Gospel Story Finder

When our grandson Winston was 6 years old, he asked his mom during a fast and testimony meeting if he could share his testimony. He was young, but as a family they had a regular habit of sharing their testimonies during family home evening. Our daughter knew that Winston understood what a testimony was and knew he could share it on his own without help from either of his parents. She gave him the green light, and he walked to the front of the chapel and stood at the podium.
He then unfolded a piece of paper he had retrieved from his pants pocket and began to read: “One time I was in China. I was there for a meeting for work (Remember, he is 6 years old!) But I saw a leopard zoo, but I still had a meeting for work. I really wanted to pet the leopards there. So I skipped my meeting for work. But I was at the leopard zoo, but the leopards were lost in the zoo. I was scared. So, I said a prayer that I will be safe at the zoo, and I was safe. And they teach us to do the right thing to do, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Our daughter and son-in-law, and I’m sure the entire ward, were perplexed by Winston’s testimony. Here was a young boy who simply wanted to share his witness about how Heavenly Father answered his prayer but did not think he could do it publicly without wrapping it in an exciting story. That’s what all the grownups did. Testimonies are simple- they are statements of truth that we know about Jesus Christ and His gospel.

It took me seven years to qualify to serve a full-time mission. When I first spoke with my bishop, Bishop Tapueluelu, about it, he gave me some guidelines to strive to live by. He said if I followed them and learned to be obedient, I would be blessed. The first few guidelines—daily scripture study and weekly church attendance—were pretty doable. “This is easy,” I thought. But I got offended when I was told to change certain “worldly” things in my life, and my pride and stubbornness got the best of me.
Hoping for an easier way out, I moved to four different wards and spoke with four different bishops. I even went back to school to pursue a medical degree. Then I felt prompted to drop everything and prepare once again to serve a mission. So I did. I went back to Bishop Tapueluelu and humbly asked for his help. I was told that there was a weight requirement for missionaries—and I realized that I weighed over the limit. Immediately, feelings of discouragement and embarrassment cluttered my mind, but my bishop encouraged me. He expressed his love and faith in me and said, “My door is always open. We can work on it together! One weakness, one week at a time.”
So I visited with my bishop every week, working out one weakness at a time. I had no idea that I’d have to wait another four years, just trying to qualify to serve a mission.
During those years, I strived to come closer to Christ and apply His teachings in my life. As challenges came, His Atonement became real to me. I relied on the power, comfort, and strength He gave me through His Atonement when my best friend passed away, when our family lost our home, and when I got into a car accident. When circumstances caused me to lose many of my friends, I fell into depression, but the Savior pulled me out. My Friday nights with friends were replaced with working out at the gym and studying about the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
I prayed every night for the people whom I would one day serve and even for my future companions!
I eventually qualified and was called to serve in the New Zealand Auckland Mission, Tongan-speaking.
When I entered the missionary training center, I realized that there was more to learn about Jesus Christ and His Atonement and myself. Even though I’m of Tongan descent, I had never been to the South Pacific islands, and I struggled with the Tongan language. When I got to New Zealand, I had no idea what people were saying to me in Tongan. I had so much to say, but because I couldn’t speak the language, my words were few, simple, and broken. I nodded my head when people asked me questions. They laughed at me, and I laughed with them, but behind closed doors the laughter turned into tears of frustration and discouragement. I thought to myself, “I worked seven years to come out here for this?”
So I prayed to Heavenly Father. In Ether 12:27 we learn that our weaknesses can become strengths if we trust in Him. I told Him about my weaknesses and my trust in Him, and I got back up again … and again … and again. I started to rely even more on Christ and also on my strengths.
I love this gospel and I love street art, so I decided to combine the two. I packed my scriptures, a sketchbook, charcoal pencils, permanent markers, and cans of spray paint in my backpack. My companions laughed and asked, “What are you doing with spray paint?” I explained, “I may not speak the language yet, but I can show others my testimony.”
For the remainder of my mission, I used street art—on paper, not on buildings—and the Spirit to teach others about Christ. And as crazy as it sounds, it worked. Many people didn’t want to hear my message, so I sketched it. Doors and eyes opened when I told them that I did graffiti. They didn’t believe me. They timed me for three minutes, and I sketched the word faith while teaching them about it. Among them were many who felt judged and unloved. I could testify that with faith in Christ we can feel of His love and forgiveness, and He can help us change for the better. He did for me.
Seven years of preparation for my mission helped me find myself. That time allowed me to gain a testimony of Christ’s Atonement and His power to help me overcome my weaknesses and use my strengths to share what I knew with others. In the end it was worth the seven years.

