Gospel Story Finder

My parents were hardworking. They made every penny stretch as far as possible. That was probably the reason everything they gave me was always two or three sizes too large.
When I was thirteen years old, I wanted football shoulder pads and a helmet more than anything else. On Christmas morning, I opened my packages and there they were: shoulder pads and a helmet—sized to fit Goliath!
“Mother, they’re too big,” I complained.
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she said. “Don’t worry—you’ll grow into them.”
When I put on the new equipment, the shoulder pads hung so far over my shoulders that about the only things they protected were my elbows.
Even though I stuffed cotton and newspapers into the helmet, it jostled every time I took a step. When I ran, it would turn and turn until I was looking out through an ear hole. One time I rambled for a long gain right into a tree. Each time I was tackled, the helmet would spin 180 degrees and I’d get up looking like my head had spun with it. How I yearned to grow into that helmet!
I had even more important growing to do. My father was truly a great man. I remember one day putting my feet in my father’s shoes. I was amazed at the size. Will I ever be big enough to fill his shoes? I wondered. Can I ever grow into the man my father is?
I look back with tenderness to my dear mother’s encouraging words, “Don’t worry, Joseph—you’ll grow into them.”
In a similar way, we all need to learn how to grow into our duties as members of the Lord’s Church. Heavenly Father loves you. He is the Father of your spirit. That makes you His literal child. As such, you have inherited the potential to become like Him. His greatest desire is that you grow in this life, becoming more like Him so that one day you can return to His presence.
It is my prayer that we may all grow into the kind of people our Heavenly Father wants us to be.

