Gospel Story Finder

In ninth grade, Tami had a friend who was good at everything. Tami’s friend, Sandy, was popular. She ran track and won. Tami joined the track team just to be like Sandy. But Tami never won a race. Usually she came in last. Sandy could tell a joke. And boys liked Sandy.
Just before Christmas, the school announced a writing contest. Tami decided to enter. She spent her evenings writing her poem instead of talking with Sandy on the phone as she usually did. She worried about entering the contest. It wasn’t the kind of thing Sandy would do. Tami didn’t even tell her friend she was doing it. Sandy might laugh, or maybe even make fun of her. But it was thrilling to find how much she liked writing. When the results were announced, Tami’s poem won second place.
Encouraging herself to try something on her own wasn’t easy. But Tami discovered something—deciding for herself what she wanted made her happier than trying to imitate her friends. It gave her strength to make more decisions on her own.
In the next few years, as some of her friends began making choices that were against Tami’s standards, it was easier to make her own choices, even when they were less popular.

While other boys were out playing little league baseball, Greg spent a lot of time working on the family farm, milking and feeding cows, cleaning out the milk tank, you name it. He doesn’t regret the time spent—it taught him to work hard. But he won’t tell you he loved it either, although he did have a number of ways to make the long, tedious hours go by faster. He took great pride in trying to do the best job he possibly could. If he was working with others, he would talk to them, laugh with them, joke with them, and get to know them better. And then, when he had a spare second, he would dream about what he would try to accomplish in the future.

“I wasn’t the most athletic kid in the school, I wasn’t the most intelligent, and I certainly wasn’t the best looking, so I decided I’d try to be the friendliest,” he said. “One way to feel good about yourself is to make other people feel good about themselves.”

Included in his dreams was a desire to be a student body president. He got over his miserable junior high defeat and decided that he would run when he got to high school. But just a short time before he was to announce his candidacy, his best friend told him he’d decided to run and asked Greg to be his campaign manager. Greg complied and helped him win, deciding that he could run for the office when he got to Ricks College.

But when Greg got to Ricks, he decided to sacrifice his political ambitions in favor of serving a mission in Indonesia. “I had a lot of misconceptions about the mission field,” he admits. “When you hear missionaries come back and say those were the best two years of their lives, you think it’s going to be all roses, but it’s not. It’s the hardest thing you could possibly do, and that’s what makes it great. I really learned to appreciate things I had to work for and sacrifice for. I learned to accept, appreciate, and love people who were different from me.”

When Greg returned from his mission, he finished up at Ricks, then went on to BYU. He never had satisfied his dream of becoming a student body president, but the thought of presiding over BYU’s 27,000 students seemed overly ambitious to him. His sister Kristie was convinced he could do it though. She helped him find a running mate, served as his campaign manager, and after a lot of hard work, Greg was elected by one of the biggest margins in BYU history.

“That really helped prepare me for where I am now,” Greg says. And actually, he is quite surprised to be in this position at Harvard. He’d already satisfied his goal of serving as a student body president, and knowing how many hours he’d put into the position at BYU, he didn’t think he could handle it at graduate school. After much prayer and a lot of requests from fellow students, however, Greg decided to give it a try. A lot of hard work went into that election too, and it paid off.

Even though Greg has won a multitude of other awards and titles, he feels that some of his greatest satisfaction comes when his accomplishments put him in a position to answer questions about the Church. “I’m constantly being questioned about our beliefs,” he says with a smile. “And I’m always happy to talk with anyone.”

And they’re usually happy to listen. Fellow students scrutinize Greg a little closer than they do other classmates. Not only is he their president, but he’s also one of a handful of LDS people they might know.

Tomorrow he’ll probably be walking Wall Street, but today, on the brisk Monday afternoon, his class discussions are finished and he walks over to one of the numerous meetings he has each week. Many students call out to him, greeting him by name. Some glance at him with a mischievous look in their eyes and call out, “Hi, LARRY!” That’s Greg’s first name, but he hates to be called that and they know it. On the first day of class this year, the student body gave him a standing ovation and shouted out, “Larry! Larry! Larry!” It’s impossible to take yourself too seriously with classmates like that.

Still, many of them ask him how he’s accomplished what he has. “My theory of success,” he tells them, “requires two things—that you work hard, and that you pray hard.” Greg slides into his seat at the head of a large conference table, and the other student body officers begin to file in. He is prepared. He should be. He was up until 2 A.M. making use of his theory of success.

