Gospel Story Finder

Occasionally the group does have some free time during tours to use as it pleases. Oftentimes group members will sink into peaceful oblivion on the lawn of a chapel where they are to perform, but other times their free moments are spent in ways that attract at least as much attention as their performances.
Sandy Ord, a member of the group for the past two years, remembers a softball game where the boys challenged the girls on the lawn outside their motel. There’s nothing so unusual about that except for the fact the entire game was played without any equipment.
“We had the whole thing,” said Sandy, “umpire, cheerleaders, even a human scoreboard. And since there was no ball, you just pretended where to hit it. The girls were always hitting home runs, and, of course, we won.”

In 2004, I was managing the completion of the Manhattan New York Temple project. As a Church Project Manager, I was responsible to hire a professional construction company to ensure that the design approved by the First Presidency and Presiding Bishopric was indeed delivered on schedule and according to the design. The temple in Manhattan is very unique. It was constructed within an existing multi-level, multi-use building that required an interior renovation to become a temple. The only other temple to have multiple uses within the structure of the building is the Hong Kong China Temple. When we began, the temple design was comprised of a part of the ground floor for the Baptistery and the fifth and sixth floors for other ordinance and administrative spaces. The second, third and fourth floors of the building were used by the members as meetinghouse space. Through the course of the project the temple space grew to include a clothing issue and Public Affairs offices on the second floor and some other administrative office spaces on the fourth floor. Another item added was a steeple topped by an Angel Moroni statue. When new space is added to a project it requires new designs, modifications to the contract, additional funds and additional time. We try to incorporate enough time in the project to accommodate some minor changes, but not to the extent of the changes required to complete the Manhattan New York Temple. When I was asked to add a steeple and Angel Moroni to the temple, we had completed the interior finishes of one of the endowment rooms on the fifth floor and the Public Affairs offices on the second floor. Because the steeple was to be placed upon the outside corner of the building, the structural design required us to run steel columns and beams from the underground parking level of the building to the roof. The general contractor had to remove and replace all of the newly placed finishes to accommodate the new design. With only 3.5 months remaining to the temple dedication, I received instructions to replace the exterior façade to the temple on the street level, which consisted of commercial storefronts which were not consistent with the exterior of a temple. This may seem like a simple task of replacing a wall, but my efforts were met with insurmountable obstacles that only the hand of the Lord could overcome.

I prescribe to a technique taught by President Gordon B. Hinckley as described in his book entitled, Standing for Something. President Hinckley said,
“If there is any one thing that you and I need, to help us find success and fulfillment in this world it is faith – that dynamic powerful, marvelous element by which, as Paul declared, the very worlds were framed. I refer not to some ethereal concept but to a practical, pragmatic, working faith – the kind of faith that moves us to get on our knees and plead with the Lord for guidance, and then, having a measure of divine confidence, get on our feet and go to work to help bring the desired results to pass.” [9]
After pleading with the Lord for guidance on how to accomplish the task before me and not receiving an immediate answer to my prayer, I pondered the steps required to building the façade of the temple. I got on my feet and scheduled a meeting with the general contractor.
I sat across the table from the superintendent for the general contractor and relayed to him our latest challenge and dilemma. Picture in your mind a man already stressed and challenged to complete the project on time to allow the Open House to proceed as scheduled. Invitations had been sent to visiting VIPs and there was no latitude to extend the contract time to complete the project. President Hinckley scheduled the temple dedication almost one year earlier due to his tight schedule. The superintendent, a non-member, sat silently for a moment before responding. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Cory, what you are asking us to do is impossible with the remaining time before the Open House and Dedication. You need to let your prophet know it cannot be done. Our company cannot take on that liability and will not do this added work.” Obviously, the superintendent didn’t know what a prophet was and from whom he received direction. My heart sank. I didn’t know what to do. I returned to my hotel in a daze, wondering how to proceed. I earnestly pondered the situation for a few days. After letting my supervisors know that the general contractor refused to help with this new directive and that I didn’t know how best to proceed, I went to my knees. I pleaded for guidance and direction. When I arose I reflected upon President Hinckley’s words and had a renewed confidence that I needed to pursue every possible solution to bring this task to completion. I could not see how the temple could realistically be completed on time, but I knew that if President Hinckley said the temple would be dedicated on a certain day, I had to commit to doing everything I could to make it happen. And so the journey began.

It was the beginning of March 2004. I had approximately 2.5 months before the Open House and 3.5 months before the Temple Dedication, which was scheduled for mid-June.
The architects had created a design for the façade or wall of the temple, but that was only the first step in the process. The façade design incorporated a large quantity of ¾” thick polished Italian marble. Other steps necessary to complete this task were to find and purchase the marble stone for the wall, produce shop drawings showing how the stone would be installed and fabricate the shop tickets, which tell the stone cutter the sizes in which to cut the stone. Then the stone needed to be installed and some kind of decorative landscaping element added to soften the look and feel of the walkway outside the temple.
Typically, it takes 4 – 6 months to receive a shipment of stone after the shop tickets are delivered to the stone fabricator or stone cutter. Having managed several temple projects previously, I was aware of some stone suppliers and fabricators. I called them to see if there was any ¾” thick polished Italian marble available. Within a week of informing the superintendent of the need to add a façade to the project design, I had called every stone supplier I knew of, but found no one that could help me.
While pursuing the stone, I also knew that I had to find someone to produce the stone shop tickets, which details each individual stone’s dimensions. I called several firms, but their work load prevented them from taking on another job, especially one that needed to be completed within the next few weeks.
I was at a loss as to what to do next. Constantly seeking for guidance and trusting in the Spirit to provide that guidance, I continued to press forward calling and pleading with anyone I could think of. I spread word of my dilemma throughout the United States and Canada. A week later one of the firms called me and asked if I still needed help in producing shop drawings and the stone shop tickets.

