Gospel Story Finder

During the final months of our mission last year, we experienced an event that taught once again this profound principle that each of us is known and loved by God.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell was coming to New York City for some Church business, and we were informed that he would also like to have a mission conference. We were so pleased to have this opportunity to hear from one of the Lord’s chosen servants. I was asked to select one of our missionaries to provide the opening prayer for the meeting. I might have randomly picked one of the missionaries to pray, but felt to ponder and prayerfully select one whom the Lord would have me ask. In going through the missionary roster, a name boldly stood out to me: Elder Joseph Appiah of Accra, Ghana. He was the one I felt the Lord wanted to pray at the meeting.

Prior to the mission conference, I was having a regularly scheduled interview with Elder Appiah and told him of the prompting that I had received for him to pray. With amazement and humility in his eyes, he began to weep deeply. Somewhat surprised by his reaction, I started to tell him that it was all right and he wouldn’t have to pray, when he informed me he would love to offer the prayer, that his emotion was caused by the love he has for Elder Maxwell. He told me that this Apostle is very special to the Saints in Ghana and to his own family. Elder Maxwell had called his father to be the district president in Accra and had sealed his mother and father in the Salt Lake Temple.

Now, I didn’t know any of what I just related about this missionary or his family, but the Lord did and inspired a mission president on behalf of one missionary to provide a lifelong memory and testimony-building experience.

At the meeting, Elder Appiah offered a wonderful prayer and made a humble contribution to a meeting where Elder Maxwell taught the missionaries of the attributes of Jesus Christ. All who were there will never forget the feelings of love they experienced for their Savior.

Lori Ransom, a 16-year-old Idaho girl, recently won first place nationally in the American Legion Auxiliary Americanism contest.
Lori’s essay placed first in the senior division in Pocatello, went on to win in the state, and was then entered in the national competition. She was flown to Seattle, Washington, on August 22, 1976, to attend the Legion’s national convention where she read her essay to 2,000 women representing every state. Her essay was geared to the question “Is Americanism in danger of extinction? How may I preserve my heritage?”
Winning essay contests is not a new experience for Lori. She was first in the local Americanism contest in both the fifth and seventh grades. Lori has also won two state awards in French competition.
Lori is secretary of her Laurel class, organist for the junior Primary, and is a third-year seminary student. She does a lot of artwork for her ward and for Highland High School (Pocatello, Idaho).

“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” her dad said. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her that I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”

I remember my beloved grandmother, Mary Caroline Roper Finlinson, making homemade soap on the farm. Her recipe included rendered animal fat, a small portion of lye as a cleansing agent, and wood ashes as an abrasive. The soap had a very pungent aroma and was almost as hard as a brick. There was no money to buy soft, sweet-smelling soap.
On the farm, there were many dusty, sweat-laden clothes to be washed and many bodies that needed desperately a Saturday night bath. Bathing with homemade soap, you could become wonderfully clean, but you smelled worse after bathing than before. Since I use soap more now than I did then, I have developed a daily appreciation for mild, sweet-scented soap.

After two years of custodial work, another ward was added to our building, making a total of four. On Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday we had Relief Society, with the officers arriving as early as 8:30 A.M. The Relief Society room, foyer, kitchen, south steps, nursery, and rest rooms had to be ready. While Relief Society was in session, we cleaned the rest of the classrooms, the chapel and the cultural hall.

Then at 3:00 the Primary officers began to arrive. The relief society room, nurseries, kitchen and rest rooms had to be checked and cleaned if needed. When Primary was over we picked up, swept, straightened chairs, and cleaned backboards to get ready for activity night. This went for about a year; then two wards moved out of the building. It seemed like we were on vacation!

Last July I visited the Church’s Polynesian Cultural Center in Hawaii. Before the evening show of dancing and music from various island cultures, I went backstage to thank the performers. I arrived during those frantic moments before the show began. Scores of performers were hurrying through the last-minute tasks required to coordinate their efforts in a fast-moving performance. I wondered how the director would bring this turmoil to order in preparation for my brief remarks.

