Gospel Story Finder

I could always tell when it was going to happen. Before the leaves began to turn beautiful autumn colors of red and yellow, even before I had to wear a jacket to go out and play at night after school, I somehow just knew when Dad was going to say it.
“Autumn’s here,” Dad would announce on a cool September night as we all sat around the dinner table. “Soon it’ll be too cold for gardening, riding bicycles, and swimming.” Then he’d look at me, sitting right next to him because I was the oldest. “Danny, soon I’ll be cleaning out the shed,” he’d say, like it was a brand-new idea, even though we had done that every year for as long as I could remember. “Are you going to help me again this year?”
“Sure, Dad. You know I will,” I’d burst out excitedly, and the whole family—Mom, Dad, and my three sisters, Randi, Sherry, and Cathy—would laugh. Sometimes it seemed to me that Randi, who was a year younger than I and always trying to act like the oldest, was laughing extra loudly at me.
But I didn’t care, because Dad knew how much I enjoyed helping him clean out the shed for winter. It was a big old wooden shed that Dad had built a long time ago, with windows on two sides and in the door. It was white, with lots of rusty nailheads showing through the chipped paint. We used the shed to store everything from shovels and rakes to bicycles and barbecues. During the spring, summer, and fall, we were probably in the shed as much as we were anyplace else. But by the time winter came, Dad would have the whole shed cleaned and organized and ready for the next spring.
The reason that I liked cleaning the shed so much was that Dad and I would talk. He was so interesting that it wasn’t like a job at all. He’d tell me about the cold, bitter winters he remembered as a boy in Indiana and about how much sweeter the spring always seemed after a harsh winter. “But no matter how bad the winter is, Danny,” he’d say, “whether it’s here in New Jersey or back in Indiana, remember that winter is just God’s way of putting the world to sleep for a short time. And then, in the spring, God wakes the world up with beautiful flowers, green grass, warm sunshine, and the singing of birds. The beauty of spring is one of the miracles of life.”
And before I knew it, the shed was clean, everything inside was reorganized neatly, and a big sheet of plastic was fastened over the roof so that snow wouldn’t get inside. The day would be almost gone, and Dad would slap me on the back. Then we’d gather up the whole family and go down to Mr. Watson’s for ice cream.
Then one day last year, just after I had turned eleven, I came home from school and found Mom upstairs in her and Dad’s bedroom, sitting in a rocking chair with an open photo album in her lap. When she saw me, she started to cry.
“Danny, your father’s in the hospital,” she said through her tears. “He became ill at work. … I don’t know when he’ll be able to come home.”
During the next few weeks, as we visited Dad in the hospital, I knew that he wouldn’t be home soon. The doctor told us that he was getting better, but that it was a slow process and that it was best not to rush things. It made my heart ache to see him lying there, looking so tired.
On my way to see him one Friday after school, I noticed that Mrs. Simmons’s big old oak tree was ablaze with autumn colors. So I knew that it was time to clean out the shed. I also knew that Dad would not be there to do it and that it was up to me. I couldn’t let him down.
I was up early the next morning, and I ate breakfast so fast that the food barely touched my mouth on its way to my stomach. Once outside, I looked up at the sky; it was a gray day with a chilly breeze and thick dark clouds. The weather report was for rain later in the day, possibly changing to snow at night.
When I pulled open the shed door, a leaf rake came tumbling out and nearly hit me in the face; we hadn’t been too careful about how we had put things back lately. Suddenly I felt sad and lonely because Dad wasn’t there with me, so I said a prayer that Dad would get well soon and be back with us. While I was at it, I asked Heavenly Father for help to do the job. Afterward I didn’t feel quite so lonely.
I had never realized what a big job cleaning out the shed was. Dad’s stories had always made the time fly, and it had never even seemed like work. This time it was only me, with nobody to talk to, or ask questions of, or share a laugh.
It seemed like there had never been as much stuff inside the shed as there was this year. To make matters worse, the clouds were getting thicker and darker and the chilly breeze had turned into a cold wind. I knew that rain was on the way, and soon. I didn’t even have everything taken out of the shed, and I still had to clean it, reorganize everything back inside, and stretch the plastic over the roof. I’m never going to make it, I thought.
I tried to hurry, and that was a big mistake. In my haste to move everything outside, I dropped a shovel on my bicycle, scratching the fender that I had tried so hard to keep looking like new.
I felt tears rush into my eyes. “I’m never going to get this done,” I said aloud, past the lump in my throat. “Oh, Dad, I’m sorry that I let you down.”
Just then a voice called: “Can I help, Danny?”
It was Randi! My first reaction was to say no to her offer. I felt that it was my job because of a special bond between Dad and me and that by letting Randi help, I would somehow be breaking that bond. But I quickly realized that my real responsibility was to Dad and the rest of the family. “Sure, Randi,” I said. “I could use some help.”
Randi smiled a big smile and got right to work.
I learned a lot about my sister that day. She worked as hard and as fast as I did, and she listened to my instructions about where to put everything just as I had always listened to Dad’s. We worked most of the day, and, just as we hammered the last nail into place to secure the plastic to the roof, the rain began. We both ran to the house, feeling happy and satisfied.
Mom met us at the door with some exciting news. “Danny, Randi,” she said, laughing and crying at the same time, “Daddy’s coming home next week! Isn’t that wonderful?”
That night we had the happiest dinner that we’d had in a long time, and we went to Mr. Watson’s for ice cream! I couldn’t stop thinking about how helpful Randi had been, and how it had really been fun talking with her as we worked. I decided that I wanted to do something to show her my thanks. “Randi,” I asked, “has Dad ever told you about how cold the winters were in Indiana when he was a boy?”
“No,” she said, her eyes sparkling, “but I’d love to hear about it.”

