Gospel Story Finder

Now the other personal report concerns my effort over the past year to improve my humility. I’ve had a couple of recent experiences that have greatly contributed to that effort, and I need to report them to you.

Two or three months ago I bought a bolt-end of material suitable for making suits. When I took it to a local tailor, he informed me that there was simply not enough in that bolt-end to make a suit that would fit me. Later that day, when I was in Salt Lake, I happened to drive by another tailor’s shop and decided to get a second opinion. To my astonishment, I was told: “Oh, sure. I can make you a suit from that fabric and, if you like, a second pair of pants and a vest.” I expressed my surprise and told him of my other conversation earlier in the day. He replied, “Well, you’ve just got to remember one thing. You’re not nearly as big a man in Salt Lake as you are in Provo.”

Cammon Randle got his first video camera when he was only eight years old. Now that he’s at BYU, he’s doing what he has always wanted to do—tell stories.

“I’ve always been interested in movies and how you can tell a story by showing it,” he says.

So how did this enterprising student go from an eight-year-old with a camera to a film student with his own production company? Well, first he tried.

Starting with small Claymation projects when he was nine, Cammon kept filming and editing through high school. He eventually decided to go to BYU and major in media arts. He has worked on films like The Best Two Years, a film about missionaries in Holland, and on some commercials and TV shows. Recently, he worked on The Work and the Glory, a film based on Church history, with Chantelle and Jimmy.

He says the secret to getting where you want to go is hard work. “People can see when you’re working hard and you’re doing your best, and they like that.”

In going into his line of work, Cammon realized he would face some challenges. Not the least of these is that the movie industry can be morally challenging. He says to stay spiritually strong in any working environment, you have to do a few key things: First, he says, “Know you are a son or daughter of God.”

Second, Cammon knows that, no matter what career you go into, you will likely face some faith-challenging situations. “Be prepared for it,” he says. “You have to decide beforehand what you’re going to do and stick it out. You just have to follow the Spirit, as always.”

I will forever be grateful to my mother who, despite her cognitive and physical limitations, which she had no control over, she maintained a gracious and grateful disposition. The last time I was able to visit her; I was getting ready to catch my flight home the last evening I was there. My mother had had a difficult and confusing day so I was letting her caregivers get her ready for bed in order to keep things more familiar for her. I stood by the open door to her bedroom as her caregiver tucked her in for the night. Her caregiver pulled up her blanket and said warmly, "Good night Rita" and kissed her gently on the forehead. As the caregiver turned to leave, my mother caught her hand. She said, "Thank you for helping me. When I get to heaven I am going to tell them how good you have been to me." The last words I heard my mother speak were words of gratitude and concern for her caregiver despite of her awareness of her physical and cognitive weakness. This is resilience.

Our family had made the German adjustment well. In addition to assimilating another language and culture, we had been lovingly accepted into our little branch. However, we knew that our time in Trier would be relatively short.

Theaters in Germany are classified according to their size, the number of orchestra members, and available finances. Trier is a small “city theatre” and is listed among European theaters as a “D” house. The dream of every opera singer is to be employed as a soloist in an “A” house. “A” houses, or theaters, are comparable to the Metropolitan Opera Company in New York City and La Scala in Milan. They include such opera theaters as Hamburg, Munich, Berlin, and the Vienna State Opera.

It was also my goal to sing in such theaters. I had worked hard and had done everything in my power to climb the rungs to a “C” house on my way to the larger opera stages. I shudder to think how many auditions I sang and how many times I heard the words “Thank you. You will hear from us if we need you.” Many of my colleagues were landing jobs in “C” and “B” houses. With each audition and each rejection, my confidence and hope waned.

Three years passed. One afternoon I received a call from an agent in Vienna. He had seen me in the tenor role of Cassio in the opera Othello and had recommended me to Eberhardt Waechter. Herr Waechter was looking for a tenor soloist to complete the ensemble for his upcoming position as director of the Vienna Volksoper.

Before I boarded the train for Frankfurt, where the audition was to be held, Jeannie and I once again prayed for guidance. We had worked and prepared in every way possible and were trying to be patient. We shared our dream yet again with the Lord and put the outcome in His hands. Just a few hours later I called Jeannie with the miraculous news that I had, indeed, signed a contract. It wasn’t until later that I learned that the Volksoper was an “A” house.