One Sunday evening, all of the youth and their parents were invited to a meeting to launch Moroni’s Promise. It was the young, valiant captains of ten who gave the vision, reviewed the promise (see Moro. 10:3–5), spoke of agency and obedience, explained the program, and called for volunteers to join one of their teams.
One young captain of ten, Michelle Gardner, referred to the promise made by President Gordon B. Hinkley to all the members of the Church who read the Book of Mormon. He promised those who read daily that “there will come into your lives and into your homes an added measure of the Spirit of the Lord, a strengthened resolution to walk in obedience to his commandments, and a stronger testimony of the living reality of the Son of God” (Ensign, Nov. 1979, p. 9).
Appealing to the youth for whom she now felt a keen sense of responsibility, she added her own personal testimony. “I know when I read each day, especially when I study and don’t just skim over what I’m reading, I do feel a greater desire to live the commandments and to have the Spirit of the Lord in my life.”
Individualized packets were provided which included the quote from Moroni printed on parchment ready for framing, a system for recording progress, recommended target dates, helpful study methods, a promise of celebration stations, and a letter to be sent to a trusted friend or relative requesting support and continuous encouragement during the coming months as they read the Book of Mormon. An application form was also provided requesting the parent’s signature as well as the signature of a member of the bishopric.
Each participant was invited to add his or her own signature as an indication of willingness to be diligent in endeavoring to reach the goal of having read the entire Book of Mormon within the set time limit. This could be accomplished by reading approximately 16 pages per week. A captain of ten also signed the application indicating a willingness to be in touch each week to determine progress and provide encouragement to each member of his or her team.
Individual progress was not a public matter. However, increased interest was awakened when the aggregate “scores” of the teams were recorded on an attractive chart that was periodically displayed in the chapel foyer with pictures of various activities.
As eager participants finished the last verse of Alma 63, “And thus ended the account of Alma,” they would rush, regardless of the hour, to Sister Bonnie Guthrie, who helped with the records, assisted in making calls for captains as needed, and dispensed T-shirts to each one finishing the book of Alma. The T-shirts with “STOMP” (for “Students Trying Out Moroni’s Promise”) printed in bold letters across the front provided the incentive that urged many through the pages of Alma.
A celebration station was an event scheduled at regular intervals along the way to give strong incentives and provide continuous encouragement to the captains, who in turn, inspired their team members as they made their weekly contacts. The captains were to then give an accounting to the specialist in a brief weekly meeting following sacrament meeting. Many, many extra calls at various times were required to accomplish this necessary follow-up.
As the group completed Alma, a celebration station was scheduled. The snow had been falling all night, and it was unseasonably cold, but nothing would daunt the plans for the scheduled tree planting celebration. A flowering cherry tree had been selected. The hole was dug, and all ward members were invited to gather at the church.
Robert Davis stood before the group holding a scroll containing all the names of those who at that time had finished reading Alma. He rolled the scroll, put it in a plastic-coated container, sealed it, and then respectfully placed it in the hole at the base of the tree and explained, “You’re probably wondering why we are planting a tree. If you will recall in Alma the planting of a seed which became a tree has meaning because of the analogy to a growing testimony.” He then read Alma 32:27–41, “But if ye will nourish the word, yea, nourish the tree as it beginneth to grow, by your faith with great diligence, and with patience, looking forward to the fruit thereof, it shall take root; and behold it shall be a tree springing up unto everlasting life.”
On Mother’s Day following sacrament meeting, the entire ward was invited to gather around the flagpole for yet another celebration station. Richard Newman and Mike Bettilyon, both captains of ten, unfolded the beautifully designed flag with the large dark blue letters “Moroni’s Promise” centered in a white open field.
There were other names on that flag also. Those who had finished the Book of Helaman had added their signatures to the flag as an official Mother’s Day record. Bishop Bradford reminded everyone of the stripling warriors who did not fear death for they had been taught by their mothers that if they did not doubt, God would deliver them (see Alma 56:47). The captains attached the flag and pulled the ropes raising it to the very top of the long silver pole. Hearts were opened and feelings were tender as expressed by a younger member of the group, who whispering to a friend close by, said, “My name is on that flag,” and his friend responded reverently, “So is mine.”
By now the flowering cherry tree planted earlier was bursting into bloom nearby as a reminder of growing testimonies.
What difference has all this effort made? There have been 120 readers, 38 adults and 82 youth, participating in Moroni’s Promise.
Thirteen-year-old Wid Covey, standing before an audience, volunteered his testimony, “I’m thankful for this Moroni’s Promise program because it helps me understand the scriptures. When I sit down with my dad to read the Book of Mormon he helps me understand about it also. I’m thankful for Michelle Gardner. She calls me every week, and it helps me a lot and she encourages me.”
Sister Margaret Kirkham reported, “Our whole family looks forward to Richard Newman, our captain of ten, coming to encourage us. This project has been a great influence to our entire family.”
Bishop Bradford reflected on the past eight months. “It has made a great difference. There are few activities that could have unified our youth as well as this. I can’t say that all our youth now have a strong personal testimony of the Book of Mormon, but it’s a super beginning. With the help of our inspired specialist, a great number of young people will be better missionaries in every aspect of their lives, and all of them are better prepared to withstand the evils of the world.”

I saw holiness in the countenance of Evangeline, a 13-year-old girl in Ghana. One of the ways she keeps her covenants is by magnifying her calling as the Beehive class president. She humbly explained that she goes to the homes of her friends, the less-active young women, to ask their parents to allow them to come to church. The parents tell her that it is difficult because on Sunday the children must do household chores. So Evangeline goes and helps with the chores, and by her efforts her friends are often permitted to come to church.

Amy Wilson related how she learned of the Savior’s love for all. Her father was a convert and came from a troubled family, which was difficult for her and her family. As she worked on her family history, she found the name of an ancestor who had struggled with alcohol and had abandoned his family. She wondered if she should submit his name for temple work.

She looked at his photo, and the Spirit whispered to her heart, “He is not beyond the reach of the Savior’s Atonement.” She pondered the statement and thought, “Do I believe that the Savior suffered for my sins so that I can repent? Do I believe that the Savior also suffered for this man’s sins so that he can repent? The answer was and is yes. My ancestor still has the opportunity to repent and accept the gospel, and he, just like me, is not beyond the reach of the Savior.”