My dad was an apple grower in Washington, USA, and so were my grandparents. There were all kinds of jobs to do, so I learned how to work when I was young. My grandmother lived on a hill surrounded by apple trees. At the bottom of the hill there were blackberry bushes.
In the summertime the bushes were full of ripe berries. My grandmother would give my younger brothers and sisters and me each a plastic bucket. She’d tell us to come back with buckets full of blackberries. Then she made jam and syrup and all kinds of yummy things.
It was hot, and blackberry bushes have lots of thorns. And worst of all, there were snakes! We used every excuse we could think of to not pick blackberries. But I was the oldest, so I had to be a good example. Even though it was hard, we worked. It seemed to take forever to fill up our buckets. We got distracted. We watched for snakes. We ate a bunch of berries.
When our buckets were finally full, we took them back up to my grandmother. Then we could play for the rest of the day. At dinner that night, my grandmother always served a blackberry cobbler or pie. It was delicious! We ate it hot out of the oven with a scoop of ice cream.
We learned a couple of things from our summers picking blackberries. First, everybody worked. Everyone in the family, no matter how small, could help in some way. Second, we learned that if we wanted to enjoy the blackberry pie, we had to do the work. Years later as a young missionary, I learned how important work is. Heavenly Father blesses us when we put in effort. If we work hard and keep the commandments, we will be blessed.

More than 130 members from the Czech and Slovak Republics along with former Czech and Slovak missionaries gathered in Zilina, Slovak Republic, on September 8, 2012, to provide service to the city—clearing 1.5 tons (1.3 tonnes) of waste from the banks of the Zilina reservoir, improving the city’s kindergarten and nursery building, and weeding city planters.
“It is wonderful to see the volunteers working hard and see the smiles on their faces and joy in their eyes!” commented volunteer Hana Snajdarova, whose family was among the early converts to the Church in Slovakia. “I think that that is why we enjoy these projects so much. We want to help—to serve—and we love it.”

When I was baptized, I invited a friend who was in the same reform school with me to attend. After I was baptized and confirmed a member of the church I walked up to him and said, “So Aaron did you feel something good at my baptism today?” Aaron responded, “Yes I did.”

Excited about the gospel and this new-found faith in my life, I exclaimed “That feeling you’re feeling—it’s the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the truthfulness of this church. Aaron, you have got to call the missionaries and learn more about this church.” Aaron eventually took the missionary discussions and got baptized. Since then, he has served a mission, married in the temple, and is currently serving in the high council in his home town.

Andrea has learned in her Young Women classes how important it is to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9; see also this year’s Mutual theme, 1 Timothy 4:12). Recently, she invited a friend to a Church activity who previously didn’t think very highly of the Church. “She thought the activity was really cool. She was really interested in the Church and asked a lot of questions,” says Andrea.
Her friends on the track team know her standards, too. “We have a lot of movie nights, and they know I always have to make sure what we’re watching is appropriate,” she says. “If they are watching something I wouldn’t watch and I walk in the room, they change it really quick. That’s really nice.”
She credits her older sister for paving the way with some of her teammates. Her sister ran for their high school the year before Andrea started running, and she also made her standards clear. In fact, all five of her brothers and sisters have been runners. She looks up to them on and off the track.
“They’re amazing. They’ve all been great examples. They’re always doing the right thing, and they make sure I’m doing the right thing,” she says.
Her family has done a lot to set the pace for her, but being the youngest has also provided her with opportunities to be an example for them. “She always sets a good example. My children always seem to want to do what Andrea’s doing,” says her oldest sister, Christine.
But being looked up to or talked about isn’t really what motivates Andrea. When people mention her giving up the medal, she doesn’t break stride: “I don’t want to be the center of attention.” That’s Andrea. Like the eight other runners who followed her example, she’s just glad she could do the right thing when the moment presented itself.
Sometimes standing as a witness of God can happen in unexpected ways. For Andrea, it meant stepping up by stepping down.