Miraculously, a two-week window opened in the firm’s schedule that allowed them to take on this project. Two weeks was just the right amount of time required to complete the entire job. Almost in tears, I gratefully asked, “Yes, how soon can you begin?” We began producing the shop drawings and fabrication tickets without having any stone yet. A few weeks later, about a month after my conversation with the project superintendent, I received a call from a stone supplier that said he had received a call from a loading dock in Los Angeles, California, that had a shipment of ¾” thick polished Italian marble sitting in a container. Apparently the buyer who purchased the stone many months earlier no longer needed or wanted the stone. The shipping container held the exact amount of stone we needed to within 10 square feet of what the design called for. I gratefully purchased the stone. Now I needed a place to send the stone to be cut and fabricated.
I placed several calls to find a stone fabricator, who would take the stone and cut it to the sizes specified by the designers. Every fabricator I called said their production lines were scheduled out for months and couldn’t be interrupted. Days later I was notified by a fabricator that he had a window suddenly become open and could cut the stone. I immediately called the individual who found the container of stone in Los Angeles and gave him an address to ship the stone. I then called the firm producing the shop drawings and fabrication tickets and requested that the drawings and tickets immediately be sent to the stone fabricator. The stone fabrication would take 3 – 5 weeks, meaning stone installation would commence a week or two before the Open House and continue until the time of the temple dedication.
Meanwhile, the work to complete the interior of the temple continued. The superintendent watched in disbelief as things miraculously came together with the façade.
The final step in this process was to install the stone on the façade. I called several installers and none had the time or willingness to come to New York and install stone on such short notice. Once again the Lord intervened. Several days later I received a call from an out-of-state installer that said a project had fallen through and he now had a crew available to install stone if I still needed them. I called my superintendent and we arranged for the crew to come to New York when the first shipment of stone arrived, which was about the end of April.

As the crew mobilized to begin work, we were again interrupted. Unions are very prominent in New York. The Union began to form picket lines at the temple site because our workers were not from New York. The designated completion date for the project was rapidly approaching, but once again the work was halted while we worked on toward an equitable solution. Through creative negotiating, we were able to resolve the union issue amicably and resume work. It was now the beginning of May and time for the Open House to begin. In spite of the numerous delays we had encountered, the work on the façade of the temple had steadily progressed, and of necessity, continued through the Open House. Even with this disruption, visitors could feel the sacredness of the temple. There were moments when I worried that the temple wouldn’t be completed in time for the dedication, but we continued to press forward. After many long days and long hours, the work was finally completed at the last possible moment. The last planter was placed in the temple entry within 30 minutes of President Hinckley’s arrival to tour the temple just prior to the dedication on June 13, 2004. After the dedication of the Manhattan New York temple, the project superintendent approached me to say it was an absolute miracle we had finished the temple in time. I knew what he didn’t. It was entirely through the Lord’s hand that the temple was finished in time for the dedication. Faith requires that we do all we can to bring about the things we hope and pray for.

“July 1839.—President Joseph Smith had taken the sick into his house and door-yard until his house was like an hospital and he had attended upon them until he was taken sick himself and confined to his bed several days.
“July 22, 1839.—Joseph arose from his bed of sickness, and the power of God rested upon him. He commenced in his own house and door-yard, commanding the sick, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole, and they were healed according to his word. He then continued to travel from house to house from tent to tent upon the bank of the river, healing the sick as he went until he arrived at the upper stonehouse, where he crossed the river in a boat, accompanied by several of the Quorum of the Twelve, and landed in Montrose.
“He walked into the cabin where I was lying sick, and commanded me, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole. I arose and was healed, and followed him and the brethren of the Twelve into the house of Elijah Fordham, who was supposed to be dying, by his family and friends. Joseph stepped to his bedside, took him by the hand and commanded him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole. His voice was as the voice of God. Brother Fordham instantly leaped from his bed, called for his clothing and followed us into the street.
“We then went into the house of Joseph B. Noble, who also lay very sick, and he was healed in the same manner; and when, by the power of God granted unto him, Joseph had healed all the sick, he recrossed the river and returned to his home. This was a day never to be forgotten.
“During my further stay in Montrose I attended meetings and administered to the sick when I was well myself.”7

By the time I was ready to go to college, I had trained several branch members to lead the music and play the piano. In college I continued to play the piano and took organ lessons. I thought my chance of going to Latin America was gone forever when I gave up competitive swimming, but after I completed my master’s degree at Brigham Young University, I served a mission to Colombia. While on my mission, I taught piano lessons. I wanted to leave those Saints with the gift of music. Children and youth of Colombia walked miles in the hot sun to have the opportunity to learn to play the piano. They too started with one hand until they progressed to play with both hands. And they made more sacrifices than I did in their efforts to learn to play the piano.