One of the most challenging times in my graduate studies was writing my dissertation. Having successfully completed all my coursework, I was told that I was now qualified to pursue independently my original research. To some, such freedom was exhilarating. To an extrovert like myself, it was debilitating. It was a good friend who made all the difference in my ability to persist in the research, analysis, writing and rewriting that allowed me to complete my dissertation.

At one point, I would regularly share a great deal of my research with a longtime colleague who was also finishing his graduate work. The two of us had been through so much together. He knew the substance of my research and he also knew many of the faculty members on my dissertation committee. He seemed a natural ally in my cause. But I actually found that at that particular time and season of my life, that I needed to limit my interactions with him. Why? Because rather than edifying one another to do good work, our conversation almost always devolved into self-pity and critique. We were brilliantly skilled at identifying and cursing the outside forces that seemed to be conspiring against us but pretty inept at taking concrete steps toward success.

What made all the difference for me was when I made a new friend, John. Although we didn't know the substance of one another's arcane research, we shared a common sense of humor, a common outlook on life and a common aspiration for excellence and accomplishment. We would meet a few times each week, usually over cheap ethnic food, or a cup of hot chocolate. We would to listen to each other, commiserate with one another, but mostly we would celebrate our small successes and then challenge one another to keep at the mundane tasks of scholarship—the way jogging buddies egg one another on to pick up the pace. With a ready smile and an easy laugh, John's friendship helped me bear the burden of seeing my dissertation to completion.

Our ward needed a new deacons quorum president. My counselors and I knelt in our bishopric meeting, as we always do, to seek the Lord’s approval on this and other callings.
Feeling a confirmation of the Spirit, I set up an interview with Víctor Leonardo Jiménez Gonzáles, a young man who had recently turned 12 and was already serving as the deacons quorum secretary.
During the interview, I asked Víctor about his current calling and how he was feeling.
“I’m worried, Bishop,” he answered. “I’m really concerned.”
“Why are you concerned?”
“Well, I want all the deacons to be at church. So today on my way over here, I went to Nicholas and Anthony’s house and woke them up, and then I went over to Jimmy and Luis’s to get them to come. I really get worried, Bishop,” Víctor said.
I was amazed by what he was saying and that a 12-year-old deacons quorum secretary could be so concerned about the other members of his quorum.
“I’m here to serve,” he went on, “and I want to do it right, but I’m one of the lowest leaders.”
“What do you mean ‘one of the lowest leaders’?” I asked.
“Because I’m the secretary. I’m not the president or a counselor. I’m a secretary, and that makes me one of the lowest leaders. But the deacons should be here and they’re not, so I have to go get them because this is where they’re supposed to be. I don’t know why they don’t come. But I have to go get them, Bishop!”
My tears could no longer be restrained, and they spilled from my eyes. Choked with emotion, I said, “You have made me remember why I was called as the bishop. It’s to be concerned about others, to visit and serve them as King Benjamin did. We need to be in the service of others, and then we will be in the service of God. You are not the lowest leader. Everyone who serves plays a role important to our Heavenly Father and His Church.”
To this, he said, “That’s what I learned from my dad. And now when I see you crying, I remember this one time when he talked to me—-he was crying and he told me, ‘When you have a responsibility, you have to do it right.’ ”
The tears refreshed my soul, and the young man’s words refreshed my memory. I remembered the great worth of our Heavenly Father’s children when I saw the worth this young man placed on each of the members of his quorum.
I extended a calling as president of the deacons quorum to Víctor. In response he said, “Now I’m really going to work hard. I’m not going to disappoint you, Bishop.”
Even now, some time later, the tears return as I remember this unforgettable interview. I know the divine potential this young man has. He has the future firmly in sight, and his vision of what is important is clear.