It happened as if by miracle. On signal, one strong voice began, and the strains of “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” quickly swelled into a beautiful chorus as the uniquely talented young people brought their thoughts into harmony with the Lord.

We had a similar experience in our family. Last spring some of our children and fourteen of our grandchildren had a family outing in the mountains. One of our activities was a meeting to share experiences and testimonies. We gathered at the appointed time, but the little people were only gathered in body. The large spirits in those little bodies were clamoring for more of the exciting outdoor activities they had been enjoying. The cabin where we met was too small to contain them, and it seemed as if a dozen restless children and their outcries were ricocheting off the walls in every direction. Grandparents will appreciate the apprehension I felt at trying to sponsor something serious in that setting.

Suddenly the instinctive wisdom of young mothers rescued our efforts. Two mothers began to sing a song familiar to the children. Others joined in, and within a few minutes the mood had changed and all spirits were subdued and receptive to spiritual things. I offered a silent prayer of thanks for hymns and for mothers who know how to use them!

Jason stepped high and smashed his foot right in the middle of a muddy puddle again and again. Splat! Sploosh! Splat!

“Jason Andrew, what are you doing?” his mom hollered from the open kitchen door.

“I’m bored,” he replied as he walked toward the back door of his house.

“And you are muddy from the knees down.” His mom smiled at him. “Go change your pants and put on some dry socks and shoes. Then come back. I have something that you can do for me.”

As he went upstairs, Jason noticed that the house smelled of fresh-baked cinnamon-raisin bread. It made his mouth water. He really wanted a piece of the warm bread with lots of melted butter on it. But he would do what his mother wanted him to do first. After he changed, he went back downstairs to the kitchen.

“I’m here, Mom. What do you want me to do?”

His mom turned from the dishes and said, “Will you please carry this loaf of bread over to Sister Chester’s house for me? She can’t bake anymore, and she enjoys homemade things. She’ll probably try to say she doesn’t need it, but I want you to tell her, ‘Just being neighbors, Sister Chester.’ It is important to tell her in just those words. Can you remember them?” Jason nodded. “When you get home, you can have a glass of milk and a slice from this second loaf.”

Jason watched as his mom wrapped the fragrant bread in a piece of shiny foil. Then she placed a large red ribbon around it.

As he walked across the street with the warm bread, he practiced saying, “Just being neighbors. Just being neighbors.” He wondered why it was so important to say exactly that.

As Mom had said, Sister Chester objected to taking the bread. However, as soon as he said, “Just being neighbors, Sister Chester,” she smiled and took it.

“Thank you,” she said.

The screen door closed behind Jason with a bang when he came home. “Mom, why did Sister Chester change when I told her we were ‘just being neighbors’? After I said that, she smiled, took the bread, and said thank you.”

“Many years ago, before you were born, Daddy and I bought this house. I was expecting Rachel and became sick not long after we moved in. I had to stay in bed for about a month. One day, not long after I became ill, Sister Chester came over. She cleaned the kitchen; made dinner for your dad and me; and washed, dried, and folded all the dirty clothes. I tried to get her to stop, but she smiled that special smile of hers and said, ‘Just being neighbors, girl. Just being neighbors.’

“She came over almost every day to fix dinner and do chores until after I had Rachel. On days when she couldn’t come, she sent her granddaughter over with dinner.

“Now that she is older and can’t do as many things as she used to, it is my opportunity to help her. Doing things for others helps us to feel useful and good inside. Besides, it is what Father in Heaven wants us to do.”

After eating two slices of cinnamon-raisin bread (with melted butter) and drinking a large glass of cold milk, Jason went outside. He sat on the back porch with his chin in his hands.

He was bored again. He looked across the fence. Mr. Jensen’s yard was full of leaves. Normally he would have the leaves raked and bagged and sitting on the curb by now for the garbage collector to take. But Mr. Jensen’s arm was broken, and he didn’t have anyone to help him. Jason’s mom had just taken dinner over to him.

Jason’s face broke into a smile, and he headed for the shed.