She submitted his name for temple work and participated in performing ordinances for many of his posterity. “I have felt the healing power that comes from researching my family and doing their temple work. My faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ has become stronger as I have let Him take the burdens of sadness, anger, and judgment from me and my family.”

In 1955, after my freshman year of college, I spent the summer working at the newly opened Jackson Lake Lodge, located in Moran, Wyoming. My mode of transportation was a 14-year-old 1941 Hudson automobile that should have received its burial 10 years earlier. Among the car’s other identifying traits, the floorboards had rusted so badly that, if not for a piece of plywood, I could have literally dragged my feet on the highway. The positive is that unlike most 14-year-old cars in this time period, it used no oil—lots of water in the radiator, but no oil. I could never figure out where the water went and why the oil continually got thinner and thinner and clearer and clearer.
In preparation for the 185-mile (298-km) drive home at the end of the summer, I took the car to the only mechanic in Moran. After a quick analysis, the mechanic explained that the engine block was cracked and was leaking water into the oil. That explained the water and oil mystery. I wondered if I could get the water to leak into the gas tank; I would get better gasoline mileage.
Now the confession: after the miracle of arriving home, my father came out and happily greeted me. After a hug and a few pleasantries, he looked into the backseat of the car and saw three Jackson Lake Lodge towels—the kind you cannot buy. With a disappointed look, he merely said, “I expected more of you.” I hadn’t thought that what I had done was all that wrong. To me these towels were but a symbol of a full summer’s work at a luxury hotel, a rite of passage. Nevertheless, by taking them I felt I had lost the trust and confidence of my father, and I was devastated.
The following weekend I adjusted the plywood floorboard in my car, filled the radiator with water, and began the 370-mile (595-km) round trip back to Jackson Lake Lodge to return three towels. My father never asked why I was returning to the lodge, and I never explained. It just didn’t need to be said. This was an expensive and painful lesson on honesty that has stayed with me throughout my life.

While sailors rigged a temporary mast to replace the broken foremast, passengers crowded onto the deck. Saints and nonmembers joined together in prayers of thanksgiving. The passengers put on clean clothes, and for the first time since leaving Liverpool newly shaved faces appeared. A delegation of Saints obtained Captain Wilson’s permission to hold Sabbath religious services.

That day, March 23, after sermons and hymns, a baptismal service was conducted. During the three-week voyage a number of non-LDS passengers had been converted and wanted to be baptized. The captain gave approval for a large water barrel to be brought out on deck, the top removed, and short ladders placed beside and inside it. The barrel was filled waist deep with sea water. Twenty-one persons, male and female, were then baptized. The next day the converts were confirmed, the sacrament administered, and the sick anointed.

During the voyage the Saints’ exemplary attitudes and conduct had a good effect on others. Nonmembers attended the Saints’ 10:00 A.M. and 9:00 P.M. prayer services and the regular preaching services at which five or six brethren delivered short addresses. They witnessed meetings where spiritual gifts—prophecy, speaking in tongues, and healings—were evident. They and their children attended the Mormon day schools and listened to evening lectures by elders on various secular topics. Such contacts with the Saints produced more conversions.

At the second baptismal service 20 males were baptized in the ocean itself. The ship’s main hatch cover was suspended by ropes on the Atlantic’s surface to make a floating platform. Then, Counselor Smith and others sat on the platform with legs in the water, having a safety rope around their bodies. Each convert descended to the platform by rope ladder, with safety rope around the body and a stout belt around the waist. The convert sat to the left of the elder officiating, who grasped the belt around the waist by the right hand and the clothing at the back of the neck with the left. The convert’s hands grasped the elder’s wrists. Then the person “was placed beneath the water and brought forth therefrom.”