With deep reverence and gratitude, my thoughts turned to the words “Neither shall your vine cast her fruit before the time in the field, saith the Lord of hosts” (Malachi 3:11; see also 3 Nephi 24:11).

Had I been offered a contract after any of the previous auditions, I would have immediately signed away the next several years of my life. I believe success had been withheld until my voice, my acting ability, and my command of the language had ripened. Even after signing, I had two additional years of preparation before the contract went into effect.

Many years ago I worked for a railroad. I was in charge of what is called head-end traffic. One morning I received a call from my counterpart in Newark, New Jersey. He said, “Train number such-and-such has arrived, but it has no baggage car. Somewhere, 300 passengers have lost their baggage, and they are mad.”
I went immediately to work to find out where it may have gone. I found it had been properly loaded and properly trained in Oakland, California. It had been moved to St. Louis. But some thoughtless switchman in the St. Louis yards moved a small piece of steel just three inches, a switch point, then pulled the lever to uncouple the car. We discovered that a baggage car that belonged in Newark, New Jersey, was in fact in New Orleans, Louisiana—1,500 miles from its destination. Just the three-inch movement of the switch in the St. Louis yard by a careless employee had started it on the wrong track, and the distance from its true destination increased dramatically. That is the way it is with our lives. Instead of following a steady course, we are pulled by some mistaken idea in another direction. The movement away from our original destination may be ever so small, but, if continued, that very small movement becomes a great gap and we find ourselves far from where we intended to go.

We were free! We’d had a hard week of classes and felt like we deserved a break. It was a beautiful winter evening in Rock Canyon, and we were determined to enjoy it to the fullest.
Four of us had decided on a whim to get away from the pressures of college life by taking an excursion in the snow. It would be our first camp-out without any adviser or leader. We felt pretty independent. Our friends were surprised at our plans in light of all the snow that had fallen that weekend. We ignored them when they said we were crazy.
Jared and Derek had nearly finished the snow cave, our home for the night. We were actually doing it! Without any help from adults, or anyone else, we were making it work.
After cooking some hot dogs and having a long animated talk around the fire, we were ready to retire. I went in first. It seemed a bit crowded, and I wondered how we would fit four people into the cave. Pete and Jared followed. Derek was next.
Just as Derek was almost all the way in, the cave collapsed on us! I wasn’t sure what had happened since I was lying on my side facing the wall.
Luckily, the part of the cave that was above my head and chest hadn’t caved in. Pete wasn’t as lucky. Heavy snow was on his chest. I could tell that he was having trouble breathing. Peter’s voice let me know that the snow hadn’t covered his face.
None of us could do much since our bodies were pinned down. We were stuck. Every time we tried to move around, the ceiling would shift a bit. Every time this happened, I would ask Peter if he was still all right. The snow ceiling was getting closer and closer to his face. There was nothing that any of us could do. We were trapped!
Peter was the one who thought of it first. We needed to pray. We told our Father in Heaven that we needed his help. We couldn’t make it alone.
After praying, Jared looked up at the ceiling. He noticed something he hadn’t noticed before, a small opening. He had to struggle, but he eventually got his arm out of his bag so he could reach for the hole. He scraped snow from off of the collapsed ceiling and threw it out the opening. His hands were numb by the time he had freed himself.
Once Jared was out, he dug Derek out using the small shovel we had left outside the cave. Derek got to work getting Peter out while Jared warmed his freezing hands. With Peter free, I was the only one left in the cave with my legs still pinned down. The cave was no longer hanging over my head, so I felt practically free.
Someone suggested that we each say a prayer of thanksgiving. There, next to the collapsed snow cave, we thanked Father in Heaven and acknowledged that we couldn’t have made it without his help.
I learned an important lesson from that experience. Even though I seek independence, I don’t ever want to be independent of my Father in Heaven. Without his patient care, I might not be here today. I learned I always need his help and guiding hand.

