Gospel Story Finder

To illustrate this further, I share the true account of a family with five sons who moved from Los Angeles, California, USA, to a small community some years ago. The two oldest sons began playing high school sports and associating with friends, leaders, and coaches—many of whom were faithful members of the Church. These relationships helped lead to the baptism of Fernando, the oldest, and his next younger brother.
Fernando later moved away from home, where he continued his education and played college football. He married his high school sweetheart, Bayley, in the temple. As Fernando and Bayley finished their schooling, they eagerly anticipated the birth of their first child—a baby girl. But during the process of their families helping to move Fernando and Bayley back home, Bayley and her sister were driving on the freeway and were in a tragic accident involving many vehicles. Bayley and her unborn daughter lost their lives.
Yet as deep as was Fernando’s pain, as well as that of Bayley’s parents and siblings, so too was the depth of contrasting peace and comfort that distilled upon them almost immediately. The Holy Ghost in His role as Comforter truly sustained Fernando through this incomprehensible affliction. The Spirit communicated an abiding peace that led Fernando to an attitude of forgiveness and love toward everyone involved in the tragic crash.
Bayley’s parents called her brother who was serving as a missionary at the time of the accident. He described in a letter his feelings upon hearing the difficult news of his beloved sister: “It was amazing to hear your voices so calm in the midst of a tempest. I did not know what to say. … All I could think of is my sister may not be there when I come home. … I was comforted by your infallible testimonies of the Savior and His plan. The same sweet spirit that brings me to the verge of tears as I study and teach filled my heart. I was then comforted and reminded of the things that I know.”

On the eve of our journey, the whole group met for a special family home evening at the meetinghouse. Afterwards, those who lived far away remained there all night to be on time for the bus, which came at 5:30 the following morning. Leaving early would give us enough time to get through Chilean customs.
As we traveled, everyone was filled with the spirit of love and brotherhood. Food and juice were divided generously. Each family had stories and testimonies to share, and there were many sessions of hymn singing. We looked out the windows often to admire the magnificent Andes mountains. We passed picturesque towns as our winding road traversed snowy peaks, ravines, and streams. Who could doubt that a divine hand had created this beautiful world?
We crossed the border into Chile, and before long we were making our approach to the temple. How our hearts leaped with joy when we saw the angel Moroni on the temple’s spire! We could almost hear the call of his trumpet. The temple workers were there to welcome us. They had arranged places for us to stay in homes of Chilean Saints, and we immediately went to the homes, bathed, and made ready for the special temple session that had been prepared.
Next came the sublime moment when we actually entered the house of the Lord. It was truly indescribable. Mere words can never express the spirit of that holy place. One must experience it—and that can happen only when a temple recommend is presented with a humble and contrite heart. Only then can the initiatory ordinances, endowments, marriages, family sealings, and baptisms for the dead be performed with the proper spirit.
Now we understood those who had gone before us. They had been right when they said that once we were inside the temple, we would never want to leave. Nevertheless, that wonderful day eventually came to an end. We went to the homes of our Chilean hosts, eager to return in the morning.

Once upon a time a husband and wife who loved each other very much wanted to have a child of their very own to hold and to cuddle and to love. As time passed and they had no children, they prayed to their Heavenly Father to send them a special child. Heavenly Father heard their prayers.
One day this husband and wife received a telephone call to go to a distant city to meet with some people who said they had a tiny baby that this man and his wife could adopt. Excited and filled with anticipation, they made the journey in their car. When they arrived at the city, they went to a certain home and there they were taken into a room where they saw a tiny baby lying in the middle of a big bed waiting for them. There really is such a thing as love at first sight, for when this husband and wife saw that little boy lying there all alone, they immediately fell in love with him. They took him home with them and loved the baby so much that they talked about him as their own beloved son.
Yet in spite of their great love for that little baby, they had a fear in their hearts that they might not be able to keep him as their very own child. They first had to see a judge and ask him if they could adopt this baby according to law. Because the judge wanted to make sure the little boy would be properly cared for, he first had to find out if the husband and his wife loved each other, if they had a good and happy home, and if they had enough money to feed and clothe the baby.
It took time for the judge to decide all these questions and all the while the love of the husband and his wife for the baby grew and grew. Finally, the judge gave legal consent for the couple to adopt the baby and this was done. Now the baby was their very own special child and their fear was gone that he would be taken away from them. Still, the judge could only give them permission to have the child during their lifetime on this earth. But they loved that baby more than that! They believed in Jesus and knew that Jesus had more power than the judge. Jesus could give them the child forever and ever and not just for this life only.
After the adoption papers had been signed and the baby had been given a name, the couple took their son with them to a temple of God. There they dressed in white clothes and dressed the little boy in white clothes too. Then they all knelt down at an altar in the temple. A man who held a special priesthood sealed that little boy to his new father and mother so that the family could be together forever. Now this boy really was their own special child, not only during this life, but even after death. If they all did what was right and loved one another, they could all live together with Jesus in heaven. Now that baby really was their special child!
Now, back to my story. When the father and mother had their little adopted baby boy sealed to them, the man who performed the ceremony told the father and mother to hold up their little son so he could look into the mirror. There was a mirror in the front and in the back of the room so that when the little boy looked he could see a long line of fathers and mothers holding little boys in their arms. Now he knew that he had a whole line of mothers and fathers who loved him with all their hearts and who would love him always. Then that little boy really did feel he was a special child. All children of our Heavenly Father are special, but the little boy knew that he was a very special child with parents who loved him.
I know that this story is true, because I am that father who loves his very own special child more every day and, as mothers do, my wife loves him even more. Every child who lives in such a family where love is can also feel he or she is a very special child.

