Gospel Story Finder

Later, my wife gave birth to our first child, a son. This was a major turning point for us. How lonely I felt as I watched my son being blessed, unable to speak or participate in that special ordinance. I also felt that his birth added a big financial burden and that this angered me. I became bitter, accusing God of adding more trials to my life than I could bear. I withdrew totally from the Church and the light of the gospel.
The next several years were total misery. As more children came, they were blessed by their grandfather. Refusing to let this hurt so much any longer, I became numb inside. Gone were the yearnings to rejoin the Church—or so I said. Gradually I slipped into more sin, each time in effect crying louder to the Lord and to my family, “See! I don’t need the Church!” The louder I yelled, the more I knew inside that I was wrong. In public I gloried in the disgrace and the hurt I was inflicting on my family, hoping this would justify me and stop my feelings of guilt. Throughout the entire experience I knew in my heart the truth. Perhaps that’s why I fought so hard. The more guilty I felt, the more deeply involved I became in sinful acts. Always I was trying to show the world that I was in charge of my life. I didn’t need anyone else.
Eventually, completely worn down from the internal conflicts, my wife had no choice but to leave me. This made me happy, I thought—freedom at last! The next two weeks were the loneliest of my life. I had no other true friends, and I would not seek comfort at my parents’ home.
Finally I was able to acknowledge that my family meant more to me than anything else. I yearned for my wife to come back. Though many problems remained, we agreed to reunite. I began removing myself from sinful associations and situations. But I still had no real desire to rejoin the Church—this desire came only gradually.
When my first daughter was born, I realized that I must make a decision. With three children I knew that I could no longer go on living for just today; I had to make a choice and live by it. For months my soul was in conflict. I wanted to choose the right, but I also wanted to be sure that my choice was not based on ulterior motives. I felt I couldn’t return just to make my wife, children, and parents happy. I knew that real happiness for all of us would come only if I actually regained a testimony of my own.
After much prayer and study and struggle, I began to feel a small spark inside me that brought with it memories of earlier spiritual experiences that I could no longer deny. The feeling slowly grew. And finally I felt that the Lord still loved me, even though I had been excommunicated. There was hope! I felt I was moving again!
However, knowing I was on the right path didn’t make anything easier. In fact, for a while, the harder I worked the worse things got. I struggled with great tests and hardships. It seemed that when a blessing was near, my life would start to come apart again and I would start to feel despair once more.
But I held on, and, true to his promise, Heavenly Father poured out a blessing. After much effort and great help and support from friends and leaders in the Church, I was able to reenter the waters of baptism. What joy I felt!
But the tests did not stop there. For the next year and a half I worked hard to prepare myself to receive the priesthood. My desire for restitution had returned in full. I was glad to be a member once again, but I longed for full fellowship. My struggle finally ended when I received a call from a General Authority asking me to bring my family and meet with him. With great anticipation, fears, and joy, my family and I drove to that memorable meeting. The children were excited because they were going to see an apostle of the Lord. I was thrilled at the thought of being able to bless the child my wife was expecting.
After a thorough and loving interview, this kind man of God asked my wife to join us, and then he placed his hands on my head and made me a whole man. He “restored me wholly as I was before with all the rights and powers of the priesthood.” My wife and I wept.
Then the Apostle turned to my wife and asked her if she would like a blessing. After she said yes, he turned to me and told me that the only way I would know that my priesthood was restored would be for me to use it. He asked me to bless my wife and offered to stand with me. During the next few minutes, I learned more about the priesthood than I could ever have learned from reading volumes of books.
The battle is not over. Some of my most severe challenges have raised their heads since that day, and many more will come, but I now can call upon the Holy Ghost to guide me.
I have been able to bless my second daughter and have exercised my priesthood in many other ways. My wife and I are now preparing for one of the most important days of our lives—the day we take our children dressed in white into the holy room of the temple to be sealed for time and all eternity.
My greatest regret is that I rejected these blessings years ago; the price I have paid to regain them has been a terrible one. I am so grateful to be back, but oh! how much wiser I would have been never to have strayed.