Without the ability to continue his education at that time, Enoch pursued other interests. From the time he had mastered the piano, he had wanted to teach it, so he began doing so. In addition, he resumed his service to the Lord by working for FamilySearch out of the offices of the Africa West Area in Accra, Ghana. While working there, he met a senior sister missionary who was teaching a ukulele class. He had become acquainted and enamoured with the ukulele on his mission where his general love of music had drawn him towards it, so he joined with the class. Through his association with members of the class, they became aware of his desire to continue his education, so they helped him find new sponsors for attending university. Again, his love of music and his service to, and trust in, the Lord had brought him to the next step in his personal progress. With his sponsorship now secure, Enoch applied to, and was accepted at, BYU-Idaho where he is now studying data science.

by Margit Däweritz
Anyone familiar with Frankfurt, Germany, (or with most European communities, for that matter) knows how difficult it is to obtain garden space in a bustling city. Whenever ground is allocated for gardening, there are waiting lists; sometimes people wait years before a place is available for them. But as young people in the Frankfurt and Frankfurt-Hoechst Wards, Frankfurt Germany Stake, we had listened to President Kimball’s conference address, and we wanted to follow his challenge to grow at least some of our own food.
When a new telecommunications tower was built in the city, some garden areas became available, and we were able to lease a surprisingly large plot. Each person was allotted a small area to plant as he wished. The result was a hodgepodge of intermingled plantings, with seeds in lengthwise rows in one area and crosswise or diagonal rows in another. Lettuce popped up here and there, and tomato plants were scattered through the entire area. One girl even planted flowers in a circle with radishes and spinach in the center.
One of the nicest benefits of the garden, however, was the missionary work it allowed us to do. Most of us didn’t know a lot about gardening, so we asked those working nearby for advice. It didn’t take long until they found out that we’re Mormons, and we have become great friends with them through working “next door” to each other. They have shared plants with us and seem to enjoy having us around. And there is plenty of time for gospel conversations while tilling soil and hoeing weeds. We may not know much about horticulture, but we’re learning. And we’re certainly learning some lessons about sowing seeds—seeds of friendship and understanding as well as seeds for plants. We hope to continue our garden project for many years.

On a cool October evening, fathers and sons steadily filtered into the old Alpine Tabernacle for the priesthood session of general conference, even filling the cushioned choir seats. I sat on the back row of the large meeting hall—alone, as usual. It was hard not to envy the other boys whose fathers reached arms over their shoulders. There was no one to show such affection for me. I was the 16-year-old boy from the “broken home.” I was the boy whose father had abandoned his family, leaving me an embarrassing legacy of impropriety and shame.
I continued watching as the Beck brothers made their way to the top row of the soft choir seats, smiling and laughing, with their father leading the way. I knew that they would likely be going together for ice cream after the meeting. And I also knew that I would be walking home alone.
I leaned over, placing my elbows on my knees, and sat uncomfortably on the edge of the wooden pew, wanting the meeting to be over before it began. I told myself, “Someday, I will be one of the fathers that puts his arm around his sons and leads them to the choir seats; someday, I will be everything that my father failed to be.” I vowed to be different in all the best ways—to form my own family, free from burdens of disgrace and embarrassment.
Then, a miracle happened: the speaker, then-Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, said that he wanted to discuss a topic that fathers should discuss with their sons. But, he said, he was aware that many young men didn’t have fathers who could talk to them about these sensitive subjects, so he wanted to speak to the young men himself. It was as if Elder Packer had singled me out and spoken directly to me, indicating his willingness to be the father figure that I had longed for for years.
In that very moment, I determined that I would not let my family history, my personal circumstances, or my less-than-perfect family relationships stand in the way of my Father in Heaven’s blessings resting fully upon me! That night, I sought counsel from a prophet, seer, and revelator. He would be the father that I did not have. Although I did not have an opportunity to speak to him directly, and I did not feel his arm resting upon my shoulder, from then on, I actively sought counsel from his speeches, books, and instruction in an effort to rise above all the hardship and disappointment I faced in life.
As I left the tabernacle that evening, instead of walking home alone or feeling sidelined and marginalized by my unique family circumstance, I felt hope and encouragement: I could claim a connection to an Apostle of Jesus Christ. Thirty-two years later, almost to the day, my wife and I were invited to meet with Elder Packer in his office. Heavenly Father had granted me the tender mercy of being able to tell Elder Packer how much he had meant to me over a lifetime. As we discussed a calling to serve as a mission president, my father figure imparted wisdom and counsel that continues to serve me even now.

