Gospel Story Finder

With the call to serve as a mission president 12 years ago and this subsequent call that took my wife and me to several international assignments, the long bike rides had to be put on hold for a period of time. I did, however, take my bicycle with me wherever my assignments were in hopes that I would be able to find time to ride occasionally. I wanted to be prepared so if the opportunity for a long ride ever came again I would be able to do it. That opportunity came once again this past fall when I was given permission to take a few days away from the office. At the invitation of that same son who years ago suggested we ride to Flaming Gorge, and now joined by another son and our only daughter, we flew with our bikes to Bozeman, Montana, where we then proceeded to ride to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. At my age, preparation continues to be very, very important in order to survive such a ride.

Many of us want the simple way—the process that will not require serious work and sacrifice. Well, I once thought I found it. Driving in the back of a verdant valley above the city of Honolulu, I looked up, and there it was—Easy Street! As I was dreaming of the life-changing benefits of my discovery, I took out my camera to record the blissful moment. As I looked through the viewfinder, however, my focus literally and figuratively became clear. A large yellow sign returned me to reality—Easy Street was a dead end!

With a day in Rome we wanted to devour all of the great works of art that we could possibly see. We began at Vatican City. So much beauty is in that place, it was impossible to digest it all. As we left the Sistine Chapel, our guide asked us if we had noticed the floor. Only a few had done so. The awesome beauty of Michelangelo’s artwork on the ceiling was so tremendous that many of us never looked down.

Then a once in a lifetime experience. We walked into St. Peter’s Basilica and sang. It is the first time any BYU choir has done so.

Tour groups walking through stopped; even their guides, who are usually caught up in the tape recorder-style recitation of facts and history, stopped and listened. In this cathedral, the very center of the Catholic church, the message of the restored gospel was sung to many people. What an experience to sing in such a building!

Our final concert was held in the beautiful city of Florence at the Duomo, the third largest cathedral in the world. But this cathedral is different. The beauty is on the outside, where the entire surface is tiled with different colored marble. Inside it is very plain, and we were told it was done this way so that people would not be distracted when they were worshipping.

One priest was so moved by the concert we gave there that he asked us to sing for the mass which followed. It was thrilling to sing to our brothers and sisters as they worshipped the Lord in their manner.

We poured all of our love we had learned in Israel into the songs we sang. Singing from behind the congregation, we created a spirit not felt by these people before. The mass ended, and we sang, “Come, Come, Ye Saints!” Never before have I heard it sung with more power and conviction. The spirit created was indescribable.

One small, frail woman worked her way, cane in hand, through the crowd and in broken English synthesized the feelings of our entire tour: “You sing. You love.”

This story happened in the USA.
“Dad, can I get baptized when I am eight?” Keaton asked.
Dad looked up from the game they were playing. “It’s a big choice. Would it be better to wait until you’re 18?”
Keaton thought about it. “But I’m almost eight now. And 18 is so far away!”
Dad was quiet for a moment. He moved his game piece. “Why do you want to be baptized?”
“I love Jesus,” Keaton said. “And I want to follow Him.”
“That is a great reason to be baptized,” Dad said. He smiled. “I will support you if that’s what you choose. Whether you are eight or 18.”
Keaton wrapped his arms around Dad. “Thanks!”
Dad wasn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But he still went to church with Keaton and Mom sometimes. And when Keaton gave talks or sang with the other Primary kids in sacrament meeting, Dad always came.
After their game ended, Keaton found Mom in the kitchen.
“Dad said I can be baptized when I am eight,” he said.
Mom grinned. “That’s so exciting! Have you thought about who you want to baptize you?”
Keaton set plates on the table. “Do you think Grandpa can?” Grandpa and Grandma were serving a mission in another city.
“We can ask,” Mom said.
After dinner, Keaton video called Grandpa and Grandma on Mom’s phone. After a few rings, their smiling faces filled the screen.
“Hi, Grandma! Hi Grandpa!” Keaton said. “Guess what? I’m going to be baptized for my birthday this year.”
“That’s wonderful!” Grandma said.
“Will you baptize me, Grandpa?” Keaton asked.
Grandpa’s smile got even bigger. “I would love to.”
When his baptism day came, Keaton was ready. Mom and Dad drove him to a small chapel near where Grandpa and Grandma were serving their mission.
Keaton and Grandpa were dressed in white clothes. They sat together while everyone sang. Then Mom said a prayer.
Next, Dad gave a talk. “When you are baptized, you promise to follow Jesus Christ and keep His commandments. He taught us to love one another. Love is the best way to live,” he said.
Keaton looked at the picture of Jesus Dad was holding.
“When we love others, it makes them feel cared for. It also helps us to be happy and have peace.” Dad looked straight at Keaton. “I’m proud of you today for promising to follow Jesus Christ. I hope your baptism always reminds you to love God and love others.”
Keaton gave Dad a big hug. Then he followed Grandpa into the small font. Keaton put one hand on Grandpa’s arm and the other in Grandpa’s hand. Grandpa said the words for the baptismal prayer. Then he helped lower Keaton into the water.
When Keaton came out of the water, he smiled. He did it! He had followed Jesus Christ. Soon, he would also be confirmed and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then he would be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Keaton was excited to keep his promise to remember Jesus and keep His commandments.
Keaton followed Jesus Christ’s example by being baptized! What’s one way you follow the Savior’s example?
Illustration by Alyssa Tallent