In November 1956, Ricardo García entered the waters of baptism in Chile, becoming the first member of the Church in my country. Just one day before he died, he declared before his family and friends, “Many years ago, missionaries invited me to be happy along with my family. I am a happy man. Tell everyone in Chile the gospel is happiness.”
After having been nourished with the gospel of Jesus Christ, Ricardo dedicated his entire life to serving God and his neighbor with love. His example of discipleship has blessed generations, including me. The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that “a man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race.”

In 1975 Russell M. Nelson, at that time the general president of the Sunday School, visited Prague, commissioned by President Spencer W. Kimball to bless the Czechoslovak members. “I remember speaking with Brother and Sister Nelson about our desires to go to the temple—and our fears that we would never have that possibility in our lifetimes,” says Sister Snederfler. “Brother Nelson said, ‘Sister, one day you will come to Salt Lake City to the temple.’ As impossible as that sounded, I clung to that promise.” Four years later it came true.

In the spring of 1979, Jirí and Olga received an invitation from the First Presidency to attend general conference in Salt Lake City that fall and to receive their temple ordinances. After years of being denied visas to travel to Switzerland to the nearest temple, they despaired of ever receiving permission to travel to Utah.

One day, Jirí told some friends at work about the situation. One of his colleagues told him that the next morning she would bring him the necessary forms to fill out—and that she would take care of the rest. Within a few days Jirí and Olga had received permission to travel to the United States and had obtained American entry visas and airplane tickets! They attended the October 1979 general conference in Salt Lake City; afterward they were endowed and sealed in the temple.

“Did a miracle happen? Yes!” Jirí says. “The Lord sent us a friend who knew the way to get the permission—and he influenced the hearts of those who were deciding regarding the visa. When the First Presidency extends an invitation, no power on earth can thwart that plan!”

“It was a wonder, a miracle,” says Sister Snederfler.

The temple changed the Snederflers forever. “Suddenly our spiritual eyes and ears were fully opened,” he says. “We heard and saw ‘the mysteries of God’ and felt we must serve Heavenly Father better. And we knew we would have more opportunities for temple service.”

For reasons known only to himself, my husband left our marriage with little or no explanation to his family and friends. Perhaps in an attempt to make sense of his decisions, many of my in-laws made assumptions without asking me any questions. They came to some incorrect conclusions. Usually I heard their comments indirectly, which was frustrating because I had no opportunity to respond with the truth. These comments hurt me, and I often felt my integrity was in question. I wondered if these people I had been so close to had ever really known me.
Two years after my divorce, I was told that one of my former spouse’s relatives had made a comment implying I was unforgiving. The remark began to fester inside me. I wanted to clear my name; I wanted to tell that man just how wrong he was. As I counseled with my bishop on the matter, I realized that what was important was that Heavenly Father and I both knew the truth about my relationship with my former husband and my contribution to the marriage. I suddenly felt at peace. I knew I could talk to this man about his comment if I chose to, but I no longer felt it mattered much. Because of the Atonement I could let the hurt feelings go. I did not need to suffer because of this man’s—or anyone’s—opinion of me.

