Gospel Story Finder

Jeanne serves as a Young Women adviser. Several months ago she learned about an upcoming activity for the youth in the ward: hiking to a place called Malan’s Peak. She was excited because she had recently set a goal to make that climb.
When she arrived at the trailhead, her good friend Ashley approached her. Linking arms with Jeanne, she offered to hike with her, saying, “I’ll go with you.” Ashley, who was 16 years old at the time, had some physical challenges that made it difficult for her to climb very fast. So she and Jeanne walked slowly, noticing Heavenly Father’s creations: the rocks on the mountain peak above them and the flowers all around them. Jeanne later said, “It really didn’t take me long to forget about my goal of hiking to the peak, for it soon became an adventure of another kind—an adventure to point out the beauties along the path, many of which I would have missed had I just hiked to reach the goal of Malan’s Peak.”
As Jeanne and Ashley continued hiking, far behind the rest of the group, they were joined by Emma, another young woman in the ward, who had decided to wait and walk with them. Emma added to their enjoyment. She taught them a song and provided extra support and encouragement. Jeanne recalled: “We sat and rested, we sang, we talked, and we laughed. I was able to get to know Ashley and Emma in a way I wouldn’t have been able to do otherwise. It wasn’t about the mountain that night—it was about much, much more. It was about helping each other along the path, one step at a time.”
As Jeanne, Ashley, and Emma hiked and sang and rested and laughed together, they probably weren’t thinking, “Hey, we are keeping our covenants right now.” But they were keeping their covenants. They were serving each other with love, compassion, and commitment. They were strengthening each other’s faith as they encouraged and ministered to one another.

President Grant Bangerter was having a doctrinal conversation with President Joseph Fielding Smith, who was touring his mission in Brazil. Sister Bangerter listened and finally said, “President Smith, I have been raising children and haven’t had time to become a scriptorian like he is. Will I get to the celestial kingdom with Grant?”
President Smith pondered soberly for a moment and then said, “Well, perhaps if you bake him a pie.”

Then, in late 1977, Lien learned that her husband was in a refugee camp in Malaysia. He had managed to leave Vietnam on an old fishing boat after finally being released from Thành Ông N?m. Now he was ready to reunite with his family. All he needed was a sponsor.
Lien began working even more hours to save enough money to bring The to the United States.
In January 1978, Le My Lien sat nervously in a car headed for the Salt Lake City International Airport. She was on her way to meet her husband for the first time in nearly three years.
After arriving at the airport, Lien joined other friends and Church members who had come to welcome The.
Before long, Lien saw The descending an escalator. He looked pale and had a lost look in his eyes. But at the sight of Lien, he called out to her. Emotion welled in Lien’s chest.
She pulled The into a hug. “Thank God in heaven,” she whispered, “you are home at last!”

My mother showed me how important the gathering of Israel is by helping full-time missionaries teach and share the gospel. One time I joined her to find the home of a sister in the ward who hadn’t attended church for some time. We almost got lost because we didn’t know exactly where she lived. Instead of being irritated, my mother diligently looked for that sister’s home. Like the woman in the parable of the lost coin (see Luke 15:8–10), she found the sister and rejoiced.
The way my mother gave her best for the Lord’s work, not only in sharing the gospel but also in other Church callings, helped me realize that everyone must serve the Lord, even in small ways.