My knees shook a little and my stomach fluttered as I stood with Mom in the office of my new school. I straightened my shirt and tried to see my reflection in the glass door. My family had just moved from another state, and now here I was on my first day of fourth grade. Would I make friends here? I wondered. Would they like me? Was anyone going to sit by me at lunch?
A lady walked out from behind the counter and gave me a big smile. “Hi, Christina, I’m Mrs. Collins. I’ll take you to your class.”
I nodded. Mom bent down and gave me a hug. “You’ll be fine,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll see you after school, OK?”
I nodded again, afraid that if I said anything, I would start to cry. Mom left the office and walked down the front steps of the school. I felt like running after her, but Mrs. Collins put her hand on my shoulder and led me down a long hallway. I glanced into classrooms and saw a few kids looking out the door at us as we walked by. Would any of them be my friends? We finally came to my classroom, and Mrs. Collins introduced me to the teacher. Mrs. Murphy smiled. “We’re glad to have you in our class, Christina,” she said. “You can sit next to Melissa.”
She pointed out a girl and I made my way to the empty desk next to her. I slid into my seat and smiled a little at Melissa. “Hi,” I said softly.
She smiled a little too. “Hi.”
I took a deep breath and tried to slow down my racing heart. Some of the kids turned around to look at me. I heard whispering and a few giggles, and I felt my face turning red. Did they not like me already?
A little while later, the class visited the school library. I tried to stay close to Melissa, but she went with a different reading group. Most of the girls quickly sat down at the round tables with their friends and favorite books. There wasn’t anywhere for me to sit, so I pretended to look at different books as I walked up and down through the rows of shelves. When I came to the end of one row, I was right in front of a table of girls. I recognized one of them from my new Primary class. I swallowed hard and smiled. Maybe they could be my friends.
Suddenly, the girl closest to me leaned back in her chair, as if she were trying to get away from me. “Why is your skin dark?” she asked.
“Um. …” I didn’t know what to say.
“Why do you look different?” another girl asked.
“What are you?”
I tried to smile at their questions, but the girls weren’t smiling at me. They looked like they were smelling rotten food. Just then Mrs. Murphy walked in. “OK, class, it’s time to go back to the room.”
I didn’t look at anyone as we walked back to the classroom. For the rest of the day, I peeked at kids around me and tried to see why those girls thought I was different. None of my old friends thought I was different. No one at my old school had ever asked me what I was, and I didn’t know how to answer. I was me, that’s what I was.
I looked at my arm, and then at Melissa’s arm resting on her desk. My arm was a lot browner than hers. I scooted close to my desk and hid my arms underneath it.
“How was your day?” Mom asked when I got home from school.
“Mom, why is my skin dark?”
“Why do you ask?”
“A girl in my class asked me why. These girls wanted to know why I look … different.” I started to cry.
Mom pulled me into her arms and wiped the tears off my cheeks. “Oh, honey, everybody’s different. It’s not a bad thing.”
“Those girls aren’t different,” I said. “They all look the same. They all have blonde hair and blue eyes.”
“All of them?”
I thought about the girls in my class. “Well, no. But why is my skin darker than theirs? I didn’t think I was different. Those girls think there’s something wrong with me.”
“There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you,” Mom said, hugging me tight. “Do you remember the stories about my ancestors?” she asked.
I sniffed and shrugged.
“Grandma and Grandpa Ruiz are from Texas, but their parents’ families came from Mexico. They had beautiful skin like yours. When we put my ancestors and Dad’s ancestors together, you come from all over! Mexico, Scotland, Spain, England, and probably other places we haven’t found in our family history yet. You are the best combination you could be!”
“I don’t want to be different than kids here,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because I want to have friends.”
Mom frowned. “Do you want to have friends who hurt your feelings like those girls did?”
I thought about it, and then shook my head. “I’ll try to find friends who like me for me.”
The next morning at school, Melissa looked up at me as I put my backpack next to my desk. I looked at her, afraid of what she might say. Was she going to ask me why I looked different?
“Hi, Christina,” she said. “Do you want to play with me and Sarah at recess?”
I grinned and nodded. Melissa’s blue eyes shined as she tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, but I noticed her wide smile the most.

May I begin by sharing with you a personal experience from a time many years ago when I received an unwelcome but valuable message from my devoted father. After World War II was over, I was married and wanted to get on with my life. My memorable mission was finished before my military service. I was not anxious to become a student again and go back to the university where I had started some eight years before. My intended course would require another three years of intensive study, discipline, and poverty. With all of this in mind I said to my father, “I don’t think I will go back to school. I’ll just get a job or start a business and go forward in my life.” Now, my father had completed law school after World War I as an older student with a wife and three children. His response was typically direct. He said bluntly, “What can you do?” His answer was so brutally honest that it hurt, but I could not ignore it. I went back to the university and completed the course. This frank but well-intentioned message changed my life.