Those who follow the game of rugby know that the New Zealand All Blacks, a name given because of the color of their uniform, is the most celebrated rugby team ever. To be selected for the All Blacks in New Zealand would be comparable to playing for a football Super Bowl team or a World Cup soccer team.
In 1961, at age 18 and holding the Aaronic Priesthood, Sidney Going was becoming a star in New Zealand rugby. Because of his remarkable abilities, many thought he would be chosen the very next year for the national All Blacks rugby team.
At age 19, in this critical moment of his ascending rugby career, Sid declared that he would forgo rugby to serve a mission. Some called him crazy. Others called him foolish. They protested that his opportunity in rugby might never come again.
For Sid it was not what he was leaving behind—it was the opportunity and responsibility ahead. He had a priesthood duty to offer two years of his life to declare the reality of the Lord Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. Nothing—not even a chance to play on the national team, with all the acclaim it would bring—would deter him from that duty.
He was called by a prophet of God to serve in the Western Canadian Mission. Forty-eight years ago this month, 19-year-old Elder Sidney Going left New Zealand to serve as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
A mission instead of a place on the New Zealand All Blacks team? Sid responded, “The blessing of [bringing others] into the gospel far outweighs anything [you] will ever sacrifice.”

“Well, Cory, based on what we’ve talked about, I would be pleased to recommend you for full-time service as a missionary,” my bishop said, nearing the end of the interview.
“So, I guess I’m pretty well on my way to the mission field after this,” I said. I was already picturing myself in an exotic land, saving lost souls. But the bishop interrupted my daydreams.
“Actually, there’s one more very important thing I wanted to talk about before we end this evening,” he said. “Far too often potential missionaries are so involved in checking off items on their ‘to do’ list that they don’t keep their temple ordinances in the right perspective.” I felt like the bishop was describing me as he went on, “For some missionaries, receiving their endowment is sandwiched between checking the dimensions of their luggage and hitting next weekend’s two-pant suit sale.” My bishop’s words made me realize that I needed to consider the temple with the importance it deserved.
During the rest of the interview he explained the sacred nature of the endowment. By going through the temple, he told me, I would be making sacred covenants with my Heavenly Father that go far beyond the mission and are essential to my exaltation. “Not only that,” he continued, “your temple experience will fill you with the desire to serve. You will want those you teach to receive the same blessings of the temple that you have received. The strength you’ll receive from your temple covenants will benefit you as a missionary, but they also have eternal significance.”
The bishop’s words weighed on me as I walked slowly home. I began to feel nervous. I had looked forward my whole life to the time when I would enter the temple, but now I was especially eager to be ready.
A few weeks later I received my mission call. With excitement I read the words “Brazil Porto Alegre North Mission.” I could hardly wait to be among the Brazilian people, sharing the message of the restored gospel. I shared the news of my call with my extended family, ward members, and friends. I also noticed how many people were just as eager to know when I would go through the temple. Many had words of advice to offer me on how I should prepare myself mentally and spiritually before entering the house of the Lord.
During the next few months I made sure to attend temple preparation classes. I read my scriptures and prayed for a continuing reassurance of my decision to receive my endowment. The Spirit comforted me again and again. I also read the pamphlet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, written to assist those preparing to attend the temple for the first time. I was so grateful for the statements about the reverence and peace that prevail in the temple. During this time of preparation I gained a much stronger testimony of the sacred nature of the Lord’s house and the work that is performed inside.
I will always remember the sight of the temple the day I arrived to receive my endowment. I was filled with deep respect and reverence. I was humbled by the thought that I would go inside and make sacred covenants with my Father in Heaven.
I had arrived dressed in my Sunday best, knowing that my outward appearance reflected my inward respect for the house of the Lord.
“Welcome to the temple,” I was greeted as I showed my recommend and walked inside. Everything about the temple was beautiful. It felt like a piece of heaven on earth, and the friendly temple workers seemed like angels.
I remained in awe at the Spirit I felt. While I didn’t immediately understand everything that was taking place, I did realize the importance of the covenants I was making. It was clear to me why my bishop had spoken of the temple the way he had. The endowment I was receiving would extend not only far beyond the two years of my mission but even into the eternities. More meaningful to me than any of the advice I had received from various people was a scripture I had read as part of my preparation, “And that all people who shall enter upon the threshold of the Lord’s house may feel thy power, and feel constrained to acknowledge that thou hast sanctified it, and that it is thy house, a place of thy holiness” (D&C 109:13). I knew that the temple was the Lord’s house, sanctified and holy. I went expecting to feel God’s love, and I did.
Throughout my mission I frequently reflected on my first temple experience. I was also thankful for having attended the temple each week at the MTC. The blessings of the temple fortified me and gave me strength through difficult times. I was filled with the desire to serve and bring others to a knowledge of God’s plan. I wanted everyone I taught to have the same opportunity to make covenants with Heavenly Father and receive a greater understanding of His infinite love.
I am grateful for having realized that the temple will be a part of me forever and not something to simply check off before leaving on my mission. Since returning home from my mission, I have made temple attendance a priority in my life. The temple is a place of clarity and renewal for me. It is a place of holiness where I can feel God’s love for me and for all His children.