I remember so well how my father used to get us together in family prayer and how he would talk to the Lord. He just didn’t say a few words and off we would go to the fields. He kneeled down with us and he talked to the Lord. He told the Lord about some of our weaknesses and some of our problems, where we had failed, and he apologized for us. “Eldon didn’t do exactly what he should have done today. We are sorry that he made this mistake. But we feel sure, Heavenly Father, that if thou wilt forgive him, he will determine to do what is right. Let thy Spirit be with him and bless him that he can be the kind of boy we would like to have.”
My, that was a help! He used to say in the morning, “Let your blessings attend us as we go about our duties that we may do what is right and return tonight to make a report.” I used to think of that: “I am going to report to the Lord tonight.” It helped me materially in the kind of life I lived during the day.
Father thanked the Lord for our crops and for our home, for the country in which we lived, for one another, and for many, many things, and always asked the Lord to let His blessings attend us.
He told us about Joseph Smith’s prayer—how he went out into the grove to pray and the result; how God the Father and His Son Jesus Christ appeared to Joseph Smith, and he said, “That’s the kind of God we are talking to, boys.” We knew it as he prayed, and we learned to pray. We depended a great deal on the blessings of our Heavenly Father as we went through life.
I recall an experience while I was a deacon. I had a sister who had spinal meningitis, and a very severe case of it. I remember one night as we knelt in prayer Father said to me, “My boy, you hold the priesthood now; I wish you would lead in prayer, and remember Lillie.” She had been, and was at that time, very, very sick. They didn’t know whether she would live or not. As I prayed with the family, the feeling came to me that she would be made well.

I have the privilege of serving with a great Church leader from Indonesia, Subandriyo. He joined the Church as a young man. He is from a poor home without many of the material things of this life. When Subandriyo fell in love with Steffi, he went to ask her mother if they could marry. He had no money, nothing for a traditional wedding party. But this is the promise he made to Steffi's mother. "I have no money for a wedding, but I promise you that I will make your daughter the happiest woman on earth and I will always take care of her." He has kept that promise.

The San Jose Second Ward Scouts and Venturers rejuvenated the outside of their chapel by painting the eaves above outside entrances. Laurels and Mia Maids cleaned all the filters and grills for the heating and air-conditioning system. Then they painted the bathrooms and locker rooms, filling in and repairing joints and cracks. Everyone planned to return later in the week to finish the interior painting when the patches had dried.
“Work first, play later is pretty much what it was,” said Mike Black, 16. “That was neat because we worked on the service project first and that was altogether togetherness.”

When Sister Staheli and I left Utah, en route to the University of Illinois with everything we owned contained in our little car, we were excited about embarking upon a new adventure. We had tried to be diligent in keeping the covenants we had made in the temple as a part of our marriage of about one year.

As we became fully engaged in our new life as a happily married but financially struggling couple, we lost focus on one important—in fact, essential—commandment of the gospel. As we approached the end of the year and tithing settlement, we had not only slipped on paying our tithing but were literally without food money for the last week of the year.

As we sheepishly and humbly approached our branch president at tithing settlement, he taught us an important lesson in financial management. More important, he gave us a phenomenal promise.

He promised that if we would make up the tithing owed to the Lord and then faithfully pay it each month before we addressed our other needs and wants, the Lord would bless us as promised. In fact, he promised us that as future faithful tithe payers we would have an increase in income each year thereafter. That came true—and stayed so, until my call as a Seventy. The Lord truly did open the windows of heaven and pour out blessings to us.

My wife and I had been raised by faithful tithe-paying parents. We had been full-tithe payers throughout our youthful years. Yet this came as a poignant lesson of how becoming casual on important principles can cause one to lose focus on what is really essential to the Lord.

Temple Square missionaries also donate several hours each week in additional service. They volunteer at Welfare Square in Salt Lake City, where they sort used clothing for worldwide distribution to the needy, assist patrons in the bishops’ storehouse, teach English as a second language to any wishing to learn, and work in the cannery or dairy.
This experience proved useful for Sister Ilona Machinic of Vilnius, Lithuania, who met a Russian man on Temple Square. Able to speak to him in his native language, she discovered that he needed assistance and was able to call upon the resources of Welfare Square to help him. He gratefully went on his way, promising to repay the kindness of the Church somehow.

