Gospel Story Finder

Many things have been said about missionaries and missionary work. That has been the first love of my life, and I have been reminded of several things that happened sixty-eight years ago when I went to England. One I should like to relate.
I had gone to a certain house several times and had been rejected and warned not to come back again, but I was prompted to go again and again. And then as I was attempting to walk past that house, I was prompted to go in and try again to make contact. I used the big brass knocker on the English door without any response. I could see a lady in the front room knitting, and I made considerable noise with that knocker. She did not come out, and I went around to the back door. There was no knocker on that door so I used my walking stick, and I knocked with considerable vigor; in fact, it echoed through all the house.
Very soon the lady came out, and her coming out reminded me of my early days on the farm when I teased a setting hen off the nest. (I see some of you have had farm experience.) You know that a setting hen when she is teased off the nest comes off with her feathers going in the wrong direction, with her beak in perpetual motion, and this woman reminded me of that.
I apologized and said, “I am sorry to have interrupted you and have insisted upon an interview, but, my dear sister, I have come over six thousand miles to bring you a message which the Lord wants you to have. He sent me here to give you that message. I am going back to Canada in a few days, and I must tell you what the Lord wants you to know.”
She said, “You mean the Lord sent a message to me!”
I said, “That is right; he did.”
I told her of the restoration of the gospel, the organization of the Church, and the message of the restoration. She was quite impressed by what I told her. And I said when I left, “I am sorry to have disturbed you, but I could not refuse to carry out the message and the mission that was given to me when I came here. When we meet again, and we will meet again, you are going to say, ‘Thank you for coming to my back door. Thank you for loving me enough to carry the message of the Lord to me. When you left I could hardly contain myself. I was worried, disturbed, and wondered what it was all about. I finally went to the mission home, got some literature, studied, and became a member of the Church with my family.’”
Ten years later I was in England again, this time as a soldier, and at the end of the meeting a lady came up with two grown daughters. She said, “I do thank God and thank you that you came to my door with that message many years ago. I and my daughters joined the Church and we are going to Utah in a short time, and we thank God that you had the courage, the fortitude, and the faith to come to me with that divine message and to leave it with me in the name of the Lord.”

Years ago I visited a school in Albuquerque. The teacher told me about a youngster who brought a kitten to class. As you can imagine, that disrupted everything. She had him hold the kitten up in front of the children.

It went well until one of the children asked, “Is it a boy kitty or a girl kitty?”

Not wanting to get into that lesson, the teacher said, “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a kitty.”

But they persisted. Finally, one boy raised his hand and said, “I know how you can tell.”

Resigned to face it, the teacher said, “How can you tell?”

And the student answered, “You can vote on it!”

You may laugh at this story, but if we are not alert, there are those today who not only tolerate but advocate voting to change laws that would legalize immorality, as if a vote would somehow alter the designs of God’s laws and nature. A law against nature would be impossible to enforce. For instance, what good would a vote against the law of gravity do?

Could I share a story with you? It’s a story about a friend of mine whose home was in the direct path of the Teton Dam flood. I have shared this story before.

My friend’s name was Marion Forsyth. I share this story with you to illustrate just how a man can move to higher ground and come to love God and yield his heart to Him. This was a man that learned to give his agency, so to speak, to our Heavenly Father. He trusted that if he could learn of what God’s will was—and do it, he and his family would be blessed.

Sometime before the Teton Dam broke, President Spencer W. Kimball, who was then the President of the Church, invited all of the members of the Church in a General Conference talk, to fix up their homes, yards, barns, and to take care of all that the Lord had provided for them.

As a prophet of God he explained that those who were not members of the Church would judge the truthfulness of the gospel and the Church by how well we took care of what we had been given.

My friend, Marion Forsyth had chosen to use his agency to be obedient to the living prophet of God. He had a forty-acre farm and, if I remember right, about forty milk cows. Knowing Marion and his wife, they had cows not to make any money, but to help them raise their seven children—to teach them responsibility and how to work. All of us do better in moving to higher ground when we have a responsibility and meaningful work to do.