Later in my youth, my brother and I slept in an unheated bedroom in the winter. People thought that was good for you. Before falling into a warm bed, we knelt to say our prayers. There were expressions of simple gratitude. They concluded in the name of Jesus. The distinctive title of Christ was not used very much when we prayed in those days.

I recall jumping into my bed after I had said amen, pulling the covers up around my neck, and thinking of what I had just done in speaking to my Father in Heaven in the name of His Son. I did not have great knowledge of the gospel. But there was some kind of lingering peace and security in communing with the heavens in and through the Lord Jesus.

It was while I was on my first mission that I discovered the constant need for dependence on the Lord.

I was a young missionary in northern England in 1922. Opposition to the Church became very intense. It became so strong that the mission president asked that we discontinue all street meetings, and in some places tracting was also discontinued. The opposition started largely among the ministers, and it became very, very severe. They didn’t know anything about us to speak of. I remember tracting one day when a lovely lady came to the door. We were having a nice conversation and the name Mormon was mentioned by my companion. Her husband came to the door in a Navy uniform, and he said, “Oh, you can’t tell me anything about those old Mormons. I’ve been in the British Navy for twenty years. We sailed right into Salt Lake port, and they wouldn’t even let us land.” That was so typical of what they knew about us in those days.

My companion and I had been invited to travel over to South Shields, on the northwest coast, and speak in the sacrament meeting.

In the letter of invitation, we were promised there would be a number of nonmembers present. They said, “Many of our friends do not believe the lies that are printed about the Church.”

We fasted and prayed sincerely and went to the sacrament meeting. The hall was filled. My companion had planned to talk on the first principles, and I had studied hard in preparation for a talk on the Apostasy. There was a wonderful spirit in the meeting. My companion spoke first and gave an excellent inspirational message. I followed and talked with a freedom I had never before experienced in my life. When I sat down, I realized that I had not mentioned the Apostasy. I had talked about the Prophet Joseph Smith and had borne my witness of his divine mission and of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

After the meeting ended, many people came forward, several of whom were nonmembers, and said to us, “Tonight we received a witness that Mormonism is true. We are now ready to consider baptism.”

This was an answer to our prayers, for we had prayed to say only those things which would touch the hearts of the investigators.

With thoughts of serving as a new branch president after only three months of membership, President Quashigah recalls that he was almost overcome with fear and feelings of inadequacy, but he knew that faith could replace fear. He was confident that the Savior would help him carry the burden and that God would qualify him for the responsibility of leading his newly found branch. His testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ was undeniable. He had to accept the call.
Through her temple experience, Sister Quashigah has found a new boldness in sharing the gospel with friends and family. She feels the promptings of the Spirit and hears the still, small voice testify to her of the doctrines of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She recalls that before the Church came into their lives, she would weep often because of her desire for a united family. The day after President Quashigah was baptized was one of the happiest days of her life, as they all got into the truck and went to church together.
Because of the Church, the Quashigah’s report that their lives and family have undergone dramatic changes. President Quashigah has a construction business, but he tries to only take jobs that will allow him to be available to serve the members of his branch and be in branch meetings on Sundays. Sister Quashigah has adjusted her work schedule in the sewing shop to allow her to be home on Saturdays to prepare the family for the Sabbath. They have family home evening and study the scriptures and Come Follow Me together. The family has learned that the Lord’s work is a work of order. They are trying to have that same order in their home and with their family.
President and Sister Quashigah agree that the most important gifts they have ever given their children are the ordinances and covenants of the temple that bind them as an eternal family and allow them to feel daily joy in the gospel.

I am the deacons quorum president in my ward. I stayed after church with two friends to tidy up, emptying trash and putting up chairs. After we were done, we started to walk home.
It was a hot, sunny day. As we were walking home, a woman called to us from her doorway. She asked if we were missionaries. We said we were not. She said, “But you are Mormons, aren’t you?” We told her that we were and asked what we could do for her. She told us that her husband was very ill and they were heading to California the next day for surgery on some blood clots in his lungs. She asked us to come in and wondered if we could give a prayer. One of the other deacons said that if she meant a priesthood blessing, then we were not able to do that. The lady asked if we could at least give a prayer. I said that would be fine and that we would. I felt nervous about saying a prayer in a stranger’s home, but I felt like it was the right thing to do. I then offered a prayer. I prayed for this man’s safety and comfort and that he would feel better after his operation. The family thanked us, and we went home.
I really felt like the Holy Ghost was with us and helped us know what to do. Even though we don’t yet have the Melchizedek Priesthood and cannot give priesthood blessings, we were still able to help this family. When I got home I told my parents what had happened. We decided that the family probably did want and need a priesthood blessing.
I called the bishop and told him the story. He thanked me for what we had done. The bishop called the high priests group leader and sent him to check on the family. The sick man was given a priesthood blessing, and the family was very grateful.
One of the high priests called me later and asked if I could please organize the deacons to mow the family’s lawn. Since they were leaving town for the operation, they needed our help with their lawn. I would check on the lawn to see if it needed to be mowed and get the deacons together when it did.
This was one of the neatest and most spiritual experiences I have ever had. Our bishop said he thinks the Lord placed us in the right place at the right time for someone to show her faith and for the young men to respond as the Lord has designed (see D&C 84:111). He said this is an awesome example of the Aaronic Priesthood in action.
I will remember this experience for a long time. It helps me remember that I need to be an example of Christ at all times and in all places (see Mosiah 18:9). I could be called upon at any time to help or serve others, whether they are members of the Church or not. I don’t know if this family will ask more about the Church. I do know that they will remember that when they asked us to help them, we were able to give comfort and hope. It feels good to help others in any way I can!