By the time the Olympus passengers disembarked at New Orleans, Louisiana in late April and took the steamer Atlantic to St. Louis, Missouri 50 of the nonmember passengers had been converted and baptized.

At St. Louis, Missouri the company split up. Some sought work there. Others boarded the steamer Statesman for the 13-day trip to Kanesville, Iowa, where 150 LDS wagons were being readied for the first trip west for the 1851 season. The final missionary success of the Olympus Saints came when the Statesman’s cooks and deck-hands, impressed by the goodness of their LDS passengers, left the boat in a group at Kanesville, intending to cross the plains and become part of the LDS society in Utah.

I know this is true. When I attended college, like you, I was having one of those "bad hair" weeks. It was a Lemony Snicket, Series of Unfortunate Events moment in my life. The events weren't major problems or setbacks like Joseph's, but they seemed major at the time. While attending BYU in Provo, I worked with the BYU Student Association (BYUSA) and applied to be one of the vice presidents, but the selection committee chose someone else. I walked home from campus discouraged but thought, "That's okay; I applied to be an EFY counselor." As I walked in the door to my apartment, I saw on the kitchen table a letter from EFY. I tore it open with eagerness. My heart pounded with excitement. However, the excitement quickly turned to sadness as I read the part that said my request was declined.

Now, this was the same time period that I called a girl named Myra Mains to set up a blind date. I got her phone number from the girl I home taught. The girl I home taught asked me what I perceived as the perfect girl to marry. After I described this "perfect" girl, she replied, "No way; I totally have the girl for you." She then described this friend of hers. The description almost matched perfectly the description I gave. This was truly a match made in heaven. "Wow!" I thought. This was my dream girl. What I didn't know was that I was about to be duped.

She gave me the girl's phone number, and I called the next day. I was surprised, however, when on the other end of the line I heard, "Berg Mortuary."
Confused, I said, "Uh, I'm looking for someone who apparently works there. Is Myra Mains there?" There was silence on the other end of the line. "Excuse me, is Myra Mains there?"
"Sir, is this some kind of a joke?"
"No, this is the number I was given. I was careful to dial it correctly. So Myra Mains isn't there?"
She was silent again, then chuckled, "Sir, you don't get it, do you?" And you know what, I didn't. I know what you're thinking: "He's not the sharpest knife in the drawer." (Believe me, no one is more aware of that then I.)

"Sir," she said, "think about it!" Then she said slowly, "This is a mortuary, sir. 'Is my remains there?' Do you get it now?"

Humbled and embarrassed, I said, "Yeah, I get it."

Well, this is the kind of week I was having when I came home and opened that EFY letter. After I set the letter down, I saw a hand mirror sitting on the table. I could tell by the opened package next to it, it was something my roommate Miglosh ordered through the mail. He would order lots of things. It seemed odd he would order a hand mirror. Intrigued, I picked up the mirror. (Remember, I feel like I'm at the bottom of the food chain.) No sooner than I caught my reflection in the mirror, it started laughing at me. Seriously! It was one of those gag mirrors with a built-in speaker that projected an obnoxious cackle right about the time you picked it up and saw your reflection.

My misfortunes, my defeats pale in comparison to Joseph's. But that is part of the point in sharing them with you. They are the everyday, garden-variety type of week you've no doubt experienced too. Your roommates probably didn't throw you into an empty cistern like Joseph (maybe they threw you in the snow), but you do experience misfortunes and mishaps. I suspect none of you has fallen for the "Myra Mains" gag, but I suspect many of you have fallen in love only to have it end. You've had health issues, family problems, financial difficulties, dropped majors, changed majors, and major problems of every kind. You've been turned down, turned out, and turned away. You didn't get what you wanted. I promise, though, with God you will get what you need. And it may just be that what God knew you needed was something in the end you wanted. I wasn't happy that God gave me what I apparently needed. In the end, though, I discovered that what I needed was actually something I wanted.