Ruth Rodríguez got to know Emanuel Silva when the two were asked to help organize a combined district young single adult activity in Rio Gallegos, more than 200 miles (320 km) to the north, in February 2006. The friend who asked the two to work together hoped they would hit it off. “It worked,” recalls Emanuel, who had been home two years from serving in the Arizona Tucson Mission.
When he and Ruth married six months later, their preparation—spiritual and temporal—helped them overcome their fear of the future.
“I felt the love of my Father in Heaven and that He wanted me to form my family,” Emanuel says of answers to his prayers. “Once I set that goal, He showed me the way and helped me find a wife.”
Ruth adds that goals they set as a couple, including working hard to save money for their trip to the temple, helped them move forward. “Sometimes there were things we wanted to buy,” she says, “but we said, ‘No, we have to save so we can go to the temple.’”
The cost of their flight to and from the Buenos Aires Argentina Temple in 2006 exhausted their savings. “Afterward we had nothing,” says Emanuel, echoing a common newlywed refrain. Today he and Ruth laugh at that memory, grateful that their faith afforded them the “beautiful experience” of being sealed in the temple—an experience that still means everything to them.
“We can have a lot of fearful feelings as we contemplate marriage,” says Ruth. “What about the things we lack? What about our economic situation? What about raising children? But if we are obedient to the word of the Lord, go to the temple, and start our families, we don’t need to worry. The Lord will bless us in ways we never could have imagined.”

Illustrations by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
Matt, please come to the board and solve problem three.
Heavenly Father, please help me get this right.
Sorry, Matt. That’s wrong.
That night
I don’t understand, Dad. I said a prayer, but Heavenly Father didn’t help me with that math problem at all.
That’s too bad. Had you studied the chapter? Had you practiced the sample problems?
Um, well, no. But I prayed.
Isn’t asking Heavenly Father to give you the answer when you haven’t studied kind of like asking Him to do the work for you?
I never thought of it that way.
Dad, I really do need help with math. Do you think Heavenly Father would help me if I pray about it?
Of course He would, and so will I. And next time there’s a quiz, you can ask Him to help you remember what you’ve studied.

Nami Chan, Taoyuan, Taiwan
My family and a lot of my extended family in Taiwan are Buddhist. When I was young, I remember helping prepare sacrifices for ancestors and multiple gods on Chinese New Year and other holidays. It was a family tradition for us, as well as a way to commemorate our ancestors and bring peace and prosperity to my family.
When some of my relatives joined a nondenominational Christian church, it had no impact on my family at first. But during the Ching Ming Festival, when you worship ancestors and burn incense at their graves, my Christian relatives refused to participate. They said that they were committed to following the Ten Commandments, particularly “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3). My family had not discussed any other beliefs before, but from that day on, Christianity represented the destruction of traditions in my family’s eye and was seen in a negative light.
When I was attending a university, I met LDS missionaries on the street. Normally, I wouldn’t have been interested in what they had to say, but some experiences had readied my heart to receive their message. While meeting with them, I agreed to pray and read the Book of Mormon, and I began developing a personal testimony of what I was being taught. But, because of my parent’s feelings against Christianity, I didn’t want to tell them I wanted to be baptized. Many months after my first meeting with the missionaries, I finally told my parents that I wanted to get baptized and that I wanted to serve a mission. They were upset, but I knew I was making the right choice.
I don’t have any pioneer ancestry, but I do feel like I understand their sacrifice. It is difficult to give up some traditions and face opposition from family members. Even now, five years after I joined the Church, in which time I have served a mission, my family doesn’t completely support my decision, but they’ve come to accept it. Joining the Church has allowed me to honor my family in new ways, by doing family history and researching my ancestors. My testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement help me in resolving any conflict I may have with my family.

In 1984, Sister McDonough and I were invited to join a group of good friends on an exciting trip to Israel. Our guides were Truman G. Madsen and his wife, Ann, and an Israeli guide, Joseph Ginat, whom we referred to as “Josy.” One day, we were gathered in the Old City of Jerusalem on the Temple Mount near the golden dome called the Dome of the Rock. Brother Madsen explained that years earlier, he was with President Hugh B. Brown, and they were standing about the same place we were gathered. Brother Madsen shared the following story that President Brown told him that day. President Brown had been the stake president in the Granite Stake for several years, which was one of the three very large stakes in the Salt Lake Valley. Two years after being released as a stake president, he was called to preside over the British Mission. Some years later, they came back to Utah, and he was teaching at BYU. He received a phone call from Canada from a representative of Richland Oil Company: “Mr. Brown, we understand that you know Canadian law and American law. We’re drilling oil up here, and we want someone with your qualifications. If you come, we’ll give you ten times your present salary.” He said, “I receive $4,000 a year.” The man said, “Okay, we’ll give you twenty times your present salary.” He took the offer. Not only was he receiving a fine salary, he was receiving stock options on the land. The prospect of genuine wealth descended upon him.

One day, he was drilling for oil in the Canadian Rockies and went upon a mountain to pray. President Brown told Brother Madsen, “I didn't pray, I talked with God, and what I said was "Lord, if having money is not good for me and my family, then take it away." He didn’t feel anything significant on the mountain, except he felt a little worse. He felt even worse when he got to his car and drove the 75 miles back home. He felt terrible when he arrived home. He told his wife he would come to bed later as he was having a “tug-a-war” through most of the night. He said, “Through the night, I had the most terrible battle with the adversary. I wanted to destroy myself, not in the sense of suicide, but something within me was impelling me to wish that I could cease to be. It was terrible. The blackness was so thick you could feel it.” At about 4 AM, his wife Zina came in concerned, saying “Hugh, it feels like the devil himself is in this room.” He replied, “He is!” They prayed together, and he felt somewhat better. He went to work the next day and prayed. Of the experience, he said, “I knelt by a cot and asked God for deliverance from the darkness that had enveloped me.” At about noon, he felt better. That night, the phone rang, and it was a long-distance call. He was taking a bath at that moment, so when he answered the phone, he sounded gruff.