Speaking of music, one of the most obvious places to use a musical talent is in the orchestra pit. It’s hard work, say Shane Larsen, 14, and his brother Joseph, 16. When you point out to Shane that nobody really sees the orchestra, he says, “Yes, but they hear us. And if the music isn’t good, the play won’t be any good either.” Joseph admits that when he was on stage in previous productions, he kind of took the orchestra for granted, too. But not any more.

Of course, when it comes to being seen, no one would be seen—or heard—if the stage and sound and light crews were not on the job. Sandy stake’s Thomas Craft, 19, has acted in some productions, but he prefers to work behind the scenes. “Backstage people don’t always get credit, but they are very important for the play to turn out the way it should.”

Which brings up some of the things the stage can teach you about life. Kaisa Hansen was in Pirates. Now she’s a student at BYU. As much as anything, performing gave her an appreciation of the work of others. “When you get involved, you see how much people do behind the scenes. I have started realizing how much work people put into things. And when you are involved in something with other people, and you just play a small role, you are part of the glue that holds things together.”

Eli Hansen, 15, of Burley, talks about another lesson learned from the stage: “When you’re not part of the action, don’t upstage the others. Focus attention on them. Stay in character all the time. There’s always somebody watching you. You represent the Church name, your family name, even your employer. You have to be ‘on’ around the clock.”

When you get involved in stake productions or even Church pageants, there are still more lessons learned—things that shape and strengthen your testimony. Many of those who performed in Promised Valley volunteered that the experience had given them a greater appreciation of the pioneers and of their own heritage. As Spencer Williams notes, “To get into character, you have to imagine what it would have been like.” For him, the miracle of the crickets and the seagulls took on much deeper meaning.

Just like the friendships formed, those kinds of experiences can stay with you for years. Amy Hill, 18, of the Taylorsville Utah Central Stake, remembers when she was in her stake’s performance of the Book-of-Mormon-based A Day, a Night, and a Day. Amy was a ninth grader and had only a small nonspeaking part. But she has vivid memories of “acting out the Book of Mormon, thinking, Wow! this is so cool. This is how it would have felt.” Would she do it again? “I’d definitely recommend that kind of experience. I miss it sometimes.”

So what do the critics say? You’ve just heard from the critics who matter most—the people who have done it. So next time you have a chance to get on the stage (or behind the scenes, or in the orchestra pit) don’t start looking for the first stage out of town. If you want to develop friends, talents, and self-confidence, that stake musical or school play or community theater may be just the ticket.

Be a critic. The world judges plays and musicals as good or bad based on how well they are written and performed. Latter-day Saints must be concerned about content. What is the message? Are language and costumes appropriate? If you have to “become your character” in order to act well, what kind of character are you being asked to play? Several of the young people we talked to indicated that they were touched emotionally and spiritually by what they were portraying.

Be aware. There are lots of opportunities to get involved in wholesome theater. Most—but not all—school plays are safe. (Get a look at the script if you are unsure.) Stake and ward productions are a wonderful opportunity for friendships and personal growth. And many communities—especially those with a strong LDS influence—have local theater companies that have high moral standards. Ask around.

Be prepared to commit yourself and work hard. Rehearsals can be boring and tiring. But when everything comes together, the payoff can be terrific.

I was ten years old when my grandfather, Elder Melvin J. Ballard, died. Grandfather Ballard was an Apostle. As a young boy, I didn’t fully appreciate what it meant to be an Apostle, but I understood that he was a great missionary.
While my grandmother was expecting her first child, Grandfather Ballard was called on a mission in the United States. He was sent to the Midwest, and he provided music at missionary meetings at which he, Brother B. H. Roberts, and Brother George Pyper taught the gospel. When Brother Roberts and Brother Pyper went back to Salt Lake City, Utah, Grandfather was left alone in Illinois. He was discouraged and lonely. He missed his wife and his firstborn son—my father—who was born after he left. Then he came across the hymn “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go.”* He had a beautiful baritone voice, and he sang that hymn often.
When he became a member of the Council of the Twelve, he was put in charge of the Music Committee of the Church. When the hymnbook was updated in 1927, he saw to it that “I’ll Go Where You Want Me to Go” was included. I think that this hymn has the greatest missionary message of any of our hymns. It has affected my life much the same as it did my grandfather’s. My commitment to go wherever the Lord wants me to go has taken me to almost every corner of the earth. As a General Authority, I have visited Africa, Asia, Europe, Latin America, the United States, Canada, and Russia. Truly the commitment to be a missionary has prepared me for a lifetime of service to the Lord.