When Marco was called as bishop, one of his first appointments was with Brother and Sister Peña (names have been changed). They both suffered from trauma related to abuse. Their resulting mental health challenges were acute. Both had previously experienced failed marriages and were doing their best to raise a blended family. Ongoing employment challenges made self-reliance a struggle. They wanted to go to the temple but didn’t qualify for recommends. One or the other always seemed to be in crisis.
Marco loved them, but it quickly became apparent that they needed more help than he was capable of providing alone.
Unfortunately, the Peñas were reluctant to allow the bishop to involve others. At the time, an expectation existed among many Church members that it was the bishop who was responsible for helping members through challenges like these. In addition, Marco was afraid that the Peñas would feel like they weren’t important to him if he asked someone else to help.
So Marco did the best he could. He visited. He counseled. He tried to connect them to needed mental health professionals. Marco and his wife went to self-reliance classes with them and helped them work through some financial challenges. While others in the ward also helped, the bishop spent countless hours with the Peñas. At the end of five years, they had been sealed, but they still struggled with most of the same long-term issues they had when they first visited with him.
Looking back, Marco says that both he and the Peñas misunderstood the role of the bishop. In addition, the three of them failed to trust the Relief Society and elders quorum presidents to fulfill their divinely appointed responsibilities to help members with these kinds of challenges. The result was that they limited the Lord’s blessings in the Peñas’ lives.

At the time, I had been active in the Church only a short while. I had served a mission but later left the Church after getting caught up in the entertainment industry and using drugs and alcohol. I thought my family would be impressed with my career and wealth, but my mother didn’t care about any of that. Instead, she always put my name on the temple prayer roll, which angered me.
The woman I married had also left the Church. By the time our eight-year-old daughter, Tori, began asking questions about Jesus Christ, we had bottomed out spiritually. Despite my missionary service, I couldn’t remember anything about the Savior.
“There are people who are qualified to teach you about Jesus,” I told Tori. “Why don’t you talk to them?”
A few days later, two sister missionaries knocked on our door. Tori invited them in and began taking the discussions. Eavesdropping from another room, I heard the sisters teaching doctrines that I recognized to be true.
“Would you like to be baptized?” one of the sisters asked Tori after the third discussion.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Will your dad baptize you?”
I had not been to church for 20 years, but I knew my life was about to change. I sat in on the last few discussions, we started attending church, and my wife and I met with the bishop. As I repented, I decided that I must do everything possible to compensate for the years I had lost. I changed careers, magnified my Church callings, was sealed to my wife and daughter, and became a temple worker. That’s how I knew that a curious group of young people could become temple worthy.
My journey back to the temple was remarkable, and learning of Lars’s journey was a wonderful blessing that reminded me how we can all touch lives for good.