Just a short time before the Teton Dam broke, my friend was out in his front yard on a Saturday morning to paint his fence and plant petunias with his wife. He had painted his barn the week before. One of his neighbors pulled up in front of his home. The neighbor lowered his vehicle’s window and asked my friend what he was doing painting his fence and planting those flowers. My friend Marion kindly responded that President Kimball had asked members of the Church to fix up their homes and their yards. He said he wanted to be obedient to the counsel of the prophet.

My friend’s neighbor chided him a bit, saying, “Painting your barn and fence and now planting those flowers—that’s not going to increase your milk production.” My friend Marion simply said something like: “You are probably right, but President Kimball has asked us to do it and I want to do it.”

Within two weeks, the Teton Dam broke and all that water came down the Snake River Valley destroying virtually everything in its path. All of my friend’s milk cows were swept away. His barn was severely damaged. His house was mostly destroyed. The fence in front of his home—the one he had been painting just a short time before—was gone, not to mention the petunias.

A few days after the flood, my friend saw his neighbor again—you remember, the one who chided him a bit for fixing up his place. Only this time his neighbor said, “Aren’t you sorry now Marion, [with a certain spin on the word now] that you took that time to paint your barn, fix your fences, and plant those flowers?” My friend Marion hesitated for just a moment and then simply said, “No, they were ready to be taken.”

It seems like everybody is getting a tattoo these days, and at one point I wanted one too. A lot of my friends had tattoos, and I thought they made you look cool and tough. Thankfully, Heavenly Father reminded me through the Spirit who I really am and gave me the strength to respect my body.
One day a tattoo shop my friends talked highly about was having a big sale. At that time in my life, I’d made some mistakes that had hurt and wounded my spirit, but I believed that Heavenly Father still loved me and could heal me. Still, I didn’t think a cool tattoo was that bad. As I went down to the tattoo place, I contemplated where I wanted to place the snowboarder tattoo I was about to get. As I sat down in the tattoo shop, however, the Spirit brought other questions to my mind: “Why do I want something that would permanently alter my body just to fit in? Have I forgotten that my body is a temple?” (See 1 Corinthians 3:16–19.) The longer I sat, the more the Spirit prompted me that I was about to make a huge mistake. Fortunately, I couldn’t ignore what I was feeling, so I got up and left.
I’ve never looked back on that decision. I am grateful that Heavenly Father had not forgotten me and was willing to warn me through the Spirit. I know that Heavenly Father does care about all of us, no matter where we may be.

As a result of Sister Heistø’s initial efforts, the groundwork was laid for the establishment of the Scandinavian Scholarship Endowment at BYU. This was made possible through the generous contribution of a private donor who was aware of Sister Heistø’s work and applied his own gifts and talents to help this work go forward. In conjunction with the scholarship program, a special lecture series in the David M. Kennedy Center was established to bring Norwegian and Danish government and educational leaders to Utah and Brigham Young University.

The lecture series was initiated by writing to the Norwegian ambassador to the United States. I told him of the scholarship program and of our objective in bringing Norwegian government and educational leaders to lecture at BYU. Within a few weeks the ambassador replied, complimenting us on our initiatives and inviting me to visit him at his embassy the next time I was in Washington, D.C. Fortunately, a month later I went to Washington on some university business and met with Kjeld Vibe, the Norwegian ambassador. We had a delightful visit, and he graciously accepted the invitation to visit Utah and lecture at BYU.

About two weeks later Stephen Studdert, a stake president in northern Virginia and a former member of President Reagan’s administration, stopped by my office. During our discussion I told him about my visit with the Norwegian ambassador. President Studdert smiled and said, “How would you like a postscript to your visit?” He then told me that two nights earlier he had attended a dinner with 18 ambassadors in Washington, D.C. None of the ambassadors knew he was LDS nor had an association with BYU. As the evening began, the Austrian ambassador told the other ambassadors that he had just returned from a visit to Brigham Young University. The ambassador said it was one of the most delightful experiences of his life. He told of his impressions of BYU, of how kindly he was hosted, and of how impressed he was with BYU and its students. President Studdert said as soon as the Austrian ambassador finished, another ambassador said that he, too, had visited BYU. He gave a similar report. When he finished speaking, the Norwegian ambassador then stated, “I just accepted an invitation to go to BYU and will be there next month.” After Ambassador Vibe’s comment, President Studdert said a fourth ambassador asked, “How do you get invited? I would like to go there, too.”