Elder Holgado is an example of being able to serve regardless of personal circumstances. He was born with a rare genetic disorder, which precluded him from serving a teaching mission. Elder Holgado was called as a service missionary and volunteered in the bishops’ storehouse, where he helped others get the assistance they needed. He stocked shelves, bagged vegetables, and crushed cardboard boxes.

As Elder Holgado spoke in sacrament meeting after his mission, he shared that “God needs service missionaries. He needs people to love and serve others. These people stock toilet paper, bag broccoli, build furniture, and are good to people.”

Christina sat down in the chapel with her parents as the organist began playing prelude music. Today she and her family were quiet and sad. That morning Dad told the family that his engineering company might close. Christina knew that his business was struggling, but she hadn’t known how bad things were.

After the sacrament, Sister Stevens, a recently returned missionary, gave the first talk.

Christina thought about her own family’s hard times in the last year. Her father’s business had to cut salaries twice, so he now got paid only part of his original salary. During the summer, her family’s basement had flooded twice, damaging the carpet and furniture in her room. Now not only could she not buy the things her friends could, but she had lost some of her belongings because of water damage.

Christina listened in amazement to the small things on Sister Stevens’s list. She had never thought to be grateful for things like peanut butter, beds, or letters.

When Christina got home, she made her own gratitude list. She wrote down clean sheets, ice-cream cones, books, and many other things. It wasn’t hard at all to find things to be grateful for.

At dinner that evening, Christina looked across the table at her parents and realized she’d forgotten to list two of her most important blessings.

“I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you,” she said. “And I’m glad you’re my parents.”

Dad smiled. “Thank you, Christina.”

Mom looked like she was about to cry. “That’s the nicest thing you could have said to me.”

Months later, Dad’s business improved, and he was once again paid his full salary. But Christina never forgot the lesson she had learned about gratitude.

Once there were two boys who lived next door to each other. Although they were of the same age, they couldn’t seem to get along together. Then one day, everything started to change. Here are the testimonies they recently gave at the Applewood Ward, Arvada Colorado Stake, where they are both deacons.
“Dear brothers and sisters, my talk is on friendship with my next-door neighbor, Shawn Bell, whom most of you know.
“When Shawn first moved next door, there was always trouble between us. The first day I saw Shawn, he threw a toy truck at me and hit me in the face, which gave me two scars, one underneath my nose and one above my left eye.
“When I was in kindergarten, I went to the morning class and Shawn went to the afternoon class. Shawn would wait for me on his way to school as I would be coming home. He would beat me and go on to school, and I would go home with a bleeding nose or a swollen lip.
“When I was nine, I was baptized into the Church. That’s when Shawn started going to church with me, and then last February he was baptized into the Church. Since Shawn and I have been going to Church together, we’ve acted like brothers and we’ve had fun in Scouts together. Scouting has helped Shawn and me do things together without much trouble.
“The meaning of this talk is the meaning of a fair friendship. I hope you, too, will bring one of your terrible enemies into the Church. I know the Church is true.” (Matt Taylor.)

Recently, a colleague I worked with years ago contacted me online. We have not seen each other in years. Retired now, he was less interested in discussing professional accomplishments and more interested in discussing our personal lives. Since reconnecting, we’ve kept up an online dialogue about friends, family, and life stages. He’s interested in religion now in a way that never seemed to be the case when we worked together.
“Life changes,” he wrote to me. “There are some things you have that seem deeply satisfying and that profoundly affect me. I may never join your church, but I appreciate your perspective.”

