Gospel Story Finder

This story took place in the USA.
It’s too hot. I think I’m going to melt!
Don’t worry, we’re almost there.
The wind feels nice.
This is much better!
Grandma, do you love Jesus?
Yes! I love Jesus a lot.
Me too. I just wish I could see Him. Then I’d know He’s real.
Oh sweetheart, Jesus is very real. He’s a real person, like you and me.
But how do you know? Have you seen Jesus?
No. But I feel Him every day.
Do you remember the wind we felt while we were walking?
It felt so good! I was really hot, but the wind was cool.
We can’t see the wind. But we can feel it. And even if we haven’t seen Jesus, we can still feel His love.
How can we feel Him?
I feel His love when I look at His beautiful creations. I see His love in the flowers.
I see His love in the rivers He created.
And I see His love when I look at you!
Can I help you look for Jesus again tomorrow?
Of course!
Illustrations by Pauline Gregory

“One woman wanted more than anything else to marry a righteous priesthood holder in the temple and be a mother and a wife. She had dreamed about this all her life, and oh, what a wonderful mother and loving wife she would be. Her home would be filled with loving-kindness. Never a bitter word would be spoken. The food would never burn. And her children, instead of hanging out with their friends, would prefer to spend their evenings and weekends with Mom and Dad.
“This was her golden ticket. It was the one thing upon which she felt her whole existence depended. It was the one thing in all the world for which she most desperately yearned.
“But it never happened. And, as the years went on, she became more and more withdrawn, bitter, and even angry. She could not understand why God would not grant her this righteous desire.
“She worked as an elementary school teacher, and being around children all day long simply reminded her that her golden ticket had never appeared. As the years passed she became more disappointed and withdrawn. People didn’t like being around her and avoided her whenever they could. She even took her frustration out on the children at school. …
“The tragedy of this story is that this dear woman, in all her disappointment about her golden ticket, failed to notice the blessings she did have. She did not have children in her home, but she was surrounded by them in her classroom. She was not blessed with a family, but the Lord had given her an opportunity few people have—the chance to influence for good the lives of hundreds of children and families as a teacher.
“The lesson here is that if we spend our days waiting for fabulous roses, we could miss the beauty and wonder of the tiny forget-me-nots that are all around us.”

Making the right choice was not always easy. My father and mother had a difficult time providing for their large family, so those of us who were old enough did our best to help out. When I was eighteen years old, I needed to buy a pair of pants, but after sharing my salary with my family, all I had left was the exact amount I owed in tithing. I was tempted to spend that tithing money for those pants, but I paid my tithing, and during the next week I got an extra job that allowed me to buy the pants.

I remember a road trip with friends during a BYU break. As we were preparing, I was delegated to take our collected funds and buy a box of copies of the Book of Mormon at the BYU Bookstore.

I asked, “What will we do with a whole box of copies of the Book of Mormon?”

My friends said, “We will write our testimonies in each book and share them as we travel.”

And that is what we did. Choose your friends and associates well so you learn by the Spirit things you always want to remember.

I'd like to begin by sharing an experience I had one morning during the time my wife and I were serving in the London England Mission. A former business associate and long-time friend was passing through London, and I suggested we get together for breakfast. We had a meaningful visit where I was able to tell him about my assignment, the missionary program, and the gospel, more than I'd ever been able to share during our previous business meetings.

In the course of our exchange, he shared that he had not been brought up in a church but had long admired the devotion of those he'd known and worked with who were members of the LDS church. Towards the end of our meeting, he focused his gaze on my missionary tag, with its emphasis on the name Jesus Christ and commented thoughtfully, "That must be quite an honor and responsibility to bear that name each day." I confirmed that I could think of nothing better than to be recognized as a devoted follower of Jesus Christ.

I saw clearly then, and I propose to you now, that the blessings of being a devoted disciple are not just the blessings of eternity but also the blessings of a clear path and a straightforward purpose in dealing with the challenges and opportunities of mortality.

I highlight repentance because we are not perfect. While growing up, my mom always made sure my hair was neatly cut and combed. I didn’t think much about it because she would always just let me know when it was time for her to cut my hair. At the beginning of my senior year of high school my mom cut my hair to look nice for senior pictures. After senior pictures, I decided to let my hair kind of grow out a little. I know it’s a little hard to imagine, but it was awesome. I didn’t realize how curly my hair was because I had always kept it nicely trimmed. Throughout the course of my senior year, I started loving letting it grow out. I had a lot of comments about it looking so good. When I applied to college and agreed to obey the honor code, my hair wasn’t too long yet and I got my endorsement.