When I was 11 years old, my brother and I had a fight, and I refused to forgive him. For three long years, he worked to win my forgiveness, but I kept snubbing him and ignoring his efforts. I always felt guilty—as though I were carrying the heaviest load of my life. But I was selfish, and I had too much pride to admit I was wrong. I don’t know how my brother was so patient with me.
Now I am 14. Recently I was given the opportunity to prepare to go to the Manila Philippines Temple to be baptized for the dead. I realized I had to do something to fix the situation with my brother. I wanted to repent and be friends with my brother again, but I didn’t know how. Every night I thought about how to tell him I was sorry, but I was too shy to talk to him about it. For several nights, I struggled with what to do. Finally, after praying about it, I decided to write him a letter. I put the letter in his room before leaving to attend the temple.
I felt lighter than ever before. My heavy burden was gone, and I was filled with joy. More important than that, I felt worthy to enter the house of the Lord. I realized that if I had listened to the promptings of the Holy Ghost, I would have forgiven my brother long before. And I prayed that my brother and the Lord would forgive me for holding the grudge so long.
I am grateful for the power of forgiveness and that the Atonement of Jesus Christ can help our family be happy once again.

When I returned home from my two-year mission, my next goal was to marry in the temple. Unfortunately, I began seeking unwholesome entertainment, giving in to temptation, and dating outside the Church.
Misery, regret, and sorrow followed, including a divorce. I still had a testimony and longed to marry in the temple, but I felt unworthy of those blessings. I buried my feelings of guilt and sought happiness in worldly behaviors.
Eventually my emotions came to the surface, and I was racked with guilt for my transgressions. I fell to my knees and cried unto the Lord with godly sorrow. I promised that from then on, I would live the law of chastity.
But that was not my only struggle. I also wallowed in the depths of drug addiction. One night, I found myself consumed with debilitating fear. With my mobile phone in hand, I stared at my dad’s phone number. It took me over an hour to muster enough courage to call him and ask if I could see him.
After we had talked at length about my struggles, my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. His hands trembled as he spoke with power and conviction. He said Satan and his angels had been working tirelessly on me because my spiritual potential threatened them. Dad said that as long as I was on the earth, I had the opportunity to overcome my addiction. He blessed me with power and strength to do so.
When the blessing ended, I embraced my father and mother and sobbed into my dad’s shoulder. I felt an overwhelming abundance of love and gratitude in my heart. My feelings of hopelessness washed away. The physical cravings of addiction and the heavy cloud of depression and inadequacy also disappeared.
Instantly, I felt a newfound enthusiasm for life and the possibility for joy if I submitted to Heavenly Father’s will. I testify that the power of the priesthood is real and tangible!
In time, Heavenly Father blessed me with a temple marriage, a loving wife who understands the power of the Savior’s Atonement, and two children.
To have risen from the hole I was once in to where I am now is truly a miracle. Through sincere repentance and faith in Jesus Christ, all things are possible! I am living proof of that.

“Harry de Leyer was late to the auction on that snowy day in 1956, and all of the good horses had already been sold. The few that remained were old and spent and had been bought by a company that would salvage them.

"Harry, the riding master at a girls’ school in New York, was about to leave when one of these horses—an uncared-for, gray gelding with ugly-looking wounds on its legs—caught his eye. The animal still bore the marks that had been made by a heavy work harness, evidence to the hard life he had led. But something about him captured Harry’s attention, so he offered $80 for him.

"It was snowing when Harry’s children saw the horse for the first time, and because of the coat of snow on the horse’s back, the children named him “Snowman.”

"Harry took good care of the horse, which turned out to be a gentle and reliable friend—a horse the girls liked to ride because he was steady and didn’t startle like some of the others. In fact, Snowman made such rapid improvement that a neighbor purchased him for twice what Harry had originally paid.

"But Snowman kept disappearing from the neighbor’s pasture—sometimes ending up in adjoining potato fields, other times back at Harry’s. It appeared that the horse must have jumped over the fences between the properties, but that seemed impossible—Harry had never seen Snowman jump over anything much higher than a fallen log.

"But eventually, the neighbor’s patience came to an end, and he insisted Harry take back the horse.

"For years, Harry’s great dream had been to produce a champion jumping horse. He’d had moderate success in the past, but in order to compete at the highest levels, he knew he would have to buy a pedigreed horse that had been specifically bred to jump. And that kind of pedigree would cost far more than he could afford.

"Snowman was already getting old—he was eight when Harry had purchased him—and he had been badly treated. But, apparently, Snowman wanted to jump, so Harry decided to see what the horse could do.