When those doors I mentioned closed in my life, other doors opened. One door that opened led me to become a seminary teacher for the Church Education System. It was an occupation that was ideal for my personality and family, and eventually it would bring me here to BYU-Idaho to teach in the religion department--a move I consider the greatest blessing of my career. And what if Myra Mains were a real girl? What if I had married her? She wouldn't have been Heather Sampson, the woman I did marry, the woman I love. And I wouldn't have my children: Curt; Carli; the twins, Brigham and Brynn; and Cutler.

Not long ago, a dear friend had an impression to visit a woman in her ward. She brushed off the prompting because she hardly knew her—it just didn’t make sense. But since the thought kept coming to her, she decided to act on the prompting. Because she was already feeling uncomfortable about the impending visit, she determined that taking something to the sister would help ease her anxiety. Certainly she couldn’t go empty-handed! So she bought a container of ice cream, and off she went to begin what she worried might be an awkward visit.
She knocked on the woman’s door, and shortly the sister answered. My friend handed her the ice cream in a brown paper bag, and the conversation began. It didn’t take long for my friend to realize why the visit was needed. As they sat together on the front porch, the woman unveiled a host of challenges she was facing. After an hour of talking in the warm summer weather, my friend noticed the ice cream melting through the brown paper bag.
She exclaimed, “I am so sorry that your ice cream melted!”
The woman sweetly responded, “It’s OK! I’m lactose intolerant!”

While in St. George for a stake conference, President Snow received a revelation in which the Lord reaffirmed that Church members should pay an honest tithing. President Snow felt so strongly about this inspired direction that despite his advanced age he vigorously taught the commandment in the stakes all that summer. He also asked the Quorum of the Twelve to teach the doctrine of full tithing payment at every opportunity. Over time, the Saints responded, eventually saving the Church from a crushing burden of debt.

Our children will be more able to survive the challenges that will come to them when they know and understand that keeping God’s commandments can bring them peace and joy in their lives and enable them to walk uprightly. While traveling in the car with her mother and younger sister, five-year-old Clara sensed that her mother was deeply troubled about something. “Mommy, what’s the matter? You seem so sad.”
Not wanting to go into detail about her concerns, but feeling that she needed to acknowledge to her daughter that she was worried, Clara’s mother asked, “Clara, what would you do if you felt sad and frustrated?”
“Well,” responded Clara, and there was a long pause, “you need to take time out and think. Then you need to pray all the time and read the scriptures, especially the Book of Mormon. You need to bless other people. Just think about the good things people do for you and the good things in your life, not the bad.” Young Clara is beginning to understand how to walk uprightly before the Lord.

Several years ago I heard a popular song that contained the line “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.” My immediate reaction to these words was anger. The next day I heard the song again, and I laughed at myself because I had come to understand why the line had made me so angry. It was because it appeared to be true!
When I was in elementary school, my parents made me go to church on Sunday while others went to the movies. In junior high school, I collected fast offerings while others slept till noon. In high school, I didn’t work on Sunday and earn double pay at a grocery store. Instead, I kept the Sabbath day holy. During my mission I walked down the streets on Saturday nights with my companion while others our age drove past us with their dates, laughing, pointing, and asking, “Who are those strange people?”
As a young married couple, my wife and I attended church with our restless children. On Super Bowl Sunday—the biggest championship football day of the year—while the rest of the world ate, drank, and cheered, we tried to encourage our children to listen to the words of a member of the stake high council. At other times, while traveling in our old, worn-out car we would pull up to a stop light alongside a luxurious automobile. The occupants, with their socially acceptable number of children dressed in the most fashionable clothing, would look down on my six children, dressed in their second-hand clothes purchased at a discount store.
I felt most frustrated last year when my college-age children persuaded me to attend a concert at Brigham Young University; when the singer announced the song from which this line is taken, he said, “I’m not trying to convert anyone; I just want to provide you with an alternative.” I wanted to run to the stage, grab the microphone, and give my opinion on the subject. Of course this would have horrified my children so I controlled myself.