During my freshman year, I just kind of kept letting it grow. I thought it was probably getting close to being out of standards, but I was waiting for someone to tell me I needed it cut and my mom wasn’t there to tell me. There were also a couple of other guys who had long hair and I was kind of justifying my hair length because of theirs. It had been well over a year since I had a haircut. Although my hair was long, it was also curly, so unless it was hanging down wet, you may not have noticed its true length. To try and keep the standards, I had my roommate buzz some of my hair in the back to keep it off my collar. It didn’t really work. I pretended that it did though. I thought no one would notice and that I could big brain the dress and grooming standards.

A couple of more months passed…then one day I was in the temple, doing proxy baptisms in behalf of those who have passed away. After one particular baptism, I remember coming up out of the water. My hair was wet and laid straight, revealing its true length, as I came up. I distinctly remember hearing and feeling the spirit speak to me. He said, “Joel, it’s time to shape up. You can do better.” That was it. Someone finally told me…I wish someone else would have told me first though.

I actually knew that I had been flirting with being out of standards. Now I knew that God knew that I was out of standards. He actually always knew, but I was ignoring Him. Finally, He spoke quite directly to me and I knew that I needed to change immediately. The next day I found a ride home so my mom could give me a haircut. I got my hair back in standards and focused on preparing more diligently for a mission.

I had to be chastened by the Lord to shape up and get a haircut. Maybe that’s why it never grew back.

Why did God chasten me about my hair? Was it really that big of a deal? I don’t know, but I had made a commitment with Him and He didn’t want me on the edge of the Honor Code with any of my behaviors. I think my willingness to comply with the dress and grooming standards in the Honor Code was an outward expression of my inner commitment to follow Him and His Son. I made a choice that did not match my inner commitment of my love for the Savior. I hadn’t lost my commitment to follow the Savior. My testimony wasn’t wavering. Remember, I had a temple recommend and was even attending the temple. But I was still chastened by the Lord. Why? Because he loved me and knew I could be a better disciple of Him. I also loved Him and wanted to demonstrate my willingness to do His will.

Another sister, a recent convert, was startled one Sunday when a sister in her ward spoke about dressing with the intention to someday go to the temple and receive one’s endowment. “That sister’s counsel made a strong impression on me,” she says. “As I thought about it, I felt a desire to find out just how I should dress if I had been to the temple.” She later discarded her revealing or inappropriate clothing, and she made future purchases with Church standards in mind. Two years later, when she received her endowment, her wardrobe did not need to be changed; it was both modest and attractive.

On a beautiful summer morning, our family attended the Special Olympics to watch our son Scott participate. The Special Olympics are held each year to allow people with disabilities to enjoy friendly competition. We observed that as the runners were taking their positions for the fifty-yard dash, they were being encouraged by special friends affectionately known as huggers. Seconds before the start of the race, these huggers took their places at the finish line of the race. It didn’t matter who crossed the finish line first. What did matter was that every runner completed the race and that every runner received a congratulatory hug. Both the courageous runners and the caring huggers taught important principles of truth.

As part of their Young Women celebration, the girls of the New York Manhattan Stake participated in a family history open house. The people of the metropolitan area were invited to learn more about family history and the resources of the Church. The Young Women participated by putting up displays about their own projects. During refreshment breaks, those attending the open house were able to talk with the girls about some of the treasured items of their families as well as photos and written histories.
For the display, Alaira Fleming, 13, brought a figurine that was precious to her mother and grandmother. The porcelain figurine was one that Alaira’s mother had given as a Mother’s Day gift to her mother. After her grandmother’s death, Alaira was given the figurine to cherish as a representation of the love between mothers and daughters in their family.
Alaira was also taught and encouraged by her mother to keep a journal. “It makes me feel good that someday my children can read it and know what my life was like and the troubles I went through and the happiness that I’ve enjoyed.”

Now, let me share one final aspect of engaging with the stories in your life. My encouragement would be that we each learn to lean more deeply into our stories with more faith and power than we already do. The more we lean into our Heavenly Father and learn from the Master Teacher, the more amazing our story becomes. Here is an example of such a story shared by Elder Jacob de Jager.

