Gospel Story Finder

When Goethe wrote his Faust, I believe he was inspired to utter some truths about the method of attack by the enemy of our souls. You recall that the man Faust, an old man, was anxious to be made a youth again. He prayed for such a transformation. But the thing he sought for was unlawful, and the Lord had no answer for him. But he persisted in his prayers, and when we persist, not willing to say “Father, thy will, not mine, be done,” it is quite possible that the devil may answer us, as he did Faust. And so the devil said: “I will do this thing for you. I will make you a youth, and when you are a youth you will want a maiden.” And a vision of the beautiful Marguerite was shown. “But if I do this for you I want you to sign a contract that when you are done with this body your spirit belongs to me.”

It is not bodies, it is immortal spirits that the devil wants. And he tries to capture them through the body, for the body can enslave the spirit, but the spirit can keep the body a servant and be its master.

So the contract is entered into. Then as Faust is made a young man he remembers the promise of the virgin, the maiden, and the two go in search of her. They find her as she enters the church. Suddenly Faust rushes forward to seize her, but the devil holds him back and says: “Not so fast, not that way.” Here is a truth. The devil cannot capture any man or woman that way. He cannot suddenly sweep them off their feet and bind them as his slaves against their wills. The power is given to every man and woman that lives to speak as Christ did: “Get thee hence, Satan;” and he will leave you as quickly as he left the Master. He cannot capture a single soul unless we are willing to go. He is limited. He must win men and women.

So with Marguerite. He must win her. They study her and find her weakness. She is a chaste, virtuous, wonderful girl, yet she has a weakness. It is vanity. So they play upon that weak link. Jewels are placed in the garden, and with them the mirror. She discovers these things. Vanity prompts her to put the jewels on and suggests she look in the mirror and see how beautiful she is. At the psychological moment the tempter appears and offers them as a gift from her would-be lover. She is prompted to keep them.

The lovers spend the afternoon together, and the mother’s voice is heard calling Marguerite to come in from the garden, but she is loath to leave her new-found lover. Again at the psychological moment the tempter, the devil, appears, placing a pill in the hand of Faust with the assurance that if this is placed in the mother’s evening drink the mother will soon be asleep and the lovers will be undisturbed. As I have listened to the sad stories of more than one girl who has stolen away from her mother’s influence and come to sorrow and distress, I wonder why the warning is not sufficient to give every girl the assurance that the safest place in the world for her is as close to her mother as she can get.

The mother takes the potion and goes to sleep. The lovers spend the night together. Early morning brings the brother Valentino upon the scene, and he finds his mother dead—for it is the sleep of death—and a stranger in the house with his sister Marguerite. A quarrel follows, and a duel is fought in which Valentino, the brother, is slain. Now Marguerite comes to an awakening sense of her full situation and the consequences of her own act. She has slain her mother, brought the death of her brother, and—worse than her own death—she has lost her virtue. She is next seen weeping and tearing her hair, and the devil comes laughing upon the scene. He has captured another soul. Strongly fortified as she was, she had one weakness, and through that the enemy entered her citadel and she fell.