President Studdert moved to Utah and was asked by Governor Michael Leavitt to serve as chair of the 1996 Utah Statehood Centennial Celebration Commission. One of President Studdert’s proposals for the Statehood Centennial Celebration was to have an ambassadorial-visits program to showcase Utah to foreign ambassadors. I was invited to serve on the program committee and later became its chair.

Our target was to bring 50 ambassadors to Utah representing countries that were Utah’s strongest economic trading partners. Each ambassador could come at a time convenient to his own schedule. Forty-three ambassadors came. One of the objectives during the visits was to have each ambassador speak at a college or university. Most ambassadors wanted to visit BYU, and the highest percentage did. It was a marvelous experience to host them and see their reactions. Because of the success of the state’s program, we have now started our own BYU Ambassador Lecture Series and bring ambassadors each semester to visit BYU and lecture at the Kennedy Center.

My youngest daughter loves her birthday. She begins planning her next birthday about 51 weeks in advance. So, it was wonderful to celebrate her 13 th birthday a few weeks ago. As part of the celebration, I took her to lunch. During our visit, we discussed the past and the future and, as part of the conversation, I asked her to share some of her earliest memories. With virtually no hesitation, she said, “Dressing up.” I thought you might like to see a few of the photos we’ve captured of her dress-ups over the years. Maybe you can see why dressing up is one of the things she remembers. These pictures provide wonderful memories for my wife and me when we see them and think about the brief time our children were small.

One Young Women group in Oklahoma sought Heavenly Father in prayer to determine how to best include a new Beehive who was deaf. They worked hard to be His instruments and His hands (quite literally) in helping this young woman. A miracle swept over their entire ward as they became the angels that would bear up Alexis, the new Beehive.

Alexis said: “I was nervous and excited to start Young Women. Mom always comes with me to sign for me because I am deaf. After the opening prayer and song, Sister Hoskin, my Young Women president, said, ‘Alexis, we have a gift for you.’ Then all the girls stood up and started signing something. I knew it was special. Later I learned it was the Young Women theme. All the girls in our ward had learned it to surprise me.

“I know Heavenly Father loves me because of wonderful people here on earth that show me love, especially the girls in my Young Women [class] and my Young Women leaders who sign for me and help me learn the gospel” (letter to Young Women general presidency).

Sister Hoskin, the Young Women president, had prayed diligently to know how to help Alexis. She wrote:

“I had been the Young Women president in my ward for only one week when I began to worry about one of my upcoming Beehives. Alexis is hearing impaired, and I worried about how I could help her fit in and show her that she was one of us. After being troubled for many days and after many prayers, I woke in the middle of the night from a dream where I saw my group of young women standing together, doing the Young Women theme in sign language. I knew the answer to my prayers.

“It was a big challenge. It took hours—one entire night of Mutual, then weekly practices before we were ready. When Alexis’s birthday came, everyone was excited and nervous about our surprise. I pulled Alexis and her mom in front of the girls and said (signing to Alexis), ‘We have a gift for you. Now you are one of us.’ Then we stood and repeated the theme and did it in sign language. The Spirit was so strong, and there weren’t many voices because we were all crying, but the girls did a beautiful job. Alexis was beaming. She knew she was one of us.

“We learned that Heavenly Father loves all of us and that there are times we will be His voice and His hands to help others feel that love. We learned that serving brings the greatest joy. I learned the importance of following promptings, even when it involves a lot of work and seems improbable” (letter to Young Women general presidency).

Imagine how through the years Alexis’s mother has prayed for her daughter, having all the same hopes and dreams for her that each mother has for her daughter. She said:

“As the mother of a handicapped daughter, I am used to doing a little extra to help things work out for her. Because she is deaf, I am often at her side interpreting for her. You can imagine the feelings that flooded through me as the young women all began to sign the Young Women theme for her. As I stood there watching with tears in my eyes, the verse that ran through my mind was from Matthew 25:40: ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.’