At the Missouri River they transferred to a small steamboat. It arrived near Council Bluffs very late at night, and passengers and baggage were unloaded helter-skelter in the darkness. At daybreak the weary travelers located their scattered luggage, then assembled at the Church’s emigration campground. There they were organized into companies of tens, fifties, and hundreds by Church emigration agent Joseph W. Young. William, being a military veteran, was named captain of the guards.

Wagons and teams had to be readied, baggage loaded, food supplies purchased and packed, and teamsters trained. While this outfitting was underway, the camp was struck by a violent storm with high winds, torrential rains, and vivid lightnings. Cattle broke loose and stampeded, doing great damage. Lightning killed at least two Saints and badly injured several others. Floods washed gullies ten feet deep in places. During the storm William, as captain of the guards, was called on to help a sister give birth under a collapsed tent—and both mother and son remained his lifelong friends in Utah. The company needed two or three days to recover from the storm, and many Saints never found boxes and bags washed away by the flash floods.

One husband was invited to reflection and experienced a major wake-up call when he listened to a portion of an audiotape recording of my therapy session with his wife. She had offered the tape to him because in the session she was able to articulate some of her core beliefs: The belief that he did not see her as equal to him. The belief that nothing she had contributed to their marriage had made a difference to him.

He telephoned me in deep grief—a deep grief born of a deeper understanding of his wife’s pain.

“I never knew,” he said. “I never knew I caused her this much pain.”

His voice is a voice of authority in her life. His words can heal her pain or induce more pain.

I can remember a time period in my teenage life, when 14 and 15 years old that I had the thought, "I'm now the age that Joseph Smith was when he received the First Vision. I wonder if, as I pray in faith, I might be visited by angels, too." I prayed each morning and night in my bedroom closet -- taking the Sermon on the Mount admonition literally -- and sometimes I would peak my eyes open to see if I was still alone. I really thought it would be amazing to be visited by an angel; I still do, but during that time I thought about it and hoped for it often. It never happened, and I have to admit that, although I was content with the Lord's will, I was a little disappointed.

During that generally same timeframe, I went on splits with the missionaries for my first time. I will never forget this experience. We taught an investigator what was then called the 4th Discussion, on the Plan of Salvation. I remember joining in to help explain and to testify about what I believed to be true. I remember rejoicing and being edified together along with this earnest investigator hearing these truths for her first time. With her, I remember feeling absolutely filled with joy. Her face said it all! After the appointment, as we walked to the street corner where my mother was to pick me up at an appointed time, I remember thinking, "I hope she's running late! I don't want this to end!"

Since then I've served as a home teacher, a missionary, a friend, and in many other callings in the church through which I've begun to formulate an idea. There could be at least the following two reasons why God didn't send an angel to visit me as a youth. The first one you may already be guessing: he had already given me an angel father and an angel mother, both of whom love the Lord and who regularly taught me from the same scriptures that a visiting angel would quote from; the Lord had provided me a patriarchal blessing through an inspired stake patriarch; and provided countless others, including righteous siblings, seminary teachers, Sunday School teachers, quorum presidents and advisors, and friends. I was constantly surrounded by inspired messengers.

The second reason could be that God had something better in store for me -- something better in store for each one of us -- than to only receive. I ask you, which do you consider greater, to receive a temporary visit from an angel, or to be able to regularly minister as and speak with the tongue of an angel yourself? Which is more lastingly transformative? In terms of my experience, I can honestly say that being with the missionaries that day, teaching the plan of salvation to that earnest investigator was at least as impactful as an angelic visit would have been, if not more so. I got to be an angel, not just see one!