Major Brazilian cities like São Paulo equal any in the world with their forests of office towers, supermarkets, sophisticated shopping malls, and high-rise apartment complexes. They also have their share of tightly packed shanty communities, called favelas.
Maria Leopoldina do Espírito Santo lives alone at the edge of a favela in a small house made from packing cases and surplus construction material. A few years ago Maria saw another favela resident, Lindy Now, pass by each Sunday. On asking Lindy where she was going, Maria was invited to church. The missionaries visited her, and within two weeks she was baptized.
Maria used to help support herself by doing laundry for members and missionaries. Now, stricken with Parkinson’s disease, she says she gets by “on a small government pension and on the help of friends.” She can’t always make it to the Jardim Das Palmas Ward by herself, “but some of the Relief Society sisters take me by car. I love the hymns, and prayer is a part of my life.”
Born into a nation that has the largest Roman Catholic population in the world, Maria says she was never active in her former religion. “But my testimony of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is strong. I’m going to attend meetings just as long as I can.”

Davide and his family are converts to the Church. Before he was even baptized, Davide learned how important scripture study is. His brother was the first to be baptized, and his parents soon followed. Davide knew that he needed his own testimony. As he studied the Book of Mormon, he felt the Spirit. The good feelings he felt helped him make the decision to join the Church.

Four years later, Davide still relies on guidance from the Spirit. “We have to be constant. We can’t slack off in our scripture study and prayer,” he says.

Three years ago, my paternal grandmother passed away. She had struggled with poor physical health and declining mental stability in her later years. However, in her younger days, Grandma had been an avid genealogist. When several of my distant cousins were cleaning out sheds on her property, they found a trunk full of genealogy. They weren't interested in the papers, but they recognized the potential value--so they called my father.
Within days, I had the aqua-colored trunk, with glittery sparkles embedded in its padded vinyl cover, sitting in my kitchen. I opened it to discover thousands of moldy, old genealogy forms--the long kind, where the ordinance work was stamped on a grid at the right-hand side. Much of the work had been started, but most of the pages had many empty squares. Because the smell was almost overwhelming, I wrapped the trunk in several garbage bags. Then I called Church Headquarters to see what we should do. They offered to have missionaries at the Family History Center in Salt Lake verify that the work had been finished; however, they said they would be ever-so-grateful if we would do it.
It took my mother and me several months (and a good deal of allergy medicine) to type the 30,000 names into the computer, but we did it. Then we checked the names against the various indexes to see if the work had been completed by others during the 60 years the trunk had sat in the apparently quite leaky shed. We discovered that roughly 90% of the people whose names we had found had been baptized, confirmed, endowed, and sealed--but 10% had not. We printed cards for them--enough cards to fill a shoebox. Then I began recruiting help.
Some of you were in my classes two years ago when we did the 3000 baptisms. Oh, what a spiritual feast we had together in the temple! What a delight it was to watch my students and friends perform those sacred ordinances for my family members. Even President Tucker came down to help, sitting in as proxy. I have many special memories of the impressions you had about my ancestors, which a number of you shared with me.
Because a few of you had already been endowed, we were able to perform the initiatory ordinances (which go rather quickly) on hundreds of names. However, we weren't able to get very many endowment sessions completed--a handful, but nowhere near 3000.
Then, last winter, the Matron announced in our preparation meeting that the Idaho Falls Temple had almost run out of names for endowment sessions. We were asked to encourage patrons to help out in the initiatory area until we had a cushion of names built up again. Because I had that shoebox full of cards, I dropped by the office and offered them to the Recorder. He was eager to use them. Since I work in the Temple each Tuesday evening, I took five or six hundred (which had the initiatory done) with me the next week. The sisters working in the office told me they would stamp them "Return to Recorder's Office" and use them--probably by that Saturday, as they were really low on names by then. They thanked me for offering my family names for temple use, and I assured them I was happy to help out.
The next week, when I arrived at the temple, I was told that my names had not been finished on Saturday; they were still being handed out. That evening, the sessions were all full, with no empty chairs. And almost every patron was acting as proxy for one of my family members. As it happens, one of my assignments was to accompany a session as the sister who sits at the front, making sure that the patrons' needs are met. Mere words cannot convey what it was like to watch 150 Saints stand and make sacred covenants for my ancestors. Some of you were there that night; you've stopped me to tell me you'd read my name on the card as the person submitting the work. So, I am comfortable telling you that, from my vantage point at the front of the congregation looking out at the patrons, the walls in the ordinance rooms were, hmmm, rather transparent that night. The Spirit opened my eyes, and I was granted a glimpse of eternity that I shall not soon forget. And that's a ninth way the Spirit speaks to me. Oh, you'll be happy to know that my cousins and I have spent the past year getting our ancestors sealed into families.