“The remarkable love and service these young women have shown just began on that day. Many of them have given of their time and effort to learn sign language and now help with interpreting at church for Alexis. My prayers for Alexis have always been that she would be happy, be progressing, and know that she is loved.

“As a parent, my testimony of the Savior has been strengthened as I have seen the service and love of these girls and their leaders. At times, our concern for our daughter has been a heavy burden, but it has been made lighter by the actions of these faithful young women and their wise leaders.”

This mother had prayed for the Lord’s help, and now through the help of others, angels on earth, she saw all things working together for the good of her daughter.

Other young women in this ward told how they grew in giving this service. The Laurel class president related that learning the theme in sign language was hard work, but they felt the Spirit helping them in this effort. She said, “We did not rush through the theme just to say it like usual. We thought about the words and signed it for someone else so that [she] could know the words too, and that made me happy to know that she could understand our theme and know that she was a daughter of God too.”

Even the young men got involved. They learned how to sign “Will you dance with me?” in preparation for an upcoming dance at a ward Mutual activity. Consequently, Alexis danced every dance. The priests learned to sign the sacrament prayers for her. The spirit of love enveloped the entire ward.

And, of course, they like to have fun, too. Some of them got a chance one day when a New Era reporter and a Church photographer hit town wanting to see the countryside. Chile Osorno Mission president Lester Haymore graciously consented to serve as chauffeur, six seminary students agreed to be guides, and the trip to Los Saltos de Petrohué (Petrohué Falls) was underway.
The road lay through forests, past soaring mountains, and over rich upland meadows where cattle grazed. The group skirted Lake Llanquihue, largest lake in Chile and the home of slab-sided lunker trout. They rode through villages where oxen plodded and towns where automobiles rolled. In deep forests of green sunlight, hawks carved the sky overhead, and bird songs could be heard from the trees. Paced by guitar chords, the students sang as exuberantly as the birds.
Canta, canta, pajarito,
Canta, canta tu canción;
Canta, que la vida es triste
Y tu cantar me alegra el corazón.*
At Petrohué Falls, stone cliffs rose towering, precipice on precipice, like the edge of the world, and forests marched away to snow-crested volcanoes. The waters of the Petrohué River were an indescribable powder blue that taxed belief. This was no reflection of the sky, but the color of the water itself, a color to be found only in dreams and in Chile.
Through a thousand channels in the black volcanic rock, these menthol-blue waters frothed and roared downward into turquoise foam and delicious blue thunder. The rock walls below sent a sweet blue mist high in the air. The young men and women stood on a bridge over a fork of the falls, stung by the mist, shaken by the thunder, looking and looking and never getting enough of this magic river.
Their dark eyes filled with blue wonder; and with a hundred pauses for one last over-the-shoulder look, the students went back to their van and followed the Petrohué upstream to its source, Todos los Santos Lake. The same impossible blue as the river (varying to cold ultramarine in its depths), it stretched away to snow-capped mountains across the border in Argentina. Along its sides, towering mountains hunched down like shaggy green dragons taking long blue drinks.
Across a narrow arm of water, where the lake became the river, was a cabin. Behind it tall timber climbed the mountain to the sky. Before it rich alpine green ran down to the wind-rippled lake. On the shore was a pale blue rowboat with one oar dipped in sunlight. Just seeing the place brought thoughts of storybooks and enchanted forests, and a question. What would it be like to look out those windows every morning and see the Andes-topping sun warming the back of dragons—or to climb into the pale blue boat and row off between the deep blue sky and the soft blue waves?
Wrapped in the magic, the group walked along the black volcanic shore. Beyond, the white cones of Osorno Volcano wedged the sky. As they walked they threw volcanic rocks into the water, frolicked with a German shepherd that happened past, and sang the songs of Chile. Meanwhile, the sun curved down the sky, silvering the blue water and announcing that it was time to start for home. Reluctantly, they did.