For some of the youth, the mere mention of the word genealogy used to conjure up images of endlessly searching through dusty manuscripts that led nowhere.

“I wasn’t too excited at first,” says Tyson Thacker, 15. The term family history seems more inviting, but still there are challenges.

“I just wondered how I would find names,” adds Tyson’s sister Miriam, a Laurel. “I knew a lot of work had already been done in our family.”

But with four young people in the program and lots of help from their mother, they had plenty of support. And support was needed when they didn’t find any names from February until July, despite lots of looking.

Things were getting pretty discouraging until one night when three of the Thacker youth and their mother ventured down to the library again.

“We were all looking on different films and would say to each other, ‘Go look here and go look over there,’” says Sister Thacker. “Everyone was running around getting names and checking them. We accomplished much more than one person could have done alone, and that was the night we finally found someone! It’s hard to describe how exciting that was. After that it seemed like everything opened up and we just kept finding names.”

In the Atwater Ward (Merced California Stake) the youth decided to go floating. It all began when they entered a float in the annual Atwater Fourth of July parade. Bonnie Regan, a Beehive girl, was chairman of the float committee. John Howe from the teachers quorum, and Sister Terry Latey, the Young Women secretary, worked with Bonnie. They decided to hold a contest for the design of the float, and a vote was held during activity night to determine which one the young people liked the best.
The theme for the parade was “America’s Bright Horizons,” so the young people inscribed on their float: “The family is the future of America. Loving families will produce good citizens. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints teaches that the family is the basic strength of society and that members of families can become strong and united through unselfishness, love, and service.” A backdrop across the float read, “America’s Future: the Family.” The back of the float was covered with an original painting of the Oakland Temple done by Sister Lois Moore, the Laurel adviser. Beneath the temple were the words “A Family Can Be Forever.”
The float committee organized bake sales to earn the money to build the float. Priests and teachers were assigned to build the frame using materials from a prop that had been used by the stake in the regional dance festival the previous week. The ingenious Beehive girls were in charge of covering the float with white paper napkins. Their problem was finding enough napkins and still staying within the budget. A couple of large bags full of wrinkled napkins had been left from the dance festival, and someone came up with the idea of ironing the used napkins. The Beehive girls set up a production line, with some young women spraying the paper napkins with water and other young women ironing them.
The Mia Maids were assigned to make the paper flowers. It took a lot of time and a lot of young women to make the 53 large paper flowers for the float and the 20 small flowers for the wedding bouquet. The girls thought it would be a fun activity for nonmembers, too, and invited their nonmember friends to help. The Laurels and deacons were in charge of making the letters. Everyone pitched in to draw, cut, and glitter the letters.
The Mutual held the week before the parade was called “Make a Float, Have a Float,” and of course, root beer floats were served to the hardworking float builders. Work began at 1:00 P.M. and lasted all afternoon and evening. Several adults and Primary children from the ward joined in the work also.
The float committee especially wanted the float to be useful in helping people learn more about the gospel, so permission was received for the full-time missionaries working in Atwater to hand out pamphlets about the family to the parade spectators. They circulated among an estimated 10,000 people who were viewing the parade.
From among 98 units entered in the parade, the Atwater Ward float won first prize in the youth division.