In an effort to accomplish all of my goals, I found myself overwhelmed with worldly pressures, decisions, and cares. I was staying up late and missing meals, working for many hours at a time. All of these things were taking their toll on my emotional well-being. I felt frustrated and unable to handle my problems.
I prayed, hoping to receive an assurance that all would be well. Instead, I heard the still, small voice say, “Keep the Word of Wisdom.” I felt puzzled and disappointed. I didn’t smoke or drink alcoholic beverages, and I had never drunk coffee or tea. How could the counsel to keep the Word of Wisdom apply to me?
I thought about the many times my friends had mentioned feeling discouraged and unequal to their tasks. Most of them had risen above those feelings and had carried on with their lives. But among those who usually felt inadequate, the common problem seemed to be their priorities—they put themselves last on their own lists. They never took time for regular meals, and they rarely got to bed before midnight. Reluctantly, I admitted that I was making the same mistakes and that I needed to change.
First, I stopped thinking about things that weren’t necessary and concentrated on the things that really matter. I worked on getting up early so I would be sleepy early. I ate nourishing food, and I exercised—consistently! As I developed these habits, I was able to plan better, and I began to feel in control of my life. Many of my previous worries now seemed unimportant, and I was free to direct my thoughts and feelings to other things.

I work closely with athletes as they prepare to be coaches and teachers. I find that some of them associate their worth with their behavior in the athletic arena. I remember a young track star who blew out her knee in a pickup basketball game during the off-season. Her world was shattered, and her identity was that of a good-for-nothing—useless. She was depressed and unproductive for several months because she felt her worth was dependent on her accomplishments, and she felt she would not be able to accomplish much now that she was injured. She worked very hard at her rehabilitation to get back to her earlier running form, and this story does have a happy ending. She did return to athletic glory. At that point in time, for her, her worth was determined by her athletic abilities. When I saw her with her young child several years later and asked her about her running, she remarked that wasn’t the focus of her life anymore. Perhaps love for her baby had helped her to understand that worth is not determined by accomplishments or talents or possessions or power or appearance. It’s a given from God and is always there.

During my last year of junior high school, it was my privilege to be responsible for taking care of the flag at our school. Each morning just before school began, the bugle sounded and we would raise the flag on the pole out in front of the building. All of the students would then stand at attention in their classrooms and repeat the Pledge of Allegiance to our country.
We really cared for the flag—it meant something special to us! Whenever it rained, we would be excused from class to run out, lower the flag, and carefully put it away until the weather was clear to display it again. Each night before leaving school, the flag would be lowered, gently folded in a triangle with only the white stars on a blue background visible, and put away until the next day.

4. Allow opportunities for personal growth and encourage your children to do things for themselves. One role of parents is to help their children be confident, capable, and self-sufficient. This training process is a natural and gradual one; it begins when the child is very young. When he learns a new task, he wants to perform it over and over again. If he is restrained, he may vent his frustrations loudly. For example, Mrs. Anderson was puzzled at first when Kathleen, age one, suddenly went into a screaming tantrum when she was being undressed for bed. Then she realized she had pulled off Kathleen’s socks rather than waiting for her to do it herself. Only after she put the socks on her again and let her remove them was Kathleen happy again. Who would imagine that the need to feel capable could be apparent at such an early age!

On day three of our journey, I learned that even though we may have some uphill struggles in our lives, our attitude will determine how we face them. On that day we crossed the Continental Divide three times, rising from an elevation of 4,800 feet to 8,300 feet. Climbing steep mountain passes on a bike requires the right attitude to get to the right altitude. It’s the same with life. By setting worthwhile goals and keeping your eyes fixed on them, you will learn self-discipline and accomplish much. Yes, there were times when climbing the steep mountain grades was as much as I could bear, but I didn’t give up, because I was fixed in my purpose.