With the expansion of the Church in Europe, there are now countries where the Church has been for less than 15 years. I spoke with a mission president serving in his homeland of Russia who has been a member for only seven years. He told me, “The same month I was baptized I was called as a branch president.” Did he feel overwhelmed at times? Absolutely! Did he try to implement the full range of Church programs? Fortunately not! How did he grow so strong in such a small congregation in such a short time? He explained, “I knew with all my soul the Church was true. The doctrine of the gospel filled my mind and my heart. As we joined the Church, we felt part of a family. We felt warmth, trust, and love. We were only few, but we all tried to follow the Savior.”
They supported each other, they did the best they could, and they knew the Church was true. It was not the organization that had attracted him, but the light of the gospel, and this light strengthened those good members.

To illustrate the vital role of parents and leaders as mentors, let me tell you a story. Chloe was called to serve as a class president. Her wise priesthood leader encouraged her to seek the Lord’s help in recommending names for her presidency. Chloe prayed and received inspiration for whom to recommend as her counselors rather quickly. As she continued to ponder and pray about a secretary, the Spirit repeatedly drew her focus to a young woman who surprised her—someone who rarely came to church or activities.

Feeling a little insecure with the prompting, Chloe talked with her mother, who explained that one of the ways we can receive revelation is through recurring thoughts. With renewed confidence, Chloe felt she could recommend this young woman. The bishop extended the call, and the young woman accepted. After being set apart, this sweet secretary said, “You know, I’ve never felt as though I had a place or was needed anywhere. I didn’t feel I fit in. But with this calling, I feel as though Heavenly Father has a purpose and a place for me.” As Chloe and her mother left the meeting, Chloe turned to her mother and said, with tears in her eyes, “Revelation is real! Revelation really works!”

Then, nearly a century and a half later, on April 4, 1999, President Gordon B. Hinckley said in his final remarks at General Conference, "I feel impressed to announce that among all of the temples we are constructing, we plan to rebuild the Nauvoo temple."[31]

President Hinckley's grandfather, Ira N. Hinckley, was a young man in Nauvoo. His father, Bryant S. Hinckley, served as president of the Northern States Mission which included Nauvoo. In 1938, his father wrote that Nauvoo would rise again and, "annually, thousands . . . will visit it."[32]

In 1939, President Hinckley's father led a 100th anniversary celebration of the founding of Nauvoo. President Hinckley has said that his father "wished with all his heart to see the temple rebuilt and worked to that end."[33]

Many things had to come together in order for that to happen. The property needed to be acquired. In 1937, hearing that the property was going to be offered for sale, the Brethren sent Brother Wilford C. Wood to see if he couldn't purchase it for the Church. This was during the Great Depression and the First Presidency authorized him to spend no more than $1000. Brother Wood was distressed when, visiting with bank officials, he learned that the bidding for the property would start at $1000 and probably sell for $1500. Brother Wood felt impressed to ask, "Are you going to try to make us pay an exorbitant price for the blood of a martyred prophet, when you know this property rightfully belongs to the Mormon people?"

Brother Wood later said that he "felt the spirit of the Prophet, Joseph Smith in that room. [One of the officers] said, 'We will sell the lot for $900.'"

In 1948, a chance meeting between LDS missionaries and a descendant of William Weeks, the architect of the Nauvoo Temple, led to the acquiring of the plans for the original temple. After President Hinckley's announcement, members of the Church brought forward journals from that period that described the temple. A rare photograph taken in 1847 surfaced, providing researchers with additional materials.