While working in the aircraft electronics shop at Ft. Lewis, Washington, I was in the habit of reading the classified ads in the Daily Bulletin. These ads often led to interesting bargains. Over the years they had provided us with the family car, a camping trailer, and various other items, both large and small. Little did I know that they would also provide us one of the greatest testimony-building experiences of our lives.
One day I came across an ad that said, “Guitar for sale. Contact Daniel Troxel.” Although I play the guitar, the ad itself was not what captured my attention. I already had a guitar. What did interest me was to see my surname (an uncommon one) in print. It was even spelled like mine. I decided that Daniel Troxel must be a relative, and so I made the first of what was to be many fruitless attempts to call and talk to him. He was on detail. He was in the field. He was on duty. He couldn’t be reached at that time. He was out. Would I please call back. It seemed that Daniel Troxel and I were not destined to meet. After several days of trying, I put the bulletin aside and forgot about Daniel Troxel.
Several weeks later I was surprised to see the same ad in the bulletin—“Guitar for sale. Contact Daniel Troxel.” With renewed enthusiasm I made another call and was again disappointed. But this time I was assured that if I would call later in the evening I would be sure to reach him as he was leaving the service and had to return to pick up his clothes. I carefully folded the bulletin and placed it in my pocket. When I arrived home that evening, I mentioned it to my wife for the first time. “Why don’t you call again now?” she said.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s try it one more time and see.” I called. There was a pause and a yell in the background for Troxel. He was there! I was elated. When he came to the phone, we talked of many things. I told him I was sure we were related. He agreed. He said it was lucky I called when I did because he had been discharged that very day and was leaving in the morning for his home in California. The only reason he was not leaving immediately was that a preacher was coming all the way from Alabama to speak and he just could not miss it. When I found that Daniel was interested in religion, I knew that I had to tell him about the true church.
“Daniel,” I said, “I have just got to talk to you. Can I meet you after your meeting?” I offered to pick him up, but he said he didn’t know how late his meeting would be. I let him know that I didn’t care how late his meeting was. I wanted to meet him and introduce him to my family. He must at least meet my lovely wife. He promised he would come to my house that evening no matter how late his meeting lasted. I gave him our address and explained carefully how to get there.
That evening the mealtime conversation was dominated by Daniel’s name. My wife became excited. Maybe we would convert Daniel. One thing was sure—Daniel Troxel would not leave our home without hearing our testimonies.
The evening slipped by—8:00, 9:00, 10:00. We began to become anxious, but at 10:30 the doorbell rang. My wife and I went to the door together. Sure enough, there was Daniel. He wore pinstriped bib overalls and radiated a simple country charm. He smiled broadly as we invited him in. We relaxed together around the fireplace, and the subject fell easily to religion as we discussed his meeting. He was greatly excited and talked enthusiastically of the preacher and the great religious revival he had just attended. There was a pause in our conversation, and I was moved to bear my testimony to him.
“Daniel,” I said, “you are here tonight because our Heavenly Father wanted you to be.”
“Yes,” he agreed, “I know that. If you hadn’t called exactly when you did we would never have met because today was my last day at the fort. I would already have been gone if it hadn’t been for the revival. Boy, you should have heard the speaker! He was really great!”
I agreed that he must have been, and then continued with my testimony. “Daniel, I want to tell you about the true church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” As I spoke the Spirit seemed to fill the room.
Daniel’s expression changed. He looked surprised. “Are you a Mormon?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “My wife Barbara and I are both Mormons. As a matter of fact, our whole family is Mormon.”
Then it was our turn to be surprised. “I’m a Mormon too,” Daniel said. “I’m a deacon in the Church.”
We found as we talked that Daniel did not have a testimony of the Church. His mother often wrote to him about the Church, but he always answered that when he got home he would attend many churches. We talked into the wee hours. We bore our solemn testimonies in love and gratitude that he was with us. We knelt in prayer, and as we prayed, the Spirit brought tears to our eyes and deeper sincerity to my voice as we asked our Father’s Spirit to enlighten Daniel’s mind and turn his understanding to truth. We shook hands, and Daniel promised to pray and study.
A year passed, and then I received a letter from Daniel and his mother. Daniel wrote: “After I got home from the army, I went back to the Church. It’s the best thing I could have done. I am now an elder, and my testimony is growing strong. I’m grateful for my army experience and especially for that last day at Fort Lewis when we got together.”
His mother added: “Dan certainly thought highly of you, and you must have set him a good example, because he is now very active in the Church. He is an elder, and I expect them to send him on a mission soon.”

Once when Enrique López, 16, of Caracas, and four of his friends had a free period during school, they went to a friend’s house. “Someone took out some beer. I didn’t think they would try to get me to drink, because they all know about my religion—but they did. I said, ‘No, I don’t drink that stuff.’ They started criticizing me and saying there was nothing wrong with drinking and a little bit wouldn’t hurt. But even a little bit does hurt you in the end. I said no. After a while they said, ‘Oh, this is a waste of time.’ So they stopped, and we went back to class. I think they respected me.”

