Gospel Story Finder

I was living with my mom in a little town in Mexico where everyone knows each other. I knew right from wrong, but I was confused and the only active young woman in the whole town.
I wanted to fit in, so I did one thing that made sense back then: have a boyfriend. This was only one of the first mistakes I started to make. I started giving in to peer pressure and believing I was old enough to think for myself, which meant becoming an inactive young woman who lived in darkness.
I lived in darkness for a year, with every passing day becoming darker. My poor decisions led to arguments with my family, and I realized I couldn’t keep living with them. But it wasn’t until the death of a close Latter-day Saint friend that I realized something was missing. Unfortunately, I blamed God and the gospel. I stopped believing that blessings came from being obedient. I knew that if I didn’t decide to start living the gospel, I would continue ignoring my connection with the Church and keep living in a worldly manner.
I was sitting on my bed in a dark room, crying and feeling sorry for myself when I realized that I was afraid—afraid of being there alone with no one to talk to, afraid of not being able to fix all the wrongs I had done, afraid that no one was going to forgive me, especially God.
Eventually, I moved to Minnesota, USA, with my grandparents, who are not members of the Church. My stepdad flew with me, and my first Sunday there, we went to church, but only for sacrament meeting. By the end of the meeting I had already decided to leave the Church, but to my surprise, just when we were going to the car, we saw the bishop running to catch up to us. He asked us a few questions and invited us to come back next Sunday—and we did.
The next Sunday, just as sacrament meeting was ending, before I could stand up, I was surrounded by the young women from the ward—young women who would help me change my life.
Illustration by Alberto Ruggieri
I suddenly entered a completely different world: a world with a bishop and a Young Women president who cared for me and, most of all, young women who tried to live the gospel daily, who strived to live high standards and stand for the right. They shined so much that they could brighten the path before me.
That’s when I realized what I had to do: “Let [my] light so shine before men, that they may see [my] good works, and glorify [my] Father which is in heaven” (see Matthew 5:16). And so I started by going to church and Mutual every week, reading the Book of Mormon and praying every day, dressing modestly, using better language, going to the temple, and preparing myself to get my patriarchal blessing.
I had completely changed, but I didn’t realize it until Young Women camp, when I felt the Holy Ghost and discovered that I had a testimony—a testimony that would remind me that God loves me, that He has a plan for me, and that He doesn’t want me to be alone. A testimony so bright and strong that it changed me. A testimony to share and light not only my path but others’. A testimony that is not afraid to shine in the dark.

Sister Soares: My father and the rest of us in my home were not religious. But my dad always said prayers, every night, kneeling, and I would watch him from when I was very little. He did not teach me with words, but he taught me by action. And when I was little, I also remember that sometimes I said the name of God in vain. I did not know that I was doing something wrong, and my mother taught me that I should not speak in that way. She wasn’t religious but knew what was right and wrong. When I was nine years old, a girl in my neighborhood, who was also nine, invited me to go to Primary for the first time.
Elder Soares: You grew up in the Church without your parents in the Church and still you built your faith in the gospel, and now you have decided to dedicate your life to teaching our children that same faith.

When they visited Adam-ondi-Ahman in Missouri, the Kikuchis visited with the nine missionary couples who were working there. They asked Elder Kikuchi to hold a fireside that night. In the meeting, after telling them of his boyhood hatred for Americans, he said, “But because I found my beautiful Savior through the work of humble missionaries who taught me about pre-earth life, I discovered that I am truly one of Heavenly Father’s sons. My perception totally changed. My values and my understanding of the meaning of life have changed because of the gospel. There is a purpose in life, and we have the light of the gospel, the spirit of the Lord, the power of God to obtain necessary ordinances, the love of God, and the great hope to live again and to meet God.
“I’m grateful, in a way, that my father didn’t survive the bombing, because if he had, I probably wouldn’t have been able to join the Church. My life would have taken a much different course. Where I was born and raised, there was no LDS church, and even now there is no chapel. I would have become a regular student in high school and college. And I may not have been humble enough to accept the gospel if I heard it.”
Elder Kikuchi then told the missionary couples that “I am so grateful, so thankful that you raised sons and daughters to serve as missionaries. Your sons came to my door. You may say, ‘My son didn’t go to Japan.’ But he came to my door because you prayed for all the missionaries, and some missionaries came and brought joy to my heart. Because you raised your sons and daughters and sent them on missions, many hearts were touched by them in Japan, in the Philippines, in Switzerland, in Germany, in Hawaii, and elsewhere. It did actually happen that a missionary from Idaho and a missionary from Salt Lake City knocked at my door. I know that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ and that this Church is true.”