It wasn’t so much that I doubted. It was just that I didn’t know.
There I was, seventeen years old and an “active” member of the Church all my life. Baptized at eight. Ordained a deacon at twelve. Now in my fourth year of seminary. And I still couldn’t say “I know.”
For my good buddy Gary, it seemed so easy. We often sat side by side at the sacrament table. Almost every fast Sunday I would sense him squirming beside me. And almost without fail he would rise to his feet before fast and testimony meeting ended to bear his testimony. His voice quavered, and his eyes would fill with tears as he told how wonderful it was to feel the Holy Ghost.
I envied Gary, but at the same time I felt uncomfortable. His tears made me feel a little embarrassed for him. Still, I wished that I had the kind of testimony he had. I guess I just didn’t want it badly enough then. So I continued to drift comfortably.
Then came that final year of seminary. Subject: The Book of Mormon. Focus: Moroni, chapter 10, verses 4 and 5 [Moro. 10:4–5]. Our challenge was to read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover and to pray for a witness that it is true—in other words, to apply Moroni’s promise.
At first I didn’t make much of an effort. But as the school year wore on, I began to read the Book of Mormon every night, the last thing before I went to bed. And after reading, I would kneel beside my bed and ask for a witness that the book—and the Church—are true.
And still nothing happened.
Constantly in the back of my mind was Gary’s fervent testimony. Also, there was the scripture in Doctrine and Covenants 9:8 [D&C 9:8], where the Lord told Oliver Cowdery, “I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you.”
So night after night I knelt on the small braided rug beside my bed, said a pleading prayer, and climbed into bed to wait for that burning witness. Then, one night, I stopped in the middle of my prayer and asked myself, “Do I know if it’s true yet?”
And then it happened. There was no pillar of light. No voice. Not even the burning sensation that I had been looking for. Instead, a simple realization came into my mind.
Suddenly, I knew that I knew. And that was it. Calm and peaceful and seemingly unspectacular, it was all I needed at the time. I knew that I knew.
Since that time, I have become more aware of the Lord’s words to Oliver Cowdery in the sixth section of the Doctrine and Covenants: “If you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.
“Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?” (D&C 6:22–23, italics added).
Many times would follow when I would feel that burning in my bosom. Many times I would feel the joyful swelling in my heart that Alma describes. (See Alma 32:28.) But for the time being, that quiet realization was all I needed, all I had to remember. The Lord had spoken peace to my mind.

Before he was an apostle, Elder John A. Widtsoe worked for years to develop a general law related to some soil moisture studies that he had done.

One day, he concluded that the task was impossible. He decided to put this work away forever and to move on to another field of inquiry. He then went home and, in order to console himself, took his wife to the temple. It was there in the temple that day that the solution came to him. [25]

A few years ago, I was privileged to be assigned to the Asia Area Presidency, with the area office being in Hong Kong. Our four youngest children accompanied Sister Brough and me to that fascinating city, where we lived for three very interesting years. Our children were accustomed to the wide-open spaces of western America, and Hong Kong required each child to make some very large personal and emotional adjustments. Many nights we sat around our dining room table in our modest 13th-floor apartment, trying to help them with school and cultural challenges.
One night, after anxiously working for several hours to complete school assignments, our youngest child, Kami (then eight years old), asked, “Daddy, how come we ‘got choosed’ to come to Hong Kong?” My first reaction was to be somewhat flippant and say, “Just lucky, I guess.” However, I could tell from the very sincere look on this little girl’s face that she wanted a grown-up answer to her question. At that moment, as I surveyed the challenges placed on our little family because of my priesthood calling, I needed to review the answer again for myself.
As Kami and I read this scripture together, I could see that she very much wanted to understand. I wanted her to know that there can be some “afflictions” associated with our callings in the Church. We talked about being away from our home and family members. I understood it was difficult for her to adjust to these new surroundings.
It was obvious, however, that I was still short of my objective when she asked, “But, Daddy, why did we ‘get choosed’ and not someone else?” Now that is a much more difficult question. Why do these callings and responsibilities come to some and not to others? I was reminded of the charge President Hinckley gave me upon my ordination as a Seventy. He said: “Brother Brough, now a lot of people are going to say a lot of nice things about you. Don’t believe them!”
It is very dangerous for any of us to think we have earned the right to a Church calling. However, every member must come to know the sacred nature of his or her own service in the Church. I remember my Primary teacher, Sister Mildred Jacobson, who I believe was divinely called to her position of responsibility. Two bishops, Bishop Lynn McKinnon and Bishop Ross Jackson, who served during my youth, played significant roles in the lives of many. I believe they were called of God in the same process of revelation as were Paul and Timothy.
We must each prepare ourselves for every good work that might come to us and then accept the principle that revelation, not aspiration, is the basis for our respective callings. We can learn much from the following New Testament story:
“Then came to him the mother of Zebedee’s children with her sons, worshipping him, and desiring a certain thing of him.
“… She saith unto him, Grant that these my two sons may sit, the one on thy right hand, and the other on the left, in thy kingdom” (Matt. 20:20–21).
I explained to Kami that Zebedee’s children were the Apostles James and John, who would later sit with Peter, one on his right hand and the other on his left. Then we read together how Jesus answered the devoted mother: “To sit on my right hand, and on my left, is not mine to give, but it shall be given to them for whom it is prepared of my Father” (Matt. 20:23).
The Apostles also were taught concerning their important calling when Jesus reminded them, “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you, and ordained you” (John 15:16).
I explained to Kami that we definitely had been chosen because we would not seek such a challenging assignment. This was reinforced just a few days later when Sister Brough and I were assigned to travel to India for a missionary conference. The flight from Hong Kong to New Delhi, India, was a late-night flight that arrived in New Delhi at about two o’clock in the morning. Even at that late hour, there were hundreds of taxi drivers who wanted to provide our transportation. After selecting a driver, we began our journey of about 40 kilometers to the hotel. Even though it was late, the roads were crowded with animals, people, and other vehicles. As we were going through an intersection, the taxi’s motor quit. I watched with increasing anxiety as the driver fruitlessly attempted to start the motor. Finally, in obvious frustration, the driver turned to me and in his very best English said, “Push taxi!” It was three o’clock in the morning, and my wife and I were very tired. I got out of the taxi and tried to push it across the intersection but was not able to do so. The driver then said to my wife, “Push taxi.” Lanette got out of the car and began to help me push the taxi through the intersection. As we were struggling to get the taxi through the traffic, I said to my wife, “There were a few things we didn’t understand when we were given this assignment.”
I never completely satisfied little Kami’s question that night. Over the years, we have recalled that challenging evening when a small child was a bit overwhelmed with life. We have explored other scriptures and many other stories since that time. We have received the wonderful promise to those the Savior had chosen “that whatsoever ye shall ask of the Father in my name, he may give it [to] you” (John 15:16).
That promise—of answer to our prayers—is directed even to a small child. This was reaffirmed recently when I heard Kami, now 15 years old, respond to a question directed to her by an adult friend: “How come you were so lucky to live in Hong Kong when you were a child?” She looked directly at me as she gave her answer to our friend: “It wasn’t luck; we ‘were chosen.’”