My wife, Rhonda, and I have parents who are just regular people—probably a lot like your parents. But one thing I love about our parents is that they dedicated their lives to serving God, and they taught us to do the same.
When Rhonda’s parents had been married for just a couple of years, her 23-year-old dad was called to serve a full-time mission. He left behind his young wife and their 2-year-old daughter. Then his wife was called to serve with him during the last seven months of his mission—leaving their daughter in the care of relatives.
A few years later, now with four children, they moved to Missoula, Montana, so her dad could attend the university. However, they had been there only a few months when President Spencer W. Kimball and Elder Mark E. Petersen extended a call to my father-in-law to be the first president of the newly created Missoula stake. He was only 34. Thoughts of the university were left behind as he sought to do the Lord’s will—not his own.
My parents have served in the temple for more than 30 years—Dad as a sealer, Mom as an ordinance worker. They also served five full-time missions together—in Riverside, California; Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia; Nairobi, Kenya; the Nauvoo Illinois Temple; and the Monterrey Mexico Temple. In Mexico they worked hard to learn a new language, which wasn’t easy at 80 years of age. But they sought to do the will of the Lord rather than to pursue their own desires in life.
To them, and to all such dedicated Latter-day Saints throughout the world, I echo the words spoken by the Lord to the prophet Nephi, the son of Helaman: “Blessed art thou, … for those things which thou hast done … with unwearyingness … , [for thou] hast not sought thine own life, but hast sought my will, and to keep my commandments.”8
As we seek to do God’s will by faithfully serving Him and our fellowmen, we feel His approval and truly come to know Him.

It was not long after my graduation from this institution that I found myself in Vietnam. I had been commissioned an officer in the Army of the United States and was serving as an LDS chaplain.

Throughout the country our LDS servicemen were organized into groups that functioned like quorums and moved with their military units. These groups were placed in one of three districts, each of which acted under the direction of a district presidency.

My military unit was base-camped in the southern part of the country. Our district president was an air force chaplain by the name of Farrell Smith. I served as his first counselor. As chaplains we were responsible for meeting the spiritual needs of the military units to which we were assigned and also had the general assignment of looking after our LDS servicemen wherever we might find them.

Time will not permit me to describe the nature of the problems we faced. Suffice it to say, they reached far beyond our experience.

We were extremely pleased when we received word that Victor L. Brown of the Presiding Bishopric was on his way to visit with us. We were to travel with him from one end of the country to the other, meeting with as many of our servicemen’s groups as possible.

We quickly made the arrangements; I cite but one example. We needed a pilot who could commandeer either a chopper or fixed-wing craft and be able to fly at a moment’s notice.

For such arrangements we bypassed the military chain of command and dealt with a higher authority. The Lord always saw that the right man was in the right place.

Chaplain Smith and I then sat in council together. We made a list of the questions we wanted to ask our visiting authority. We divided them up and committed them to memory.

When the times and places of our meetings were announced, our servicemen came from all over the country. We held meetings on the sides of runways, in bunkers and ditches. We held meetings with the ground rumbling beneath our feet and the sound of large guns thundering around us. In some instances we were even able to meet in small military chapels.

Between meetings, as soon as we were airborne, Chaplain Smith and I would take turns asking Bishop Brown questions. His counsel was wise, but it became more than evident what we were doing, and he called a sharp halt to our question asking.

He said, “Brethren, I am going to tell you a story. You won’t like it, but it is a great story.”

He then proceeded with his story, and, as he had anticipated, we did not like it.

The story brought an end to our question session and with it the realization that our problems were ours and it was for us to solve them. That is why the Lord placed us there.

We had gone up the canyon to study, but the mountain air and warm sunshine made it too relaxing to concentrate. So I just lay there in a kind of sleepy intoxication while Sarah continued her story. I rolled over to let the sun warm my face when I noticed two young boys climbing the mountain beside us—a trek that was pretty rough going. As the boys pulled themselves up by grasping branches and roots as anchors, rocks and earth under them slid down into the water. Sometimes the roots they grabbed pulled right out of the dirt, and they would slide down the face until they found something to grab onto. The small avalanche they created continued without them into the water below.
Sarah had finished talking, and I looked over and saw the boys had finally made it to the top of the mountain. Self-satisfied, they happily scanned the world from their new vantage point and never noticed the scars they had left on the fragile mountainside.