Do you want to do better in school? How would you like to ace your college entrance exams? Well, then work on your sense of humor and on having fun. That’s what Michael Haycock, a priest in the Lima Ward, Toledo Ohio Stake, says. And Michael knows something about taking tests and doing well in school. As a sophomore in 2004, Michael aced both standardized college entrance exams; he scored a perfect 36 on the ACT and a 1570 on the SAT (just 30 points away from a perfect 1600). He ranks at the top of his class with a 4.17 grade point average. He also says to “Learn to love to learn.”
“With a zany sense of humor, you can have fun with everything from verbs to imaginary numbers,” says Michael. That’s easy for him to say. Maybe it’s just because he’s so smart that things come so easily. After all, he is one of only two sophomores in the entire nation to get a 36 on the ACT out of about 218,000 students. He is the final winner of the Ohio University–sponsored U.S. history contest, in which he competed with 7,400 other entrants for a full-tuition, four-year scholarship. He is the star on the high school quiz bowl team. And he still makes it to early-morning seminary every day.
That’s why it’s so surprising to hear this bit of advice from Michael: “Don’t feel you’re a failure due to others’ successes. I feel this quite a bit. It’s a weakness of mine.” Michael explains that when he hears about the latest 12-year-old neurosurgeon, or the college-attending 13-year-old Nobel Peace Prize nominee, he thinks he should have done just a little more or a little better. “Everyone can do at least one thing another cannot,” Michael adds. “Every child of God is truly unique.”
So what makes Michael Haycock unique? There are lots of things. He certainly doesn’t fit the standard mold of the “brainiac.” When asked if others ever bother him for being a good student, Michael says that has happened on occasion, “but that’s only been at the beginning. When they get to know me they stop.” He plays the trombone in the marching band and the symphonic band. He sings in the school choir and even auditioned for and made it into the all-state choir. He runs cross-country. “My best time for the 5K is 20 minutes, 10 seconds,” Michael says, “which is not spectacular, but it’s not bad either.” This year he improved his time; it’s now 19 minutes, 32 seconds. But what really makes Michael stand out among his peers is that he’s a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“We have more LDS students in our school than in any other school in the county.” That number translates into nine members of the Church in his high school. Michael says he doesn’t get a chance to interact with them much outside of early-morning seminary, because they don’t have classes together. In fact, even at church, Michael is in a quorum of only four boys, and each of them lives in a different school district. “I can’t say if it’s hard or easy, because I don’t have anything to compare it to,” Michael says.
So Michael’s group of friends is quite diverse. “We have a Baptist, a Lutheran, a Methodist, and Catholics,” he says. What brings them together is years of friendship and similar interests. They all like learning and science fiction and fantasy. Having many friends of other faiths gives Michael a chance to let them know about his beliefs. “We sometimes have religious discussions—pretty much compare beliefs. I’ve gone to my friend’s church recently for Palm Sunday, and she came to general conference with me.”
When he has the chance, Michael likes to get together with other LDS youth. Like when he sang in the choir for the dedication of Church history sites in historic Kirtland. He talks warmly about the three- to four-hour drives to Kirtland for practices. But he remembers most the wonderful experience of the dedication and the fireside the night before where he saw President Gordon B. Hinckley and other General Authorities speak.
“We see these people in general conference. But this was live. And at the end of the dedication everyone got up and spontaneously sang ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,’” Michael remembers (Hymns, no. 19). “It was surreal almost. It was an amazing feeling throughout the whole dedication. It was neat.”
Living close to some of the Church history sites has helped Michael’s testimony grow stronger. He’s gained respect and admiration for what the early Saints accomplished. He’s had the chance to attend four temple dedications. And he’s come to feel a connection with the Prophet Joseph Smith. “One thing I know is that the Book of Mormon is true,” says Michael. “I’m reading it through my second time. There’s just no way one person could have put down all the wisdom on paper that is in those pages. There’s no way.”
What does the future hold for Michael Haycock? Service. “I’m preparing for college the best I can by taking AP [advanced placement] classes,” says Michael. “After that I’m going to head off to college for a year and then go on a mission. I’ll come back and finish up school.” He says he’s pretty sure he’ll pursue more degrees than just a bachelor’s. Michael has thought about becoming a Spanish professor, but right now he is planning on going into political science, with the hopes of getting into politics. He wants to make a difference in the world.
Michael doesn’t see himself as smarter than everyone else. But sometimes that’s how others look at him. “They see the stereotype of the smart kid, but I try to break that stereotype,” says Michael. And he’s done it. Michael Haycock is not just another smart kid; he’s a smart kid with a strong testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
Here are 10 tips Michael says he uses to do his best when studying, preparing for, and taking a test.
Attend class every day and pay attention.
Have a good sense of humor so you can have fun learning.
Develop a good relationship with your teachers.
Do all your assignments, and do them on time.
Ask questions about things you don’t understand.
Review your study material with friends.
Do all review assignments.
Define your own academic identity: don’t let yourself be labeled.
Check your answers on quizzes and tests at least once—twice if you have time.
Learn to love to learn.