“Boy, I’ll bet you’re glad that your sister’s getting married tomorrow!” With all the fussing over Christine’s temple wedding and reception, and finding himself in everyone’s way most of the time, Jason had to agree with his friend Randy. He was glad that the wedding was tomorrow! As he tossed the baseball idly back to Randy, he said, “Well, at least I won’t have to stand in line anymore to use the bathroom. She’s always in there taking a bath or doing something to her face.”
“Yeah, sisters can make life miserable,” Randy agreed. “Even mine, and she’s only two years old!”
The boys called it quits on the game of catch and found a seat on the back porch steps.
“Remember that game we played in the mud last summer?” Jason asked. “Lucky for me, I got home before my folks saw me. But who do you think I found in the bathroom? Christine! It smelled like a perfume factory in there! Phew!”
Randy frowned. “I bet she told on you, too, didn’t she?”
“Well, … no.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I guess she didn’t,” Jason said with a shrug. “At least Mom and Dad never said a word when—”
Before Jason could finish, two of Christine’s girlfriends, her bridesmaids for the reception, came out the back door, down the steps, and drove away in their car.
“Don’t girls ever stop giggling?” Randy complained. “I guess you’ve heard a lot of that in your house.”
“Yeah.” Jason sighed. “Sometimes when Christine had friends over, I’d go to my room just to get some peace and quiet. All they ever did was eat pizza and talk about boys! Yuck!” Jason kicked a stone off the step below, then added thoughtfully,
“But she always saved me some pizza.”
“Who?”
“My sister.”
“Oh.”
The two friends silently watched a robin working on a worm in the grass.
“Hey! Just think!” Randy shouted. “Now you’ll have a new sitter when your folks go out.”
“So?”
“Well, didn’t you always tell me that your sister gave you a hard time when she stayed with you, making you go to bed at the same time, even when it wasn’t a school night?”
Jason remembered the many times that Christine had watched him. “Yeah. Nine o’clock, even on weekends!” Then he remembered something else. “Nine o’clock without fail except for that night last year when we had the bad storm and the lights went out.”
Randy elbowed his friend. “She made you go to bed earlier, right?”
“Well, … no,” Jason admitted. He smiled a little. “Christine got out our sleeping bags and flashlights, made some sandwiches, and turned on her portable radio. We camped out in the living room.”
“Huh?”
“Yeah! It was neat!”
“Neat, huh?” Randy teased. “OK. I guess you forgot the Halloween when she made the costume that made you a laughingstock!”
Jason stopped smiling. That was a Halloween that he’d never forget! Christine had volunteered to make him a costume in her home economics class at school. Jason was supposed to be a plain old pirate. But Christine outdid herself and added so much ribbon and lace and so many sequins that Jason ended up looking more like a gypsy than a pirate.
“Ha! You really looked funny!” Randy laughed, wagging a finger at Jason.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Jason admitted, his face getting hot and red. He didn’t like remembering that terrible night! “If it hadn’t been for that lousy costume, those big guys from Willow Street would have left me alone and not taken my whole bag of candy.”
But Jason also remembered how Christine had gotten angry—not at him, but at the bullies who’d stolen his candy. “Let’s go!” she had ordered, grabbing Jason by the arm, then spending two more hours in their rainy neighborhood with him, watching and waiting as Jason refilled his treat bag.
“Boy, she’s some sister,” Randy said in a tone of disgust.
“Yeah, she sure is,” Jason agreed quietly. He got up, adding, “And tomorrow’s the wedding. This is my last chance to really tell her what I think of her.”
Jason marched straight to Christine’s bedroom, took a deep breath, and knocked.
“Come on in,” Christine called. She was setting her hair, stretching and pulling strands of it over prickly tubes. “Hi, Jase!” she said cheerfully. “What’s up?”
The room was filled with clouds of Christine’s perfume. Jason almost forgot what he wanted to say as he stared at the billowing, white gown that hung on her closet door.
Christine looked at him in the mirror. “Is something wrong?” she asked, putting down her brush and turning to her little brother.
“I—I—” he stammered, blushing. “I just wanted to tell you something,” Jason managed to say very quickly. Standing as tall as possible, he took a deep breath and let it out: “Christine, I love you, and I’m gonna miss you!”
Christine smiled and put her arms around Jason. “Oh, Jase,” she said softly. “I love you too.” Then she laughed a little. “And I’m going to miss you, too.”
Jason hugged her back. “I know,” he said. “But I guess you’ll be coming back to visit.”
“Of course I will,” Christine promised.
Jason grinned. “Good. Because I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.”
Christine laughed again. “You’ll manage.”