Returning from a mission to Hawaii at the age of eighteen, Joseph F. Smith was stopped by drunken men threatening to kill any Mormon they could find. “Are you a ‘Mormon’?” one man demanded of Joseph F. in a loud, angry voice. Without hesitating, Joseph F. looked the man in the eyes and answered boldly, “Yes, siree; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through!” Surprised, the man took Joseph F.’s hand and said, “Well, you are the … pleasantest man I ever met! Shake, young fellow, I am glad to see a man that stands up for his convictions.” Then he and the other men rode off.

About a month before my 16th birthday, my family went on a road trip across the United States to visit some Church history sites. I didn’t mind being in the car for so long because my family always had a good time. I remember getting in the car the day after we visited Winter Quarters, Nebraska. It was raining like crazy. I got in the back seat, grabbed a blanket, and curled up to listen to the rain as I fell asleep.
The next thing I remember was feeling like I was spinning out of control. Later I learned that our car had hydroplaned and crashed into the cement barrier under an overpass. I vaguely remember someone telling me I’d broken my leg and was heading into surgery.
Soon after that while I was recovering in the hospital, my dad came into my room. He sat down next to me on my bed and reached for my hand. Somehow I felt I already knew what he was going to say.
“Honey,” he said, “do you know where you are?”
“In the hospital,” I replied.
“Do you know what happened?”
“We were in a car accident.”
“Has anyone told you about the rest of the family?”
I paused and then answered no.
He said that everyone was going to be OK—except for my mom. She didn’t make it.
I was expecting to feel crushing sadness right away, but I didn’t. Through my initial shock, somehow, for some reason, I felt peace, a sweet feeling that I could trust God that things would be all right.
Lying there in the hospital, I remembered one particular Church history site we had seen two days before the accident: Martin’s Cove, Wyoming. Many pioneers died there from hunger and exposure to the snow and cold weather. I remembered seeing piles of rocks placed over graves and thinking about how much faith it took for the rest of the pioneers to pick up their handcarts and keep going. That story impressed me. As I thought about that experience, I knew that the pioneers persevered and that I would have to as well, including being strong for my younger siblings.

Tom Geffe wasn’t exactly “golden.” He called the missionaries names. He threw the Book of Mormon in the trash. He smoked. He drank. He swore.
All the more reason to love him. That was the attitude of his twin brother, Bill, and the members of the St. Peters Ward. Bill and Tom started the discussions at the same time. Tom dropped out but Bill got baptized.
“Bill would give me books and I wouldn’t read them,” Tom says now. “He would tell me he was learning about the priesthood, and I would think, Yeah, you’re crazy.”
Bill kept at it.
“I’d go to Church activities,” Tom says. “But I’d always be the rebel. I was just in it for the fun.”
Bill invited Tom to youth conference. Tom figured he’d skip the spiritual parts.
“But I ended up at this big testimony meeting. All of these kids were bearing their testimonies. One nonmember girl said she knew the Church was true and she was going to be baptized. Her testimony was so powerful I thought, Wow! I want to be a part of that!”
The change was immediate. Tom quit smoking, quit drinking, quit swearing. He started the discussions again, started reading the Book of Mormon. Tom discovered the gospel was setting him free. “I felt better about myself. I felt free to be the things I really wanted to be.”
The missionaries asked Tom to join the Church. He felt it was right, but wanted to be sure. They all prayed.
“I felt really warm inside, and a big smile came over my face,” Tom explains. “I knew I should be baptized.
“People who knew me before could not believe I was joining the Church,” Tom says. “But it was the best thing I ever did. It sticks with me every day, knowing Heavenly Father loves me.”
The story doesn’t end there. Bill, who was a year ahead in school, is serving in the Texas Houston East Mission. He relies a lot on Tom’s letters of encouragement. “He tells me the same things I used to tell him,” Bill says. “Keep on trying, even when it’s hard. Stay strong.
“I don’t know if I have more I-want-to-go-home days than other missionaries,” Bill says. “But when I have one I’ll reread a letter, or look at Tom’s picture, and think how we’ve been able to help each other. It gives me courage to go on.”
Tom also plans on a mission.