“Hello, Brother Brown,” said a voice. “This is David O. McKay. I have just come from a meeting where you have just been sustained unanimously as an Assistant to the Council of the Twelve.” President Brown told Brother Madsen, “You know, I had a night of hell, but then Zina and I had a night of heaven. It wasn’t the call. It wasn’t the position. It was knowing that God knew and God cared.” He went to Salt Lake, and his first conversation was with President McKay. He told him of his struggle with the adversary, and President McKay's only comment was “Brother Brown, that’s normal. All of the Brethren have been through that!”

There is one sequel to the story. President Brown said later on, “Since that time, I’ve been happier than any time in my life. The men with whom I was associated have made millions. And yet, when one of them was in my office not long ago in Salt Lake, he said, ‘I’m worth at least seven million dollars. I would gladly give every dollar of it to you if you could give me what you have. I can’t buy it with money, but I’d like to have what you have. What you have is peace of soul, and I cannot buy that with money."

President Brown was later called as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, and several years after President David O. McKay became the president of the Church, he called Hugh B. Brown to be one of his counselors.

Some years ago in the early spring, I took my little niece Shelly’s hand in mine, and for hours we carefully picked our way from one rock to the next along a creek bed shaded by some tall trees. The gurgling water was like a musical accompaniment to the dance we were creating, as we would take a step, hesitate, reach, step forward, and then wait a moment to secure our balance.
Before long, we were drawn to an open meadow where some large cottonwood trees had been recently cut. Making my way through the tall grass, I held Shelly’s hand as she cautiously placed one foot ahead of the other, walking the full length of the tree and back again. We noticed in that springtime tender green shoots forcing their way through the earthy floor, and we saw the winter snow receding toward the mountain peaks. It seemed as though all of nature bore evidence of God’s creations and his great love for us.
Our afternoon activities continued until the evening breeze reminded us that our special day was coming to a close.
Approaching the narrow, steep garden path leading to my home, I let go of Shelly’s hand, allowing her to go first. Our hands stuck together for a moment. A bond had formed from the warmth of the day through our shared adventures.
Just before reaching the clearing near the house, we stopped. Bending down, I lifted Shelly up to see into a little nest built by a robin in the branch of a tree.
At the close of this memorable day, before tucking my little niece (whom my sister shares with me) into bed, we knelt together while she expressed her own thanks which included gratitude for the creek, the slippery rocks, the big tree, and the robin’s nest. Feeling a renewed appreciation for the same wonderful blessings, I tucked the covers around her and bent down for a goodnight kiss. Reaching up, placing both arms around my neck, and pulling me close to her, Shelly whispered, “I wish we were in the same family.”
“Shelly, my dear,” I quickly explained, “we are in the same family.”
“No, I mean the very same family. My last name is Larsen, and your last name is Kapp, and that isn’t the same. I mean, if you were my sister and we had the very same last name.”
Even though she was very young, I felt that she might sense security in our eternal relationship if I could somehow awaken within her a great eternal truth.
“Shelly, we really are in the very same family. You see, we are all our Heavenly Father’s children, every one of us, and that makes us members of one great family. We are brothers and sisters, and Jesus is our brother, too, our elder brother.”
“Then what is Jesus’ last name?” she asked.
“Shelly, we know our Savior as Jesus the Christ.” With the pure innocence of youth, she began to make us all one family by linking my first name with the surname “The Christ.”
“Oh, no, my dear! We don’t put our names together like that.”
“But why not?” she asked.
Wanting her to be aware of the sacredness of our relationship with the Savior, I tried to explain: “I guess maybe it’s because sometimes we are not good enough. I don’t feel worthy yet.”
With that, she raised up on her elbow. “What do you do that’s wrong? Why don’t you stop doing it, and then we can all be in the same family? We can all use His name.”
I pondered the answer to her simple questions. I heard in my mind words as though I was hearing them for the first time. And yet, it had been only two days since I had attended sacrament meeting where I had listened to the same words. I had heard them with my ears so often before, but now it seemed different. It was as though I was hearing them with my whole heart and soul: “… that they are willing to take upon them the name of thy Son, and always remember him and keep his commandments which he has given them …” (D&C 20:77).
As I held Shelly’s little hand in mine for one last squeeze before tiptoeing from her room that evening some years ago, a feeling of gratitude and reverence came flooding forth as I realized that while her hand had been in mine for most of the afternoon as I helped her through the creek, across the rocks, and over the tree and lifted her up to see the miracle of life unfolding in a robin’s nest, this child led me to begin a search that would lead me to a better understanding of a great eternal truth. King Benjamin explained it for us:
“And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters” (Mosiah 5:7).
We can all be members of the same family. If you’re doing something you shouldn’t, consider Shelly’s question to me: Why don’t you stop? It may not always be easy, but with his help we can overcome.

In 1849 two young Latter-day Saint sailors, George Barber and Benjamin Richey, neither of whom held the priesthood, sailed from Liverpool, England, to Calcutta, India. Because their ship needed repairs, it was put in dry dock, and they spent some time at a home for sailors. There they met a scripture reader named Maurice White. Their conversations with him regarding their newfound faith led them into company with a group called the Plymouth Brethren. The young sailors taught the restored gospel to their new friends, and soon several of them were converted. But because they held no priesthood authority, Barber and Richey had to leave their converts unbaptized when their ship sailed from Calcutta.