When I was first called as a bishop, I discovered that our record for subscriptions to the Relief Society Magazine in the Sixth-Seventh Ward had been at a low ebb. Prayerfully we analyzed the names of individuals whom we could call to be magazine representative. The inspiration dictated that Elizabeth Keachie should be given the assignment. As her bishop, I approached her with the task. She responded, “Bishop Monson, I’ll do it.”

Elizabeth Keachie was of Scottish descent, and when she replied, “I’ll do it,” one knew she indeed would. She and her sister-in-law, Helen Ivory—neither more than five feet tall—commenced to walk the ward, house by house, street by street, and block by block. The result was phenomenal. We had more subscriptions to the Relief Society Magazine than had been recorded by all the other units of the stake combined.

I congratulated Elizabeth Keachie one Sunday evening and said to her, “Your task is done.”

She replied, “Not yet, Bishop. There are two square blocks we have not yet covered.”

When she told me which blocks they were, I said, “Oh, Sister Keachie, no one lives on those blocks. They are totally industrial.”

“Just the same,” she said, “I’ll feel better if Nell and I go and check them ourselves.”

On a rainy day she and Nell covered those final two blocks. On the first one she found no home, nor did she on the second. She and Sister Ivory paused, however, at a driveway which was muddy from a recent storm. Sister Keachie gazed about 100 feet (30 m) down the driveway, which was adjacent to a machine shop, and there noticed a garage. This was not a normal garage, however, in that there was a curtain at the window.

She turned to her companion and said, “Nell, shall we go and investigate?”

The two sweet sisters then walked down the muddy driveway 40 feet (12 m) to a point where the entire view of the garage could be seen. Now they noticed a door which had been cut into the side of the garage, which door was unseen from the street. They also noticed that there was a chimney with smoke rising from it.

Elizabeth Keachie knocked at the door. A man 68 years of age, William Ringwood, answered. They then presented their story concerning the need of every home having the Relief Society Magazine. William Ringwood replied, “You’d better ask my father.”

Ninety-four-year-old Charles W. Ringwood then came to the door and also listened to the message. He subscribed.

Elizabeth Keachie reported to me the presence of these two men in our ward. When I requested their membership certificates from Church headquarters, I received a call from the Membership Department at the Presiding Bishopric’s Office. The clerk said, “Are you sure you have living in your ward Charles W. Ringwood?”

I replied that I did, whereupon she reported that the membership certificate for him had remained in the “lost and unknown” file of the Presiding Bishopric’s Office for the previous 16 years.

On Sunday morning Elizabeth Keachie and Nell Ivory brought to our priesthood meeting Charles and William Ringwood. This was the first time they had been inside a chapel for many years. Charles Ringwood was the oldest deacon I had ever met. His son was the oldest male member holding no priesthood I had ever met.

It became my opportunity to ordain Brother Charles Ringwood a teacher and then a priest and finally an elder. I shall never forget his interview with respect to seeking a temple recommend. He handed me a silver dollar, which he took from an old, worn leather coin purse, and said, “This is my fast offering.”

I said, “Brother Ringwood, you owe no fast offering. You need it yourself.”

“I want to receive the blessings, not retain the money,” he responded.

It was my opportunity to take Charles Ringwood to the Salt Lake Temple and to attend with him the endowment session.

Within a few months, Charles W. Ringwood passed away. At his funeral service I noticed his family sitting on the front rows in the mortuary chapel, but I noticed also two sweet women sitting near the rear of the chapel, Elizabeth Keachie and Helen Ivory.

As I gazed upon those two faithful and dedicated women and contemplated their personal influence for good, the promise of the Lord filled my very soul: “I, the Lord, am merciful and gracious unto those who fear me, and delight to honor those who serve me in righteousness and in truth unto the end. Great shall be their reward and eternal shall be their glory.”