On one occasion, during a severe storm, a fishing boat was in distress, and a rowboat went out to rescue its crew. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to use all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors.

When the rowboat finally reached the fishing boat, one of the victims had to stay behind because the rescue boat was too small to carry everyone. The rescuers made it back to the beach, but the crew was too exhausted from their fight with the storm winds, the waves, and the sweeping rains to make the second trip.

The local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make the second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was nineteen-year-old Hans.

When Hans stepped forward, his mother panicked and said, “Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old, and your older brother, Pete, has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!”

But Hans said, “Mom, I feel that I have to do it. It is my duty.”

Hans boarded the rowboat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.

After more than an hour, the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers approached the beach, the captain of the coast guard called vigorously against the storm, “Did you save him?”

Hans rose from his rowing bench and shouted with all his might, “Yes! And tell Mother that it is my brother, Pete!”13

This story is the perfect example of what happens when we exercise faith and trust God more fully with our story. Somehow our efforts and obedience become the greatest storyline ever, and it far exceeds even our own expectations. We must remember that God’s imagination and creativity are far beyond our own. So even in those moments when we lose all hope and want to give up, we must continue to demonstrate our faith so that our story becomes one of beauty instead of ashes.

Years ago, following a graduate school discussion on American religious history, a fellow student asked me, “Why have the Latter-day Saints not adopted the cross that other Christians use as a symbol of their faith?”
Inasmuch as such questions about the cross are often a question about our commitment to Christ, I immediately told him that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints considers the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ to be the central fact, the crucial foundation, the chief doctrine, and the ultimate expression of divine love in God’s grand plan for the salvation of His children. I explained that the saving grace inherent in that act was essential for and universally gifted to the entire human family from Adam and Eve to the end of the world. I quoted the Prophet Joseph Smith, who said, “All … things which pertain to our religion are only appendages” to the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Then I read him what Nephi had written 600 years before Jesus’s birth: “And … the angel spake unto me … , saying: Look! And I looked and beheld the Lamb of God, … [who] was lifted up upon the cross and slain for the sins of the world.”
With my “love, share, and invite” zeal now kicking into high gear, I kept reading! To the Nephites in the New World the resurrected Christ said, “My Father sent me that I might be lifted up upon the cross; … that I might draw all men unto me, … and for this cause have I been lifted up.”
I was about to quote the Apostle Paul when I noticed that my friend’s eyes were starting to glaze over. A quick look at his wristwatch apparently reminded him that he needed to be somewhere—anywhere—and he dashed off to his fictitious appointment. Thus ended our conversation.

Perhaps that’s one of the reasons Braeden was so thrilled to have his dad baptize him. Braeden’s three older brothers, Logan (18), Karsten (15), and Kyler (12), were all baptized by their uncle Kelly Keetch. When Braeden was seven, he set a goal to be baptized and hoped that his dad would be the one to do it. Six months before Braeden turned eight, his dad was baptized! Logan, Braeden’s oldest brother, baptized his dad on that memorable day.
Brother Smith gives his wife and children credit for his baptism. “I would work or sleep in on Sundays, but they would get up and go to church every week.” Brother Smith watched his family faithfully attend church for 10 years. During that time the children continually involved him in their Church and Scouting activities. He finally began going to church with them.
“There’s no way to be involved in the Church and not feel the Spirit,” says Brother Smith. “The ward members made me feel so welcome and accepted. It was an easy decision to be baptized.”
Just over a year after their dad’s baptism, the family reached another goal: being sealed together as an eternal family in the temple. “Being together in the temple was something we had all looked forward to for a long time,” comments Sister Smith. Braeden remembers, “Right when we were sealed I felt deep down that now we could be a family in heaven.”
All four boys have set goals to serve missions for the Church. Braeden isn’t waiting until he’s 19 to be a missionary, though. He is already sharing the gospel through his example. His best friend and next-door neighbor, Aaron, watched Braeden go to church each week. Soon Aaron became interested in the gospel, and he has since been baptized along with his family.
Braeden’s grandpa is another good friend. “I like to help my grandpa work in the yard and build things.” In return, his grandpa gives him exciting wheelbarrow rides around the yard. They also like to go to the park together.
Braeden is a good Cub Scout. His dad helped him with his Pinewood Derby racer, and it won! “One of my favorite things about Cub Scouts is day camp,” Braeden says. He smiles as he remembers the crafts and archery. He was even chosen “Viking of the Day.” All four of the Smith boys are active in Scouting. Logan is an Eagle Scout, and Karsten, Kyler, and Braeden plan on becoming Eagle Scouts, too.
When he grows up, Braeden wants to be an author and an illustrator. In his spare time he likes to write short stories and illustrate them. He is working on a book right now called Jack and the Foxes. At school he enjoys art and computer time. He is a good student and a friend to his classmates.
Around the house Braeden is always willing to help, whether it’s vacuuming, dusting, or just cleaning up his room. He is especially helpful with his younger sister, Ashlyn (4). Braeden and Ashlyn enjoy attending Primary together. Sister Smith is the Primary president and likes spending much of her time at church with her two youngest children. Braeden smiles as he comments that Ashlyn, a Sunbeam, is a very enthusiastic singer!
One of the biggest changes since Brother Smith’s baptism is the family’s focus on family home evening. “We’ve always spent family time together doing fun things,” says Sister Smith. “Now we also take time to read the scriptures and have a lesson. We’ve gone from having just ‘family time’ to ‘family home evening.’” Braeden is always willing to participate in family home evening and family scripture study.
Like the adobe walls of the Old Mormon Fort that protected the pioneers, the Smiths feel the protection of the gospel around their family. And even though Las Vegas is in a dry desert, Braeden knows that his family will never thirst spiritually. They can drink freely of the “living water” of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