Some months later, written requests for living witnesses arrived in Liverpool from Calcutta. Church leaders decided to ask Joseph Richards, a Church member who was an elder, to visit with the Plymouth Brethren on his next trip to Calcutta. He was a sailmaker on the merchant ship Gloriosa. In June 1851, Richards met the Church’s friends in Calcutta and baptized four of them—James Patrick Meik; his wife, Mary Ann; Matthew McCune; and Maurice White. Richards ordained White an elder and called him as president of the Wanderers Branch. These new members were the first to be baptized as Latter-day Saints in all of Asia. The Wanderers Branch was the first Church unit in Asia. Richards remained in Calcutta for only two weeks and then returned with his ship to England.

Lya Luna Becnel doesn’t just slice fruit or arrange food. To watch her in a kitchen is to watch an artist in action.
She chooses the plate the way a painter selects a canvas. She wraps several flavors of Mediterranean olives in carefully selected slices of dry sausage, and does the same with salad greens. She places four types of cheese in the foreground, with an oriental ladle holding a sauce made of fruit and mustard. As her personal signature, she adds an apple, carefully cut and sculpted into the shape of a swan. The swan is a symbol with deep meaning to her.
When Lya was a young girl growing up in Tehuacan, Mexico, she saw a food magazine that inspired her. “On the front cover was a beautiful white swan carved from jicama (an edible root) and on the back was an exquisite turkey made from pieces of watermelon and other fruit,” she says. “I can still remember the artistry of those sculptures. The image of them stayed in my mind, and a voice inside me said, ‘Someday, you will make one of those.’” It wasn’t until years later, in a professional cooking class, that Lya was trained to carve a swan exactly like the one she had seen so long before.
Today, Lya is fulfilling her lifelong dream to serve others (literally) by preparing beautiful, nutritious food. In Europe and the U.S. she counsels cooks about the quality of their meals, prepares fancy dinners at gourmet restaurants and in people’s homes, and also teaches cooking and nutrition classes. She is known for the excellent food she prepares and the way she presents it. “Food is art,” she says. “Having it look good is part of having it taste good.”
But getting where she wanted to be has not been, shall we say, a piece of cake.
“My parents wanted me to be a doctor,” she says. After counseling with them and praying, she finally agreed she would study nutrition. That would allow her to be around food and yet still be involved in a medically related field. After college, she began work as a nutritionist in Mexico City. She loved the working environment and the people, but she still longed to be a chef. After giving the job a fair chance, she counseled with her parents again and mapped out a new plan.
“I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him to guide me,” she says. “Then I did all the research I could about culinary schools.” She saved money, studied English as a second language, then enrolled in a cooking school in London, England. That opened up the opportunity for her to also have apprenticeships—if she would work without pay. She did and gained experience as well as forming friendships with several of the top chefs in the world.
“Working without pay was hard,” she says. “I had to cater private dinners on the side to pay my way through school.” She also found a job at a restaurant equipment company in France, preparing meals and demonstrating professional ovens. For a year and a half, between school and work and various apprenticeships in two countries, her days were filled with long, hard work. “I had to pay the rent, and I had to pay for transportation, but I always had food because I was always allowed to eat in the restaurants.”
She also kept her standards high. “Living the Word of Wisdom was less of a challenge than some people might think,” she says. “For example, when people invited me to have a glass of wine, which is a big part of the restaurant business, I explained that I don’t drink alcohol. They respected that. And when people would party or suggest immoral activities, I would explain that my standards were different. We were colleagues at work, but I didn’t hang out with them in places that would bring me down.”
Lya and her husband, who is also a chef, offer this advice about careers: “Find something you love doing and that you’ll want to do for your entire life. Set goals and work hard, then pray, be humble, and follow your heart.”