As he began raking the leaves from Mr. Jensen’s yard, Mr. Jensen and Jason’s mom walked out of the house.

“Jason, you don’t need to do that,” Mr. Jensen said.

“Just being neighbors, Mr. Jensen, just being neighbors!”

One mother was puzzled by the unruly behavior of her young son, Nathan. As she struggled to turn his negative talk and actions to positive ones, she watched how other families directed their children. She also confided in a friend who knew how to listen. Her friend asked helpful questions, such as, “When Nathan comes home from school, what do you do?” As the mother described her daily response, she realized she was reinforcing Nathan’s negative behavior and that she needed to change her own attitudes and actions. She tried a different approach, and her son changed, too. Lives were blessed by the careful listening and questioning of a caring friend.

I remember a family in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I met years ago: a father, a mother, and two teenage daughters who belonged to no church but read the Bible together every day. They pondered the Savior’s life and His words. When we found this family, they had already decided that Christ would have a church and that they should find it. They knew that it would have prophets and apostles at its foundation because that is what Christ had placed in His church when He lived on the earth. They knew that the resurrected Lord had appeared to His Apostles.
And so it seemed right to this family when we testified that God, the Father, and His Son, the Savior of the world, came to a boy prophet, Joseph Smith. And the Holy Spirit, which they also recognized, told them it was true. They recognized the truth, that this is the church of Jesus Christ, in large part because they had always remembered Him. Every day they had gathered to read about Him and His words, and so they remembered Him. And after they were baptized, they were ready to follow the living prophet because they knew that the Savior always speaks to His prophets to bless His people.

I would like to tell you just one little experience of my own along that line. When I was a young fellow and was out at the old Saltair beach dance hall on Great Salt Lake, when that was reckoned to be the finest dance hall in all America, one of my girl friends came up and said, “LeGrand, we are having a banquet downstairs. Wouldn’t you like to join us?” Now you know the old saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. I couldn’t turn that one down. So I took hold of her hand and went hopscotching down the steps over to the north end of that eating hall. We approached a long table that was all spread, and I saw by every plate a tall beer bottle like they used to have in those days. As soon as I could see that that was where we were headed, I stopped just like I was shot. I looked at that table, and I looked at that girl, and there I was, holding her hand. She said, “What’s the matter? Are you too good to drink a little beer?” Now you know if you have hold of a girl’s hand, you have to think pretty fast when she talks to you like that. I had to think fast.
I said, “Well, Elsie, I guess I am. I thought you were.”
“Goodbye,” I said, and I went up those steps a lot faster than I came down them.

Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was fourteen and a half years old, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national victory.
After she was no longer eligible for college competition, she decided to go on a national professional tour. Diane knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.
During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew up and over the vault—just like all the other times. But this time was different. This time she turned her body just a little too far. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost six months and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to imagine her life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.
“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few centimeters every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”
Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so restless. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“One day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”
Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of serious injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics taught me to get back up so I could be a champion again.”
On the day she finally realized she would never walk again, Diane made the decision to return to school to work for her degree. She was lying on her bed with all her scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”
Now Diane teaches a class full of seven-year-olds who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”
Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen intently as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.
Her personality hasn’t changed at all. Just listen to her speak and you’ll hear the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her own laughter frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences opens up the communication between us. They soon forget that I’m in a wheelchair. When they do that, the youth can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though, in a wheelchair, I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.
Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose.’ She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.
Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The entire time she was a gymnast, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars of just doing handstands for fun, her only fear was of being blind or paralyzed. “I had such uneasy feelings about wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. I would avoid people in wheelchairs. I was afraid that I’d end up in a wheelchair if I got too close to one. It was almost like having thought about it so much somehow prepared me for a wheelchair,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s unconquerable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that is evident in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”
The lights are turned down in the room as she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the fun-lover and gymnast, lashes on the screen in time to some fast, contemporary music. When the presentation is over, young people surround her excitedly.
Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to drop out of school. The third time, she made a goal to become one of the best students in her class, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.”
Diane just shrugs her shoulders and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never handle the situation,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you handle the situation or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”
You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion. For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.
She is a champion again.