The first significant event in Opapo’s life was a dream he had as a young man. In it, he saw two foreign missionaries come into his village, walk directly to his fale (hut), and sit down. That’s where the dream ended; but when two Latter-day Saint missionaries entered his house a few years later, he recognized them as the men in his dream, and the Spirit strongly confirmed to him that their message was true.
Everything was ready for this man to do a great work among his Samoan people.
The records show that he and his wife, Toai, were baptized in 1890, two years after the Samoan Mission was opened. By 1890 the Samoans were already familiar with the tenets of Christianity. The London Missionary Society had begun proselyting in 1830, followed by the Catholics and the Methodists soon afterwards. Blessed with a deep faith in the Savior, the people were familiar with spiritual gifts and miracles. But as my grandfather accepted the gospel and joined this struggling little church, the signs promised to the believers in Christ began to follow him in an extraordinary way, even among those faithful people.
Ironically, there was bitter hostility between the groups who claimed to worship the Savior and love him. Mormons bore persecution and ridicule and were even nicknamed “cowboys” because Joseph Smith had grown up on a farm. Through it all, Opapo was fearless and faithful, recognized as a leader among the Latter-day Saints.
In 1904, he and a few others founded a settlement called Sauniatu (“Preparing to Go Forward”), a small sanctuary for the Saints in the mountains of Upolu. Shortly after the first chapel was built, the small cooking house behind it caught on fire and, despite the efforts of the people to carry water from the river, the fire spread rapidly, endangering the chapel itself. Then people noticed that Opapo had climbed atop the chapel and sat astride its roof-beam. Raising his right arm, he looked to heaven and said, “Father, we can spare the small house, but we cannot spare the big one. In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the holy priesthood, I command the wind to change.”
It did; the small house collapsed, and the chapel was saved. Not only was the chapel spared, but the Sauniatu Saints’ faith was strengthened at a very difficult time.
Blessed also with the gift of prophecy, he influenced the lives of many. On one occasion, he returned from a three-month trip to another island and saw preparations for a fiafia (celebration) in progress to celebrate the marriage of a young man and a young woman. As he interviewed the young woman, he suddenly told her, without any other explanation, that if she married the young man, she would soon be saddened.
Opapo and Toai were not spared personal trials. Eleven of their fourteen children died before adulthood. However, through it all they seemed to increase in humility, prayerfulness, and industry. Opapo reserved 5:00 A.M. and 5:00 P.M. for prayer, but frequently prayed at other times as well. And he always provided, not only for his own family, but also for others, especially widows and the fatherless.
He also served several missionary assignments, accompanying American missionaries to other areas for proselyting. On one of these journeys, Opapo, his long-time friend Elisala, and one of two American missionaries went to the island of Manu‘a. Upon arriving they found that the local king, Tuimanu‘a, had forbidden anyone from receiving or assisting the Latter-day Saints in any way—the punishment for disobedience was immediate stoning. However, the missionaries were determined to succeed and stayed for two months, eating fallen coconuts from the beaches and sleeping each night in holes. They covered their heads with leaves to protect themselves from the mosquitoes, each one taking a turn nightly to help the others arrange their leaves and then unassisted himself, suffering from bites the rest of the night.
After several weeks of this grueling ordeal, Opapo was awakened by the smell of some freshly baked food in a nearby basket. The missionaries did not know whether through a human or a divine source; but after weeks of coconuts, they were profoundly grateful. Near the end of their stay the incident was repeated when an elderly woman brought them some food, saying that if she had to die for her kindness, she would, but she did not fear Tuimanu‘a.
A few weeks later, after exhausting every possible avenue, the missionaries prepared to depart. Ceremonially, Opapo and Elisala spoke directly to Tuimanu‘a and his people, warning them that they would feel the wrath and power of God if they did not repent. As his last act before boarding the longboat, Opapo paused at the edge of the village and dusted off his feet as a witness against the island. A couple of weeks later a devastating hurricane struck the island, killing many, destroying all of the crops above ground, and leveling every house except one—the fale (hut) in which lived the elderly lady who had helped the missionaries.
It is true that miracles strengthen the faith of believers but do not necessarily give faith to the unbelieving. It was not until 1974 that a branch was actually organized in Manu’a. On the other hand, the Saints to whom Opapo returned heard of the incident and increased in faithfulness.
Soon afterward, Opapo and Toai moved their family from Sauniatu to the island of Tutuila, in preparation for eventually moving to Hawaii to join the Saints there. Persecution was particularly acute in Tutila, and it caused Opapo much sorrow though it never weakened his faith. On one occasion, he and Pinemua Soliai, a good friend, were walking towards Pago Pago and waved to a passing bus to stop for them. It stopped for them, but as they neared it, the driver, recognizing them as Mormon missionaries, suddenly pressed on his accelerator and left them standing in the dust. Brother Soliai ruefully commented to Opapo, “Well, it’s going to take us a long time to get up to town now.” Sadly, Opapo said, “No, we’ll get to town before he does.” One and one-half kilometers later they came upon the scene of an accident. The bus had collided head-on with a truck and the bus driver had been killed.
Brother Soliai and his family were the only Latter-day Saints in their little village of Nuuuli on Tutuila. On one occasion, he asked Opapo to come bless his children, his house, his property, and his friends. Present on that occasion was a wealthy nonmember widow, Salataima Puailoa, who was deeply troubled because her husband’s family was taking steps to deprive her of the land she had inherited from him. Impressed by the blessings, she requested one herself; but Opapo was reluctant because she was not a member.
She investigated the Church and was baptized, then came to him again and requested the blessing. In it, Opapo promised that she would receive the land without any hindrance from her husband’s relatives and that she would, if she were faithful, be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to further the work of the Church in American Samoa.
In the early 1950’s, that blessing was fulfilled. The Church purchased some of her property and on it built a high school, faculty housing, a large welfare farm, and a stake center.
In 1926, Opapo and Toai sent my father, Teila, to Hawaii to prepare for their arrival. Two years later, the Church called my grandparents to come do temple work for Samoans in the Hawaiian Temple. In 1935, my grandmother died of pneumonia at the age of seventy. She was buried in Laie, Hawaii, after a lifetime of generous and and faithful support of the Church and of her husband.
Like Toai, Opapo died of pneumonia near his eighty-first birthday and was buried beside her.
I did not know my grandfather well, but I have an increasing appreciation that I am his grandson. Because of his faith, my faith, is stronger. The gifts he exhibited testified to his Samoan people, at a crucial time in the history of the Church in those islands, that the gospel is true, the priesthood represents the power of God, and that the plan of salvation truly describes the pathway we must follow. Not only his family but all of the Saints in the Church can be heirs to the legacy of blessings he left.