During an informal fireside address held with a group of adult Latter-day Saints, the leader directing the discussion invited participation by asking the question, “How can you tell if someone is converted to Jesus Christ?” For forty-five minutes those in attendance made numerous suggestions in response to this question, and the leader carefully wrote down each answer on a large blackboard. All of the comments were thoughtful and appropriate. But after a time, this great teacher erased everything he had written. Then, acknowledging that all of the comments had been worthwhile and appreciated, he taught a vital principle: “The best and most clear indicator that we are progressing spiritually and coming unto Christ is the way we treat other people.”

A while ago I was walking through a beautiful garden with my wife and daughter. I marveled at the glory and beauty of God’s creation. And then I noticed, among all the glorious blooms, the tiniest flower. I knew the name of this flower because since I was a child I have had a tender connection to it. The flower is called forget-me-not.
I’m not exactly sure why this tiny flower has meant so much to me over the years. It does not attract immediate attention; it is easy to overlook among larger and more vibrant flowers; yet it is just as beautiful, with its rich color that mirrors that of the bluest skies.
As a child, when I would look at the little forget-me-nots, I sometimes felt a little like that flower—small and insignificant. I wondered if I would be forgotten by my family or by my Heavenly Father.
Years later I can look back on that young boy with tenderness and compassion. And I do know now—I was never forgotten.

When the family received people at home, it was always an opportunity for Elder Ribeiro to escape and play football with friends. But when the two missionaries entered the house, Elder Ribeiro felt joy. He felt that joy every time the missionaries taught. This was a pure testimony that he still keeps in his heart. Now, looking back, he recognizes that this was the way God spoke to an 11-year-old boy. He says that when there are difficult moments in his life, he remembers the joy he felt when they joined the Church, and it still gives him a sense of peace.

This past year has been a remarkable time for our family. Our only daughter, Jenny, and her husband, Mark, have longed for a child of their own. Though it was not their first choice, they began to think about adoption. In January 2010, Mark was struggling with pneumonia. During this time, Mark and Jenny were preparing to adopt a baby. As Mark's condition worsened, Jenny encouraged him to see the doctor once more. On a February morning, as they drove to the doctor's office, Mark and Jenny mailed some of their final adoption papers. But what was just a doctor's visit changed our family's whole perspective. Mark was diagnosed with stage four non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. (Picture of Mark in Hospital) It was a terrible shock. Everything was different now. Our family went from looking forward to a new baby to praying Mark would regain his health.

During this past year, we have learned to count our blessings and trust the Lord. We learned of the goodness of people. We felt the prayers, love and support of family members and friends. We experienced miracles. One miracle was Mark's healing. Another was watching the Lord open the door and connect Mark and Jenny to a remarkable young woman who chose to place her new baby girl with Mark and Jenny. In December Mark's cancer screenings were clean and clear and on December 15th Paige Ryann was born and came home in time for Christmas. (Photo 5 Mark, Jenny and Paige) What a miracle! Through the Holidays I pondered the question: "What was the first gift of Christmas?" The answer of course is: "A Child." (Photo 6 baby Paige) I now understand in an entirely different way the infinite goodness, wonder and blessing of the birth of a child. Never forget that at Christmas time what we really celebrate is our Heavenly Father's supernal gift: a child, His only begotten Son.

In June of 1986 I drove my mother to the Cardston Alberta Temple so she could receive her endowment. I had already received my endowment, but my nonmember husband and I lived in a remote part of British Columbia, and I had allowed my recommend to expire. Therefore, I was able to walk with my mother to the recommend desk but could follow her no further. I went outside, leaned against the temple wall, and cried.
After that experience, I determined never to be left outside of the temple again. My husband supported me in my decision, and I was soon attending the temple as frequently as I could. There I learned principles that made a profound difference in my personal life and in relationships with family and friends.