Once there was a small kingdom that was known far and wide as the Curious Kingdom. It was curious because all the people who lived there did nothing but call each other silly names.
“Camel’s Cabob!” yelled the baker to the woodcutter.
“Nimble Nit!” returned the woodcutter to the baker.
Because it took all day to think up new names that had never been used before, there was no time for the baker to bake bread or the seamstress to sew clothes or the woodcutter to cut wood. Children had no time to play, mothers didn’t churn butter, and fathers failed to plow the fields.
Instead, everyone sat around with pencil and paper, switching words here and fitting letters there. They could be heard calling names in the stores, in the streets, on the rooftops, and in the meadows. The names became more curious and the shouting more unbearable every day.
King Mossoloss tried to think of some way to stop the name-calling. First he sent out a royal edict forbidding any new names to be called, but the people were too busy yelling “Pickled Prune!” and “Gibbledy Gibber!” and “Purple Periwink!” to hear the edict.
Then the king tried locking people in the dungeon if they dared to call each other names, but it soon became so crowded there that the dungeon walls bulged on every side. After all, there was not enough room for an entire kingdom in one dungeon!
Try as he might, poor King Mossoloss could not stop his people from calling each other names, and before long the shouting became so loud that he was forced to plug his ears with cotton.
“If the baker will not bake bread,” the king said, “we will soon have nothing to eat. If the seamstress will not sew, we will soon have no clothes to wear. If the woodcutter will not cut wood, we will soon have no fires to keep us warm. This is indeed awful!”
One day a weary traveler stopped to get a cool drink of water from the well outside the Curious Kingdom. He was startled to hear all the noise from within.
“Why are the people in such an uproar?” he asked the king, who was pacing back and forth in front of the gate.
The king still had his ears plugged so he asked the stranger to speak louder.
“Why are the people in such an uproar?” the traveler asked again.
“They have been calling each other names for so long that they can’t even remember why they started. They are so busy thinking up new names that the baker does not bake bread, the seamstress does not sew clothes, and the woodcutter does not cut wood. If they do not stop, we shall all perish!”
“Even though I am just a poor weaver and a stranger, I think I know a way to make your people stop calling each other names,” the traveler said.
“If you can help me,” said the king, “I will give you all the silk thread and gold yarn in the Curious Kingdom and the finest loom on which to weave.”
“I need only a small wooden loom,” replied the weaver. “With that I can weave you the most beautiful robes your eyes have ever beheld!”
The weaver then pulled from his satchel a bottle of fine white powder. “This powder was given to me by an old woman with whom I shared my last meal,” he said. “Whoever smells the powder will sneeze and sneeze until someone says, ‘Illy, quilly, lampampilly.’ Now fetch me a sheep and we shall see what we shall see.”
A sheep was brought immediately, and the weaver sprinkled the strange powder onto its wool. Then the king and the weaver pinched their noses shut, and off they went through the streets leading the sheep behind them.
At once the people began to sneeze.
“Achoo!” said the baker, who was right in the middle of calling, “Lumpy Loon!”
“Achoo!” said the seamstress, who really meant to say “Globber Gob!”
“Achoo!” said the woodcutter, who was about to say, “Growling Grunch!”
Soon the only sound to be heard in the Curious Kingdom was “Achoo!” King Mossoloss thought it was such a pleasant change from the terrible name-calling that he sat down on the steps of his castle and smiled as he listened.
The people of the Curious Kingdom had a difficult time catching their breath between sneezes. At last they could stand it no longer, and all of them gathered together before the king.
“Good King Moss—Achoo!—oloss—Achoo!—you must know the way—Achoo!—to stop—Achoo!—this horrible curse—Achoo!”
King Mossoloss answered, “If you will all promise that there will be no more name-calling and that you will return to your work, I will help you.”
“We prom—Achoo!—ise! We give—Achoo!—our word!” they sneezed.
All eyes were on the king as he rose slowly from his royal throne. He looked at the anxious faces of his people and then said nobly in a deep voice, “Illy, quilly, lampampilly!”
Suddenly it was so quiet that everyone could hear the patter of mice feet on the court floor.
The people of the Curious Kingdom were so happy that they began to dance and sing, “Three cheers for King Mossoloss! Three cheers for our king!”
Soon the baker began to bake bread again, the seamstress commenced to sew clothes, and the woodcutter’s ax could be heard chopping away in the forest. Children played together once more, mothers churned butter, and fathers plowed the fields. It was a peaceful kingdom at last!
King Mossoloss gave the weaver the largest room in the palace and stacked it to the ceiling with silk thread and gold yarn. And the weaver happily wove for the king the most beautiful royal robes that anyone had ever beheld.