“Dad, I don’t want to go,” Spencer said.
“You promised Grandpa you would help him today,” Dad said.
“I don’t want to go to the dump,” Spencer said. “Why doesn’t Grandpa put his garbage can on the curb like everyone else?”
“You promised you would go, so you need to go,” Dad said.
“This is silly,” Spencer thought. Why did he have to waste a day of his vacation at the dump?
A few minutes later, Grandpa drove up in his pickup truck. Two garbage cans were loaded in the back. Spencer climbed into the passenger’s seat.
“We have just a few stops to make before we go to the dump,” Grandpa said.
“This is going to take forever,” Spencer thought as he stared out the window.
Grandpa pulled into his neighbors’ driveway. The couple who lived there had been his grandparents’ neighbors for almost 50 years. Arlo and Wanda were always nice to Spencer when he came to visit. The front door opened and Wanda walked out.
“I wish you wouldn’t trouble yourself with this,” she said to Grandpa as he hauled her garbage can into the truck.
“No trouble at all,” Grandpa said.
“You have the kindest grandpa in the world,” Wanda said to Spencer.
“Give Arlo my best,” Grandpa said.
“I will. Thank you,” Wanda said. A tear fell down her cheek.
“What’s wrong with Arlo?” Spencer asked as they drove away.
“He’s really sick. Wanda has to do everything for him now. It’s a lot of hard work, but she doesn’t complain.”
A few minutes later they pulled into another driveway. A small woman was struggling to keep a garbage can from tipping over as she tried to move it from the garage.
“Minnie!” Grandpa jumped out of the truck. “What are you doing?”
“I’m just trying to help,” she said.
Minnie was another one of Grandpa’s neighbors. Grandpa took the garbage can from her.
“I think you’ve grown a foot since last summer, Spencer,” Minnie said, smiling at Spencer. “I’m sorry I haven’t brought over any waffles, but these old hands don’t do much cooking anymore.”
Minnie was an excellent cook and used to bring over a batch of waffles when Spencer and his family came to visit Grandma and Grandpa.
“That’s OK, Minnie,” Spencer said.
“I don’t know what I would do without your grandpa and grandma, Spencer,” Minnie said. “This world needs more people like them.”
Grandpa loaded Minnie’s can into the back of the truck, and soon they were driving down a long, dusty road outside of town. “This is our last stop,” Grandpa said.
“Who lives here?” Spencer asked.
“A new family that moved in a few months ago. They are having a hard time. I told them I would haul their trash for them so they wouldn’t have to pay for garbage service. At first they told me I didn’t need to.”
“Then why do it?” Spencer asked.
Grandpa smiled at Spencer. “Because I can,” he said.
Spencer stared out the window, thinking about what Grandpa had just said. He realized that Grandpa didn’t help people because he had to do it. He helped people because that’s the kind of person he was.
Grandpa parked the truck, but before he could get out, Spencer said, “You stay in the truck, Grandpa. I’ll get these cans for you.”
Grandpa smiled and let Spencer do the work. Spencer hauled the garbage cans to the road and then climbed back into the truck.
“Now we can go to the dump,” Grandpa said.
As they drove away, Spencer thought about all the people Grandpa helped.
“I guess helping people isn’t silly after all,” Spencer said.
Grandpa smiled. “No,” he said. “It’s one of the most important things we can do.”

Sometimes, though, we won’t have or notice angels around us when we feel we need them. A number of years ago I was having a particularly tough day. I prayed, asking for help, and I had a thought: to invite a new friend to a movie. I doubted myself: How can I be a friend to someone when I feel like this? But I did invite her—and you know what happened? She came to the movie with me. I did feel a little better, and I assumed that this was why I felt that prompting. But that is not the reason I remember this day. The reason I remember this day is because I found out later how important my call and calls from others were to my friend. Those calls let her know that she was not alone during a time when she felt hopeless. We served as angels to each other.

Just five years ago, in August 1975, thousands of Japanese Saints assembled in Tokyo for the first area conference in Asia of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The meetings were held in the Budokan, a large public assembly hall centrally located in the heart of the metropolis and capable of seating thousands of people. On this memorable date, President Spencer W. Kimball opened the conference with the building filled to capacity and announced that a temple of the Lord would be built in Japan. As President Kimball made this announcement, the audience gasped and an excited murmur filled the air. Many of the Saints wept as they were filled with the spirit. They were witnessing the culmination of prayer, faith and hope. They envisioned where instructions from the Most High will be received, and will be so constructed as to enable all of the functions of the Priesthood to be fully exercised. They were witnessing the development of events which are unfolding in these latter days of fulfillment of prophecy.
With President Kimball’s announcement, the necessary steps were taken for the temple construction. Servants of the Lord were sent out to find a plot of land to build the temple. Several sites were considered and after much deliberation and prayer, it was decided that the temple would be located on the site of the old Tokyo Mission Home. This building and land had been purchased by the Church shortly after the end of World War II and had since been used by thousands of missionaries. For many of these missionaries, the old home was the first place they stayed upon arrival in Japan. Most would testify that many sacred and spiritual experiences were manifested here.
Seemingly this sacred and hallowed ground was divinely chosen for the construction of the House of the Lord. The site borders a beautifully landscaped Arisugawa Memorial Park along the eastern frontage separated only by a road leading from the Hiroo Subway Station which is just a few minutes walking distance away.
With the construction site selected and approved, design drawings were prepared under the direction of the church architect, Brother Emil B. Fetzer. As these were being drawn, people in Tokyo were busy gearing up for the months and years of difficult negotiations which would be necessary to obtain construction permits to build the temple in the Minami Azabu district, which is an affluent area of Tokyo with neighboring foreign diplomatic missions and embassies. Negotiations with area residents to gain approval for building the temple went slowly. Many of the local people worried about the effects the new building would have on life in the area. One big problem was conforming to the “Sunshine Law” in Tokyo, which requires a certain amount of compensation for any amount of sunlight which is lost due to the shadow cast by multi-story construction.
The months passed following President Kimball’s announcement. Months turned to years and two of the close neighbors continued to put up road blocks to impede the construction of the temple. Time and again word was passed among the Saints that everything was cleared and construction would soon begin. But new problems would arise which prevented the work from commencing. As an example, the church architects learned that the Japanese construction requirements were much more stringent in many respects than anticipated. This was mainly due to the frequency of earthquakes and typhoons in the islands of Japan. These building codes were found to be quite different from the customary standard codes and considerable additional study and architectural review were necessary to make sure that their plans did not conflict with the building codes of Japan.
In the spring of 1978, the decision was made to commence with the construction of the Tokyo Temple, though there were still many problems to be resolved. There were pockets of resistance among some of the neighbors, but it was mandatory to have on record a “commencement of construction”. This phase of work though not fully designed was the only assurance that the temple could be constructed as designed by the Church architect. The structure included a full basement, four floors above ground and a 25 meter symbol tower built into the penthouse structure located on the temple roof to house the mechanical controls. The currently approved construction permit would expire if the design did not conform with any of the newly promulgated sunshine laws. We were concerned that all of our design plans would have to be abandoned and a completely new design of less stature would have to be drawn up. To realize benefits of time and effort expended in the past in planning and design, the decision of Brother McPhie, Director of Temples and Special Projects, to proceed was an answer to our prayers. Missionaries were vacated from the mission home to start preparation for the demolition work. Kajima Corporation was awarded the Tokyo Temple construction contract and the church issued a notice to proceed commencing March 10, 1978.