President Spencer W. Kimball will celebrate his eighty-fourth birthday on March 28.
Last year he helped the town of Snowflake, Arizona, celebrate its 100th birthday. Everyone took care to make Snowflake shiny and clean. Primary children planted flowers in honor of his visit and made a carpet of flowers for him. Many other children in the area also came to see President Kimball.
He paid tribute to the pioneers and talked about Brigham Young who sent them to Arizona 100 years ago. “As the successor of the man who sent you here, I am proud of you,” he said. “I am pleased to be with you. Little did I think when I was on my milk stool as a boy in Thatcher, Arizona, that I would be here celebrating with you today.”
Happy birthday, President Kimball. We hope you live to be 100, too!

About two years ago, when I was 16 years old, I noticed that one of the value experiences in my Young Women Personal Progress book was to learn about the importance of patriarchal blessings.
I began to study everything I could find on patriarchal blessings. When I finished, I realized that by receiving a patriarchal blessing I could know my lineage and learn what the Lord desires of me, the blessings he has prepared for me, and what I have to do to receive them. I decided to ask my bishop to interview me for a recommend to receive a patriarchal blessing.
On 19 April 1995, I went to the patriarch’s home in our stake in Buenos Aires, Argentina. As he put his hands on my head, I felt absolute peace. A shiver ran through my whole body, and I felt great joy. Many times I had used the word joy as a synonym for happiness, but at that moment, I realized that joy is much more than mere happiness. Joy is a feeling so different from all others and so special that it cannot be imagined. To know what it is, one has to experience it.
When the patriarch finished the blessing, one tear after another ran down my cheeks. The patriarch, too, had tears in his eyes. I thanked him for having served as intermediary between the Lord and me. As I left, I couldn’t stop feeling how beautiful the experience had been and how I wanted everyone to have it.
I am grateful for the responsibilities the Lord has given me. I know the promises and warnings in my blessing are the will of my Father in Heaven for me, and I know that as I am faithful he will be at my side, helping me to overcome my weaknesses.
I know now that patriarchal blessings can be guides for our lives, just as the Liahona was a guide in ancient times. If we follow the instructions we are given, we can “continue in the way which is narrow, until [we] shall obtain eternal life” (Jacob 6:11).

Vanessa—Bless these walls, so firm, and stout. Keeping want and trouble out. That’s what my Great Grandmother Gillman would pray for as a young mother living in the Midwest. They were right in the middle of “tornado alley” and she was absolutely terrified of any storm that would blow through. To the point where she would gather her girls under her bed and hide and cry. It’s probably no surprise that my grandmother, her daughter, grew up to be afraid of storms too. But when she had children of her own, she didn’t want to burden her kids with that same fear, and so as storms came in, she would bravely take her kids to the window to ooh and awe at the wonder of nature and sometimes even run outside with them to play in the rain. I’m so grateful for her wisdom and courage because as a result my mother grew up loving thunderstorms and so did I. I’m especially grateful for the lesson learned, that our outlook and actions can completely change how we experience storms in our lives.

There is the story told of Lord George Hall of an earlier time. It is a mythical story. Believe it or not, but at least take the lesson if you find one there. “Lord George had led an evil life. He had been a drunkard, a gambler, and a cheat in business, and his face reflected the life he had led. It was a very evil face.
“One day he fell in love with a simple country girl to whom he proposed marriage. Jenny Mere told him that she could never marry a man whose face was so repulsive and so evil-looking; and also that when she did marry, she wanted a man with a saintlike face, which was the mirror of true love.
“Following a custom of the day, Lord George went down to Mr. Aeneas in Bond Street, London. Aeneas made waxen masks for people, and his skill was so art-perfect that the person’s identity was completely hidden. As proof of his skill, it is said that many spendthrift debtors, equipped with his masks, could pass among their creditors unrecognized. Aeneas went to his storeroom, selected a mask, heated it over a lamp, fixed it to Lord George’s face; and when Lord George looked in the glass, he had the face of a saint who loved dearly. So altered was his appearance that Jenny Mere was soon wooed and won.
“He bought a little cottage in the country, almost hidden in an arbor of roses, with a tiny garden spot. From then on his entire life changed. He became interested in nature; he found ‘sermons in stones, books in brooks, and good in everything.’ Formerly he was blasé and life had no interest for him; now, he was engrossed in kindliness, and the world around him.
“He was not content with starting life anew, but tried to make amends for the past. Through a confidential solicitor he restored his ill-gotten gains to those whom he had cheated. Each day brought new refinements to his character, more beautiful thoughts to his soul.
“By accident, his former companions discovered his identity. They visited him in his garden, and urged him to return to his old evil life. When he refused, he was attacked, and the mask was torn from his face.
“He hung his head. Here was the end of all; here was the end of his newfound life and his love dream. As he stood with bowed head, with the mask at his feet on the grass, his wife rushed across the garden and threw herself on her knees in front of him. When she looked up at him, what do you suppose she found? Lo! Line for line, feature for feature, the face was the same as that of the mask. Lines of beauty—regular features.” (Source unknown.)