Joseph William Billy Johnson is one of those people. He has been a member of the Church from its beginnings in Ghana.
In 1964 an associate gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon and some Church tracts that had been sent from Europe. When he read a tract containing the testimony of Joseph Smith, he recalls, “I was inspired,” and when he read the Book of Mormon, “I knew it was true.” He began to preach the gospel truths he had learned. He wrote to Church headquarters, and President David O. McKay encouraged him to continue studying the scriptures and to be patient and faithful until missionaries could be sent to Africa.
Billy Johnson persevered for 14 years despite persecution. He built congregations to whom he taught the gospel doctrine he found in Church books. As nearly as he knew how, he tried to direct his congregations according to Church practices, yet he understood that he did not have authority to perform its ordinances.
Often he felt directed by the Spirit; he was sustained at times by visions and dreams. His son was named after Brigham Young because of a dream in which that former President of the Church offered encouragement. Brother Johnson learned about salvation for the dead after deceased relatives appeared to him in dreams and asked him to be sure they would have the opportunity to receive baptism by proxy.
“I drew inspiration from the pioneers,” he says. Reading of their struggles to build a haven in the western United States where they could worship in peace, he longed for the day when it might be possible to enjoy this same blessing in Ghana.
When Latter-day Saint missionaries arrived in 1978, after the revelation extending the priesthood to all worthy male members, hundreds of Ghanaians he had prepared were ready to be taught and baptized.
Despite the hardships he endured, Brother Johnson, now patriarch of the Cape Coast Ghana Stake, rejoices at the opportunity he had during all those years to help prepare others for the gospel. “Whenever I see in conferences the number of people who have been baptized into the Church, I start weeping for joy at the great work the Lord has done.”

Peter Lehmann remembers being made fun of in citizenship classes in school. Everyone knew he was a Mormon. “In fact,” he says, “they probably knew more about my life than I did. We were watched. I think my family had a red dot on any record we had in any government office. We belonged to the Mormon church. We had seven sons. We were a different family.”
Michael Lehmann recalls: “My parents tried to raise me in a way that I wouldn’t talk about certain topics in public. They taught me to be careful in case I was near somebody who might have installed microphones or something like that. You never knew who to trust.”
In those conditions, people either dropped away from the Church completely, or they clung to it—and each other. It was a place where faith grew despite the surroundings. And, as President Spencer W. Kimball said, faith precedes miracles.
Most of the miracles were quiet ones: healings and the blessings that come from paying tithing and living the Word of Wisdom. And there was the miracle of developing and keeping a testimony in such a place.
Michael: “When I started going to school, I had a hard time with it because my parents told me about God, but everybody around me—students and teachers—tried to tell me there was no God at all.”
Peter: “In citizenship classes in school we were taught atheism as official policy. They made fun of religion in class and said if you belonged to a religious organization, you were working against the government. The government was more or less worshiped.”
Parents taught one thing; society often taught the opposite. Like LDS teens everywhere, the Lehmann brothers had to find out for themselves. “We had a really good home,” Peter recalls. “I kind of recognized the importance of doing what my parents wanted me to do. Still, with all of the experiences I had in school—people and teachers gave us a hard time and wanted me to get up and deny God—I said to myself, ‘We’re doing all this stuff. Why? There’s got to be something.’ I got on my knees and said, ‘I want to know for myself. I want to have the feeling in my heart.’
“I prayed and studied the Book of Mormon, and I got a testimony at that time, a little testimony that grew.”