Our Relief Society class was discussing the three degrees of glory when one sister shared some information about the telestial kingdom. Immediately I raised my hand for attention. I indicated that the information the sister had shared was questionable. I explained that during another class I had attended, the instructor had taught that, since he had never seen that particular information in print, it probably was just a myth.
Even as I spoke, reproach stung my heart—not because of the words that had come out of my mouth, but because my approach had been rude and abrupt, without consideration of the other sister’s feelings. I had been too anxious to correct the information.
I found myself standing near the sister after Relief Society. The admonition to apologize kept pounding in my ears, but I wanted to share my feelings fully and in private. Throughout the remainder of the day, I contemplated possible ways to approach her.
Finally, on Monday morning when most of the family had departed for work and school, I determined to call the sister and try to apologize. But before I could, my telephone rang. On the other end was the sister I had planned to call, thanking me for the wonderful day that she had enjoyed yesterday. I was astonished at her statement; why would she thank me for embarrassing her in Relief Society? But she explained that she had spent the day studying the principle. She shared her newfound knowledge and taught me much as well.
Even though I had not meant to hurt her, my sister could easily have taken offense when I corrected her. But she chose to grow from the experience, then to take the time to teach me.
My heart rejoiced as I turned to the scriptures and read: “And if thy brother of sister offend thee, thou shalt take him or her between him or her and thee alone; and if he or she confess thou shalt be reconciled” (D&C 42:88) and “Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin” (D&C 64:9).
I’ll never forget the lesson my sister—my example—taught me that day.

Many miracles paved the way for Raymond Knight’s journey to the house of the Lord.
The first was his baptism in Alice Springs on 1 July 2017, at age 74. Elder Joel Barfuss, of the Australia Adelaide Mission recalls, “We were walking to an appointment and saw Ray walking down another road, so we decided to turn down the road just to talk to him. . . . He came to Church that Sunday and the rest was history.”
The second miracle came through family history. In the years after his baptism, senior missionary couples, Elder and Sister Clark, and later, Elder and Sister Gamble helped Ray to discover his family history.
Elder Scott Gamble helped Ray identify his father through the BillionGraves cemetery index.
“Ray is legendary with the young missionaries in Alice Springs,” says Sister Diane Gamble. “They all know and love him. He loves to share life stories about how his grandmother taught him to knit when he was nine years old, how his daughter in the Philippines asked him to bring her a kangaroo, and about how he knitted a jumper for Johnny Cash, the famous western singer.”
The third miracle involved a series of events that allowed Ray to travel 1,532.8 kilometers to attend the temple for the first time.
Cancer required the removal of Ray’s stomach, but while recovering from massive surgery, the Gambles taught him temple preparation lessons, which he continued after leaving the hospital.
Branch President Schwalger granted permission for the missionaries to resume Ray’s lessons over the phone and at his home. The Gambles used skeins of yarn and other props to review principles like the plan of salvation.
Ray eventually received his temple recommend, and with aid from the General Temple Patron Assistance Fund he prepared to receive his endowment.
Two weeks before his scheduled temple date, the Gambles received a call from Ray. Sister Gamble recalls, “He was in the hospital and told us he just wanted to die. We found him in the emergency department having a vial of potassium administered intravenously, which is apparently quite painful. Elder Gamble gave him a blessing, which helped him tolerate the procedure.”
Once Ray was cleared for travel, the long-awaited moment finally arrived. Ray and the missionary couple set out on 30 January 2024, and the group walked into the temple the following day.
At 81 years old now, Ray was able to participate in proxy baptisms and confirmations for his male ancestors. Then he used his Melchizedek Priesthood authority, for the first time, to perform proxy confirmations on Sister Gamble for his female ancestors. “I was moved to tears when Ray placed his hands on my head,” says Sister Gamble.
The fourth miracle was found in the power of prayer.
Ray wasn’t feeling well on the day Elder Gamble picked him up for his own endowment. His medication was making him dizzy and weak in the knees. They had to stop and rest several times between the hotel room and the car.
After a fervent prayer for Ray’s health and ability to proceed with his journey, Ray got out of the car and walked into the temple to receive his endowment. He had no further issues that day.
With additional support from senior missionary couples, the Felts and the Carrs, and President and Sister Kuhn from the mission presidency, Ray was able to perform proxy endowments for his ancestors. Elder Gamble described evidence of the Spirit in the celestial room later, where he saw tears rolling down Ray’s cheeks. “This is the first time I’ve felt a closeness to the Lord in such a profound way,” Ray explained. “I am in wonderment of His rich blessings.”
His ability to participate in all the planned sessions of his temple trip depended on how Ray felt, but on the days he didn’t attend, Sister Gamble says, everyone at the temple asked where Ray was. “It was like they were inquiring about a long-lost friend.”
Some days, Ray relied on the power of prayer to keep going. “On Saturday morning, [he] was feeling sick again,” Sister Gamble reports. “We said a prayer with Ray in the car and again he perked up almost immediately and was able to move forward with sealings.”
Referencing President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to think celestial, the sealer said, “doing sealings is just about as close to thinking celestial as one can get in this life.”
Ray was sealed first to his parents, and then his mother was sealed to the grandparents who raised him. In total, 96 family ordinances were performed throughout the week. The group had many tender mercies and felt very close to the Spirit.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how idyllic it was for me to be introduced to the temple for the first time,” Ray said. “It was a joy unimaginable. I’m so looking forward to many more such visits… If only the same joy could be felt in absolutely every other location throughout the world and every single person could focus on the exquisite experience and peace of our Heavenly Father’s presence, there could not be any room for the hurt and devastating destruction that we learn about so constantly in our world.”