I pulled a book from my shelf the other evening. I read again the life of Mary Fielding Smith, wife of Hyrum Smith, sister-in-law of Joseph Smith, mother and grandmother of two presidents of the Church. A convert to the Church, originally from England and then from Canada, she came to Kirtland in her late 30s. There she met and married Hyrum Smith, who was left with six children after the death of his first wife.
Mary loved him and brought an added dimension into his life. In that process she set a course which brought her happiness only to be followed by immeasurable sorrow, for there was laid upon her a terrifying and fearful responsibility which took her from Nauvoo across Iowa to Winter Quarters and, in 1848, on the long trail that led to the Salt Lake Valley. At the age of 51 she was worn out, weary from the struggle. She passed away September 21, 1852.
Her life is the epitome of the Relief Society woman of those days. In fact, some of her experiences predated the organization of the society in 1842.
Mary’s boy Joseph was born at a time when her husband was snatched away by the mob militia then terrorizing Far West. Hyrum and the Prophet Joseph were taken to Liberty, Missouri, where they were imprisoned. Under the compulsion of Governor Lilburn W. Boggs’s extermination order, she left Missouri with the stepchildren for whom she had taken responsibility, as well as her own son. Her sister Mercy placed Mary, who was seriously ill, on a bed in a wagon box with her infant boy cradled at her side.
In February 1839, when winter was still upon the land, they traveled east across the state and then across the Mississippi to Quincy, Illinois, bumping along in a springless wagon where every jolt brought pain.
When her husband and the Prophet escaped from Liberty Jail and came to Quincy, life again improved. The Saints moved to what became Nauvoo and established their beautiful city on the Mississippi. But their peace was short-lived. Her little boy was less than six years old when a knock came at night on her window and a man said, “Sister Smith, your husband has been killed!”
Joseph F. never forgot his mother’s weeping through the night.
Her world was shattered. She was on her own now with a large family to care for. In the summer of 1846, they bade their comfortable home good-bye and rode a flatboat across the Mississippi. Taking matters into her own hands, she was able to trade, borrow, and barter for ox teams and wagons.
While living in Winter Quarters, she and her brother went down the Missouri River to purchase provisions and clothing. They had two wagons, each having two yoke of oxen. Camping for the night, they discovered in the morning that their two best oxen were gone. Young Joseph and his uncle spent the entire morning looking for the lost animals. They found nothing. Disheartened, he returned to tell his mother. Their situation was desperate, terribly so. As he approached, he saw her on her knees praying fervently, speaking with the Lord about their problem. When she arose to her feet, there was a smile on her face. She told her son and her brother to get their breakfast and she would look around. Following a little stream of water, and disregarding the words of a man who was in the area, she went directly along the bank of the river.
Pausing, she called to her son and brother. She pointed to their oxen, which had been tied to a clump of willows growing in the bottom of a deep gulch. The thief, who had tried to misdirect her, lost his prize and they were saved.
Mary’s faith imprinted itself in her son’s boyish heart. He never forgot it. He never doubted her closeness to the Lord.
All of you are familiar with her experience when one of her oxen, exhausted and worn, lay down to die while they were en route to these valleys in the West. In a mixture of utter desperation and simple faith, she secured consecrated oil and asked her brother and an associate to administer to the ox. They did so. It rose to its feet with a renewal of strength and carried them for the remainder of their long journey.
Such was the faith, sweet and simple and beautiful, which graced this woman’s life. She walked in the light of the Lord. She lived by that light. It guided her in all of her actions. It became the lodestar of her life. She exemplified the tremendous faith of the women of this Church—the women of the Relief Society, who today on a thousand fronts carry on the dedicated work of this remarkable organization.

Serving a mission can be a financial burden to any missionary and his family, but what do you do when you have three sons all wanting to leave at the same time? The Rozsa family has foreseen this, and the boys have been working since the age of 13 toward their missions. In addition to those icy Boston paper routes, they’ve sold avocados, worked in construction, and held other odd jobs. Last summer all three worked at the same taco stand at the same time, guaranteeing considerable confusion among unsuspecting customers. They report their bank accounts are in good shape for the missions to come.

One day in high school, I had a geography test where I was asked to recognize and name each continent and country in the world. Sounds tough, right? Well, it was. Especially since I am mostly blind.
I have tunnel vision, so my eyes—well, the one that works—can only focus on a small portion of a page at a time. Not ideal for a test where I needed to see the whole picture all at once.
I got frustrated pretty quick. I couldn’t tell Europe apart from South America or Africa from Australia. I got so frustrated that I started to cry, making the already jumbled shapes on my paper even more blurry. Thankfully, I was saved when my dad walked in to pick me up at the end of the day.
My teacher gave me extra time to complete the test at home. After dinner that night I sat at the table, ready to try again, while my siblings watched a video in the living room.
I started trying to fill in the map when something in the video caught my attention. A blind man was asking the Savior if He would give him sight. At that moment, that’s what I wanted more than anything.
Suddenly I realized that if anyone could help me, it was Jesus Christ. I didn’t have sight given to me that day, but as I listened to the Savior heal that man, I felt joy! I knew Jesus Christ cared about me and would help me finish my test.
I knelt down and offered heartfelt thanks to my Heavenly Father for the gift of His Son. Then, with newfound determination, I picked up my pencil, ready to try again.