When Kent was four, his father died. His grandparents, Ruby and Delos, lived in Nevada at the time. They sold their home and moved into the same Salt Lake neighborhood as their daughter, Marie, to help raise Kent and his two sisters. Even at that age, Kent realized what a great sacrifice the move was for them.
As the years passed he noticed other little things about them. The fact that Grandpa never missed church, that Grandma would help anyone in need. He loved them almost as much as his own mother. “They were like parents, not grandparents,” he says.
“Grandad taught me to ride a bike, to play basketball. He ordained me a priest. I’ve never seen him do anything bad or say anything bad about anyone. I want to be like him.”

Christmas was still a few weeks away, but Truman and his family had already put up the Christmas tree. He was excited as he thought about the presents he hoped to see under the tree on Christmas morning.
A few days later Truman walked into the living room and saw there was one small box under the tree. It was wrapped in red paper and tied with a green bow.
Our first present! Who sent it? Was it Grandma?
No.
Is it from one of my cousins?
No.
Truman was confused.
Well, then who sent it?
You’ll have to wait and see. All we can say is that it is a very special gift.
As days passed, more presents appeared under the tree, but Truman kept wondering about that first red present with the green bow. Where did it come from?
On Christmas morning, Truman raced to wake up his brothers and parents.
Wake up! It’s Christmas!
After arriving at the tree, Truman was excited to see the presents underneath it.
Truman, you may open the small box with the red paper and green bow.
Truman was excited to finally see what was inside.
Truman removed the lid and found a few small items. He pulled them out one at a time—a picture of Jesus Christ, a poem about Jesus’s birth, and a star. Truman showed everyone the picture, and Dad read the poem.
I put the box under the tree so we could remember the real reason we celebrate Christmas.
Truman was happy to remember Jesus.
Dad, you put the box under the tree, but now I know who really gave us this gift.
Who?
Heavenly Father.

On 29 September 1988, President Ezra Taft Benson—“with tenderness and love and great understanding that I will never forget”—extended to Elder Richard G. Scott a call to become a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Elder Scott was sustained two days later, on October 1.
“Sister Scott and I have prayed a great deal since the call came,” he says. “I know the call is from the Lord. I know that there is a great difference between what I am and what I am expected to be. That recognition is very humbling. No one would undertake to serve in this assignment without the assurance of the support and direction of a loving God. The real power comes from the Lord.”

The Relief Society general presidency met with some young women to learn how they feel about making the transition from the Young Women organization into Relief Society. Their comments reflect a mixture of uncertainty and anticipation.
“I’m a little bit scared to go into Relief Society,” said one young woman. “In Young Women, the lessons pertain to what I’m going through. But when I think of Relief Society, I think of older women talking about what concerns older women and maybe not what concerns me.”
One young woman commented: “I think I’ll be entering into a formal situation in which the ladies are quiet and always well behaved. I just hope I’ll be able to belong and have fun with them.”

One of the temples currently under construction is in Manaus, Brazil. Many years ago I read of a group of over a hundred members who left Manaus, located in the heart of the Amazon rain forest, to travel to what was then the closest temple, located in São Paulo, Brazil—nearly 2,500 miles (4,000 km) from Manaus. Those faithful Saints journeyed by boat for four days on the Amazon River and its tributaries. After completing this journey by water, they boarded buses for another three days of travel—over bumpy roads, with very little to eat, and with nowhere comfortable to sleep. After seven days and nights, they arrived at the temple in São Paulo, where ordinances eternal in nature were performed. Of course their return journey was just as difficult. However, they had received the ordinances and blessings of the temple, and although their purses were empty, they themselves were filled with the spirit of the temple and with gratitude for the blessings they had received.2 Now, many years later, our members in Manaus are rejoicing as they watch their own temple take shape on the banks of the Rio Negro. Temples bring joy to our faithful members wherever they are built.