Three weeks ago I was at a stake conference in the lovely little mountain community of Prescott, Arizona. Following the delightful events of that weekend a sister silently slipped me a note as she and others came by to shake hands and say good-bye. With some hesitation I share a portion of it with you this morning. Please focus on the doctrine this sister teaches, not the participants in the exchange.
“Dear Elder Holland, thank you for the testimony you bore in this conference of the Savior and His love. Forty-one years ago I prayed earnestly to the Lord and told Him I wished I had lived on earth when the Apostles walked upon it, when there had been a true Church, and when Christ’s voice was still heard. Within a year of that prayer Heavenly Father sent two LDS missionaries to me, and I found that all those hopes could be realized. Perhaps some hour when you are tired or troubled, this note will help you remember why hearing your voice and shaking your hand is so important to me and to millions just like me. Your sister in love and gratitude, Gloria Clements.”

Some days, Ray relied on the power of prayer to keep going. “On Saturday morning, [he] was feeling sick again,” Sister Gamble reports. “We said a prayer with Ray in the car and again he perked up almost immediately and was able to move forward with sealings.”
Referencing President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to think celestial, the sealer said, “doing sealings is just about as close to thinking celestial as one can get in this life.”
Ray was sealed first to his parents, and then his mother was sealed to the grandparents who raised him. In total, 96 family ordinances were performed throughout the week. The group had many tender mercies and felt very close to the Spirit.
“I can’t even begin to tell you how idyllic it was for me to be introduced to the temple for the first time,” Ray said. “It was a joy unimaginable. I’m so looking forward to many more such visits… If only the same joy could be felt in absolutely every other location throughout the world and every single person could focus on the exquisite experience and peace of our Heavenly Father’s presence, there could not be any room for the hurt and devastating destruction that we learn about so constantly in our world.”

Another time—it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving, about 1943—I went to priesthood meeting. There was a large framed board. It had the pictures of all the young men serving in the military. Priests who had been at the sacrament table a few months earlier were now in the war. Each week it would be updated. Those who were killed in action had a gold star by their picture; those who had been wounded, a red star; and those missing in action, a white star. Every week, as a 12-year-old deacon, I checked to see who had been killed or wounded.

In quorum meeting that morning, the member of the bishopric said: “This Thursday is Thanksgiving. We ought to all have family prayer in our homes.” Then he said, “Let’s put on the blackboard the things we are grateful for.” We did, and he said, “Include these things in your Thanksgiving prayer.” I got sick to my stomach, as we never had a prayer or blessing.

That night at 6:30 we went to sacrament meeting. At the end of the meeting, the bishop stood up and was very tender. He told about the young men from our ward who had been killed and wounded. He talked about our liberty, our freedom, our flag, and this great country, and our blessings. Then he said, “I’d hope every single family would kneel and have family prayer on Thanksgiving Day and thank God for His blessings.”

My heart ached. I thought, How can we have family prayer? I wanted to be obedient. I hardly slept all Sunday night. I wanted to have a prayer for Thanksgiving. I even thought I would say it if someone asked me, but I was too shy to volunteer. I worried all day Monday, and all day Tuesday, and Wednesday at school.

Dad did not come home on Wednesday until early in the morning. Thursday we all got up. There were five boys and two sisters. We skipped breakfast so we would have a real appetite for Thanksgiving dinner. To work up an appetite, we went to a nearby field and dug a hole six feet deep and six feet wide. We made a trench to it as a hideout. I remember with every shovelful of dirt, I thought, Please, Heavenly Father, let us have a prayer.

Finally at 2:30, my mother called us to come and eat. We cleaned up and sat at the table. Somehow Mom had managed to have a turkey with all the trimmings. She put all the food on the table, including the turkey. I thought my heart would burst. Time was running out. I looked at my father, then my mother. I thought, Please, now, someone, anyone, please can’t we have a prayer. I was almost panicky; then all of a sudden everyone started to eat. I had worked hard all morning and afternoon to work up an appetite, but I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t want to eat. I wanted to pray more than anything else in this world, and it was too late.