The Evans family was finally moving out of the house on our homestead farm in New Mexico.
“I wish they’d hurry and leave so we can move in,” Ed said as we watched from the barn roof. No one but Papa had seen the inside of the house.
“I wonder if they’ll leave anything,” Caroline said.
“Probably not.”
“The Caldwells found all sorts of good things left in their house,” I put in.
“Like what?”
“A table and some fruit jars.”
“And a pretty good harness in the barn.”
“Don’t forget the stove. They left a good stove,” I added.
“The oven has to be propped up,” Caroline reminded us.
“It’s still good.”
By the time the Evanses had finished loading their belongings onto the wagon and started out the gate, it didn’t seem likely that anything could be left. We slid down the smooth board and ran to look inside. The house was completely empty except for one thing.
“A high chair!” Caroline exclaimed. “Look at that. Georgie can have a high chair.”
“But we don’t even have a table,” I complained.
“Papa will make us one,” she said. “Let’s go ask him.”
After we moved our things from the dugout, Ed said, “Now I get to sleep in the barn.”
“Me, too,” I said.
“Nothing doing,” Mama warned. “The barn’s for animals, not children.”
“Papa promised,” Ed told her.
“It’s all right, hon,” Papa told Mama. “The loft’s clean and warm and close enough so that we could hear them call if they needed us.”
“Well, it is pretty crowded in here,” Mama relented a little. “Just one room for the seven of us.”
“Please, mama,” Ed coaxed.
“Please,” I echoed.
“I guess it won’t hurt to try it,” she conceded, and we started out the door.
Frank grabbed my legs and shouted, “I wanna sleep with Dora! I wanna sleep with Dora!”
“Let him come, Mama. I’ll take care of him.” She knew I would too.
“Watch him, then, so he doesn’t fall down the ladder,” she cautioned.
“I don’t fall down ladders.” Frank said indignantly. “I climb down.”
So the three of us moved into the barn.
Papa began to make some furniture, first a table and then a long bench. Georgie would use his high chair. He built a stretched-out sofa, too, and Mama sewed cushions for it. In the barn Papa was working on some chairs with woven seats.
Every day Papa put a bucket down the well, hoping to bring up water, but the best he could get was damp sand on the bottom of the bucket.
“Don’t try the well till I get there,” Ed called down from the loft to Papa, when he heard the door shut after milking.
“Me, too,” I yelled and scrambled down the ladder.
One day the bucket made a splash when it went down. “There’s water,” Papa announced and pulled quickly on the rope to bring up a dripping pailful.
“Water!” Ed shouted.
“Water!” I echoed.
It was a race to the house to tell Mama, and she was so excited she said, “Let’s celebrate. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast.”
“Hurry then,” Papa said. “We have to get the pipe and sucker rods in.”
“What are sucker rods?” Ed wanted to know.
“They’re wooden poles to suck the water out of the ground.”
“Where do you put them?” I asked.
“First, we put a big pipe down to the bottom of the well. Then we put the sucker rods, one at a time, inside the pipe and push them as far as they’ll go into the sand.”
“What if they aren’t long enough?” Ed asked.
“We’ll fasten another one onto the first. They’re made so they can be screwed together.”
“Then will the water come up?”
“Yes, as soon as we build a windmill to run the pump.”
“What if it pumps water all over and makes a mud hole?”
“It won’t. We’ll have it fixed so we can turn if off.”
“What if the wind doesn’t blow when we want water?”
“We’ll have a storage tank. The pump will fill it up when the wind’s blowing, and we’ll use the water when we need it. I saw a galvanized tank in the Sears Roebuck catalogue. I’d better send off for one right away.”
“Pancakes are ready,” Mama announced, and we sat up to the table to eat them.
“Anyone want to go with me to look for a Christmas tree?” Papa said one day in December.
“I do!” Ed shouted.
“Me, too,” I declared.
Caroline had just spread out her paper dolls to play with while the little boys were having their naps, and she didn’t want to pick them up just yet, so she shook her head.
“Where can you find a Christmas tree?” Mama asked. “I haven’t seen any pine trees growing around here.”
“Don’t know,” Papa said. “Maybe we’ll have to use a cactus.”
“A cactus Christmas tree?” Ed sounded disappointed.
“Why not!” Papa said. “Think how pretty it would be with paper chains and popcorn strings.”
“I guess so,” Ed conceded.
“I’ll pop the corn while you’re gone,” Mama offered. “We’ll string it when you get back.”
We tramped around in the warm sunshine, trying to imagine it was winter and that Christmas was nearly here. Although we learned to expect some snow every year, it wasn’t really very much when compared with what we had in Utah. This year December seemed more like March.
We could find nothing on our property that would do, so we started down the road to the sand hills. This definitely was not Christmas tree country. We decided there was no use hunting for a green tree and began to search for something else.
“Look at this,” Ed said, pulling a spiky round bush from next to the fence where it had tumbled in the wind.
“Not bad,” Papa said. “Not bad at all.”
I found another like it but not so squatty. “Look!” I exclaimed.
“That’s even better,” Papa said.
Once we began to look, we found a whole little forest of tumbleweeds along the fence line and finally selected one that was nearly cone shaped. Papa carried it on his shoulder, and we sang “Silent Night” as we walked home in the desert twilight.
The “tree” was suspended from the ceiling in the corner, where Frank and Georgie could see but not touch. We draped it with popcorn strings and chains made from the bright Christmas paper our purchases were wrapped in at Younger’s General Store.
We didn’t receive many gifts that first Christmas in New Mexico. Our stockings contained an apple, an orange, a handful of nuts, and a peppermint stick.
Each of us had one package, and inside was a napkin ring carved by Papa. Tucked inside the ring was a paper Mama had decorated with pretty writing and flowers painted around the edge. It read: “Coupon for part interest in a place of our own. To be redeemed for a deed in seven years.”
It was the best gift of all—the gift of hope. I put mine in the box where I kept my precious things. (To be continued.)