My grandfather used to graze his cattle each summer in the beautiful, lush, high mountain valleys east of our town in central Utah. However, the cattle craved and needed supplemental nutrients from licking rock salt. The rock salt came from a salt mine some distance away. Grandfather replenished the salt at the salt licks by putting a packsaddle on a sturdy horse and filling the packsaddle with rock salt. I called the packhorse Slowpoke for good reason. Grandfather put me on Slowpoke with the saddle loaded with rock salt. He gave me the reins so I could guide the horse up the mountain following Grandfather on his horse.
My horse Slowpoke was slow, but I didn’t push him because he carried such a heavy load. It took a full day to ride up the mountain to the salt licks and to unload the rock salt from the pack animal. As the day got warmer, my sweaty legs would sting as they rubbed against the lumps of rock salt in the packsaddle. It was a joy when we crossed a stream and I could get off the horse and get rid of the sting by washing and drying my legs.
Grandfather would sing most of the day. Mostly he sang the songs of Zion. But one song he sang that impressed me greatly was “Show me your companions, and I will tell you what you are.” Looking back on it, taking salt to the mountain valley was an enjoyable experience, while the additional nutrients from the rock salt fortified the cattle.

One of the foremost blessings associated with modesty is an increased sense of confidence. One sister shares the story of a friend who learned—and was blessed by—the principle of modesty in the course of learning about the gospel:

“Several summers ago, a colleague attended church with me. She arrived at my home beforehand dressed in what is traditional for our warm climate: a sleeveless sundress. I appreciated her sense of occasion in wearing a dress to church, and off we went. Other ward members welcomed her to our congregation, and she returned several times in the ensuing weeks. She even began attending home, family, and personal enrichment meetings and bringing her several children to Primary and youth activities. During those midweek activities on those hot summer days, she usually wore a sleeveless blouse and shorts that reached mid-thigh. She was not vulgarly dressed, but it was apparent that she did not yet understand Latter-day Saint standards.

“After several weeks, I asked her if she would be interested in learning more about the Church from the missionaries. She told me that she was shy and that she was uncomfortable talking to people she didn’t know. She wanted simply to continue to participate in our ward’s worship and activities and assured me that if she had any questions, she would ask me or some of the other people in the ward with whom she was already acquainted.

“It was interesting to me that as she continued to come to church and Church activities, she began wearing longer skirts, longer shorts, and shirts that had sleeves. Initially I thought it had to do with the oncoming autumn weather, but I soon realized that she was simply taking note of how her Latter-day Saint associates dressed.

“I don’t know that her change in apparel was solely responsible for the increase in confidence I started to notice in her, but I think it was part of it. As she continued to learn gospel principles, such as her divine heritage as a daughter of God, her sense of self-worth seemed to escalate. Her confidence increased as she began to better understand the reasons behind some of the things we do. And as her confidence increased, she was eager to learn more about the gospel—including taking the missionary discussions, something that had previously made her nervous.

“Her dress was just one aspect of her coming to know and understand gospel principles and standards, but as she found she was able to adjust that area of her life, she saw that she could make more significant changes too. Eventually, these changes led to her conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ and her joining the Church. Later, she was endowed in the temple, and her wardrobe required no change because she had already been practicing the principles of modesty.”4

One of my daughters-in-law spent many years feeling that God had placed a pavilion over her. She was a young mother of three who longed for more children. After two miscarriages, her prayers of pleading grew anguished. As more barren years passed, she felt tempted to anger. When her youngest went off to school, the emptiness of her house seemed to mock her focus on motherhood—so did the unplanned and even unwanted pregnancies of acquaintances. She felt as committed and consecrated as Mary, who declared, “Behold the handmaid of the Lord.” But although she spoke these words in her heart, she could hear nothing in reply.