I have addressed a serious topic. I want to end with a very happy story.
Kathy Williams has been my valentine for 43 years. Next month we will celebrate our 42nd wedding anniversary. President Gilbert said we have 4 children, 16 grandchildren. At your age, we became grounded, rooted, and settled. Whatever came, we would face it together. Our life has not been without challenges that sometimes seemed as big as mountains. But through these many years, we have loved our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, and we have loved one another. She has been a perfect angel. I have been far less.
The thought of having Kathy by my side forever stirs and illuminates my soul. I love her more than words can say. "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." There are too many to count. She is my valentine today, tomorrow, and always.

Considering the horrific event that took place in Littleton, Colorado, in April of this year, you may wonder why we are writing about a shooting that took place in an Oregon high school in May of 1998. We had just finished this story and scheduled it for publication when the tragedy took place at Columbine High School. We knew then that this story needs to be told more than ever. This story is not about violence; it’s about the comfort and perspective the gospel offers. Here are thoughts and experiences shared by those who know both the pain and the healing firsthand.The Editors
It’s been just over a year since a tragic shooting occurred at Thurston High School in Springfield, Oregon. Two students were killed and 23 others wounded when a fellow student opened fire in the crowded school cafeteria.
Some 60 seminary students were in school at Thurston on the day of the tragedy—one of whom helped to stop the shooter. Of course, the seminary students wish the tragedy had never happened. But they also say they’ve learned priceless lessons they’ll never forget.
Although they’ve been reluctant to talk with the media about the shooting, the students were eager to share their testimonies with the youth of the Church through the pages of the New Era.
More than anything, the students talk about how they’ve come to know just how much they love—and are loved by—their families. Just after the shooting, students were instructed to go to enclosed rooms of the school until the situation was secured. In that long period of waiting, teens with brothers or sisters at Thurston found themselves consumed with thoughts of their siblings.
“When I thought that the last thing I said to my little brother was, ‘Don’t be late to class today’ instead of ‘I love you’ … You never understand how important someone is to you until you think they are gone,” says Lacy Stockwell, 18. Lacy had spoken to her freshman brother, Taylor, in the cafeteria just seconds before the shooting erupted. As she ran from the cafeteria, she’d been unable to find him.
Like Lacy, Melissa Piepgrass was also terribly concerned for her brother. “We were taken into the gym, and all of a sudden I was really scared about my older brother, because I know he goes into the cafeteria a lot. I was crying and praying for him.”
After what seemed like an eternity, the students were released. All around the school, emotional reunions took place as students found their siblings and their parents who had gathered outside. Melissa found her brother in a park across the street. “I ran over and gave him a big hug.” Her voice trembles as she says, “That’s the first time I ever really felt how much my older brother loves me.”
Of her reaction at finding her brother safe, Lacy says, “It was incredible when I saw him. We yelled each other’s names and ran down the hall to each other and hugged. I can’t express the emotions I felt.”
Kawika Lawther, 17, describes the reunion that took place between worried parents and their children. “When they let us out into the parking lot, I looked around and saw people hugging their parents. When I saw my dad I ran to him and gave him a big hug. The men in my family don’t really show their emotions, but when he hugged me my dad started to cry. I really felt how much he loves me.”
Adam Buchanan, 15, remembers a similar experience. “I didn’t realize the extent of what had happened until I saw my mom and dad in the parking lot. They were praying for me.
“That really stands out in my mind because it’s one of the very few times I’ve seen my dad cry. It’s meant so much to me that he loved me so much and that they were so worried about me.”
Perhaps Lacy speaks for all the students when she says, “I’m so grateful for an eternal family, because now I realize they are so essential to my life!”
The seminary students say they’ve also felt the love of their Heavenly Father. After 15-year-old Chad Durfee ran from the cafeteria to his classroom, he became even more frightened when he learned that his father, who teaches at Thurston, was in the cafeteria. “I realized then that I wanted to talk to my Heavenly Father. I dropped to my knees in front of everybody and prayed. I was so comforted and I felt the Spirit so much even after what had just happened.
“I probably prayed about 500 times that day. It totally strengthened my testimony of prayer,” says Chad. “Every time I’ve had a problem from that time on, the first thing that comes to my mind is talking to my Heavenly Father. It makes me feel so good to know He lives and loves us and wants us to be happy.”
Like Chad, many students talk about the comforting influence of the Spirit in their lives. Fourteen-year-old Kirk Blair was at his junior high school when he heard about the shooting at Thurston, where his sister, Katie, is a student. “We were worried for her, but I knew through the Spirit that she was okay.”
The Holy Ghost helped Tiffany Austin, 16, regain her sense of security. Several days after the shooting, “I was sitting in the pew at youth conference and felt the Spirit come over me. Then I knew that Heavenly Father wasn’t going to leave me alone no matter what happened. I finally got my security back.”
The example of the Savior and the power of His Atonement have helped students forgive and become whole again after such a trying experience.
“I was so mad that someone could do something like this, and I couldn’t make it go away,” says Alisha Stott, 16. “Forgiving is really hard, but I’m working on it. Being around others going through the same process and watching them forgive makes me feel that I can also. And remembering that Jesus Christ forgives our sins. He forgave people who wronged him, so I should be able to forgive also.”
“No matter what we go through, Jesus Christ knows how to heal us,” says Corwin Lewis, 17. “He can do that because of the Atonement.”
Many students gained stronger testimonies of the power of the priesthood. “The day they let us go back to school, I was afraid to go, so my uncle gave me a blessing,” says Jena Johnson, 16. “It gave me a sense of peace that I knew we were going to get through this. Then I had the confidence to face my fear.”
Adam tells how he felt as he watched his father administer a priesthood blessing. “My dad and I are the Rogerses’ home teachers, so Brother Rogers asked my dad to help him give his daughters a blessing.
“The Spirit was so strong. It was a really humbling experience. I was thinking, I’m going to be 19 in a few years. Will I be ready for the Melchizedek Priesthood? It’s such an awesome responsibility, but I think having it would be the best thing in the world.”
The seminary students also talk about their deepened appreciation for each other, for their ward families, for the scriptures, and for the gospel.
Fortunately, most of us will never experience the kind of tragedy the youth in Springfield have. But from their experience we can learn what matters most in life, and know that a loving Father in Heaven can bless us no matter what the trial.
“I had always taken things for granted before,” says Chad. “I went to church but didn’t really think about it. But now I’ve started to get very spiritual. I love the Church, every aspect about it. Sometimes at night I look up at the stars and think how wonderful it is to know our Father in Heaven lives.”
Melissa remembers, “On the night of the tragedy, I saw the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen. I just knew that Heavenly Father was showing his love for us, telling us that everything would be okay.”
After the tragedy in Littleton, Colorado, the Springfield seminary students wanted to do something to help. They wrote letters to the seminary students in Littleton, sharing their testimonies and messages of hope and encouragement.
The Springfield youth weren’t the only seminary students to give their support to Littleton. Letters, e-mail messages, and posters have poured in to the Columbine High School seminary from seminaries and Church members all over the world.
“It’s helped the kids to see that there are people all over the world who care about them,” says Rob Hildebrandt, seminary teacher at Columbine. “It has really hit them that in this Church we are truly a worldwide family.
“With every new poster, the first thing the kids want to know is where it’s from. When I tell them, they say ‘Wow! They know about us there?’ They’re overwhelmed at the people who love them whom they don’t even know.”
Brother Hildebrandt says the students have also felt the many prayers of support that have been offered for them.