While my family and I were saying family prayer, I felt something I had never felt before. I felt this feeling when my mom was praying for a visitor of ours to be guided and protected. The feeling was warm and good. I felt that Heavenly Father would help me in my life and that He loves me. Lately I’ve been tempted with bad thoughts about the Church, but after feeling this good feeling, I feel good. I feel I have my own testimony now. I know the Church is true. I know Joseph Smith translated the golden plates and that they are the words of Heavenly Father. I felt the Holy Ghost tell me that, and I know it’s true.
Alex M., age 7, Utah, USA

Snow was falling outside the kitchen windows, and the pines looked as pretty as those on a Christmas card. A perfect day for sledding! I smiled and was reaching for the juice glasses as Mom came into the kitchen.
“Morning, Jackie.” Mom gave me a big hug. “Kiley didn’t want to get dressed this morning,” she said with a happy chuckle. “She just stood in front of the window, watching the snow.”
“Is that what took you so long upstairs?” I asked.
“That, and I called Grandma. She has a cold, so Kiley and I won’t be taking her shopping today.”
“You mean Kiley is going to be here all day?” I moaned.
“She lives here, honey. Where else would she be?”
“Mom!” I groaned. “You know I invited Mary Alice over to go sledding!”
“Sure,” Mom said with a quick nod and a smile. “So?”
“So you know how Kiley always butts in when I have company! And besides, I haven’t told Mary Alice about …” I stopped and shook my head. “Oh, never mind!”
“You haven’t told her you have a retarded sister?” Mom said in a quiet voice. “Are you afraid it would make a difference to her?”
“No. It’s just that I hardly know Mary Alice yet.” I poured the juice and stared at the table.
“Honey, the fact that Kiley is retarded isn’t a crime, or a sin—it’s a fact. Jesus loves and accepts her the way she is, and you do too. Your only problem is how you feel about her when your friends are around. But don’t worry so much about it. Everything will work out.” Mom smiled and went over to the stove.
Maybe Mom wasn’t worried, but my day had suddenly turned rotten. Mary Alice probably could have gone a million places today! I thought. She’ll probably wish she had, now.
Kiley clumped into the kitchen with the toes of her slippers pointing in opposite directions and stood grinning. “Your slippers are on wrong,” I said as I knelt and picked up her right foot. I put each slipper onto the correct foot and stood with a frown. “Come on now and eat.”
Kiley went to the table and sat in her chair, then lifted her chin as I fastened a bib around her neck. “Dank you,” she said with a happy grin.
“You’re welcome,” I replied.
Mom slid eggs onto our plates, and we bowed our heads and asked a blessing. I dipped my toast into the yolk and glanced at the clock.
“What time is your friend coming?” Mom asked as she aimed a forkful of food at Kiley’s mouth.
“At 10:30. I’ll do the dishes, then get ready.”
Mom steadied a glass as Kiley raised it to her lips. “Good girl!” Mom said proudly.
Kiley replaced the glass on the table and pointed to the window. “No,” she said excitedly.
Mom smiled. “Yes, snow,” she repeated. “Good girl!”
I watched Kiley’s happy face, but crossed my fingers, hoping Mom wouldn’t ask me to take Kiley sledding. Why should I be stuck with her? I argued silently.
Mom didn’t ask me to take Kiley. Instead, when they were through eating, she and Kiley left the kitchen while I did the dishes. As I scoured the skillet, I thought, If Mary Alice wasn’t coming, I’d take Kiley sledding. I’d spend the whole day with her if she wanted. But today is different.
I was pulling a turtleneck sweater over my head when Mom called upstairs. “Jackie, a girl is coming up the lane with her sled.”
“OK!” Excited, I brushed back my hair and bounced down the stairs in time to answer Mary Alice’s knock. “Hi. Come on in,” I said as she stomped snow from her boots.
“Mom dropped me at the end of your lane,” she explained. “It sure is beautiful out here! I saw a hill on the way over. Is that where you go sledding?”
“That’s it. And wait till you see the view from the top!” I grabbed my jacket and called, “Mom, Mary Alice is here and we’re going now!”
Mom came from the kitchen with flour on her hands and a smile on her face.
“Mom,” I said, “this is Mary Alice Martin.”
“Glad to meet you, Mrs. Odgen,” Mary Alice said.
“I’m pleased to meet you, too, dear. When you two come back, I’ll have something ready for you to eat.” Then Mom returned to the kitchen.
Suddenly Kiley came into the hallway with a happy smile on her face. She went up to Mary Alice, grabbed her hand, shook it, and kept right on smiling.
“Hello,” Mary Alice said. “What’s your name?”
“She’s my sister, Kiley,” I put in quickly. “Well, let’s get to that hill.” As I zipped up my jacket, I had a hard time ignoring Kiley standing there, smiling.
“Sister,” she said, pointing to me. “Special sister.”
“Yeah, Kiley,” I replied impatiently. “We’ll see you later, OK?”
Kiley nodded. “Special sister,” she repeated proudly.
Mary Alice smiled at Kiley.
I wrapped my scarf around my neck and yanked a woolen cap down over my ears. “Come on, Mary Alice,” I said, “let’s go.”
Outside, I grabbed my sled. I could feel Kiley watching me through the window. I glanced at Mary Alice, who stood with her face turned skyward, catching fluffy snowflakes. She seems happy, I thought, and glad that she came. I looked back at Kiley. She was still smiling at me, even though I was leaving her behind. Mom was right, Jesus loves her the same as anyone else. Kiley loved me, too, no matter what I did. Did I love her as much—or did I just have time for her when no one else was around?
Mary Alice looked at me, and I gulped, “Do you mind if we take Kiley along?”
Mary Alice shook her head. “I was wondering why we weren’t. She looked like she wanted to go.”
I turned and tapped on the window, then opened the door. “Come on,” I said to Kiley. “I’ll get you dressed, and you can go too. Mom,” I called, “Kiley’s going with us.”
Mom came to the doorway of the kitchen and winked at me. “OK, honey. Have a good time.”
As I tugged at Kiley’s boots, her big grin seemed to disappear around both sides of her face. “Sister!” she announced as she banged me on the head. “Special sister!”
I just kept tugging at her boots and didn’t look up. After all, how could I explain to Kiley that tears don’t always mean that you’re sad? Maybe she would have understood; I don’t know. What I do know is that I have a special sister who thinks I’m special too.