“Thank you, President, I’ll be there tomorrow.”
What a great man, I thought to myself as I hung up the telephone. President Jerry E. Callister of the Mississippi Jackson Mission had just extended a two-week mission call to me to serve the Lord in the Bossier City, Louisiana, area. What a way to find out what true missionary work is like, I said to myself over and over.
I spent the next 24 hours packing, praying, and preparing myself for everything I could possibly come in contact with during the next two weeks. I prayed that I would be helpful to the missionaries, Elders Abbott and Watkins, with whom I would serve.
Saturday came quickly. My family drove me to Bossier, where we ate lunch before I called the elders from a pay phone across the street. After what seemed like an eternity but was only 10 or 15 minutes, the two young men, only a few years older than myself, pulled alongside us in their late-model mission car. I didn’t know what to do or how to act, but Mom quickly nudged me towards them. I timidly introduced myself to Elder Abbott. What a spiritual giant; I can’t possibly be of help to him, I thought to myself. And I questioned why I was out there.
After meeting Elder Watkins, I had nearly convinced myself that I couldn’t be of help to either of them.
I said good-bye to my family, and before I knew it the elders and I were out on the streets knocking on doors. I was amazed at how eloquently the elders approached the people. After an hour of tracting, Elder Abbott turned to me and said, “This house is yours.” I almost panicked. Out of nowhere I had this bone-chilling, nerve-deadening feeling.
“I can’t,” I said embarrassed.
“Yes you can,” he said. “You’ve got to think positively. There may be a potential convert in there.”
“Okay, okay,” I answered.
Knock, Knock.
As the door opened I could feel my heart sink down to my socks. The room was filled with drunken teenagers—I was only a teenager myself. As I began the door approach they began mocking and tempting us. Why me, Lord? I silently asked.
I didn’t knock on another door the rest of the evening. Later that night I began thinking about my day as a “full-time” missionary. Why did I have such feelings? Why was I scared to talk to people about the gospel? How would I be able to serve a two-year mission if I couldn’t even stand up to people and share the truths of the gospel for two weeks? I decided that there was only one way to get help with my concerns.
As I knelt down in humble prayer and poured out the desires of my heart to Heavenly Father, a peaceful feeling came over me. A still, small voice told me to search the scriptures. I began flipping through the pages of my Bible when I saw a verse outlined in red. It was a seminary scripture from the previous year. As I glanced down at it I knew my prayer had been answered. A warm feeling of insight and understanding came over me as I read the verse: “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Rom. 1:16).
Never before had this scripture come across to me with such astounding force. “The power of God unto salvation,” I said aloud. That was the key. I need not be ashamed of the gospel because it is the very key to salvation. Without it, not one soul will ever progress after this life.
The next morning I awoke with an inexpressible desire to spread the gospel.
Now five of the people I helped teach in those two weeks are members of the Church. What a strength we can receive through listening to the promptings of the Spirit!
I vividly remember the feeling I had as the Holy Ghost bore witness to me of that important scriptural message found in Romans. And to this day when I am confronted with an opportunity to share the gospel, that same still, small voice whispers in my ear, “the power of … salvation, the power of … salvation.”

Want to have a ball? The Mission Viejo California Stake did and decided to recreate Nauvoo of the 1840s as the setting. A likeness of Joseph Smith’s Mansion House was erected, along with the Nauvoo Temple, the Times and Seasons print shop, a gun shop, and various lampposts, street signs, trees, and shrubs. During that time period, the Prophet Joseph Smith owned a half-interest in a riverboat called the Maid of Iowa, which was often used to bring guests to Nauvoo for social affairs, so a stage-size “riverboat” was built for the ball. After some dancing, the ball participants were addressed by a master of ceremonies in his Nauvoo Legion uniform. He announced that the Maid of Iowa was about to dock, bringing the belles for the ball. Then each young woman stepped off the boat, curtsied, received a bouquet of baby carnations, and continued down another ramp to stand on the steps of the “temple,” where the arriving belles sang a song. Their fathers then claimed them for a dance, and they all enjoyed a delightful evening of music and fun in their imaginary Nauvoo.