Peter Jeppson took the gasoline pump hose out of his tank and with a quick twist of his wrist, secured the tank cap. It was late Saturday night, and he had stopped for gasoline on his way home from his date. He was still thinking of his best friend’s news—a mission call. Peter, himself, would be sending in his own papers in just a few weeks.
As Peter drove through an intersection into the traffic on the main highway leading into Boise, Idaho, his car smashed head-on into another. On impact, the windshield of his car was knocked out and shattered on the street. The full gas tank located in the front of his rear-engined car burst.
Gas sloshed up the hood right through the open window catching me right in the eyes, covering me and the inside of the car completely. Somehow flames were ignited, and the car burst into a blazing fire. It was then that some people who were passing by saw the accident and quickly stopped. Three men were able to get close enough to my car to open the door. The flames were two times as high as the car. They couldn’t find me because the flames were so intense. They threw their coats in the open car door to cover the flames until they could see my hand. The three of them grabbed my hand and pulled me from the wreckage. They rolled me over and over to put out the fire.
Peter had borrowed his brother’s thick, Scottish wool sweater for his date that night. The trunk of his body and his arms down to the wrists, the areas covered by the sweater, were the only parts not burned. It was the fact that he was wearing this sweater that saved his life.
In 1965, Peter was living in his hometown of Boise, Idaho, preparing for a mission like many of his friends. The day of the accident changed all that. He was forced into an experience that would test him to the limit. And it was his triumph over adversity that changed his life.

I had an occasion one time as a stake president to have a man come to me and tell me of some serious things that had happened in his life. He knew that he had not done well. He knew that a disciplinary council should be held. And he knew that it would happen. The discipline was determined, and the man was absolutely faithful. He complied with every condition imposed by that council. As time passed, he came in and we visited. It was not easy for him. The Lord was training him, he was preparing him. This man knew what adversity was. He turned to the scriptures. He found comfort as he read of the Savior and others who had passed through those periods of adversity, and then he knelt in mighty prayer. He went to our Father in Heaven and pled with him during those times of anguish. The day finally came when he was baptized again, and he had his blessings restored. Then came an experience that I will never forget. As we met one more time, he said, with tears in his eyes, “I used to know about the Savior. I used to read about him; now I know him. I know Jesus Christ. He is my Redeemer.” I don’t know of any person that I have met who knew the Savior better. The only thing I felt bad about is that he had to go through all that to know him. I would pray that in our activities and in our trials we would not have to go that far to get to know the Savior.

Their deep desire to be of service and to demonstrate their love can even benefit the bishop. In Sacramento, California, while the bishop was away on vacation with his family, the youth committee determined to paint his house. These young people had the time of their lives working together and anticipating the pleasant surprise of the bishop when he returned. A real bond of love was established between the youth and their bishop with such meaningful service.

Then I met the missionaries. They gave me a Book of Mormon, and I started to read it. When I read 3 Nephi 17, I was truly impressed by the way Jesus took the little children and prayed for them. I knew that this was the right way to pray.
I decided to read all the scriptures about Jesus Christ praying. In Luke 3:21, after John baptized Him, Jesus prayed to Heavenly Father and the heavens were opened. When I read that, I knew that I wanted to pray in a way that would open the heavens too.
Sometimes I feel tired and don’t feel like praying. But then I remember how Jesus prayed. I try to be honest and sincere in my prayer so that the heavens will be opened for me too.
Sometimes my prayers are short because I can’t find the words to express myself well. I just have a bunch of feelings inside, and I say, “Thou know what I’m trying to say. Please just help me.”
Sometimes when I pray to bless the food, I remember that even in that small prayer, the heavens can be opened. I try to forget about the world and connect with Heavenly Father. And in a very humble way, I say things that come from my heart.
When I feel peace and comfort, I know that the heavens are open to me.
After the missionaries taught my family about the gospel, my mother, sister, and I were baptized. But my father, my brother, and my other sister didn’t join the Church. I really wanted my father to be a member of the Church. I fasted, and every day I prayed for my father to accept the gospel and be baptized.
I knew that I needed to pray for my father, but I also knew I needed to wait for God’s answer. Sometimes He says, “No, not yet.” Eventually my father did listen and understand, and he was baptized.
If your mother or father isn’t a member of the Church yet, talk to your friend—your Father in Heaven. Ask for Him to touch your mother or father’s heart. Talk to Him humbly and honestly, in a sincere way. But then relax. He is in command. He knows how to do things. He knows your father and mother better than you do. He knows how to reach them.
Don’t worry. You have a friend. Pray with your heart, and Heavenly Father will listen to you. The heavens will be opened. He knows you, and He will bless you.