In late January of 2011, I went into an early labor. I was rushed to the Rexburg hospital where I was then life-flighted to the University of Utah. I was promptly put on several different medications to stop my labor. My son was 28 weeks old, but he had a hernia in his diaphragm. The doctors and nurses wanted him to have as much time as possible to grow inside of me, so he would have a better chance of survival when he was born. However, a few days later, my son decided to be born anyway. After only a few short hours, he passed away. We had a funeral for him on Friday, February 4.

Three weeks later, my husband, Jeff, and I received a call from my husband’s brother Greg. He said that we needed to get to the Twin Falls hospital right away. Jeff’s parents had been in a terrible accident that morning. They were on their way to a grandson’s wrestling tournament, hit a patch of black ice on the freeway, and rolled their truck six times. Greg did not know if they would survive and encouraged us to come quickly. They did end up surviving, but their recovery was slow, painful, and would take many months. My husband ended up dropping out of school and moving to Pocatello for a while to help take care of them during this difficult time.

The rest of 2011 continued on much in the same manner as it had begun. We didn’t know if I would still have a job since I was on a one-year appointment, and Jeff was not quite done with school yet nor on a fixed income. I had to have oral gum surgery, and we were robbed twice, which led to us move out of that particular neighborhood. Then, early one morning, my three-year-old daughter woke up and told her dad that her head hurt. My husband took her to the hospital where she was tested for meningitis. She gave us quite a scare for a few days, then recovered—thank goodness.

Finally, on Monday, December 5, we received another phone call asking us to come to Pocatello. Jeff’s brother and best friend, Greg, was in a coma and doctors were not seeing any brain activity. In a daze and with heavy hearts, we once again set off to a hospital. Greg died shortly thereafter of meningitis. He left a wife, three children under the age of four, and another one on the way.

At this point in the story, there really is no more order to the story. My expectations had met up with the realities of life, and it was ugly. For the last ten years, I have been trying to make sense of 2011 and several events that happened since that time. Some would call this non-matchup of expectation and reality a life crisis, a faith crisis, or cognitive dissonance. I call it an education for the soul. I have had to face my views of the world and decide what I really believe and who I want to become. It has been uncomfortable and extremely unpleasant in many ways, but worthwhile.