Beloved youth, be grateful for parents who have prayer and read the scriptures. Prize family home evening. Be grateful for those who teach and train you.

I was born in the village of Waipahu, Hawaii. My father worked on the pineapple plantation there. My parents were from Okinawa, Japan, and I was brought up in a Buddhist environment. But even though I had never gone to a Christian church, I was always drawn to Christmas. I thought it was a wonderful season, and Christmas drew me to Christianity.
When I was still very young, my family moved to Honolulu. I lost both my parents at a young age. My mother died when I was eighteen months old. Later, in my teens, my father died.
My first contact with the Church came when I was fifteen years old and living with my older brother. One Sunday evening I was listening to my portable radio when I heard the beautiful strains of a choir singing the chorus from Tannhäuser, by Richard Wagner. It was a song I had learned in my junior high school choir, but the quality of this performance was vastly different. I wondered what choir could be singing it. When I heard that it was the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, the word Mormon stuck in my head. I later learned that the announcer for that radio broadcast was Elder Richard L. Evans of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
During the summer, I did odd jobs to earn money. That summer I was working as a service station attendant. A man who worked there was a member of the Church, and he invited me to attend MIA (Mutual). At first I hesitated, but he was persistent, and I finally gave in. The warmth and friendliness of the members and missionaries impressed me, but again the music influenced me most. Their hymns sounded different from any I had ever heard.
When I first started reading the Book of Mormon, it seemed strange to me. The only name in the book that was familiar to me was the name of one of Nephi’s brothers—Sam! But there was a force that drew me to the Book of Mormon. I felt that if I were to become a member of the Church, my life would become much more meaningful.
When I told my older brother that I would like to be baptized, he said, “That would be fine. But if you become a member, you must be a lifetime member. You must commit yourself and be loyal.” I was baptized when I was sixteen.
After high school, I was in the military, and I had the opportunity to have an interview with Elder Harold B. Lee, who was then an Apostle and who later became President of the Church. It was a very precious time for me. For an hour he counseled me to go on a mission, to go to the House of the Lord, and to sustain the leaders of the Church. This same advice applies to every member of the Church.
I never forgot Elder Lee’s advice. I came to Salt Lake City, Utah, on furlough and went to the Salt Lake Temple. After I left the military and went to college, I saved money for a mission. During my mission, I was able to open the Okinawa area, where my father was from, for missionary work. Later, serving as president of the Tokyo Temple, I had the wonderful blessing of seeing many of the Japanese Saints receive their temple endowments. Seeing the joy in the faces of those being sealed was a great blessing.
Boys and girls, prepare yourselves to go to the house of the Lord. Going to the temple will be the greatest thing you can accomplish in your mortal life. In the temple, you can feel the Lord’s presence and know that He is there. You can kneel at the altar and make sacred covenants. The Lord will always keep His part of these covenants. When you keep your part of them, you will receive the greatest gifts, eternal life and exaltation.
You can begin now to prepare yourself spiritually, mentally, and physically by keeping the commandments, by being clean in mind and body, and by being faithful and loyal to our Heavenly Father. If you will do these things, you will be led toward the sacred covenants of the temple. Then you will have peace and be happy, no matter what trials and tribulations you meet.
You can also learn to search your family history so that your ancestors can have the same temple blessings. We will meet them some day and know them as our relatives. All the people of the world will some day have the same privilege. The Lord has many wonderful blessings awaiting us if we just take advantage of them.

It was on an overcast day years ago that my friend called and asked me to attend the Jordan River Utah Temple with her. I wasn’t sure I wanted to go out, as that day the things of the world were weighing heavily upon my soul. I felt I had little self-worth, and among other things, I didn’t feel needed in my ward.
But after some hesitation, I accepted my friend’s invitation with a prayer in my heart that if I would go and do the Lord’s work, He would help me find peace of mind and an answer to my prayers.
At the temple I enjoyed the session but felt no particular answer to my plea for help. After I had prepared to leave and was waiting for my friend, a woman in a wheelchair bumped into me. As I bent down to rub the pain in my leg, I heard her say in a sweet voice, “Oh, I am so sorry. Please forgive me.” She gently touched my head. “Are you OK, dear sister?”
I looked up into an angelic face of pure love. She then looked me in the eye and, with a squeeze of the hand, said, “This Church needs you, and there are so many that need your love. Reach out to others, and they will reach out to you. You are needed, wanted, and loved in the Lord’s kingdom.”
Tears filled my eyes, and I cried for a few minutes as she held my head against her. When I regained control, I wiped away tears of joy and replied, “You have answered my prayer.”
I realized I was speaking to Camilla Eyring Kimball, whose husband, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), had said: “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs” (“The Abundant Life,” Tambuli, June 1979, 3; Ensign, July 1978, 4).
I then found the strength to go home with joy and to give love from that day forward. I shall never forget how I was given peace and an answer to my prayer in an unexpected way on that glorious day in the house of the Lord.