I recently had the opportunity to speak to a woman who asked me about Joseph Smith. She was clearly skeptical about his calling and mission. As I spoke to her, the words of the Lord to Oliver Cowdery came to me: “Stand by my servant Joseph, faithfully” (D&C 6:18). I hope that on that day, and at every moment in my life, it can be said of me, “She stood by Joseph.” I want to be his friend.
Joseph Smith himself was a great friend to many. He said, “Friendship is one of the grand fundamental principles of ‘Mormonism’; [it is designed] to revolutionize and civilize the world, and cause wars and contentions to cease and men to become friends and brothers” (History of the Church, 5:517).
And yet he knew that friendship was more than an abstraction. He learned one day that a brother’s house had been burned by enemies. When Church members said they felt sorry for him, the Prophet took some money from his pocket and said, “I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars. How much do you … feel sorry [for him]?” (in Hyrum L. Andrus and Helen Mae Andrus, comps., They Knew the Prophet [1974], 150).

I have a plastic star decoration in my room that I brought home from my mission. I love how it looks when it lights up. This little star hangs on a wall so I can see it every night as I go to sleep and first thing when I wake up.
Recently I noticed that my star wasn’t attached to the wall as securely as it normally was, but I didn’t give it much thought. I was confident that the single piece of tape holding it to the wall would stick.
Then one morning my star wasn’t there—it had fallen. I decided to resecure the star with more tape. This time I used five pieces—one piece for each point of the star—to make sure it wouldn’t fall again.
That’s when I realized that my little glowing star is like each of us, and the tape holding it could represent our spiritual habits. The light we have within us is entirely dependent upon the things we do to strengthen, or secure, our testimonies. Every piece of tape I put on the star reminded me of Alma 37:6: “By small and simple things are great things brought to pass.”
I also thought about how I had noticed that my star was about to fall for several days, but I did nothing to save it until it did fall. And it’s the same with our testimonies—if we become complacent and forget to do the small, spiritual practices that can help keep our faith strong, our testimonies can weaken.

The only obstacle still in our way was the cost of chartering a bus. To meet it, we needed to sell fifty-eight fares—and with only three weeks to go, we had sold only forty-four fares. Unless we sold the remaining fares, the individual cost of each ticket would be higher, and some people wouldn’t be able to go.
But Brother Ávila’s faith didn’t waver. He decided that if we couldn’t fill the bus with branch members, we would invite the rest of Mendoza Stake. So he and Brother Alejandro Suriano visited each of the wards and branches in the stake, leaving a small poster and inviting their members to join us.
What happened next proved to us that signs do follow those who believe. Interested people quickly came forward, and the unsold seats were soon gone. Some of these newcomers did not even live in the stake boundaries. Brother and Sister Freire were from the nearby Godoy Cruz Argentina Stake, and the five members of the Badami family were from Santiago del Estero province—more than 1,000 kilometers away.
As arrangements were finalized, there were three families who had prepared for the trip but could not pay the full cost. Thankfully, the money we had donated at our early meetings settled the balance. Now everything was in order.