Hoping to lift her spirits, her husband invited her to join him on a business trip to California. While he attended meetings, she walked along the beautiful, empty beach. Her heart ready to burst, she prayed aloud. For the first time, she asked not for another child but for a divine errand. “Heavenly Father,” she cried, “I will give you all of my time; please show me how to fill it.” She expressed her willingness to take her family wherever they might be required to go. That prayer produced an unexpected feeling of peace. It did not satisfy her mind’s craving for certainty, but for the first time in years, it calmed her heart.

The prayer removed the pavilion and opened the windows of heaven. Within two weeks she learned that she was expecting a child. The new baby was just one year old when a mission call came to my son and my daughter-in-law. Having promised to go and do anything, anywhere, she put fear aside and took her children overseas. In the mission field she had another child—on a missionary transfer day.

When our twin daughters were young, my wife and I decided to teach them to swim. I started with Rebekah. As we went down into the public pool together, I thought, “I’m going to teach her to swim.” But she thought, “I’m going to drown!” The water was only three-and-one-half feet deep, but Becky was only three feet tall. She was so terrified that she began to scream and kick. She was unteachable.

Finally, I held her close and said, “Becky, I’ve got you. I’m your dad. I love you. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you. Now relax.” And bless her heart, she relaxed. She trusted me. I put my arms under her and said, “Okay, now kick your legs.” And she began to learn how to swim.

“This was my grandmother’s mirror,” Mom said. “When I polish this mirror, I try to imagine what Grandma Beatrice saw when she looked into it. Maybe at first she saw a young girl, like you, dreaming of her future.
“I can imagine the light of happiness she saw in her eyes when she looked at her long braids in the mirror before her baptism. Did you know she wasn’t able to be baptized until she was 18 years old?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“And then after her marriage to Grandpa, she had a baby daughter who lived only two days. I imagine the eyes she saw in this mirror then were swollen with tears.
“Many years after that, she would have seen her joyful reflection as she prepared to go to the temple to be sealed to her husband and three children.
“As an older woman, she may have used this mirror to place a hat on her head before going to her Relief Society meetings.
“And finally, as a gray-haired widow, she may have seen the brave determination in her eyes as she lived for many years alone but faithful to the end.”

When I was a young boy growing up in South Africa, I was not a member of the Church. But I read the Bible and said my prayers often, like my parents had taught me to. Because of that, I always felt that the Lord was close to me. I especially liked reading stories about Jesus’s life. I tried to be honest, hardworking, trustworthy, and kind, like Jesus. That’s what the scriptures and Jesus’s example taught me.
revelation: messages or direction from Heavenly Father
From reading the Bible, I also learned what the Church was like when Jesus was alive. And it made me wonder why none of the churches I knew about looked like Jesus’s Church had. Why don’t they have prophets and apostles? I wondered. Why isn’t there revelation in our day?
One day when I was older, two missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints knocked on our door. “We have a message for you,” they said.
My mother, who was a very friendly person, said, “We’d like to hear it. Will you come back this evening?” When the missionaries came that evening, the room was full—my mother and father, my four siblings, and me. My parents had even invited our neighbors over to listen to the missionaries.
My family was amazed by what they taught. We were thrilled that Jesus’s Church had been restored. It was a church with prophets and apostles! Over time, the missionaries answered all the questions that I had from prayerfully reading the scriptures. Because my family and I were already familiar with the Bible, we were ready to hear the missionaries’ message. We were excited about the gospel. Our neighbors didn’t feel the same excitement.
What truly converted me to the gospel was the Book of Mormon. I read some verses from it. Then one day I decided to follow Moroni’s promise to “ask God … if these things are not true; and … he will manifest the truth of it unto you” (Moroni 10:4). So I said a prayer and started reading the very first verse in the Book of Mormon. When I read it, the Holy Ghost witnessed to me in a wonderful way that the Book of Mormon truly is the word of God.
You’re never too young to start reading the scriptures and praying every day. Doing those things will help you know what is true. It will give you faith and the courage to make right decisions.
God doesn’t expect us to rely on anyone else’s testimony of the gospel. He will tell us Himself that the gospel and the Book of Mormon are true. If we are sincere and pray with faith, He will answer our prayers to know the truth.