Many years ago, I went into a restaurant and saw a sign on the wall that said, “The Lord must love ordinary people, because He sure made a lot of them.” I agreed, thinking that I was definitely one of those ordinary people. In elementary school, I was able to finish grade two and move on to grade three with the plan to finish grade three during the beginning of grade four. That would give me the opportunity to complete three grades in two years. The problem was that our family moved to a new town, and I was placed in grade four without learning all of the grade three material. All the grade four students in the new school knew how to write in cursive, but I had not learned that yet. I remember feeling very dumb. Even though I had been smart enough to accelerate my learning, in the moment of not knowing cursive, I didn’t consider all the things that I already knew.

After my husband passed away, loneliness enveloped me. A heaviness pressed on my chest. Each time I served in the celestial room, I prayed to find solace. Little by little, grief lifted, and peace crept into my heart as I began to see a celestial view of life. I now find it a privilege to see couples holding hands, friends embracing, and families gathered in a circle, enjoying the Spirit. Because of the Savior’s Atonement and my covenants, I know the blessing of a forever family will be mine in eternity.

It was late in the evening, and I had just begun to work on homework due the next day. The phone rang while I was in the middle of a particularly difficult calculus problem. The call was for my dad, as most of our calls have been since he was called as our ward bishop. I handed the phone to him and sat down again. I was so engrossed in my work that I was not aware of his conversation.
“Shallin,” my dad said, bringing me out of my deep concentration, “do you know anyone in the ward who speaks Spanish?”
“Nope,” I answered.
“Well, someone from the temple just called and asked if a Venezuelan girl who speaks only Spanish could do baptisms for the dead with our ward tomorrow night. They want me to find someone to translate for her,” he continued.
“I can’t think of anyone,” I said.
“Neither can I. Do you think you could help her?”
Immediately I started to explain that taking Spanish in high school did not exactly make me a fluent speaker. But before I could think of any more excuses, I remembered some of the wonderful experiences I have had at the temple. I did not even know the girl, but I imagined how anxious she must be to come to the temple and I knew I could not let her down.
“I’ll try,” I responded.
As we left for the temple the following day, I became really nervous. I could hardly remember any Spanish at all. I wanted so badly for this young woman to have a wonderful experience, and to feel the spirit of the House of the Lord. I said a silent prayer that she and I would be able to understand what was necessary and that her expectations would be met.
At the temple, a beautiful young woman waited for us, already dressed in white. She was calm and glowed with happiness. I explained to her in broken Spanish that I was a sorry excuse for a translator. She smiled and expressed her gratitude for my efforts. I offered one more silent prayer, and I immediately began to feel the powerful Spirit of the Lord.
In the baptismal chapel waiting for the rest of the group, I opened a set of scriptures. Not looking for anything particular I turned to Doctrine and Covenants 6:32: “Verily, verily, I say unto you, as I said unto my disciples, where two or three are gathered together in my name, as touching one thing, behold, there will I be in the midst of them—even so am I in the midst of you.”
Throughout the next hour, I felt the Spirit help us communicate. We laughed at my many mistakes, and she was patient with me as I tried to understand and answer her questions. When the temple trip was over, it was hard to say good-bye. We knew we had shared a small miracle.

Though all of us have to do things we do not like, it is important that you ultimately enjoy your work. If you can’t stand to be indoors, maybe you had better try to find something that you would like to do outside. One high school senior loved to fish and camp, and consequently he became very knowledgeable about nature. He got in touch with two prominent naturalists and they hired him. His job? To help study the habits and life of the grizzly bear in Yellowstone National Park.