Latter-day Saints are weird.
I mean that in a nice way. After all, my best friend and next-door neighbor, Ben Blanchard, is a Latter-day Saint, and he’s great. Ben has a wild sense of humor, is good at sports, and likes to build model cars and planes, just like me. The rest of his family’s pretty neat too. Mr. Blanchard is a whiz at repairing bikes and go-carts and other mechanical things. Mrs. Blanchard makes scrumptious pies and cakes. Becky’s OK, Joel’s not bad for a baby, and Tom, who’s just younger than Ben, is all right too.
So, they’re a nice family, just a little weird. Like on Mondays. Not long after we moved into the neighborhood, I went over to play at the Blanchard’s one Monday night after dinner.
“I can’t,” Ben said when he came to the door.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m doing stuff with my family,” he said.
“Like what?” I asked.
Ben shuffled a little and looked flustered. “Well, on Mondays we have family night. We sing, have a lesson, play games, and have a treat. It’s churchy.”
“Oh,” I said. “Every Monday?”
“Every Monday.”
I wouldn’t mind the games and treats, but I don’t sing, and a lesson sounds boring. Sometimes Ben tells me about the lessons. Once he went through the whole day at school being real polite and not cracking his usual jokes about the teachers.
“What’s wrong?” I asked as we got on the bus. “Are you sick?”
Ben looked put out. “We had a lesson last night about being kind and thoughtful and had to set goals for the week. I’m trying to be more considerate of my teachers.”
“Oh” was all I could say.
Soon I could tell when Ben had a family-night goal to be considerate, or to say thank you all the time, or to pick up litter, or to get to bed early, or to watch out for his younger brothers. He would act really strange for a week or two, then gradually slip back toward his old ways.
Sometimes the Blanchards went places on Monday nights. The next day I’d ask Ben where his family had gone, and he’d say to visit his aunt or to pick apples for Church welfare or to a widow’s house to weed her garden.
One Monday in November I was helping my dad change the oil in the car when the Blanchards drove off, then came back so quickly that I couldn’t figure out where they could have gone.
“Where’d you go last night?” I asked Ben the next morning.
He got a funny look on his face. “Oh, somewhere,” he answered.
I couldn’t believe it. Ben always told me where they went! “What is this, some kind of secret mission?”
Ben half-laughed, half-choked, “Sort of.” He looked behind him and then leaned toward me and whispered, “Becky made me promise not to tell anyone.”
I spent the next week trying to puzzle out what the Blanchards could have done that Becky wouldn’t want anyone to know about. Had they discovered gold or silver? Were they rehearsing a circus act? Or maybe they were plotting to take over the world!
The next Monday the Blanchards stayed home. I was outside with Dad again, helping him replace the porch light. We were nearly done when a car came up the street. I was instantly alert because we live on a dead-end street, and we hardly ever get strange cars on it. Even more mysterious, this car was creeping along at a snail’s pace. As soon as the car passed our driveway, its headlights blinked off. But the car kept on going and stopped just beyond the Blanchard’s house.
I nudged Dad. “Something fishy’s going on here,” I whispered.
We tiptoed to the hedge that divides our property from the Blanchards’ and watched. A figure got out of the car and crept up the driveway to the Blanchard’s porch. He—or she or it—placed something by their door, pressed the doorbell, and scooted down the driveway.
Dad squeezed through the hedge and grabbed the skulker’s jacket. “What are you doing?” he asked.
I squeezed through the hedge, too, and ran up to the door while Dad marched the boy—we could tell that much now—up the driveway behind me.
By the time Dad got to the door, Ben and the rest of his family were crowding around the door, wide-eyed.
“Do you know this boy?” Dad asked.
“It’s Frank Adams,” Mr. Blanchard told us.
Frank was absolutely crimson. He bent down and picked up a plate of cookies. On top of the cookies was a ghost shape cut out of paper. “I just left these,” he explained weakly.
The Blanchards all whooped with laughter. “He was phantoming us!”
“Huh?” Dad and I stared at each other.
“Can I go?” Frank looked desperately at Dad. “Mom’s in the car and probably thinks I’ve been kidnapped.”
Dad let go of Frank’s jacket. “Sorry. I was just trying to watch out for my neighbors,” he said, shaking his head as Frank rushed down the driveway.
I was dying of curiosity. “What was he doing?”
Becky sighed. “Different families in our ward—our church congregation—have been going around on Mondays and secretly leaving treats on other people’s door-steps. We say that the Family Night Phantom left them.”
Dad and I stared at each other again and raised our eyebrows.
“Better cookies than vandalism,” Dad finally said with a shrug.
“I bet that’s what you were doing last week. Right?” I asked Ben.
He nodded, embarrassed.
As Dad and I walked home, I thought again how weird Latter-day Saints were. Who else would leave cookies and stuff at people’s houses without being seen? Crazy!
The next Monday night our doorbell rang. Mom, Dad, and Tina were all watching TV, so I went to see who was there.
Nobody was there! At first I thought it was somebody’s idea of a dumb joke. Then I looked down. The Blanchards had phantomed us! They’d left a plate of brownies and a silly drawing of a ghost.
Nutty, right? Absolutely nutty. But I must say, the brownies were delicious. Maybe family night phantoms aren’t so weird after all.

I often think of the time President Spencer W. Kimball, a few years ago, called me to the temple. I was busy as an Assistant to the Twelve at that time, and he telephoned me to meet him at the fourth floor of the temple. He said, “David, can you come right now?” And I said, “Yes, President.” And he said, “Right now.” And as I walked to the temple, my heart was beating fast, not knowing, of course, what President Kimball was calling me there for.
But he took me into a room that I hadn’t been in before, and there President Kimball interviewed me regarding my worthiness. And, of course, I was amazed because of his speaking to me that way, because I didn’t have any idea why I was there. And then he motioned for us to stand, and as I was standing with that wonderful man and he’s holding my hands, he said to me, “With all the love that I possess, I’m calling you to fill the vacancy in the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.” And when he said that, I thought I would collapse with the shock, the astonishment that came into my mind!
And so, as I had sleepless nights after that call, I mulled that in my mind and I have thought of it time and time again. He did not say, “As the President of the Church” or “As the prophet” or “By my authority.” He said, in that humble, humble way of his, “With all the love that I possess.” He was teaching me that love is essential—the love that the Savior hopes that we will acquire—that we must show, that we must demonstrate, we must feel in our hearts and souls in order to teach the gospel properly.