"What Harry saw made him think that maybe his horse had a chance to compete. In 1958, Harry entered Snowman in his first competition. Snowman stood among the beautifully bred, champion horses, looking very much out of place. Other horse breeders called Snowman a “flea-bitten gray.”

"But a wonderful, unbelievable thing happened that day. Snowman won!

"Harry continued to enter Snowman in other competitions, and Snowman continued to win.

"Audiences cheered every time Snowman won an event. He became a symbol of how extraordinary an ordinary horse could be. He appeared on television. Stories and books were written about him.

"As Snowman continued to win, one buyer offered $100,000 for the old plow horse, but Harry would not sell. In 1958 and 1959, Snowman was named “Horse of the Year.” Eventually, the gray gelding—who had once been marked for sale to a low bidder—was inducted into the show jumping Hall of Fame.

"For many, Snowman was much more than a horse. He became an example of the hidden, untapped potential that lies within each of us.”

Lynn Folsom is an excellent example of speaking out in defense of the Church.
In school one day while teaching about Utah, Lynn’s teacher said that Mormons were a cult and worshipped Brigham Young.
Lynn raised her hand and said that the teacher’s statements were not true. Lynn said, “We are not a cult. We believe in Jesus Christ and worship him. I am a Mormon, and I know.”
Lynn’s courage to speak out as the only Mormon in her class set a good example for other member missionaries in her area of the Florida Tallahassee Mission.
Lynn is active in the Starke Ward, Gainesville Florida Stake, where her father is the bishop.

The prophet has asked us to “love thy neighbor” as Jesus Christ did. My sister, Lynn, and I like to build tepees in our yard out of sticks and leaves. Our next-door neighbor likes building tepees, too. She took our sticks and said that they were hers. We argued about it.
We apologized for arguing, and she invited us into her yard. “But,” she said, “if you come into my yard, you have to promise that you will not take my sticks.” She wanted us to swear by Heavenly Father’s name. We told her we can’t do that because of our religion. We explained that we use Heavenly Father’s name reverently because we love Him.
She didn’t know what reverent means, so we told her. We promised in our own way that we wouldn’t take her sticks, and we’ve been friends ever since.

All of a sudden something flashed through my mind. I was reminded of another time when I had looked in a mirror and was concerned about the way I looked. And I started to laugh.
When I was sixteen years old, I had an opportunity to go to a dance. This was the first time I had ever worn a tuxedo. It was exciting. I had just turned 16 and had asked a special girl to go with me. It was the first time I was to take a girl out to dinner. I was so concerned. I remember that I didn’t want to be late, so I started getting my tuxedo on at 2:00 o’clock in the afternoon. Just as I was putting on my bow tie, I noticed something happening on my chin. No, not now! I ran to the mirror. Right there on the left side was a blemish. I can remember how angry I got. Why did it happen today? Why couldn’t it have happened tomorrow? Any day but today. Pictures will be taken. In my attempt to correct the problem, I made it bright red.
By the time I went to get my girl friend, I had to position myself so that my right side faced her and my left side faced away. All through the dance, she kept asking who I was looking at. I was so embarrassed by the way I looked. We went to the restaurant. I asked to be seated at a large table for 10 so that I could sit on her left side and she wouldn’t look at my blemish.
Now here I was in the hospital remembering how silly I had been. Here I was having fought for my very life and having fought for everything I had, even though it didn’t look very good. In fact, it didn’t look good at all. Yet, I knew I could see. I took a little moment to say a prayer of thanks to my Father in Heaven because he had answered that prayer. There really had been no chance that I would see again. But I’ll never forget how silly I was about that blemish.

I learned kindness from many people. One of these was my grandmother Amalie Hollenweger Amacher. She joined the Church as a young woman in Switzerland and later immigrated to northern Utah. Although she always spoke with an accent, there was no mistaking her meaning when we grandchildren needed correction. She wanted us to learn to obey and to treat people well, and she wasn’t afraid to tell us so.
Once Grandma caught me speaking disrespectfully to my parents. She let me know that she was not pleased with my tone of voice. I was grateful for the reminder to speak kindly. For years after her death, whenever I was faced with a decision, I asked myself, “What would my grandmother think?” Her love for the Lord and her love for me made me want to follow her example.