Lest we feel these experiences are for another time or for another people, in closing, I would like to share a recent personal experience that illustrates the principles shared today. It occurred just a few months ago while I was on a stake conference assignment in Spokane, Washington. Prior to our Saturday afternoon meetings, the stake president and I made a ministering visit to the Pulver family. The Pulvers were identified from a long list of names submitted by the bishops and high councilors. The stake president did not know them well but felt a strong spiritual impression that we should visit.

We arrived at the home and sat down with Brother Pulver, who considered himself less active and had not been to the temple since his mission nineteen years earlier. Sister Pulver was working, and he was tending the children. Brother Pulver was gracious but wondered why we had decided to call on his family. As we started to visit, I asked where they had grown up. Brother Pulver indicated that his wife was from the small town of Ferron, Utah. I responded that I had been in Ferron just ten months earlier on assignment, and I started to recount a sacred experience I had had with a faithful sister during a home visit.

Brother Pulver blurted out, “You were the one.”

It turned out that the faithful sister I visited in Ferron was Sister Pulver’s mother—Brother Pulver’s mother-in-law. Brother Pulver gave me permission to share excerpts from his journal, in which he recorded the details of our visit that day:
After I mentioned Ferron, Elder Gerard lit up, saying that he had been to Ferron. It was at that moment everything connected for me, and I knew why he was at my home. When Genevieve [Sister Pulver’s mother] was hours from passing away, Elder Gerard visited her. . . . As he explained his story, the Holy Spirit entered my home to a degree I have never encountered before. The feeling was nearly palpable, and it testified of the Lord’s hand in our meeting.

It turns out that I was one of the last to visit with Sister Pulver’s mother, Genevieve, before her passing. When we had arrived at her home in Ferron, she was lying on the sofa in a semiconscious state. Sister Pulver’s father, a very faithful man, indicated that she had very little time to live. We sat at the small kitchen table and quietly visited, as we could hear her strained breathing in the adjoining room. As we prepared to leave, Sister Pulver’s father asked if we would give his wife a blessing. As we placed hands on her head, the Spirit of the Lord filled the room. It was a very sacred moment for us, as the veil of eternity was parted for a brief moment. She passed a few hours later.

As I shared the details of the final hours of his mother-in-law’s life, it became clear there was more to the story. Let me again read from Brother Pulver’s journal:
About a year earlier, Genevieve [Sister Pulver’s mother] was spending the holidays with us. She came into my bedroom and had a conversation with only me at that time. She asked my opinion on what to do with the continuation of her cancer treatment. I asked her what she wanted to do, and she told me she wanted to be done. She asked me then to take care of her daughter and grandkids. Then she did not ask, she told me, “You take this family to the temple.”

As we concluded the visit to their home, the Pulvers agreed to attend the Saturday evening session of stake conference for the first time in many years. Furthermore, they committed to fulfill the request of Sister Pulver’s mother to take the family to the temple. I am pleased to report that when I visited with the Pulvers just last week—when they authorized me to share parts of the journal—they indicated that Brother Pulver had recently attended the temple and that Sister Pulver is finishing the temple preparation lessons to receive her own endowment in the next few weeks.

Let me quote once again from Brother Pulver’s journal:
The Lord had the foresight to first assign Elder Gerard to the stake conference in the Ferron area. Then he was sent to the Spokane Valley East Stake just a little over a year after I had had a conversation with Genevieve. I have no doubt Genevieve had influence in this event. I do not believe this was a chance coincidence. This would not have happened if the Lord had not intervened. The Lord’s faithful disciples followed His promptings exactly as He wanted. It wasn’t just the events of this meeting that make it miraculous. The feeling of extreme power and extreme peace is what made this encounter life changing and something I will never forget. The gospel of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true, it’s real, and it is wonderful.