On March 24, 2018, the Ugbighoko Ward Relief Society sisters did something extraordinary. The sisters convened to learn home enrichment skills. The sisters were taught how to make shower gel and toilet cleaning liquid. The Relief Society president, Loretta Olaye, taught the sisters prior that “homemaking” enables the family to economize and save money in their budget. She also taught that with homemaking, the sisters could learn to be self-reliant by acquiring home enrichment skills to better their lives. She reiterated that with these skills, every Latter-day Saint sister is enabled to contribute to the support of her family. She also testified that this will grant the sisters greater self-confidence.
These sisters learned the principles of temporary self-reliance by finding solutions to short-term and long-term welfare needs. After the discussion, the sisters experimented on the lesson taught. As the bishop, I was overwhelmed by the faith of the sisters in learning these skills. As I watched the sisters engaged in mixing the ingredients for the production of the shower gel and toilet cleaning liquid, I could see the faith of their hearts in action. They experimented in the process, not knowing what it may turn out to be. It strengthened my faith in the Savior as the sisters looked to their leader and obtained the desired result. We too may have an expected end of dwelling with God in the eternities, if we focus on Christ who is the author and finisher of our faith.

Sharing the gospel message is one of the most rewarding ways we can render service to those who are not of our faith. I recall a childhood experience with someone I will simply call Uncle Fred.
When I was six years old, Uncle Fred was my worst nightmare. He was our neighbor, and he was always drunk. One of his favorite pastimes was to throw rocks at our home.
Because my mother was a great cook, single adult members from our small branch frequented our home. One day when Uncle Fred was sober, these members befriended him and invited him into our home. This development terrified me. He was no longer just outside but inside our home. This happened a few more times until, finally, they were able to convince Uncle Fred to listen to the missionaries. He accepted the gospel and was baptized. He served a full-time mission, returned with honor, pursued further education, and was married in the temple. He is now a righteous husband, father, and priesthood leader. Watching Uncle Fred today, one would find it difficult to believe that he once brought nightmares into the life of a six-year-old boy. May we always be perceptive to opportunities to share the gospel.