I grew up in an active, supportive family but never really believed in the things I was taught. It all just felt like something I had to check off my to-do list, like school or work.
I tried reading the scriptures and praying, but I never really
had a personal witness.
Early in my teenage years I made some bad choices and started to feel frustrated with the way my life was going. When I turned to God, I felt like He was silent. I figured if there really were a God in heaven, He probably had more important things to do than worry about me.
One evening, I went to pick up my little sister from her friend’s house. I texted her, but she didn’t come out right away. Slightly annoyed, I entertained myself by looking around outside while I was waiting. Suddenly, a duck acting strangely caught my attention. It was making weird noises and pacing all around, so I went to investigate. The duck was flapping its wings over a large metal grate in the road, and when I looked through the grate, I saw 13 ducklings stuck in the mucky water. I promptly lifted the grate out of the way and began scooping baby ducks out of the smelly drain one by one.
With 12 out of 13 ducklings out of the sewer, I reached down for the last one, but when I went to pick him up, he bit me! I pulled my hand back and dropped him back into the water—this little guy was not having it. He had seen me grab his brothers and sisters and was determined to avoid me.
I watched as this last little duck swam into a small tunnel, far enough away that I couldn’t reach him. Exasperated, I turned to leave, but glanced back at the mother duck and all the ducklings, waiting patiently for their little brother under a small tree. Concern hit me; I didn’t want him to be separated from his family.
It was at that moment I noticed a manhole about 10 feet away in the middle of the street. “There’s no way he could have swum that far,” I thought. Expecting nothing, I lifted the grate out of the way and, to my surprise, saw the duckling directly beneath me. But it was much deeper than I could reach. Even when I tried using a tree branch, it was just too far away.
A young man happened to be driving by right at that moment, and he noticed me rummaging around the sewers. He looked concerned and asked if I was OK. I explained the situation, and he agreed to hold my feet as I went headfirst into the manhole.
Reaching for the last duckling, I thought to myself how ridiculous this whole situation was. Here I am going out of my way to save this baby duck, and he stubbornly and ignorantly bites me and swims away. How could this creature be so blind to the literal saving hand that was reaching out to him?
Then, headfirst in a stinky manhole, it all hit me. I was just like that baby duck, and Heavenly Father, through His Son, Jesus Christ, was doing everything He could to save me! Finally, the duckling let me pick him up, and we managed to get both me and the duck safely out of the manhole.
My emotions whirred as I thought about all of the things Heavenly Father had done for me. He had blessed my life and my family; He had sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to perform an infinite Atonement so that I could return to Him; and He had arranged this little experience to help me understand His love and plan for me, in just the way I needed it. Heavenly Father had answered my prayers in a personal way, and at a time when I was ready for the answer. And in that moment, I knew He loved me.