A related strength that can be corrupted to our downfall is a desire to excel in a Church calling. I remember a graduate student who used his Church service as a means of escape from the rigors of his studies. He went beyond what we call Church-service time and became almost a full-time Church-service worker. He consistently volunteered for every extra assignment, giving help that was greatly appreciated in the various organizations and activities of the Church. As a result of this inordinate allocation of time, he failed in his studies and then mistakenly blamed his failure on the excessive burden of Church service. His strength became his downfall.

Dark, threatening clouds rolled over Davao, the Philippines, one Sunday evening. The misty gloom of that fast-falling night haloed the lights from the island homes that bordered the gulf and dotted the hillsides. Suddenly a stiff wind arose, and gulls cried as they wheeled through the air to more sheltered spots among the rocky cliffs along the shore. The wind increased, and the lights along the shore went out. The waves crashed thunderously and shot spray high into the air. Back in the hills and valleys frightened carabao (water buffalo) bawled, pigs squealed, and chickens squawked, their cries whipped away by the wind.
The wind rose to a shriek as it bore down mercilessly with its knifelike rain, bending coconut palms to the ground and trying to push everything, even houses, out of its path. Some trees yielded to the force of the wind and toppled to the ground, their roots seeming to claw the air.
Then the storm reached the house of the Lopez family. It pushed against the doors and rattled the windows where Anita and her sister Sabina were sleeping on their mats.
A lone palm leaf slapped across the window, and Anita sat up with a jerk. Her eyes grew round. What had awakened her? Prickles went up and down her back as she reached over and shook her sister. “Sabina! Wake up!”
“Huh?” Sabina asked as she rolled over.
“Sabina, listen! That’s not the river making all that noise! It’s a storm, and I—I’m scared!”
Sabina sat up and took her sister’s hand in her own. “It is a storm! A bad one! Maybe it’s a typhoon!” Sabina gasped as the two girls hugged each other tightly.
A sudden blast drove what seemed like a riverful of water through the cracks of the walls and around the closed window. Everything was drenched. The house lurched and swayed like a cradle rocked by a giant’s hand.
“Mama! Daddy!” screamed Sabina. “Come quick!”
Even as Sabina cried out, Mama and Daddy rushed in and hurried the girls to a safer part of the house.
After a while, Daddy called out above the noise of the storm, “I believe it will be safe if we stand to the side of the small window that overlooks the river. I’d like to be where we can see how fast the water is rising. Typhoons have caused disastrous floods here in the past.”
Anita clutched Mama’s hand as the family moved next to the window. When they looked out at the river, Anita’s eyes grew rounder than ever, and she held her mother’s hand more tightly. The river had already flooded over its banks, and their home was surrounded by water! The house next door was half submerged and bobbing up and down as it was driven downriver. Were their neighbors still in it? As they watched, another house went by, then another, and another. Some were smashed to bits. Some still had people in them who shouted from the windows, “Help! Save us! Save us!” One house that swept by had a yelping dog clinging to the ridge of the roof that was barely above-water. A loud crash behind their home meant that another neighbor’s house had collapsed.
Anita began to cry out loud. Daddy picked her up and held her tightly. Then he called out above the sound of the storm, “We must pray to the true God of whom we have just learned!”
They all bowed their heads as Daddy prayed.
“Heavenly Father, we are grateful that now we know of Thee and can talk to Thee. Please deliver us from this flood! Save us, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
It was the Lopez family’s first prayer since listening to the missionaries the night before.
Anita looked out the window. Two big logs loomed out of the black waters and shot straight toward their house! Then the logs suddenly turned sideways and caught on something. It was as if they were being set in place by a giant hand. The onrushing floodwaters were turned aside by the two huge logs, and the house stood fast!
All night long Anita and her parents and sister watched the miracle of the logs and praised the God of heaven and earth for His goodness in answering their prayer.
Early the next morning as the storm wore itself out, the Lopez family cautiously went outside. Nothing looked the same. Palm trees, their branches ripped off, were strewn all over. Broken bits of houses were tangled with underbrush and mud. Dead chickens, cats, and dogs were scattered here and there. Sad-faced people pulled at piles of debris, looking for missing loved ones.
Sabina looked up at Daddy and said, “I’m glad that we learned about Heavenly Father and about how to pray to Him and that He helped us when we asked Him to.”
Daddy nodded.
“I wish everyone knew about Him,” Anita added, squeezing her father’s hand.
Daddy said, “I know that I don’t ever want to be without Him again. Even if our house had been destroyed, talking to Him brought me peace. I hope that the young men who told us about Him will come back very soon and tell us more.”