Let me tell you about the day I was baptized. It was July 15, and it was a very hot day. A woman was also baptized that day. The baptismal font had been handmade by the missionaries, and it wasn’t much to look at.
We were confirmed right after we were baptized. First, the sister was confirmed by Elder Lloyd. I sat down with the other members, closed my eyes, and quietly listened. Elder Lloyd confirmed her and then began to pronounce a blessing on her. However, Elder Lloyd stopped talking, so I opened my eyes and looked at him with an intent gaze.
Even today I can clearly remember that scene. Elder Lloyd’s eyes were overflowing with tears. And for the first time in my life, I experienced being enveloped in the Holy Spirit. And through the Holy Spirit I gained a sure knowledge that Elder Lloyd loved us and that God loved us.
Then it was my turn to be confirmed. Again it was Elder Lloyd. He placed his hands on top of my head and confirmed me a member of the Church, bestowed the gift of the Holy Ghost, and then began pronouncing a blessing. And again he stopped talking. However, I now understood what was happening. I truly knew through the Holy Ghost that the missionaries loved me and that God loved me.

Some years ago I had a most unusual experience while flying in a four-seat, single-engine airplane.
We were flying toward Salt Lake City, and it was one of those days when the smog and fog had settled over the valley very quickly.
We were still flying above the fog at 3,000 feet when our pilot radioed to air traffic control at the Salt Lake tower for instructions for our approach and landing.
He was an expert flier, but the plane didn’t have radar or the other sophisticated equipment that larger planes have.
The controller told our pilot that although the runway was closing down because of poor ground visibility, he would talk us down through the fast-accumulating dense fog if we wanted him to.
Our pilot turned to us and said, “What do you want to do? We can either be talked down by the traffic controller, or we can go back to Nevada and land and wait for the weather to clear in a day or two.” We all agreed that we should land in Salt Lake if at all possible.
It was a very interesting experience to sit in our small plane and listen to the instructions from the control tower to the pilot. The controller, through radar, could see where we were. He told our pilot when to lower our altitude and when to turn either right or left. We were now in such dense fog that we could not see anything at all and were totally under directions from the tower.
I remember thinking how completely dependent the four of us were on the expertise and knowledge of the controller, who could see us on the radar scope.
It was a remarkable experience, for even though we kept lowering our altitude, we could not see the ground at all.
At about 500 feet our pilot said to my friend who was sitting in the right front seat, “Now you watch for the runway, and when you see it, tell me.” The pilot concentrated on watching the instruments and following exactly the instructions he received from the air traffic controller. I was watching the altimeter.
Soon we were down to 400 feet, 350 feet, 300 feet—still we could see nothing. Then all of a sudden my friend in the front seat shouted, “I see the runway!”
We were all relieved as we looked out the windshield of the airplane. There, directly in front of us, was the runway, and the nose of our airplane was right on the white line in the center of it as we approached for landing. How grateful I was that someone in the tower had the experience and knowledge to give us careful instructions so we could safely land the plane!

Vitaly: Katya and I were married in Omsk on February 25, 2006. (The laws of Russia require a civil marriage prior to a temple sealing, as many countries do.) The next morning we set off on a trip to the Stockholm Sweden Temple. We boarded an airplane in Omsk and flew three hours to Moscow, where we spent the rest of the day. Then we took an overnight train to Saint Petersburg. Once there we got on a bus with other Latter-day Saints and traveled for eight hours to Helsinki, Finland. The last leg of our journey was an 11-hour ferry ride to Stockholm.
Finally, we had reached the temple.
For some, such a long trip may seem like a challenge, but in many ways, our trip across Europe made a great honeymoon.
The day of our sealing, March 1, 2006, was a great day—a day of peace and assurance. I knew that the person whose hand I was holding was the one I’d share eternity with. This thought alone filled me with great joy and gratitude to Heavenly Father for trusting me with His daughter for my wife. I felt closer to Him than ever before.