Several years ago I worked at an archaeological site called Aguateca, which is located in a beautiful and remote part of Guatemala accessible only by a long boat ride up the winding Petexbatún River.
One evening I was returning to Aguateca with several archaeologists after spending the day at a neighboring site. As we traveled by boat up the river, with only the quiet hum of the motor and the chirp of insects in the background, I reclined against the side of the boat, enjoying the peaceful ride and the moonless, unusually clear night. As the boat followed the serpentine twists of the river, I tried to maintain my sense of direction by tracking the North Star. Sometimes the North Star disappeared behind the dark silhouettes of the trees lining the riverbanks, but it always reappeared shortly.
At one bend in the river, I lost the North Star behind the treetops again. Once the boat turned southward, I quickly relocated it, feeling like an old-time mariner, proud of my ability to stay oriented. After a minute of watching it, however, I realized I was mistaken: I had not relocated the North Star or even a star at all. I was watching a firefly.
Only then did I become aware that many of the “stars” above me were actually fireflies hovering silently in the warm night air. Amazingly, the glow of the dozens of fireflies overhead was almost identical to the glow of the distant stars and galaxies, and the twists and turns of the boat on the river had made it easy to confuse the two.
“How could I mistake a miniscule firefly for a star of almost infinite brilliance?” I wondered. The answer was clear: it was just a matter of perspective. The relatively faint and fleeting light of the fireflies rivaled that of the stars only because the fireflies were just a few feet above me and the stars were so distant. From my perspective, the two appeared nearly identical.
It has been years since I took that boat ride on the river, but even today I pause when confronted with temptation and remind myself, “It’s just a firefly.”

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
That day I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed: “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily: “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily, who had a beautiful voice, was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit.
She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.

Some time ago, I received a copy of the April 1997 De Ster (Dutch). As usual, I took a break from my daily chores to start reading this magazine. The cover of the children’s section caught my eye. It portrayed Jesus Christ with a little girl. Although I’m a grown woman and the mother of two children, I desired at that moment to be that little girl—safe in the Savior’s arms.
I couldn’t get that picture out of my mind the entire day. I wanted to put my arms around my own children and let them know I love them. I felt good knowing that they trust me, but it was even better knowing that they trust the Lord.
As I prayed at the close of the day, for a brief moment I felt as if His arms were indeed around me. Inside I felt at peace.
Annelies Prent-Pellis,Dordrecht Branch, Rotterdam Netherlands Stake

Ben smiled down at the newborn baby in the hospital bassinet. Although he had sisters, he had been waiting nearly 12 years for a brother, and it was worth the wait. He picked Andrew up and cuddled him. “He’s so cute,” Ben whispered.
As Andrew grew, Ben always made time for his younger brother. After school they’d wrestle or play ball. Ben played on the school basketball team, and Andrew was his biggest fan. Ben coached Andrew’s basketball team. They called each other “Bro.” “Bro, come watch me ride my bike,” Andrew would call from the garage door.
“Be there in a second, Bro,” Ben would answer.
One of their favorite games started when Andrew was two years old. Ben would say, “I love you,” and Andrew would reply, “I love you more!” Back and forth they went, each trying to outdo the other. “I love you to the sky.” “I love you a zillion.” “I love you infinity.” Finally it was settled that “I love you the most over forever” was the absolute most you could love anyone. Whoever said that first was the winner.
Years passed, and one day a big white envelope arrived. It was Ben’s mission call! In three months he would be leaving. The family studied maps, went shopping for clothes, and bought luggage. Ben got shots and filled out papers. He had his picture taken for his passport and for the plaque on the bishop’s wall. Andrew became sadder and sadder. A couple of times he cried.
One Wednesday night Andrew went with Mom to drop his sisters off at the church for Mutual. His sister Katie said, “I can’t believe Ben will be on his mission in just three weeks!”
Andrew and Mom returned home with tears rolling down their faces. Mom sat down on the couch and put Andrew on her lap. They both cried and cried.
“I’m going to miss him so much,” Andrew sobbed. “He’s my best friend and my only brother. Besides, no one else knows how to pitch to me just right.”
Mom and Andrew talked about what a wonderful son and brother Ben was and how much they would miss him. They decided to kneel and pray for comfort. During the prayer Heavenly Father’s Spirit gave them peace. They realized that Ben would be an even better son and brother from serving the Lord. Andrew thought about how much he loved Heavenly Father. Although it was a hard thing, he wanted his brother to be a missionary and help families in Argentina.
For the next three weeks Andrew tried to be happy. Ben went to the temple and spoke in church. Suitcases were packed. The night before Ben was to leave, the stake president came over and set him apart as a full-time missionary. The stake president asked Andrew to bear his testimony. Andrew told everyone that he knew the Church was true and he wanted his brother to serve a mission. Then they ate hot cinnamon twists. Andrew called that last day “the day he wanted to never end.”
Early the next morning they all drove to the airport and flew to Salt Lake City, Utah. Then they rented a car and drove to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. Just a few miles from the center, Andrew’s tears started to drip, but he wiped them away and kept smiling. They unloaded Ben’s luggage in front of the training center and went into a big meeting room where there were hymns and prayers and brief talks. Andrew tried to be brave, but he could not keep the tears away. He sat on Ben’s lap until the mission president said it was time for the new missionaries to walk out one door and the families to walk out another. The “bros” hugged and cried and hugged some more. With tears and big smiles, they each walked out the right door.
Andrew wanted to be brave, but he cried all the way to the car. He called it a happy/sad day. He was happy because it was a good thing for Ben to do and sad because he would miss him so much. Mom and Dad reminded Andrew that because he had faith in Jesus Christ, his heart would soon feel better. Daddy quoted the words Jesus used to comfort His Twelve Apostles before leaving them. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
As they drove away, Andrew called out from the backseat, “Bye, Bro, love you!” There was silence for a minute. Then, in a deeper, faraway voice, Andrew answered himself with a playful grin. “Bye, Andrew, love you the most over forever!”