When Leigh got home from school, she found her mother carefully going through a big cardboard box of clothes. “What’s that?” she asked her mother.
“Another box of things from the Ellers.” Her mother held up a green corduroy jumper and asked, “Do you like this one?”
Leigh nodded her head, but after rummaging through the box, she held up a red velveteen party dress with lace ruffles and said, “I like this one better.”
“That’s lovely, Leigh!” her mother exclaimed. “It hardly shows any wear at all.”
“Why do the Ellers give us their clothes?” Leigh asked, examining a white silk blouse.
Her mother looked up and reached out to stroke Leigh’s copper hair, then turned away and sighed, “Because we need them, Leigh, and the Ellers are kind enough to share with us.”
Leigh didn’t mind wearing the Ellers’ pretty clothing, even if it was used. Since the Eller girls went to a different school, no one in Leigh’s school recognized her “new clothes.” Leigh never told anyone about the hand-me-down box.
One day in school Mrs. Kratz, Leigh’s fourth-grade teacher, announced, “I want each of you to think about what you want to be when you grow up.”
All the children moaned—all except Leigh. Leigh had wanted to be a writer ever since she had first learned how to read.
“And,” Mrs. Kratz continued, “I want each of you to be prepared to tell us what you’ve decided in a little speech next Wednesday.”
“A speech!” Leigh gasped quietly. She had never spoken in front of a class before. What will I say? she wondered. What will I wear?
When Leigh got home from school that day, she tore through the house, frantically calling her mother.
“What’s the matter, Leigh?” her mother cried. “Are you hurt?”
Leigh explained breathlessly, “I have to give a speech in class next Wednesday.”
“A speech?”
“I have to talk about what I want to be when I grow up, and I have to do it in front of the whole class! I have to look my best so no one will laugh at me, and I don’t have anything to wear!”
Mother came down from the ladder where she’d been hanging some curtains that she had washed. “What about one of the dresses that the Ellers gave us?”
“Not hand-me-downs,” Leigh protested. “Not this time. For once can’t I have a new dress?” she pleaded.
“Well, perhaps we can afford to buy fabric to make you one,” offered her mother.
Looking at her feet, Leigh barely whispered, “Not a homemade dress. A new store-bought dress—like the Ellers wear. Just this once. Please.”
Mrs. Baugh knelt before her daughter, placed her hands on Leigh’s shoulders, and looked straight into her troubled eyes. “We can’t spend very much on a new dress, but we’ll go look Saturday.”
Leigh was ecstatic as she hugged her mother. Later that night Leigh lay awake in bed, thinking about a store-bought dress. She said “look,” Leigh reminded herself, not “buy.” But I have twelve dollars saved from babysitting, and with what Mother has, I should be able to buy a dress as nice as the Ellers wear. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming about her first trip to one of the fine dress shops in town.
But when Saturday came, they didn’t go to a fancy shop. They went to a factory outlet store that didn’t look much different from the local grocery store. Leigh tried to conceal her disappointment as her mother led her to a rack full of dresses her size. One by one, they pulled the dresses off the rack and held them up to Leigh, looking for the perfect one for her first speech. The dresses were nice but not special—just plain cotton-polyester dresses like Leigh had worn before the Ellers started sending their clothes. Leigh hesitated, then asked, “Where are the fancier dresses, Mother?”
“Oh, Leigh,” her mother sighed good-naturedly. “There aren’t any fancy dresses in here, and if there were, we couldn’t afford them.”
Leigh wandered to the front of the store and peered out the big plate-glass window. Across the street a little girl in a beautiful blue coat and hat was just leaving an expensive dress shop with her mother, who was laden with ribbon-tied boxes. Leigh turned toward the check-out counter in the factory outlet and watched the cashier stuff purchases into plain brown paper sacks.
Mrs. Baugh came up and put an arm around her daughter, then looked out the window at the store across the street. “Maybe someday, Leigh,” she murmured.
“Let’s go home and see if we can find something in the hand-me-down box,” Leigh offered, trying to smile. “The red velveteen dress with the ruffles is much prettier than any of these dresses.”
Back home, Leigh tried on the red dress and was as pleased with how it felt as with how it looked. The velveteen was wonderfully soft, and the red brought out the natural rosiness in her cheeks and the highlights in her hair. Her mother pinned a new hem while Leigh twirled about in her slip, planning her speech.
On Wednesday Leigh practiced her speech aloud one last time while her mother carefully pressed the velveteen dress. Leigh had never felt more confident in her life.
When she got to school, Leigh noticed Linnie Lubette staring at her.
“Is that a new dress, Leigh?” Linnie asked with a sneer.
“Yes,” Leigh answered. “I got it for my speech today. Are you all ready?”
“Of course,” Linnie answered. Then she took Leigh’s arm and jeered, “Didn’t I see that dress at my ward’s Christmas party?”
Stunned, Leigh pulled away and sat down as Linnie started snickering. Then Leigh remembered that the Ellers and the Lubettes belonged to the same ward. Cindy had probably worn the dress to their ward’s Christmas party. If Linnie had admired it, she would remember it. Leigh was embarrassed and wished that she had worn any of her other dresses.
Suddenly she heard her name called.
“Why don’t you go first, Leigh?” her teacher asked. “We’re anxious to hear about your career choice.”
Leigh slipped out of her seat and walked slowly to the front of the room. Before she even had a chance to gather her thoughts, her teacher spoke again. “My, don’t you look lovely today, Leigh. Is that a new dress?”
Before Leigh could respond, Linnie chirped, “It’s not new. It’s a hand-me-down from Cindy Eller.”
Leigh was mortified. Now everyone would know that she wore hand-me-downs! She hung her head to hide the tears that were welling up in her eyes.
The room fell silent.
Leigh felt her teacher’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “We’re both fortunate, Leigh. See this dress that I’m wearing? It’s a hand-me-down too.”
Leigh looked up for the first time and stared through tear-filled eyes at her teacher’s pretty blue dress. “You see”—her teacher turned to explain to the class—“I can’t afford many nice dresses like this. But my sister, who is a doctor, has many beautiful clothes. She shares them with me because she loves me.”
Leigh slowly turned her gaze from her teacher to Linnie, who was shrinking into her seat.
“I’m glad, Leigh,” her teacher continued, “that you have a friend who is kind enough to share her nice things with you. Now,” she said, going back to her desk, “tell us what you want to be when you grow up.”
Leigh cleared her throat. “I want to be like your sister.”
“A doctor?”
“No,” Leigh replied, smiling. “Someone kind enough to share with others.”