As involved as the Drummonds are in sports, you might think their grades would suffer a bit. But not so. “They’re both on the honor roll,” says their dad. “They have to maintain B averages. That’s my rule. And no underwater basketweaving or sandwich making courses, either.” He then goes on to recite their schedules—solid, difficult classes every one, with the exception of baseball, which the Drummonds take very seriously. Of course, since Tom made the rules, he’s always there to help his kids accomplish them. It’s not uncommon to find the family studying together in the evenings.

Years ago, I arrived home from work and was startled to see white paint splattered everywhere—on the ground, the garage door, and our red-brick house. I inspected the scene more closely and discovered the paint was still wet. A trail of paint led toward the backyard, and so I followed it. There, I found my five-year-old son with a paintbrush in his hand, chasing our dog. Our beautiful black Labrador was splattered almost half white!
“What are you doing?” I asked in an animated voice.
My son stopped, looked at me, looked at the dog, looked at the paintbrush dripping with paint, and said, “I just want him to look like the black-spotted dogs in the movie—you know, the one with 101 Dalmatians.”
I loved our dog. I thought he was perfect, but that day my son had a different idea.
In the first story, our young son had a beautiful dog as a pet; notwithstanding, he grabbed a gallon of paint and, with paintbrush in hand, determined to create his own imagined reality.

Just a few days before the first conference session, a group of more than fifty people arrived at the Tahiti Papeete Mission office. Mission president Raymond Baudin was acquainted with the Saints from the various island groups of French Polynesia, but he did not know any of these people. He assumed that they were a group of nonmembers interested in attending the conference.
But they introduced themselves as Latter-day Saints from the little island of Taenga, located in the Tuamotu Archipelago. The mission president couldn’t believe it! Church leaders in Papeete had not thought that there were any Church members on Taenga. The people explained to President Baudin that nearly the entire population of Taenga was Latter-day Saint, and that every single Taengan had made the three-day voyage to Tahiti by schooner to see the prophet of the Lord!

On February 4, 1846, the Latter-day Saints began leaving Nauvoo. They had planned to leave in April, but threats from the mobs forced their early departure. Loading their wagons onto the ferry, they crossed the Mississippi River, leaving their homes behind—again! Traveling west about nine miles, they made camp at Sugar Creek, Iowa.
The first days of February were mild, but snow fell on the fourteenth, and on the nineteenth a storm dropped eight inches (20 cm) of it. Brigham Young had instructed the Saints to bring a year’s supply of food as well as shelter and other supplies, but many left Nauvoo without the necessary provisions. Many had no tents, and others had unfinished tents that did little to protect them from the cold. After the snowstorms, the temperatures dropped and the Mississippi River froze. This was a blessing for those who were waiting for the ferry, because they could cross on the ice, but it was a trial for those in Sugar Creek. Many fell ill, and several babies were born in the damp and cold.
The main body of Saints waited in Sugar Creek until March 1. During this time additional wagons joined them daily, and Brigham Young organized the Camp of Israel into groups of hundreds, fifties, and tens, with leaders appointed over each group.

That first week at BYU-I was one of the hardest of my life. I read Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, and Numbers. I created a timeline from Adam to the twelve tribes of Israel and ultimately to Jesus Christ.