Let’s go back 60 years. The minutes of the Wandamere Ward of the Grant Stake for June 4, 1944, indicate the sacrament was administered by my friends Ward Jackson, Arthur Hicks, and me to a congregation of 141. Then it was off to war. In May of 1945, I was blessing the sacrament again—but in a foxhole on Okinawa for a congregation of only one—myself!

The training of my youth took over without fanfare—something only partially appreciated by me then—including abstaining from coffee in those same circumstances when water was scarce and highly chlorinated.
I do not know what lies ahead of you young men, but my advice would be to fasten your seat belts and hold on firmly to your principles!

Years ago I read of an African-American man who rose from humble circumstances to become the general counsel of General Motors, without question one of the most lucrative and prestigious positions for a lawyer in all the world. As a boy he was poor; he was required to obtain his education through efforts that were heroic and under circumstances that were difficult in the extreme. He was required to work one and even two menial, dirty jobs regularly and, if I am not mistaken, occasionally three. He was asked if he felt uncomfortable among the highest-paid executives in the world. His answer was no. He said that most of them had been poor boys, like him, who had worked their way up being tested, challenged, threatened, and discouraged. Adversity is the refiner’s fire that bends iron but tempers steel.

“Anchored by Faith and Commitment,” page 30: Elder M. Russell Ballard tells about his great-grandfather who was offered a life of ease if he would leave the Church. He refused and chose instead to make the difficult trek to Salt Lake City, arriving ragged and destitute but true to his testimony. What are you willing to give up for your faith? Is there anything you would not be willing to sacrifice if the Lord required it?

The epitome of celebrating the beautiful and overlooking the misfortune is the story of Thomas Moore.
Soon after he was married, Thomas Moore, the famous nineteenth-century Irish poet, was called away on a business trip. Upon his return he was met at the door, not by his beautiful bride, but by the family doctor.
“Your wife is upstairs,” said the doctor. “But she asked that you not come up.” Then Moore learned the terrible truth: his wife had contracted smallpox. The disease had left her once flawless skin pocked and scarred. She had taken one look at her reflection in the mirror and commanded that the shutters be drawn and that her husband never see her again. Moore would not listen. He ran upstairs and threw open the door of his wife’s room. It was black as night inside. Not a sound came from the darkness. Groping along the wall, Moore felt for the gas jets.
A startled cry came from a black corner of the room. “No!” she said. “Don’t light the lamps!”
Moore hesitated, swayed by the pleading in the voice.
“Go!” she begged. “Please go! This is the greatest gift I can give you now.”
Moore did go. He went down to his study, where he sat up most of the night, prayerfully writing. Not a poem this time, but a song. He had never written a song before, but now he found it more natural to his mood than simple poetry. He not only wrote the words, but he wrote the music, too. The next morning, as soon as the sun was up he returned to his wife’s room.
He felt his way to a chair and sat down. “Are you awake?” he asked.
“I am,” came a voice from the far side of the room. “But you must not ask to see me. You must not press me, Thomas.”
“I will sing to you, then,” he answered. And so for the first time, Thomas Moore sang to his wife the song that still lives today:
“Believe me, if all those endearing young charms which I gaze on so fondly today, were to change by tomorrow and flee in my arms like fairy gifts fading away, thou would’st still be adored, as this moment thou art—let thy loveliness fade as it will.”
Moore heard a movement from the dark corner where his wife lay in her loneliness. He continued:
“Let thy loveliness fade as it will, and around the dear ruin each wish of my heart would entwine itself verdantly still—”
The song ended. As his voice trailed off on the last note, Moore heard his bride rise. She crossed the room to the window, reached up, and drew open the shutters.