Such a lesson was recounted on a radio and television program many remember with fondness. The program was entitled “Death Valley Days.” The narrator, known as the Old Ranger, seemed to come right into our living rooms as he would tell the tales of the West.
On one program, the Old Ranger related how the glass was obtained for the windows of the St. George Tabernacle. The glass had been manufactured in the East. Then it had been placed on a ship in New York, which sailed forth on the long and at times perilous journey around Cape Horn and up to the West Coast of America. The precious glass, stored in cartons, was then transported to San Bernardino, California, to await the overland trek to St. George.
David Cannon and the brethren in St. George had the duty to go to San Bernardino with their teams and wagons to retrieve the glass, that the tabernacle of the Lord could be completed. One problem: They needed the then-astronomical sum of $800 to pay for the glass. They had no money. David Cannon turned to his wife and his son and asked, “Do you think that we can raise the money, that we might obtain the glass for the tabernacle?”
His tiny boy, David, Jr., said, “Daddy, I know we can!” He then produced two cents of his own money and gave it to his father. Wilhelmina Cannon, David’s wife, went through the secret hiding places that all women have in their houses. Her search produced $3.50 in silver. The community was scoured for money, and at length the sum of $200 was accumulated—$600 short of the required amount.
David Cannon sighed the sigh of despair of one who had failed although he had tried his best. The little family was really too weary to sleep and too discouraged to eat, so they prayed. Morning dawned. There gathered the teamsters with their wagons and teams, prepared to undertake the long journey to San Bernardino. But they had no $600.
Then there came a knock at the door, and Peter Nielsen, from the nearby community of Washington, entered the house. He said to David Cannon, “Brother David, I have had a persistent dream that I should bring the money that I had saved to expand my house—bring it to you, that you would have a purpose for it.”
While all of the men gathered around the table, including little David, Jr., Peter Nielsen took out a red bandanna and dropped gold pieces, one by one, upon the table. When David Cannon counted the gold pieces, they totaled $600—the exact amount needed to obtain the glass. Within an hour the men waved good-bye and, with their teams, set forth on their journey to San Bernardino to retrieve the glass for the tabernacle.
When that true story was told on “Death Valley Days,” young David Cannon, Jr., was then eighty-seven years of age. He listened to the story with rapt attention. I feel that in his mind, he once again heard those gold pieces, one by one, dropping upon the table as astonished men saw with their very eyes the answer to their prayers.

To attend Johns Hopkins University, the Renlunds moved to Baltimore, Maryland. In addition to being a busy doctor and a young husband and father, Dale was called to be the bishop of the Baltimore Ward.
A year after moving to Baltimore, the Renlunds faced a severe trial: Sister Renlund was diagnosed with cancer. She had to have two surgeries and nine months of chemotherapy. Struggling to take care of Ruth and their daughter, Elder Renlund recalled, “I was hurting, and it seemed as if my prayers wouldn’t go heavenward.”
One time when he brought Ruth home from the hospital, she was weak, but they wanted to pray together. He asked Sister Renlund if she would pray. “Her first words were, ‘Our Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for priesthood power that makes it so that no matter what happens, we can be together forever.’”
In that moment he felt a special closeness to his wife and to God. “What I’d previously understood about eternal families in my mind, I now understood in my heart,” he said. “Ruth’s illness changed the course of our lives.”

During the mid-20s when his first daughter was born, Brigham farmed in the summer, pursued his various handskills in the winter, was even employed for a while in a woolen mill and also a paint factory, where he used the cannonball his father had carried home with him from the Revolutionary War to grind the paint. Elder S. Dilworth Young reports a family tradition that Brigham invented an ingenious “water-powered pigment crusher,” with the cannonball “as the pestle to an iron pot mortar,” thus saving a good deal of work and time.17 However, he found that to succeed as a painter in the area where he lived, he would have to adulterate the linseed oil like his competitors. Unwilling to do so, he moved to Oswego, on Lake Ontario, and built a large tannery and then to Mendon, where he had his own carpentry shop. There a second daughter was born.

Before the Helsinki temple was dedicated, members of the Church traveled to the Stockholm Sweden Temple, which sometimes included a two-hour bus ride and an 11-hour overnight ship ride. Aleksi says that at first, he was disappointed to lose the fun youth trips to Sweden, but after attending the Helsinki temple, concludes that these temple trips are special in their own way. “It is fun to see how other members honor the same things I do,” he says.