The Spirit was teaching me the importance of the Abrahamic covenant and what it meant to receive the promises of priesthood, posterity, and promised land. I began to see that it was about eternal marriage, enduring trials, making and keeping covenants, and creating eternal families.

For the first time, I began to see not only the patriarchs of the covenant but also the matriarchs. There is no Abrahamic covenant without Sarah.

I saw a powerful pattern: God often asks His covenant people to move forward in faith long before they understand His purposes.

I have learned that trusting the God who knows the ending does not remove the trial.It changes the way we face it.

That first week at BYU-Idaho was one of the scariest weeks of my life.

Growing up, I struggled in school. I had been diagnosed with ADD and a mild learning disability. I was deathly shy and terrified to go to college. Now my dad was dying of cancer.

How could God ask something so hard of me?

The first morning of the semester, I woke up in my dorm and opened my scriptures. I read Genesis 1:1: “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.” [20]

I remember thinking, If God could create the heavens and the earth, surely, He could help me get through college.

I went into the bathroom, turned on the faucet so my roommates wouldn't hear me cry, knelt on the floor, and begged God for help. Then I walked to the Taylor Building to try to add a religion class.

“I'm sorry,” the teacher said. “My class is full.”

I was devastated. If there was one class I needed, it was religion.

Just as I was about to leave the building, I felt a prompting: “Go into that room.”

My first thought was, “Absolutely not.”

Again, the impression came: “Go into that room.”

So, I walked in and asked if I could add his class.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “My class is full.”

I started to cry and said, “My dad is dying of cancer.”

He looked surprised and replied, “You can add my class.”

It was a 9:00 a.m. Book of Mormon class taught by Brother Kinghorn.

That weekend, I went to a dance on campus, but I didn't feel like dancing. As I walked home, all I could think about was my dad. I remember thinking, “This is too hard. I can't do this.”

When I got to my dorm, I fell on the floor. I didn't even turn on the light.

I said out loud, “Dear Heavenly Father, I do not want to be here. I want nothing more than to be with my dad right now.”

At that moment, I felt arms wrap around me. Whether it was physical or spiritual, I felt arms around me and I heard a voice say, “Tiffany, your earthly father can't and won't always be with you, but I am your Heavenly Father, and I can and I will always be with you.”

That moment changed my life.

That first semester was extremely difficult, yet I grew in unexpected ways. I became a better student, began overcoming my shyness, and learned that when I looked outward instead of inward, my burdens became lighter. Most importantly, I learned that God knew me.

The following personal experience integrates several of the points I have attempted to emphasize today. Every time I contemplate this event, I am moved by how kind the Lord is in answering our pleas for help. It occurred some time ago when I had responsibilities in Mexico and Central America that were far beyond my personal capacity to fulfil. I spent much sincere effort in seeking guidance and understanding from the Lord in study, prayer, fasting, and anxious service. Help came unexpectedly one Sunday as I attended a meeting where a humble, unschooled, Mexican priesthood leader struggled to communicate truths of the gospel identified in his lesson manual. It was obvious they had touched his life profoundly. I felt his intense desire to communicate those principles because they would be of great worth to his brethren. In his manner there was evidence of a pure love of the Savior and love for those he taught.

That love, sincerity, and purity of intent permitted a spirit to envelop the room. I was so touched that in addition to receiving again a witness of the truths he presented, I began to receive some personal impressions as an extension of those principles taught by the humble instructor. These impressions, intended for me personally, were related to my assignments in the area. They came in answer to my prolonged efforts to learn.

As each impression came, I wrote it down. I was given precious truths needed for me to be more effective. The specific counsel began with this impression: “Continue to build the Church on the foundation of true principles, but with increased expression of love and appreciation for the great Lamanite people.” There followed matters of great benefit to me.

Next I visited the Sunday School class, where a well-educated individual presented his lesson. That experience was a striking contrast to that of the priesthood meeting. It seemed as though the instructor had purposely chosen obscure references and unusual examples to illustrate the principles in the lesson. I will confess that I had the distinct impression that he was using the teaching opportunity to impress the class with his vast store of knowledge. He did not seem as intent on communicating truth as the humble priesthood leader had been.