My dear brothers and sisters, I would have never supposed that my time with Grandma Genevieve just prior to her passing was in preparation to meet her daughter and family a few months later in fulfillment of her final request to make sure they received the blessings of the temple. I knew not what the Lord had planned, but as I exercised faith, put my trust in the Lord, and heeded His counsel—even when I could not suppose—I became once again a witness to the great blessings He grants to His children.

A few years ago Sister Packer and I were in Washington, D.C., to represent the Church at an awards banquet held in the reception hall of the Department of State. The elegant and stately surroundings, with a priceless collection of antiques and memorabilia, were impressive. Here, for instance, hangs the painting of George Washington by Gilbert Stuart and other priceless works of art. Both the occasion and the setting were ideal to make reference to the spiritual heritage of our country. And what was the program? A large brass section from one of the service bands played at great length, and with deafening volume, music from Jesus Christ, Superstar.

I sat next to a lovely, dignified woman, the wife of an officer of the government. When the crescendo weakened for a moment I was able to ask, by raising my voice a bit, if she was able to hear them all right. Her obvious amusement at the question soon changed to serious disappointment, as she asked in return, “What would Jesus think?”

Spiritual strength frequently comes through selfless service. An actual experience involving young women, their teacher, and a widow illustrates this truth.
As the Christmas season approached, a teacher of Laurels arranged a visit to bring joy to the heart of a lonely widow, Jane. The girls busied themselves preparing delicious cookies, special refreshments—even a Christmas tree with ornaments to be placed thereon. They did not forget a beautiful corsage which they knew would brighten the soul of the special woman they planned to visit.
With their parcels tucked tightly under each arm, the girls and their teacher made their way up the never-ending flights of stairs which led to Jane’s apartment. There was an interminable delay as Jane’s aged feet made their way to the door. As she opened it, she greeted each of the beautiful young ladies and made them welcome in her humble apartment. Their smiles reflected the goodness of their hearts as they erected the Christmas tree and placed upon it the decorations they had so carefully carried. Then the packaged gifts were placed beneath its outstretched branches. I was there. I had never seen a more beautiful tree, for no tree had ever before been decorated with such love, such Christlike care and concern. The teacher slipped into the kitchen; and, aided by three of her girls, the refreshments were prepared and a feast enjoyed.
Then the dear widow gathered her guests around her to share with them her life’s precious memories. She told how, as a young girl in far-off Scotland, she had heard the missionaries, embraced the truth which they taught—even suffered the gibes and comments which adherence to a then-unpopular faith inevitably provoked. She told them how the entire Sabbath day was taken just to travel and to attend the meetings of her newfound faith. Instinctively, the girls compared the ease with which they made their way each Sunday to their chapel.
When Jane told them of the voyage to America, described the storm-tossed Atlantic and the warm feeling which came to the heart when the Statue of Liberty was first glimpsed, I noted that the girls were visibly touched. Tears brimmed in their eyes and pledges were made within their hearts—pledges to do that which is correct, to be honorable, to live true to the faith, and to abide by their standards.
As the evening came to an end, there were kisses and embraces; and then each young lady filed silently from the doorway and made her way down the staircases to the street outside. They left behind a mother filled with the goodness of the world, with love rekindled, with faith again inspired. I’m certain this was one of the happiest days of her life. That night the corsage was carefully and tenderly placed in safekeeping. It had become a symbol of all that is good and clean and wholesome.
Outside the snow was falling, and the girls could hear the crunch of their own footsteps on the snow-covered pavement. Words didn’t come easily, and then one Laurel girl asked, “Why is it I feel better than I’ve ever felt before?” Others nodded the same curiosity. I answered them, “Remember the words of the Master: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.’” (Matt. 25:40.) The words from the hymn “O Little Town of Bethlehem” seemed fitting. They were repeated:
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.
(Hymns, 1985, no. 208.)
The dear Christ had indeed entered in—entered a humble home, entered a widow’s heart, and entered, forever to remain, in the soul of each girl. The lighthouse of the Lord had shown the way.