Four months into her mission in Lusaka Zambia, Sister Christiana Ogunbote was told she would have to go home. The onset of the pandemic meant that many missionaries around the world would need to return to their home countries. So, Sister Ogunbote returned to her native United Kingdom. The changes continued: she was reassigned to the Scotland/Ireland Mission, and then recalled to Zambia in October 2020. When asked about life lessons she had learned while serving a mission during the pandemic, she shared the following in her own words:
“There’s been a lot of learning and life lessons. One big one is that when we are called to serve as missionaries, we don’t get to choose the circumstances of our call. We decide that we are going to serve the Lord with all that we have, no matter where it is or what language, whether it is inside missionary apartments or outside on the road. We don’t get to choose those circumstances.
“But we get to choose how we react. We get to choose if we want to serve with joy and with our whole hearts, or if we want to see the negative and be weighed down by the things that we can’t do. That was something that I was really able to learn and to be reminded that a mission experience is one of great joy. There is no greater joy than doing the work of the Lord.
“Being in Zambia was an incredible time of my life. Having my time in Scotland made my mission greater than I could have ever planned. Being able to be a missionary at home with my parents and trying to be a missionary in the middle of their day-to-day life was a very interesting scenario for me and for many other missionaries who did the same thing. I think it was the training we needed to understand why we wanted to be missionaries.
“Even if I went from one continent to the other and spent time in my home and time at home with my parents, throughout it all, I know that it was part of the experience that helped me to really understand that Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives. He knows each and every one of us and He wants for us to be able to do things according to His design.
“I have a better eternal perspective, knowing that not everything is going to be rosy. But having that eternal perspective is the way the Lord gives us the strength to endure the challenges and the trials that we face.”

Now I have had many witnesses in my life of the reality of Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior. I will share only one in conclusion. In December 1987, about two weeks before Christmas, I was asked by the federal agency where I worked to go to Israel on government business. I had been to Israel many times before, but never at the Christmas season. Unfortunately it was not a peaceful time in the Holy Land, as the first Palestinian intifada had begun—the revolt of the local Arab population against Israeli rule. There were riots in the West Bank, the streets of Old Jerusalem were deserted, and the shops were boarded up. There was political tension in the air, and, to make matters worse, a cold rain drizzled most of the week. The whole city bore a dreary aspect. Fearful of violence, the tourists stayed away in droves that year. Yet as I walked through Jerusalem, peace filled my heart to know that this was the city Christ loved so much; to know that this was the very place of His eternal sacrifice; to know that on these stone streets the Redeemer of all mankind had walked.

I returned to the United States late on a Friday evening, only six days before Christmas. When the Sabbath dawned two days later, my alarm woke me to the music of “O Holy Night,” and I heard these words:

The King of kings lay thus in lowly manger,
In all our trials born to be our friend.
[“Cantique de Nol” (“O Holy Night”), Placide Cappeau and Adolphe Adam, 1847]

The music and message pierced me deeply, and tears flowed as I contemplated the glorious sacrifice and perfect life of the Redeemer of Israel—He who was born to be the friend of the lowly and the hope of the meek. I thought of my experience in Jerusalem, and love flooded through my whole being for Him who had come to earth and taken upon Himself the burdens of us all. I was overwhelmed to think that He might regard me as a friend. I have never forgotten the tender feelings of that early Sunday morning—as pure a witness as I ever received.

It’s hard to go through life feeling like I’m a disappointment to God. So along with feeling like I could never be good enough, I also had a distorted idea of God, which hindered my ability to feel His love.

I remember a time in Primary when my teacher was teaching about keeping the commandments, and how all of our actions were watched by God and angels, and were recorded in the book of life. At the end of our lives, when we were judged, all of our good and bad deeds were calculated. I was told if we had more bad marks than good, we’d receive a lesser kingdom.

So I got the idea that God was always scrutinizing my every move and just waiting for me to do the next thing wrong so he could mark it down. Somehow, I missed the concept that He is a loving Father in Heaven who wants the best for me.

Even though I sang “I feel my Savior’s love” and “yes, I know Heavenly Father loves me,” I didn’t truly understand what those words meant.