This experience also created an environment where strong impressions flowed. I wrote them down. One paragraph began, “Testify to instruct, edify, and lead others to full obedience, not to demonstrate anything of self. All who are puffed up shall be cut off.” Another signaled, “You are nothing in and of yourself, Richard.” That was followed with some specific counsel on how to be a better servant. The impressions became so personal that I felt it inappropriate to record them in the midst of a Sunday School class. I sought a more private location. There I continued to write the feelings that flooded into my mind and heart as accurately and as faithfully as possible. After each powerful impression was recorded, I meditated upon it and pondered the feelings I had received to determine if I had accurately interpreted them. Then I studied their meaning and application in my own personal life.

Subsequently I prayed, expressing to the Lord what I thought I had felt. There came a feeling of peace and serenity when it was confirmed. I asked if there was yet more that I should be given to understand. There came further impressions, and the process was repeated until I received the most precious, specific direction for which I will ever be grateful.

This event embodies several principles I feel are true regarding communication from the Lord to his children here on earth. I believe that we often do not learn the truths the Lord would freely share because we do not in humility earnestly seek light. We also can leave the most precious personal direction of the Spirit unheard because we do not strive to understand, value, use, remember, and expand the first promptings that come to us when we are in need or when impressions come in response to earnest, intense prayer.

Several weeks after we broke up, I returned to school late one spring afternoon. I searched through the mess in my locker and soon found what I was looking for. The little black paperback was slightly dog-eared but still readable. Maybe it would answer some of my questions. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me carrying an LDS book, tucked it inside my jacket, and went home.
When I got home I hurried upstairs with my secret bundle and hid it in my desk drawer. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me reading Mormon “propaganda.”
Two weeks passed before I had a chance to be alone with the book. When I had the opportunity, I took the book out of my desk, stretched out on my bed, and started to read.
I opened the book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and skimmed its pages. A section about the Joseph Smith story caught my eye, so I read it carefully. As I read the story of Joseph Smith’s vision, I knew that it was true. I also knew that if his story was true, then the church he founded must also be true.
A little later I agreed to take the missionary discussions, and I rapidly gained a testimony of the principles of the gospel. After the discussions, I knew that I should join the Church, and after much fasting, praying, and soul searching, I was baptized. Liz was there. She cried.
A little more than a year after I was baptized, Liz and I again visited the temple, this time to be married for time and all eternity. That was 13 years ago. Today, and every day, as I watch our family blossom and grow, I’m grateful for the strong testimony of that cute little Mormon girl. I’m thankful that she was courageous enough to refuse to compromise on an issue that meant eternal happiness for her, and eventually, for me too.

I am a level 5 gymnast at my gymnastics club, and I was having a very good season. The state meet was coming up, and if I did well in the state meet, I would qualify for region. But the region meet was going to be on a Sunday. I had been working so hard to get to this point, and I wanted to go, but I felt like I shouldn’t.
A couple days later was fast Sunday, and I told my mom and dad what I was going to fast for. Together with my family we fasted that I would know what the Lord wanted me to do. I fasted Saturday night, all the way to Sunday dinner. Boy, that was hard.
That night when I was sitting with my mom, I decided that I shouldn’t go. I felt good and peaceful about my decision. The next day my mom got an email saying the region meet was changed to Friday. The following week I competed at state and took first place all-around, and now I get to go to regions in Colorado.
I know my prayer was answered. My faith in fasting and prayer is a lot stronger.