It was a Friday night much like any other. My closest friends and I were sitting in my apartment after watching a movie, periodically chatting quietly and then laughing loudly. A sense of genuine contentment filled the air, and I couldn’t help smiling as stories and ideas swirled through the room. Some of the people I had met only a month before; some I had known all my 25 years.
At one point one of these longtime friends and I got to sharing memories about some of our college friends from a few years earlier. As we talked, I thought of how I missed these friends, of how much fun we had had, and how close we had been. Now we had graduated and moved to places all over the world, finding ourselves in situations we never could have predicted. I sighed with momentary feelings of loss, then glanced around the room at the laughing faces surrounding me at that moment and was struck by the sudden thought: good things keep on coming.
That simple thought was actually quite profound for me, especially since I have always had a hard time facing change and am hesitant to let go of good things. I miss the past even while it is still the present, desperate to enjoy fully moments in which I consciously and determinedly live. I know when I have a good thing, and I want to hold on and never let go; this lazy and happy Friday night was one of those good moments. Usually when I realize how good things are, I instantly begin thinking of how everything is fleeting, that it will eventually be lost to time or circumstance.
But this night the internal regret didn’t come. Sitting quietly, surrounded by people I loved, I knew that even though some good things must naturally come to an end and that there would undoubtedly be many hard things in the future, the good things would keep on coming. And they always would—as long as I let them. Even as those I love moved on, voids would be filled with new and amazing people and experiences I had never even imagined.

As a young bishop, I learned of forgiveness when my stake president, Bruce M. Cook, shared the following story. He explained:
“During the late 1970s, some associates and I started a business. Although we did nothing illegal, some poor decisions, combined with the challenging economic times, resulted in our failure.
“Some investors filed a lawsuit to recover their losses. Their attorney happened to be a counselor in my family’s bishopric. It was very difficult to sustain the man who seemed to be seeking to destroy me. I developed some real animosity toward him and considered him my enemy. After five years of legal battles, we lost everything we owned, including our home.
“In 2002, my wife and I learned that the stake presidency in which I served as a counselor was being reorganized. As we traveled on a short vacation prior to the release, she asked me whom I would choose as my counselors if I were called as the new stake president. I did not want to speak about it, but she persisted. Eventually, one name came to my mind. She then mentioned the name of the attorney we considered to have been at the center of our difficulties 20 years earlier. As she spoke, the Spirit confirmed that he should be the other counselor. Could I forgive the man?
“When Elder David E. Sorensen extended to me the call to serve as stake president, he gave me an hour to select counselors. Through tears, I indicated that the Lord had already provided that revelation. As I spoke the name of the man I had considered my enemy, the anger, animosity, and hate I had harbored disappeared. In that moment, I learned of the peace that comes with forgiveness through the Atonement of Christ.”
In other words, my stake president did “frankly forgive” him, like Nephi of old. I knew President Cook and his counselor as two righteous priesthood leaders who loved one another. I determined to be like them.