It was a beautiful fall morning. “Too nice a day,” Chase thought, “to have to go to school.” As he pedaled his bike, he looked at the clear blue sky and the bright reds and yellows of the newly turned autumn leaves. This was a day for playing tag football, jumping in huge piles of leaves, catching frogs by the stream—not a day for learning about nouns and fractions and presidents. Chase rode past the sign that read “Ridgecrest Elementary,” then parked his bike at the bike rack.
“Hey, Chase!” Derek called.
“Hey, what’s up, Derek?” Chase called back.
“I got a new video game on Saturday,” Derek said. “Do you want to come over to my house after dinner tonight and play it?”
“I can’t. It’s Monday, family night—you know, when we all do something together. Maybe I can come over tomorrow night.”
Chase and Derek got to their seats just before the bell rang. Chase noticed a boy he had never seen sitting toward the front of the room. He had straight shiny hair the color of coal. On the chalkboard in big letters Mrs. May had written Gishi Ren.
“Good morning, class,” Mrs. May said, rising from her desk. “I want to introduce you to a new student.” She motioned for the new boy to come stand beside her. “I’ve written his name on the blackboard. It’s pronounced Yee-she Ren. Let’s all say ‘Welcome, Gishi.’”
Gishi hung his head bashfully as the class repeated the welcome. Chase’s eyes met Derek’s. Derek made a face and rolled his eyes.
“Gishi is from China,” Mrs. May explained. “His father has been living here for a year doing research at the university. Now Gishi and his mother have come to join him.”
Later that morning at recess, Chase and Derek played foursquare with some friends. Bouncing the ball, Derek whispered, “Watch this.” He pointed to Gishi, who stood a few feet away with his back toward them. Derek threw the big red ball hard. It bounced off the back of Gishi’s head.
When Gishi turned around, Derek yelled cheerfully, “Oh, sorry,” and winked at his friends. Gishi smiled timidly.
At lunch, Chase and Derek sat together as usual. Derek was describing his new video game. “It’s really cool. It’s like you’re in a jungle, and you’re looking for a diamond mine, and … hey, look, there’s the new kid.” Gishi spotted Chase and Derek and started walking toward them.
“Oh, no,” Derek said. “He’d better not sit with us.” But Gishi did just that. He smiled, nodded, and began eating.
Derek turned to Chase. “We can’t let him think he’s allowed to eat with us every day. Come on, let’s move.”
Chase felt sorry for Gishi. For a moment, he considered staying at the table. But when Derek got up and walked to another one, Chase followed him. Derek continued talking about his new video game, but Chase was only half listening. He kept glancing over at Gishi eating all alone.
That night, Chase’s parents gathered the family together for family home evening. After the opening prayer, Chase’s father said, “Tonight we’re going to talk about two of your ancestors—your great-great-grandparents, Joshua and Elizabeth McGowan.
“I think you older children have heard about them already, but Chase and Emily probably haven’t. I just felt impressed that I should tell you their story. As a young man, Joshua joined the Church in England and soon afterward came to America and settled in Kirtland, Ohio. There he met a lovely young woman named Elizabeth Sanders, who was also a member of the Church. They married and bought a farm with money Joshua had saved in England.
“One night,” Chase’s father continued, “an angry mob came and burned all their crops. They burned the barn and their farmhouse. Everything was destroyed. Elizabeth and Joshua had to start all over. Joshua became a blacksmith, and he did that for the rest of his life. They moved to Nauvoo and then later went to Utah with the Saints.”
“But wait—I don’t understand why those people burned their farm,” Chase interrupted.
“Simply because Joshua and Elizabeth were members of the Church,” Dad explained.
“But they must have done something to make those people so mad,” Chase insisted.
“No, Son, they didn’t do anything. It’s just that back then, being a member of the Church was often dangerous. Many people didn’t like members of the Church.”
“Why not?”
“Because they were different. They belonged to a new religion. Most folks didn’t know what the Church was really about. It’s just human nature, I guess, for some people to resent anything that’s new or different.”
“Well, it doesn’t make sense, Dad.” Chase frowned.
“No, Son, it doesn’t.”
That night Chase lay awake thinking about Joshua and Elizabeth and Derek and Gishi.
Tuesday morning was cold and cloudy. It wasn’t hard for Chase to go to school on such a dreary day. As he parked his bike at the rack, Chase heard Derek’s voice coming from the playground.
As he walked over, Chase saw Derek pointing his finger and making fun of Gishi. Gishi bowed his head and looked nervously at the crowd forming around him. Some of the boys and girls snickered.
Chase ran up to Derek. “Knock it off!”
“What?”
“You heard me, Derek. Leave him alone.” Chase looked Derek right in the eye so he would know he was serious. Derek stared back at Chase. Finally, Derek shrugged.
“I was just fooling around,” Derek muttered as he walked away.
“Are you OK?” Chase asked Gishi.
“Yes. OK.”
“Believe it or not, Derek’s really not so bad. I think he just needs time to get to know you.”
Gishi said nothing, but nodded.
Then Chase asked, “Do you want to come to my house after school and play video games?”
Gishi smiled shyly. “Yes. Fine. You live where?” Chase wrote down his address and gave it to Gishi.
That afternoon, the two boys played video games for a while, then talked about some of the differences between English and Chinese. They took turns pantomiming various actions and having the other say the word for the action in his language.
Gishi wrote something on a paper and showed it to Chase. “This is you in Chinese.”
Chase looked at the pencil strokes shooting out at different angles. “You mean that’s the word for ‘Chase’ in Chinese?”
“No,” Gishi said. “Friend.”
“Love one another. Be kind to one another despite our … differences.”Elder M. Russell Ballard of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “Doctrine of Inclusion,” Ensign, Nov. 2001, 38.