Following is the example of Maria and Gretchen—visiting teachers who understand the power of ministering. Here we can see that now visiting teachers have the opportunity to visit separately or together. They can count their “caring” whether or not they visit together and give the message. They can take appropriate action without being asked. They can actively seek, receive, and act on personal revelation to know how to respond to the spiritual and temporal needs of each sister they visit.
Rachel was expecting her first baby and had to remain in bed for most of her pregnancy. Her visiting teachers prayed for inspiration to know the best ways to help her. Maria, who lived nearby, was able to help at Rachel’s home on most days before work. One day she cleaned part of the bathroom; the next day she cleaned the rest of it. Another day she vacuumed the living room, and the next day she made lunch for Rachel. And so her ongoing ministering continued as she did laundry, dusting, or whatever Rachel needed.
Gretchen phoned Rachel often to brighten her day. Sometimes they talked and laughed. Other times Gretchen and Maria visited with Rachel at her bedside and shared their testimonies, scripture reading, or the Visiting Teaching Message. And after Rachel’s baby was born, they continued to help her.
Throughout this time, Maria and Gretchen also worked with the Relief Society presidency to coordinate other care Rachel and her family needed. The Relief Society presidency counseled with the bishop and the ward council so home teachers and others could provide additional assistance.
Ministering became sweeter as these sisters developed love for one another and as they shared spiritual experiences. As visiting teachers we can follow these same patterns and principles of ministering and receive the same blessings.

Fifty-nine days ago today President Kimball phoned me at my office and requested me to meet him in the Salt Lake Temple. It was about two o’clock. I walked to the Temple wondering what I had done wrong. Did he plan to change my assignments or my responsibilities? Perhaps I wasn’t measuring up to my calling. As we met on the fourth floor in the Temple, he had his usual warm greeting, which was reassuring to me. President Tanner and President Romney and the eleven were meeting in another room. President Kimball invited me into an empty room there on the fourth floor where we were alone—alone in this beautiful room in the House of the Lord with the Lord’s prophet. After some inquiry about my life President Kimball took me by both of my hands and, looking deeply but kindly into my eyes (and, it seemed, right into my soul), he said he was calling me to fill the vacancy in the Quorum of the Twelve. I was overcome. I could hardly say a word. Words are inadequate to describe my feelings even as I stand here with you. There comes a swelling within that is indescribable. You think, “Me? Why is he calling me? How can I? There are so many that are more worthy. Such great men have been so honored.”
With the two of us all alone, communicating with our hearts and our souls, the Lord’s prophet calling me, I knew I was in the presence of the Lord’s anointed. Alfred Lord Tennyson wrote that there are times “too full for sound and foam” (“Crossing the Bar,” 1889). I understand what he was writing about. The prophet invited me to meet the other Brethren. As we walked across the hall and into the room where they were waiting, they were all so warm and friendly. It helped my feet get back on the floor. President Kimball said, “Do you want to call Ruby?” As I stood there in sort of a daze looking at the telephone, President Kimball jokingly said, “Do you remember your phone number?” I was having such a difficult time dialing, Elder Boyd Packer inquired, “Do you remember Ruby’s name?” And then my Brethren, with their great warmth and understanding, assured me that they had all had the same experience. As Ruby answered the phone, she detected some strangeness in my voice. I’m sure it was a little unsteady, weak, and shaky. She said, “Where are you?”
I said, “I’m in the Temple.”
She said, “What are you doing in the Temple?” Then I told her what had happened, and she began to cry.
All of you young men, and the rest of you, what would we do without loving, understanding companions? Be grateful for the Lord’s plan. We understand that Mother Eve is a joint heir with Father Adam to the blessings of exaltation. That blessing is for all of you who are so married in the House of the Lord and are valiant to the end.
President Kimball, joined by all the Brethren of the First Presidency and the Quorum, placed his hands on my head. He ordained me to this calling with words I will always remember: “an apostle is entitled to the revelations of the Lord in very deed”; “we promise our lives, all of our efforts, our thoughts”; “keys, powers of the apostleship.” I was reminded, “You are the eighty-second so chosen in this dispensation.” I have been called to join the finest group of men on earth. There is no group of men like them anywhere.