I can remember, my mom has risen early each day to study the scriptures. I have seen how she has developed a spiritual strength that carries her through difficult times. She depends on her own relationship with Heavenly Father to be her support. Along with her spiritual strength, I’ve been impressed by her ability to care for our family. I’ve watched her budget, sacrifice her own wants, seek education, and show a lot of humility in ways that have allowed her to meet our family’s financial needs and still be at home with her children after school. I want the kind of strength that she has, and I’m so grateful for her example that teaches me how to get it.”

The bus pulled into the parking lot of the hotel at 10:00 P.M. and deposited 36 nervously excited singers, a load of stage equipment, and a couple of dazed advisers who were showing the effects of a 16-hour bus ride. Inside the hotel’s ballroom Bob Hope was finishing up a few jokes while 750 Hollywood celebrities and top military officials finished their dinner. In the parking lot a few last-minute instructions were given, a prayer was offered, and on the cue of “Footprints, let’s go!” the Footprints of Freedom entered the Beverly Wilshire Hotel to entertain at the annual Air Force Ball.
The group had left Provo the night before and had not really slept since. After the show they would have six hours of sleep before the bus picked them up for the return trip to Provo. But cramped buses, lack of sleep, and a steady diet of roadside hamburgers are minor inconveniences when the Footprints have the chance to sing about America’s proud 200 years.
The performance at the Air Force Ball was a rousing success. General David C. Jones, Air Force Chief of Staff, personally came backstage after the performance to congratulate the Footprints. The group was invited to film a short segment in a movie for the Air Force, and it was nearly midnight before everyone got back to their hotel rooms. At 6:00 A.M. the bus would arrive for the return trip. There’d be another round of “Good,” “Bad,” and “Ugly” awards, another luggage rack rotation, and another 16-hour bus ride.
But it had been worth it—they had sung about America for 20 minutes. And during those 20 minutes perhaps one person had decided not to let the good land pass him by.

Even before Mom got sick a few years ago, she took every opportunity to teach us about the Savior. She would say, “Now, here’s a little testimony for you,” then tell us how she could tell that Jesus Christ loved us. Dad says that’s how we can tell that Mom loved us so much: She wanted to share the things she loved most with us.
On days when Mom felt good, we did fun things together. Sometimes we went to the park and flew our kites. She sat on the blanket while Dad helped us get the kites started. She cheered us on until all the kites were sailing high in the breeze. She looked happy, waving to us, her hair blowing in the breeze. “Now, here’s a little testimony for you,” she told us. “The wind is a little like the Holy Ghost. You can’t see it, but you can sure feel it! And you can see the things it does all around us.”
On other days, we went to the mall to shop. When she didn’t feel well enough to walk, we took turns pushing her in her wheelchair. She looked at everything we wanted to show her. At least once during the shopping trip, Mom said something like, “Now, here’s a little testimony for you. The pair of pants you needed is marked down! That’s an answer to prayer, isn’t it!”
Sometimes we got a special treat together. “Now, here’s a little testimony for you,” Mom would say as we enjoyed our snack. “Good hard work pays off! Now we have time and money to have a little fun together.”
When Mom wasn’t feeling good, she needed us to cooperate even more. Dad always told us how much he appreciated our help, and we knew that Mom did too. She liked to rest near us when we practiced our music lessons and did our homework. “Now, here’s a little testimony for you. I have always wanted to hear you play that song so well.” “Here’s a little testimony for you. I can still remember how to do those math problems, so I can help you with your homework!”
One day Dad woke us up very early. Mom had had a bad night, and she was very, very ill. She wanted to talk to us because she knew that it was almost time for her to go back to live with Heavenly Father.
When we went into her bedroom, she reached out and touched each of us and told us how much she loved us. “Now, here’s a little testimony for you,” she said. “Even though I’ll be leaving you very soon, it’s part of Heavenly Father’s plan.”
We all wept. It didn’t seem as if there could ever be enough time to tell Mom how much we loved her.
“Sweetheart,” she said to Dad, “would you bring me the special book I have been keeping, please?”
Dad handed her a pretty journal.
“This journal is filled with lots of little things for you to remember when I’m not here to talk to you anymore. It’s full of little testimonies for you. I want you to remember how much I love the Savior. I want you to love Him that much, too, so that we can always be together.”
We opened the beautiful book. The pages were filled with memories, in Mom’s handwriting, of the joy of the days gone by. We read things like, “I saw some tiny kittens at Aunt Sis’s house. They knew their mother immediately, without even being able to see. We can learn to know the Savior like that, if we have faith.” “The garden seeds are sprouting. After the long, cold winter, it’s good to see them coming up again. It reminds me of the Resurrection, and the promise of new life.”
We closed the book before we had time to look at all the pages. Mom was closing her eyes, but she had a smile on her face. “Whenever you feel lonely for me, I want you to read this book.” She opened her eyes. “I want you to remember that the Savior loves you very much. When you pray, you will feel safe and calm and you will know that I love you still.”
It wasn’t long before Mom left us. We all felt sad and lonely. Dad gathered us together, and we had family prayer. “Now, here’s a little testimony for you,” he said. “This family has so much love that we know that it will go on forever. We will miss Mom, but we know that the Savior makes it possible for us to be together again.”
Mom has been gone for quite a while now. We still miss her, and we think of her a lot. When we feel lonely, we get out the special book and read the little testimonies she left for us. I can just “hear” her saying something about an answer to prayers, or what wonderful blessings we receive. I’m glad we have those special memories.
Dad got each of us a journal so that we can write down all our own little testimonies. I have written a lot about the times I remember with Mom, but I am writing new little testimonies too.
And you know what? Mom’s journal of little testimonies is really one great big, strong testimony about the plan of salvation, about the Savior’s love for us.

I was disappointed not to be able to pick more of the fruit before the season ended, but school was about to begin again and with it, early-morning seminary. On the first morning of seminary, our teacher welcomed us to the class and went through the requirements for completing the course. I listened with enthusiasm. Knowing that we were required to read the Book of Mormon as part of the course, I had read it all during the summer break.
Following the class, I explained to my teacher that I had already fulfilled the requirement to read the Book of Mormon. My teacher insisted that I would need to read it again. But, I thought, “I don’t need to read it again!”
Disappointed, but obedient, I began to read the Book of Mormon a second time. And in reading, I discovered “fruit” I had somehow missed before.
It seemed that the Book of Mormon had more verses since I had last read it, and inspiring new scriptures stood out from the pages. Even characters I did not remember appeared. It was like picking blackberries. Wherever I looked, more fruit seemed to appear.
I realized that if I followed the commandment to “press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ” (2 Ne. 31:20), I would need to read the Book of Mormon over and over throughout my life. But unlike blackberry season, the season for picking this fruit will not come to an end.