From an accident that could have been devastating to any future accomplishment, Peter Jeppson struggled against adversity to become a successful businessman, Church leader, husband, and father. He is now the owner of his own insurance and investment agency, has served on the General Board of the Young Men, and has three children, two daughters and a son.
While Peter was lying in the hospital as a 19-year-old trying to figure out his future, he asked himself, “What one thing would I have to accomplish that would mean I had overcome my problems?” He was influenced by some books on setting goals that his friend had read to him before his bandages were removed from his eyes. He decided that if he could be a successful life insurance sales manager that would mean (1) he was able to develop a good relationship with people individually, (2) he would have gained an education, and (3) he would have proven his credibility and ability in one area.
With this goal in mind, Peter began researching insurance companies. He contacted 59 companies and was not offered a single job. He finally got a position as a planning manager for an insurance company. It was a very small beginning. Through persistence, hard work, and going to school at the same time, Peter began learning the business.
By the time Peter got married, he had paid all his debts to doctors and hospitals, but he was starting married life with no assets except his confidence and attitude. In ten years, he has built all that he and his family have from nothing by determination and discipline.
Now, Peter, Marjorie, and their children all keep journals recording the progress they are making on their goals. When the children are too small to be able to write, Marjorie records in their journals for them.
With a slim, athletic build, Peter points out that one of his goals this year was to be able to run 3 kilometers in 16 minutes. He has reached that goal.

When I was young, our little family lived in a one-bedroom apartment. I slept on the couch in the living room. More than anything else in the world, I wanted to be an athlete. I did everything I was told might help me. While some of the advice I received was questionable, I tried it anyway, just in case it might help. I was advised not to eat chocolate, so I didn’t eat chocolate. I remember being told not to drink soda pop because it would “cut your wind.” I never drank soda pop. I was also told to sleep with the windows wide open to get plenty of fresh air, so all year long I slept with the windows open.
My dad, a steelworker, left home for work very early each day. Every morning he would quietly close the windows I had opened in the living room; then he would tuck the covers around me and stop for a minute. Often, half-dreaming, I would sense my dad standing beside the couch, looking at me. As I pretended to sleep, he would bow his head and quietly pray with all his attention, energy, and focus—for me.
Each morning he would pray that I would have a good day, that I would be safe, that I would learn and prepare for the future. And since he could not be with me until evening, he would pray for the teachers and my friends that I would be with that day.
In junior high and high school, I reached my dream to be an athlete. I played football and baseball. Our football games were usually played on Friday evenings. My father now worked out of town during the week. But each Friday afternoon, he left work and drove six or seven hours to make it to every one of my games. He never arrived in time for the start of the game, but the coaches would leave a sideline pass at the gate for him. I knew that sometime during the first half, I would look up and there he would be on the sideline, watching me. Then after church on Sunday afternoons, he would have to turn around and drive back to work.
At first, I didn’t really understand what my dad was doing those mornings when he prayed for me. But as I got older, I came to sense his love and interest in me and in everything I was doing. It is one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t until years later, after I was married, had children of my own, and would go into their rooms while they were asleep and pray for them, that I understood completely how my father felt about me.

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.