Our school baseball team has had a wonderful season. I am pitching for the team, and we are undefeated. I am the only Mormon on the team, and I have several of the boys plus the coach interested in the Church. They often ask me questions about the Church, and I do my best to answer them. Because of the number of playoffs, the final game determining the league championship will be held this Sunday. The winner of the game is sent to the state championship. We have been working all season for this next meet, and I found out too late that this one game is to be played on the Sabbath, so there is no replacement for me in the pitching position. I don’t know what to do because if I don’t play the team will not only lose the game and hence the state championship, but they will also lose all interest in the Church!
“A few years ago, BYU was playing in a basketball tournament on the east coast. Because of bad weather, games had to be cancelled and rescheduled on a Sunday. The team wired Salt Lake City to ask for counsel on whether or not they should play on Sunday. The counsel from the General Authorities was no.
“The boy in the situation said that many members of the baseball team were interested in the Church. It would be best for them to see someone who puts the Lord first. We must remember that the Lord cannot bless us if we don’t keep the commandments. What the Lord thinks should guide our decisions, not what others think. Keep the commandments and don’t play.”
Elder Ric WilcoxGeorgia-South Carolina Mission
“What this young man should ask himself is how interested his teammates would be in the Church if he did play on Sunday and thus proved that the principles in which he claims to believe are not important to him. Would his friends be interested in a church that could not, in a real test, hold up as this young man’s guiding standard?”
Teresa D. BickleyTacoma, Washington
“In this situation I would feel a need to kneel and discuss with my Heavenly Father his solution to my problem.
“First Nephi 3:7 states: ‘I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.’ (1 Ne. 3:7) The Lord has given us the commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy by partaking of the sacrament and thus renewing our covenants with him.
“I’ve discovered that nonmember friends are influenced most by example. If you allow yourself to break one of your Heavenly Father’s commandments, just this once, you may never be able to convince those interested in the Church that the gospel is true.
“Be a ruler of circumstances; don’t let circumstances rule you.”
Joanne StephensonRiverside, California
“We’ve been put on this earth to be tested and prove ourselves worthy to return to our Heavenly Father. Many times it is difficult to know exactly which way to turn, and which way will be best for others as well as ourselves. However, we’ve been told many times never to compromise and never to give in to the things of the world. So I think the boy should stand up for what our church believes and not play that game on Sunday. And when his teammates see him do that, they will admire him and our church. They’ll get the idea that our church really has something to it, and most likely they’ll investigate it.
“At the time the boy tells the team, they may hate him and make fun of him, but he should take it well, and in time his reward will come. Remember what the Lord promised Joseph Smith in his difficult times: ‘And if thou shouldst be cast into the pit, or into the hands of murderers, and the sentence of death passed upon thee; if thou be cast into the deep; if the billowing surge conspire against thee; if fierce winds become thine enemy; if the heavens gather blackness, and all the elements combine to hedge up the way; and above all, if the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good.
“‘The Son of Man hath descended below them all. Art thou greater than he?
“‘Therefore, hold on thy way, and the priesthood shall remain with thee; for their bounds are set, they cannot pass. Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever.’ (D&C 122: 7–9.)
“And that is quite a promise, so the boy should make his stand and do what’s best for the Church, his teammates, and especially for himself.”
Darrell BackSalt Lake City, Utah
“If he does play the Sunday game, his teammates may not lose interest in the Church, but is he going to explain to them that the principles of the Church are the most important things in members’ lives except for the commandment about keeping the Sabbath?
“If this boy could get together with his teammates and explain his principles to them and get the whole team on his side, then they could probably get the game rescheduled. This way the team’s interest in the Church might be increased, and they would have greater respect for the principles of the gospel.”
Corey Christensen, Kay Adamson, Tonya Allen, Lisa Poulsen, Marva Ashton, Dennis Huggard, Lisa Hartshorn, LoRee Johnson, Steve Broadbent, Dave DortonLehi, Utah

As he was growing up, Douglas L. Callister often accompanied his father and grandfather as they fulfilled Church assignments such as visiting members, presiding at meetings, or speaking at firesides. “They wanted their posterity to see them in the context of honoring the priesthood,” says Elder Callister, “and as we drove to and from their assignments, they would always share their experience and testimony with me.”
That caring tutelage has played an important role in preparing Elder Callister to serve in the Second Quorum of the Seventy. “A life-altering experience for me,” says Elder Callister, “was that training that came from those generations of family members who were willing to teach me.” Elder Callister continues to teach his own posterity just as his own father and grandfather taught him.

This was well illustrated in my father’s patriarchal blessing. He was told in his blessing that he would be blessed with “many beautiful daughters.” He and my mother became the parents of five sons. No daughters were born to them, but they treated the wives of their sons as daughters. Some years ago when we had a family gathering, I saw my father’s daughters-in-law, granddaughters, and great-granddaughters moving about, tending to the food and ministering to the young children and the elderly, and the realization came to me that Father’s blessing literally had been fulfilled. He has indeed many beautiful daughters. The patriarch who gave my father his blessing had spiritual vision to see beyond this life. The dividing line between time and eternity disappeared.