Some few years ago, before the completion of a temple in South Africa, while attending a district conference in what was then Salisbury, Rhodesia, I met the district president, Reginald J. Nield. He and his wife and lovely daughters met me as I entered the chapel. They explained to me that they had been saving their means and had been preparing for the day when they could journey to the temple of the Lord. But, oh, the temple was so far away.

At the conclusion of the meeting, the four lovely daughters asked me questions about the temple: “What is the temple like? All we have seen is a picture.” “How will we feel when we enter the temple?” “What will we remember most?” For about an hour I had the opportunity to talk to four girls about the house of the Lord. As I departed for the airport, they waved to me, and the youngest girl said, “We’ll see you in the temple!”

One year later I had the opportunity to greet the Nield family in the Salt Lake Temple. In a peaceful sealing room I had the privilege to unite for eternity, as well as for time, Brother and Sister Nield. The doors were then opened, and those beautiful daughters, each of them dressed in spotless white, entered the room. They embraced mother, then father. Tears were in their eyes, and gratitude was in their hearts. We were next to heaven. Well could each one say, “Now we are a family for eternity.”

Shortly after my baptism, the branch president called me and said, “Sister Gamanga, the Spirit has directed me to call you to be the Relief Society president.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said. “I don’t know how to read, I don’t know how to write, and you want to call me? What is the meaning of that?”

He explained that I would invite the women to church, talk to them, and help them. “With God, I can do it,” I said.

Since that day, so many things have happened in my life. I started reading only two-letter words, then three-letter words. I then moved from three-letter words to four-letter words, then five to six-letter words. This has helped me teach in Relief Society.

If there is something I don’t understand, I ask for help. My problem is spelling. I don’t know how to pronounce some spellings, but I get help so I can understand. When I’m teaching, I ask one of the Relief Society sisters to help with any words I don’t know. That is the way I teach in class. Each time I ask for help, I learn more.

I am grateful to the Lord that my temple memories extend back even to young boyhood. I remember so well, as a little boy, coming in from the field and approaching the old farm house in Whitney, Idaho. I could hear my mother singing “Have I done any good in the world today?” (Hymns, 1985, no. 223).
In my mind’s eye, I can still see her bending over the ironing board with newspapers on the floor, ironing long strips of white cloth, with beads or perspiration on her forehead. When I asked her what she was doing, she said, “These are temple robes, my son.”
Then she put the old flatiron on the stove, drew a chair close to mine, and told me about temple work—how important it is to be able to go to the temple and participate in the sacred ordinances performed there. She also expressed her fervent hope that someday her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren would have the opportunity to enjoy these priceless blessings.