Jeffrey Holland, who remarked just two weeks ago of his own unspeakable love for BYU, recounted in a 1987 address something that happened in the early years of the Brigham Young Academy. This remarkable event teaches us about the faith of a young student who was willing to speak of what was surely a prophetic vision and also about the love of the larger Provo community for BYU. As I read this long account, I want you to think of this upper campus as one consisting of the Maeser Building, nearly complete, and several large fruit orchards extending to the mouth of Rock Canyon. Hold that thought. Now, in his talk President Holland had just spoken of Karl Maeser’s last visit to his beloved campus. He then told this story:

Several years after Brother Maeser’s death a proposal was made to construct a memorial building in his name, not downtown on University Avenue but high atop Temple Hill, where a new campus might be built consisting of as many as three or perhaps four buildings someday. The cost would be an astronomical $100,000, but the Maeser Building would be a symbol of the past, a statement of aspiring tradition, an anchor to the university’s future.

In spite of a staggering financial crisis clouding the very future of the university at the time, the faculty and student body took heart that in 1912 the Maeser Building was at least partially complete and the university would give diplomas to its first four-year graduating class. But even as graduation plans were being made, equally urgent plans were underway to sell the remainder of Temple Hill for the development of a new Provo suburb. The university simply had to have the money to survive. Eighteen members were graduating in this first four-year class, but even if the student body tripled in the years ahead, surely there would be more than enough room to accommodate them on the space now occupied by the Maeser, Brimhall, and Grant buildings on our present campus. Yes, the rest of the space on the hill should be sold. The graduation services would conclude with a sales pitch to the community leaders in attendance.

When Alfred Kelly was introduced that morning as the student graduation speaker, he rose and stood absolutely silent for several moments. Some in the audience thought he had lost the power of speech. Slowly he began to speak, explaining that he had been much concerned over his remarks, that he had written several versions and discarded every one of them.

Then, early one morning, he said, with a feeling of desperation regarding his approaching assignment, he walked north from his downtown apartment to where the partially completed Maeser Building stood (as Horace Cummings would later describe it) as an “air castle” come to earth on Temple Hill. He wanted to gain inspiration from this hope of a new campus, but he felt only grim disappointment. The sky was starting to glow from the morning light, but the darkly silhouetted Maeser Building seemed only a symbol of gloom.

Kelly then turned his eyes to view the valley below that was also still in shadow. The light from the rising sun was just beginning to illuminate the western hills back of Utah Lake with an unusual golden glow. As morning came, the light gradually worked down from the hilltops, moved across the valley floor, and slowly advanced to the spot where Kelly stood.

He said he partially closed his eyes as the light approached and was startled by what he could still see. He stood as if transfixed. In the advancing sunlight everything he saw took on the appearance of people, young people about his age moving toward Temple Hill. He saw hundreds of them, thousands of young people coming into view. He knew they were students, he said, because they carried books in their arms as they came.

Then Temple Hill was bathed in sunlight, and the whole of the present campus was illuminated not with one partially completed building, nor with homes in a modern subdivision, but rather with what Kelly described to that graduating class as “temples of learning,” large buildings, beautiful buildings, hundreds of buildings covering the top of that hill and stretching clear to the mouth of Rock Canyon.

The students then entered these temples of learning with their books in hand. As they came out of them, Kelly said their countenances bore smiles of hope and of faith. He observed that they seemed cheerful and very confident. Their walk was light but firm as they again became a part of the sunlight as it moved to the top of Y Mountain, and then they gradually disappeared from view.

Kelly sat down to what was absolutely stone-deaf silence. Not a word was spoken. What about the sales pitch? No one moved or whispered. Then longtime BYU benefactor Jesse Knight jumped to his feet and shouted, “We won’t sell an acre. We won’t sell a single lot.” And he turned to President George Brimhall and pledged several thousand dollars to the future of the university. Soon others stood up and joined in, some offering only a widow’s mite, but all believing in the dream of a Provo schoolboy, all believing in the destiny of a great university which that day had scarcely begun. (See B. F. Larsen, “Fifty Years Ago,” speech given at a BYU Alumni meeting, 25 May 1962, B. F. Larsen biographical file, BYU Archives, pp. 4–5.) [In Holland, “Who We Are,” pp. 24–26]

This past conference, Sister Barbara Thompson, who is in the Relief Society general presidency and is single, shared these words:

When I left high school, my goals were to attend college . . . , get married to a handsome man, and have four perfect, beautiful children. . . .