“Here, kitty, kitty! Here, kitty, kitty!” Brandon called over and over again. Mother went to the back door. “Brandon, it’s getting dark now. Come inside.”
“But, Mommy, one of the kittens is missing from the box!” Brandon ran to the porch. “See?” he said. “One, two, three, four, five. They’re all here except Mandy.”
“But how can you tell which one is missing?” asked Daddy, joining them on the porch. “They all look alike.”
“Oh, no,” said Brandon. “They are all the same color, but each one is a little different from the others, and I know that Mandy is the missing one.”
“But you should come inside now,” said Daddy. “The kitten will be all right. She’ll probably come back during the night. I’ll check later to see if she’s here.”
“But I can’t go to bed until I find her,” insisted Brandon. “If I were missing, wouldn’t you worry about me?”
“Of course, we would!” said Daddy. “I’ll tell you what—let’s get the flashlight and look for the kitten together.”
They searched under the back porch, under the bushes, and everywhere else that they thought a frightened kitten might hide. But they couldn’t find Mandy anywhere.
“It’s getting very late,” said Daddy. “We really should go back in.”
“Wait, Daddy. Listen! Did you hear that?”
Daddy stopped and listened.
“I hear Mandy crying. Do you hear her, Daddy?”
Sure enough, there was a faint “Mew! Mew!” coming from somewhere.
“Up, Daddy—shine the light up.”
Daddy shone the flashlight above them, and there was the tiny kitten on a limb of the mulberry tree.
Daddy called, “Here, kitty, kitty! Here, Mandy!”
But the kitten only cried louder. “Mew! Mew!”
“I’ll climb up and get her,” Brandon offered. “I climb this tree all the time.”
While Daddy held the flashlight, Brandon climbed to the limb where the kitten was. But she pulled away.
“She’s very frightened,” said Daddy. “She needs to know that she can trust you.”
Brandon slowly stretched out his hand as he said softly, “Here, Mandy.”
When Mandy didn’t move, Brandon patted Mandy’s head. “Here, Mandy,” he said again. Then very slowly he slipped his hand under Mandy’s chest and lifted her to his shoulder. She clung tightly to his jacket as he climbed back down.
Later, when Mandy was safely back in the box on the porch and Daddy was tucking Brandon into bed, Daddy said, “You know, this reminds me of a story about Jesus.”
“You mean Jesus had a kitten that got lost?” Brandon asked in surprise.
“No,” said Daddy. “But he told a story about a shepherd who had many sheep. One little lamb got lost, and the shepherd didn’t rest until he found it and brought it back to be with the others.
“Jesus is called the Good Shepherd, and we are his lambs. The Bible says that he knows every lamb by name, just like you know each of those kittens. And just like you love those kittens so much that you wanted to make sure that they were all safe before you went to bed, Jesus watches over us and wants to keep us safe.”
“I like being called a lamb,” said Brandon. “And I’m glad Jesus loves me so much.”

When the bell rang at the end of class, Brian turned around in his desk. “Hey, Chris, have you seen the ads for the latest video game?”
Chris grinned. “Yes, it looks awesome!”
“Do you have it?” Brian asked.
Chris shook his head. “It’ll take me forever to save enough money. But I wish I could play it right now!”
Chris really wanted the new video game. His mom had seen the game and said it was OK for him to get, but he had to buy it himself. But he knew it would be months before he could afford it.
“Guess what?” Brian said. “I got it yesterday!”
Chris’s jaw dropped. “No way!”
Brian nodded. “Do you want to come over tomorrow and play it?”
Chris nearly jumped out of his chair. “Sure I do! That’d be great!”
As soon as Chris got to Brian’s house the next day, they settled in front of the TV. Chris couldn’t stop smiling as he earned points and advanced level after level.
But after a while, Brian put down his controls. “Let’s go outside,” he said.
Chris reluctantly put down his own controls and followed Brian out the back door. They played tag and then hide-and-seek. Chris was hiding behind some bushes when he realized that Brian was taking a long time to find him.
“Where is he?” Chris thought.
Chris left his hiding place. After a minute, he smelled smoke. Was something burning? He followed the smell around the corner of the house and stopped in his tracks. Brian stood in front of him, smoking a cigarette.
Brian smiled and held out a cigarette toward Chris. “Here. It’s fun,” Brian said.
Chris stared at the cigarette. “No,” he said.
Brian puffed on his cigarette. “Tell you what,” he said. “If you smoke with me, we’ll go back in and play the game some more.”
Chris felt like time had slowed down. He thought about how much he wanted to play the game and then he thought about the long months it would take him to save his money for his own copy.
But then Chris thought about the cigarette and what it would mean to smoke it. He thought about the promise he had made to the Lord to never smoke.
Chris stood up straight. “No. I won’t do it for anything.”
Brian looked stunned. But Chris turned away and walked home. When he got there, he sat down on the sidewalk in front of his house. He felt a little sad, but he was proud that he had the strength to make the right choice.