I didn’t think the dog belonged to anyone as I stooped to pet him. Panting in the noonday heat, he sat in a shady spot afforded by the walls of the Rotterdam train station. My missionary companion and I had stopped for lunch at a food stand outside the station. People were pushing by each other, each frantically trying to catch a train.
“Poor guy has to wear a fur coat in this heat,” I mumbled to the gold-colored dog. His fur was dirty, and the hair around his ears was tangled and matted. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of dusty black shoes stop next to the dog and then a wrinkled, dirty-fingernailed hand join mine in petting the dog.
I looked up into the dirty, bearded face of a street beggar. He smiled. His teeth needed dentistry, and the dirt on his skin collected around the crow’s feet by his eyes. His left temple was scarred.
I was a little taken aback. But I smiled and asked him in English if this was his dog. He answered in French. I tried speaking in Dutch, but to no avail. All I could remember from the French lessons I took in high school was how to say my name. So I introduced myself using the best French accent I could imitate from the movies.
The man’s smile widened with his eyes, which I noticed were a beautiful blue. He started talking French very fast. I didn’t understand him. Sensing my confusion, he pointed to himself and replied, “Jacque.” I offered him my hand. He seemed surprised but shook it while lowering his head.
My companion and I got our lunch order and started off for our appointment, thinking we could save time by eating on the way. Jacque smiled again as we passed him and his dog. A scripture came into my mind: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25: 40).
Just seeing Jacque smile and feeling for the circumstances he was in, my heart was touched. The Spirit opened my eyes, and for a moment I had thoughts of how much Heavenly Father must love this individual.
So I offered Jacque my lunch. His mouth opened slightly, and he lowered his head again. It was obvious he was very hungry. “Take it. Please,” I prodded, feeling, on the one hand, love for this individual but, on the other, pride for how “giving” I was being.
Then he did something I will never forget. He taught me the full meaning of the scripture I thought I had been demonstrating. He took the sandwich gratefully and broke it in half. Then, while stroking the dog’s head, he gave him one of the halves, talking softly to him. The dog gulped it down and licked his chops repeatedly in trying to catch every last crumb.
Jacque smiled at me, then took a bite. Again the Spirit touched me deeply at seeing this poor man offer half of what he had to his best friend. I never saw Jacque again, but I have never forgotten the example of sharing and love that he set for me that day. I fed him once. But he fed me for a lifetime.

One of the president’s sons gives this poignant insight into his father’s character and to the source of President Smith’s great inner strength:
“As children, so frequently we would hear him say, ‘If only the people in the world would understand the trials, the tribulations, the sins our Lord took upon himself for our benefit.’ Whenever he would refer to this, tears would come into his eyes.
“A few years ago, as I sat alone with my father in his study, I observed that he had been in deep meditation. I hesitated to break the silence, but finally he spoke. ‘Oh, my son, I wish you could have been with me last Thursday as I met with my Brethren in the temple. Oh, if you could have heard them testify of their love for their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ!’ And then he lowered his head, and tears streamed from his face and dropped to his shirt. Then, after many seconds, without as much as raising his head, but moving his head back and forth, he said, ‘Oh, how I love my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ!’”

One day I asked my granddaughter Raquel what she thought about setting a goal to read the Book of Mormon. Raquel had recently learned how to read.
“But, Grandpa,” she said, “it’s so hard. It’s a big book.”
Then I asked her to read me a page. I took out a stopwatch and timed her. It took her only three minutes to read the page.
We read the Book of Mormon in Spanish, and the Spanish version of the Book of Mormon has 642 pages. I told her it would take her 1,926 minutes to read the whole book.
This might have scared her even more, so I divided that number by 60 minutes. I told her she would need only 32 hours to read the book. That would be less than a day and a half!
Then she said to me, “That’s so easy, Grandpa!”
It took Raquel, her brother, Esteban, and our other grandchildren a little more time to read the Book of Mormon. That is because when we read it, we need to take time to pray and to think about what we have read.

Since the Mount Timpanogos Temple is in their community, students at the Pleasant Grove seminary join with other seminary students from other high schools on Sunday evenings at the temple grounds. It’s an informal gathering where young people sit on the grass and sing hymns. John Fisher’s favorite hymn is now “I Need Thee Every Hour,” because of an experience that happened to him while singing at the temple grounds. He said, “When I first read through the Book of Mormon, I fasted and prayed to know if it was true. I was singing at the Mount Timpanogos Temple. During “I Need Thee Every Hour,” I looked up at the temple, and I got my answer right there. The temple just seemed to be glowing about three times brighter. I just knew.”