Well, as you may know, many of my goals were not realized in the way I had hoped. I finished college, served a mission, got a job, continued on with my schooling . . . , and continued working in my profession for many years. . . . But there was no handsome man, no marriage, and no children. . . .

One work colleague who was not a member of our Church said to me, “Why do you continue to go to a church that puts so much emphasis on marriage and families?” My simple answer to her was, “Because it is true!” . . . With the Church and gospel of Jesus Christ in my life, I found happiness and I knew I was on the path the Savior would have me follow.

She spoke of one way she could influence others spiritually while being single:

I had the opportunity to serve many years in Young Women and felt that gave me an opportunity to teach and testify to younger women who were developing their testimonies.10

Twenty-five years ago Sister Thompson was Shellie Nielson’s Laurel adviser. Shellie Nielson—who is now Shellie Nielson Seager—wrote Sister Thompson more than 20 years after being in her Laurel class, expressing her appreciation. Sister Seager wrote:

I woke up at 5:15 a.m. and started thinking about you and what an impact you have had on my life. . . .

. . . We were a priority to you. You always showed us so much attention, care, and love. You were always so much fun! . . . Most important, we knew you had a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ.11

Sister Seager now has a family with five children. Sister Thompson’s influence for good will forever touch Sister Seager and the generations that follow.

Because my wife and I knew of no schools in Madrid, Spain, that were run by members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and because we wanted our children to receive a religious education, we registered them in a school sponsored by another religion. Because our children were the only members of our Church attending this school, we hoped they wouldn’t become targets of religious discrimination.
One day in October 1999, our son, age 16 at the time, brought us an invitation from school to attend a lecture and discussion titled “Religious Sects: Mormonism.” The lecture was to be given by a prestigious authority known for having devoted a good part of his life to the study of religions, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in particular.
Fearing that an inaccurate impression of our beliefs might be given, I got in touch with our stake president and informed him of the meeting. He took note of the date and place and asked me to speak with the Church’s Public Affairs Department to see if a representative could attend and answer any questions that might arise.
When the date arrived, my wife, my son, and I went to the school. The hall where the lecture was held seated 500. Once we had taken our seats, our eyes sought any other Church members who might be in the large crowd that was filling the room. Soon we discovered Brother Quirce of Public Affairs. He gave us a friendly wave from the other side of the room.
The meeting started, and the director of instruction introduced the speaker, heaping praise upon him and giving a detailed accounting of the universities where he had obtained his degrees, both academic and ecclesiastical. The speaker began his talk by briefly summarizing the history of Christianity from the time of Jesus Christ and His Apostles until the year 1830, when the world first began to hear of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, organized in America.
The speaker was not too severe in his appraisal of our faith. It was obvious he had read many of our books because he frequently quoted verses from the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants. He also read extensively from the Prophet Joseph Smith’s account of the First Vision. It appeared he intended to lead his listeners to the conclusion that if Mormonism were indeed a sect, as he believed, it was not one of the more dangerous ones.
I took notes of all the things I thought to be in error, such as when he said that Mormons were not Christians and that Joseph Smith had copied the Book of Mormon from an old American novel. The lecture was quite detailed and ended after more than 90 minutes, at which time the hall erupted into resounding applause.
When the applause was over and the discussion began, the first person to get to his feet was Brother Quirce, who introduced himself as a member of the Church. He explained how Joseph Smith had obtained the golden plates and what his contribution had been as the Prophet of the Restoration.
As I listened to Brother Quirce, I suddenly felt the need to get up also and clarify certain concepts so that everyone present might know the truth about our doctrine and our beliefs.
When I told my family I wanted to speak, my son was frightened and said, “No, Dad, please. Don’t say anything, because everybody here knows me, and I could have problems with my teachers.” I thought it cowardly for me to let Brother Quirce be the only one to speak, but I didn’t want my son to have problems, so for the moment I remained silent. As time passed, however, I could feel the increasing insistence of the Spirit.
I again told my family what I was feeling, and my son continued to express his opposition to my getting up. Finally, no longer able to resist the influence of the Spirit, I slowly got up and made my way around the rear of the auditorium to join Brother Quirce. A murmur of surprise arose from the crowd: “It’s another Mormon.”
As Brother Quirce concluded his remarks, I put my hand in my pocket to draw out the notes I had taken, but to my surprise my pockets were empty. I had left the notes at my seat. At just that moment it was my turn to take the floor.
I didn’t know where to begin. Everything I had intended to say disappeared from my mind. I began by saying that I had been a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for 26 years and that I knew it is the only true Church on the earth, that Jesus Christ had restored it through the Prophet Joseph Smith, that Jesus is the Son of God—our Savior and Redeemer.
I don’t remember how long I talked or all the words I said. I just remember that the silence was overwhelming and that I could feel the gaze of 500 pairs of eyes upon me. When I was finished, I thanked those present for giving me an opportunity to express my beliefs and turned and left the hall. I was at peace, but my legs were shaking.
When the meeting was over and I was able to rejoin my family, my son came up to me and said, “Dad, you did the right thing. You bore a beautiful testimony, and you spoke with power and authority. Dad, I’m proud of you!”
My son knew he might have problems at school because of what I had done, but it was more important to him to know his father has a testimony he is willing to stand up for.