In September 2004 I traveled to the Netherlands with two of my grandchildren, Jim and Arianne, to commemorate the 60th anniversary of Dutch liberation during World War II. We had been invited by the Dutch Historical Group to participate in the commemoration because my brother Evan, a co-pilot of a B-24 bomber, had died while helping with the liberation in 1944.
While there we traveled to Hommersum, just over the border into Germany, to attend a ceremony dedicating a plaque where my brother’s plane had crashed. Father Gerard Thuring, one of the event organizers, and I spoke during the ceremony, after which 17-year-old Arianne sang the U.S. national anthem, “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and Jim, 15, helped raise the U.S. flag.
Afterward I told Father Thuring that we would like to attend the special liberation Mass the following day at his church in Oosterhaus. He welcomed our interest and invited us to attend. I then summoned the courage to suggest that Arianne, with whom I had consulted earlier, would be willing to sing at the meeting.
Surprised, he asked, “What will she sing?”
“ ‘I Am a Child of God,’ ” I told him.
This good and kind man thought for a moment and then said, “We are all children of God. Let’s do it.”
When we arrived for the liberation Mass early the next morning, the church was full. Partway through the program, Father Thuring invited Arianne to come up and sing. After escorting her to the front, he said, “We will now hear a song from a Mormon girl from Utah.”
Without the benefit of music or accompaniment, Arianne began. As her voice echoed from the church’s high ceilings, tears began to flow as parishioners comprehended the hymn’s comforting message.
At the close of the meeting, many in the congregation expressed appreciation and love to Arianne for singing the hymn. The experience was a powerful reminder that all of us—regardless of race, religion, or language—are children of God.

When I was a teenager, my family rented a small home in Laie on Loala Street for six weeks during the summer. We spent most of our days on Hukilau Beach, trying to avoid the “blue bubble” jellyfish, riding bicycles around the neighborhood, and drinking gallons of guava nectar. We visited the pineapple fields, hiked to waterfalls, and toured historic sites. This was a summer to remember for a 13-year-old boy! However, while these experiences were fun, I was impacted most by something more meaningful—the loving and welcoming nature of our neighbors.
Even though we were staying in Laie for only a short time, those around us reached out. Families invited us into their homes for dinner. Kids in the neighborhood extended a hand of friendship. We were even asked to participate in the local ward’s annual beach barbecue and talent show. We were accepted, included, and valued.
We felt like we belonged.

I recall an experience I had as I was completing my doctorate that has taught me something about listening to God’s questions rather than aggressively pursuing my own, no matter how righteous my questions seem to be. I was just beginning my final year at Stanford, and I was not sure how I would be able to accomplish all that needed to be done.

One day the elders quorum president in the ward engaged me in casual conversation. He said that they were looking for an early-morning seminary teacher to teach the youth in the ward and offhandedly suggested that maybe I should do it. My response was that I didn’t see how I could possibly do it during the coming year, given all that I had to do, and the conversation ended harmlessly enough. However, for several weeks I couldn’t seem to get the thought out of my mind: “But what if they call you, Alan?” I had never turned down a calling in my life. I had always said to myself that I would accept callings, but I resisted the thought of this calling.

About three weeks later, as I sat in the temple renewing sacred covenants with the Lord, promising him that I would do whatever he asked, a thought from the Lord came into my mind: “Would you even teach early-morning seminary for me?” Well, there he had me. I realized that I had been asking the wrong question. My question had been, “How can I finish the dissertation and move on to a university assignment?” The Lord was asking me: “Are you interested in doing my will more than your own?” In my heart I responded first with real embarrassment that I had been unrepentant and closed to what I now realized had been his question of me, a question that I thought had come from an unthoughtful and casual elders quorum president. I then promised the Lord that I would do whatever he wanted, even if I never finished the dissertation.

I was called to teach seminary the next Sunday. It was one of the most difficult assignments I have ever had. I struggled to prepare for those early-morning lessons. The students were often not appreciative of the sacrifice that I felt I was making, and the dissertation took an additional semester to finish.

I realize now that this experience led me to remarkable opportunities to serve individuals who needed my particular approach. I also see how the Lord taught me about teaching, about the gospel, and about myself through this experience. As I look back, however, the most important lesson for me from this experience is that if I am not careful I may become so involved in pursuing my own questions that I may miss God’s questions to me. They come in many forms, and I must school my heart to be open to them.

A few years ago I had an interesting view of the tallest spire in Reykjavik, Iceland, as we were landing at the airport. We were told that this tall building was a church, and after greeting our Saints and inspecting our church building which I was to dedicate, I was curious to visit this other building we had seen from the air with the tall, stately spire. It was very impressive from a distance. However, as we approached the building we discovered that the front door was made of plywood and padlocked. A sign directed us to the back door. This large church building with such an impressive front and its high steeple, we discovered, was only a shell of a building. Though under construction for forty years, the weather-beaten framework was still in place—a reminder of ambitious plans on a grand scale but lacking the faith and foresight for its completion.

Later, as we met in our smaller but adequate building in Reykjavik, it was comforting to know that it was not just a shell, but had the vitalizing power and Spirit of God in that little building.

Tyler Grant of Idaho Falls, Idaho, received the Heroism Award from the National Council of the Boy Scouts of America.
Tyler’s father was working on an engine when it backfired and lit his clothes on fire. Tyler grabbed a piece of carpet and rolled his father in it to extinguish the flames. After administering first aid, Tyler drove his father to the hospital where he was treated for second degree burns.
Tyler is a priest in the Iona Third Ward.