Let me conclude with one final account from Hyrum's ministry. It illustrates not only Hyrum's willingness and determination to endure, but his ability to inspire such attributes in others.

In April 1841, as Joseph supervised placement of the Nauvoo Temple cornerstones, Hyrum presided over a conference in Philadelphia. A new, faith-filled convert named Edward Hunter attended the conference. He donated $200 to the construction of the temple and provided Hyrum lodging before and after the conference.

Despite all of his other responsibilities, Hyrum took time to minister personally to Brother Hunter. Edward confided to Hyrum about the deep sorrow he had experienced with the recent death of his three-year-old son, George Washington Hunter. Hyrum brimmed with empathy. His own three-year-old daughter had died in his arms in 1832. He counseled with Brother Hunter as they walked the banks of the Brandywine River.

"It is pretty strong doctrine," Hyrum explained, "but I believe I will tell it." As they walked, Hyrum continued, "[George] will act as an angel to you ... to assist you in extreme trials" (240-241).

About a year later, Brother Hunter told Hyrum that George had indeed come to strengthen him and to assure him that he had "many friends in heaven" (255). Edward remained faithful to the end. He died at age 90, after serving more than 32 years as presiding bishop of the Church.

The donkeys and carts were becoming more numerous along the roadside now as the bus approached their ancient family village. Yung Fai looked across the aisle at Wai Fung sitting in her mother’s lap next to the window. In her excitement, she was squeezing the window railing with her bony fingers.
Yung Fai pondered to himself, I’ve never been inside her church again since that night of the typhoon. But it’s not because she hasn’t tried. She’s even taught me some of her songs. Why does she think more of me than I think of myself?
When Lily knocked at the low brick building Yung Fai vaguely remembered as his home, a gray-haired man opened the door. His mouth opened in a toothless grin. He greeted each family member in the usual reserved Chinese manner, taking their hands warmly in his. But, when Wai Fung was placed in his arms, he held her tight and tears came to his eyes.
“Do you remember the songs you used to sing for me?” he asked.
“Oh yes, Papa,” exclaimed Wai Fung.
After she had sung many of his favorite Chinese melodies, her father was silent. Yung Fai watched him fumble under the bed and pull out a big book. “I’ve been reading the Bible. You wrote and told me you had joined a Christian church, so I decided to find out what was in their book. Are there Christian songs you can sing?”
Wai Fung smiled exuberantly. Then Yung Fai saw her motioning to him with her eyes. “Papa,” she said, “I also taught Yung Fai to sing with me. Maybe we could both sing for you.”
At first, Yung Fai looked down shyly. Then the words of the song came more strongly to his lips, “O my Father, thou that dwellest …”
When the last note had faded, their father was nodding serenely. Yung Fai felt himself nodding too. The words the old man now spoke seemed to be coming from his own mouth. “Your words are good. They are true.”
Suddenly, Yung Fai felt as if he and his father were someplace else. Dressed in white, they were standing in a pool of water.
Yung Fai’s mind returned to the little room where his gray-haired father sat on a stool before him and Wai Fung sat close beside him. He groped for his sister’s hand, wanting to open her eyes to his experience. But, when he gazed down at her dark, tranquil eyes, he sensed she had seen his vision long ago and was now only sharing it with him.

The closest temple for the saints in Brazzaville is currently in Kinshasa, in the DRC. Getting there has not always been easy.
“We organized massive trips to the temple in Kinshasa, which meant we had to brave the challenge of crossing the turbulent river with our families,” said President Gayouele. “It was also during a time when our country was going through a severe recession. Families were destitute, but for these trips, members made enormous sacrifices to pay for the tickets for crossing the river, meals, and accommodation. There were so many of us leaving for the temple that very often there was no more room for us in the Kinshasa temple. Some brothers and sisters had to stay outside the temple and wait for their turn. These trips were times of trial of faith and determination for temple ordinances. Eventually, these trips have enabled us to bring the spirit of the temple into the hearts of Church members.”