Brother Woodruff said:
“The first sermon that I ever heard in this Church was in 1833, by old father Zera Pulsipher, who died in the south, after having lived to be considerably over eighty years old. That sermon was what I had prayed for from my childhood,” he said. “When I heard it I had a testimony for myself that it was true. I received it with every sentiment of my heart. He preached in a schoolhouse upon a farm that we owned in Oswego County, New York. He opened the door for any remarks to be made. The house was crowded. The first thing I knew I stood on top of a bench before the people, not knowing what I got up for. But I said to my neighbors and friends, ‘I want you to be careful what you say as touching these men (there were two of them) and their testimony, for they are servants of God, and they have testified unto us the truth—principles that I have been looking for from my childhood.’
“I went forth and was baptized. I was ordained a teacher. I was always sorry that I was not a deacon first, for I had a desire to bear the priesthood in its various degrees as far as I was worthy. I had had a desire for years, not only to hear the gospel, but to have the privilege and power of preaching it to my fellow men. I was a miller by trade, and I spent many a midnight hour in the mill calling upon the Lord for light and truth, and praying that I might hear the gospel of Christ, and be able to teach it to my fellow men. I rejoiced in it when I did receive it.” (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, sel. G. Homer Durham, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946, p. 304.)

Later I found out.
The twenty-year-old emergency paramedic driving the ambulance had his hands full. What was he to do with a three-year-old girl who was frightened and crying? Her parents were both injured, her mother critically. What could he say or do to calm this child?
Maybe a song would help, he thought. But he couldn’t recall any children’s songs—except one. It was a Sunday School song he had just learned in the church he had only recently joined. There was no reason this little girl would recognize it or take comfort in it. But the impression that he should sing grew stronger, so he began: “I am a child of God, and he has sent me here …”
The little girl grew quiet and after a verse began to sing with him, “I am a child of God, and so my needs are great …”
At the end of the second verse he asked softly, “Are you a Latter-day Saint?”
She replied, “Yes.”
“Are your mommy and daddy?”
“Yes.”
He reached for the radio transmitter. “This is rescue calling base. Hi, Beth. Would you do me a favor? Look up the number of a Bishop Brower in the phone book and give him a call. We have a critically injured woman coming in who’s a member of his church and we need …”
So the bishop received the message, and priesthood holders were at the hospital within minutes.
A year later we attended the missionary farewell of the young paramedic who helped save Gaydra’s life.

When I was young, my grandfather Martin taught me that in the latter days, temples would literally dot the earth. At the time my grandfather expressed this thought to me, I could hardly imagine it. But I was raised with this knowledge and feeling in my heart. Recently I looked on the Church’s Web site under “temples,” and I could plainly see that temples, designated by red dots, are starting to spread over much of the earth.

As we face some of the harsh realities of life and the real obstacles that are there for us to overcome, we often make matters much worse by imagining difficulties that never materialize. We are afraid of what might happen in the future, but it is unproductive to spend time fretting and worrying about what "might" go wrong. I love the story of Abraham Lincoln and the Fox River. Abraham Lincoln, as a young lawyer, was traveling through Southern Illinois on the circuit. In his own words, he tells the story "Many years ago when I was a young lawyer and Illinois was little settled, I and other lawyers used to ride the circuit; from county seat to county seat in quest of business. Once after a long spell of pouring rain which had flooded the whole country, transforming small creeks into rivers, we were often stopped by the swollen streams which we with difficulty crossed. Still ahead of us was the Fox River, larger than all the rest, and we could not help saying to each other, if these streams give us so much trouble how shall we get over Fox River? Darkness fell before we had reached that stream and we all stopped at a log tavern, had our horses put out, and resolved to pass the night. Here we were right glad to fall in with Methodists' presiding elder of the circuit who rode it in all weather, knew all its' ways and could tell us about Fox River. So we all gathered around him and asked him if he knew about the crossing of Fox River. Oh yes he replied, I know all about Fox River. I have crossed it often and I understand it well. But, I have one fixed rule with regard to Fox River. I never cross it until I reach it."
Good advice.