I learned an important lesson about Heavenly Father and prayer when I was nine years old. I loved horses. Sometimes my friends let me ride their horses, and together we’d ride bareback through the orange groves. But I longed for a horse of my own.
That year, a new store opened in a neighboring town. As part of the opening festivities, they had a drawing for a pony. I entered the drawing, and each day I prayed that I would win. Heavenly Father had always answered my prayers, and I was sure that he would answer this one. I made arrangements for the pony to live in a friend’s corral. I even wrote to my grandparents and told them about the pony that would soon be mine.
When the drawing was held and the winner announced, it wasn’t me. I was very disappointed and sad. Lovingly my mother said, “It isn’t that Heavenly Father didn’t hear and answer your prayers. Remember, dear, when you pray, Heavenly Father will answer your prayer in a way that will be best for you.” Heavenly Father does know what is best for us. He loves each of us, and he hears and answers our prayers.

As a young boy of just eight I vividly remember the thrill of anticipation leading up to my baptism. I had such high expectations, genuinely believing I’d feel something monumental and immediate. When that clear distinct feeling didn’t arrive, I was a bit confused. I think I expected instant blessings; an immediate transformation. Reflecting on my baptism more than 50 years ago and everything that has unfolded since, I now understand it all so much more clearly.
The experience of entering into the covenant of baptism, along with the many covenants I’ve made with the Lord since, has been the very fabric of my life’s greatest blessings. It wasn’t about an immediate overwhelming feeling or change, but rather about the profound power that has quietly and consistently unfolded in my life. I now truly realize the immense power and blessings that have come to me, not from a single moment, but from the simple faithful choices I’ve made each time I’ve expressed my trust in the Lord through countless acts of covenant making and covenant keeping.

When the faces of two young men appeared in the upper portion of the door to our home in Colombia, we thought they were standing on something in order to see through the door. They were not; they were just very tall! Our three-year-old son, Pablo Ezequiel, looked up at them with astonishment. Within days they were his best friends.
Our family—Ludy, my wife; Erika; Yesica; and little Ezequiel—was looking for the Lord. We were living some gospel principles already: we prayed at mealtime, we prayed as a family, and we did family activities. Our lives were based on our family union. The appearance of those two “large angels,” as Ezequiel called the elders, confirmed our practices of strengthening the family and focusing on God.
Using the scriptures as their guide, Elders Fa and Fields taught us the path. We had been asking the Lord where we should worship. The Book of Mormon and the restored gospel gave the answers to each of the questions we had over the years in our family discussions. The answers fit perfectly, and we soon became members of the Church. One year later we made covenants and were sealed together as an eternal family in the Bogotá Colombia Temple.

President Packer told of a time in his life when he had a goal, but was unsure how to achieve it. After telling President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) of his problem, he said President Lee told him: “Boyd, you want to see the end from the beginning. You’re going to have to learn to take a few steps in the dark, and then the light will turn on before you.
“With that, I stepped into the unknown—into the dark—and the light went on, as it will with you,” President Packer said. “You move forward, but you move forward on the principles of the gospel, and you have an inner light.”