One day in November 1998, I heard that my younger brother, Ryan, had been baptized in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This news surprised me because he never wanted to come with me to the churches I attended at that time. A few weeks after his baptism, he died of lung cancer, which was a heavy blow for the family. I didn’t have the chance to ask him what was so interesting about his church, but because I had questions about why he joined, I agreed to receive the missionaries in my home. This was the turning point in my life.
I faithfully attended the missionary lessons and asked many questions. I was baptized on Feb. 14, 1999, and felt like I had come home. I accepted all the callings that my Heavenly Father wanted to give me and grew in faith, strengthening my testimony.

The volunteers gathered in the Waiting Room of the Temple after the Dedication. Little did they know that they were in for a pleasant surprise!
When the door opened, they quickly stood up astonished seeing President Dallin H. Oaks in front of them!
Pres. Oaks commended and thanked all who helped make the Open House and Dedication a success.
He added, probably referring to the 15-minute power outage during the afternoon session, “Anything can go wrong but there’s nothing we can’t do something about.”
He continued, “I’ve been to many temple dedications and I can say that this team was excellent, if not the best.”
Elder Gregorio Karganilla shared:
“When Pres. Oaks came to the Waiting Room before heading home to Utah, it dawned on me that it was as if Jesus Christ visited us in the room to express His gratitude for all that we’ve done to make the Temple Dedication edifying and successful.”
President Oaks then expressed his love to the volunteers and left them with tears and joyful spirits.

Greg stared out his bedroom window at the snowflakes fluttering down past the Christmas lights shining from the neighbor’s house. He could hear Christmas carols coming from the radio, and he could smell cookies baking. In four more days it would be Christmas, and he was sad.
He knew that Christmas was supposed to be a happy time. And he did have happy memories. As long as he could remember, his family had spent Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Grandpa told funny stories. They sang carols and popped popcorn. And they read about the birth of Jesus from the Bible.
But this year Greg would not be seeing his grandparents at Christmas, because they were serving a mission. Why did they have to go away? What’s so important about a mission? he wondered.
The next morning Greg stayed in the house. When he heard the lid drop on the mailbox, he ran out to get the mail. His grandparents had promised to send him a Christmas card. Maybe it had come today.
Greg carried in all of the letters. Most of them were Christmas cards addressed to his parents. But when he sorted through the envelopes again, sure enough, there was one addressed to him in Grandpa’s big handwriting!
Greg also found a blue airmail letter with thin up-and-down writing, addressed to “Mr. Greg Peters,” Who could have sent it? he wondered. It had the same postmark as his grandparents’ card.
Greg hurried to his room and sat on his bed to open the envelopes. On a pretty Christmas card, his grandparents had written, “Merry Christmas! Only four more months until we see you again! We miss you, and Christmas will seem strange without you. But we’re grateful that we can celebrate Jesus’ birthday by teaching others about the gospel. It’s our gift to Him this year. Love, Grandma and Grandpa.”
Four months until his grandparents came home! That still seemed like a long time to Greg.
The second envelope had a letter in it that read:
“Dear Greg,
“I want to thank you for the best Christmas present my family has ever received—we are being baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We’re all being baptized—me, my wife, my children, and my parents. Then when we are ready, we will all go to the temple together.
“Your grandparents taught us the gospel. They say that you miss them very much and that they miss you too. They hope that you understand that they are on a mission so that they can teach families like mine how to be together forever.
“My family and I thank you for sharing your grandparents with us. Now my children can have their grandparents forever just like you can.
Sincerely,Gerald Hobbs”
Greg put the letter down and picked up his grandparents’ Christmas card. How about that! A whole family were being baptized because of Grandma and Grandpa.
Greg still missed Grandma and Grandpa, but maybe four months wouldn’t be so long after all. And maybe it wasn’t so bad to share them for one Christmas, especially for such a good reason.