Monica and I have also had experiences where we have studied things out, came to a conclusion, and sought God’s direction through prayer; then received clear direction that the answer was “no, do not proceed.”

Shortly after arriving in St. Louis, Monica and I thought it would be great to try to buy a home. Many other graduate students in St. Louis were buying homes and it seemed like a great idea. We found a home that we could afford and made an offer. The seller came back with a counteroffer that was very reasonable. Our real estate agent was excited. You could see that the agent felt the sale and her commission were coming soon. Monica and I had prayed about the first offer and felt fine. We prayed again, telling our Heavenly Father that we thought we could afford this home at the counteroffer price and that it would be the right place for our family in St. Louis. In that moment, I felt what might have been the strongest experience I've ever had with a stupor of thought. My mind was filled with doubt and raced to all the alternative scenarios and negative “what if” outcomes that could occur. We told our real estate agent that the deal was off and that we would not be buying this home or any other home. She was not happy. Monica and I felt bad about that, and we felt great pressure to change our minds. But we knew the Lord had told us what to do and we followed His direction. I don't know all the reasons that we learned our lesson this way, but every graduate student who bought a home when we arrived in St. Louis was caught in the difficult economic conditions that suppressed real estate values in 2009. We were spared that challenge and were well positioned to begin our life after graduate school because of this guidance from the Lord.

Easton’s first Church meeting in Germany had just ended. He thought it would be really different, but it was a lot like church where he used to live in the United States. Only here he got to wear headphones to listen to the talks being translated into English.
Mom and Dad had started talking to the family sitting behind them. It looked like they had a boy his age!
“These are the Finottos,” Mom told Easton. “GianMarco will be in your class at school.”
“Cool!” Easton smiled at GianMarco. His name sounded kind of like “John” and “Mark” squished together—with an “o” at the end. “So where are you from?”
GianMarco smiled back. “We’re from Italy. But we just moved here from China.”
“Wow!” said Easton. “I’ve never been to China.”
The next day Easton went to his new school. He was a little nervous. But then he saw GianMarco waving at him from across the classroom. At least he had one friend already. There were kids from all over the world in his class. Maybe he would like this school.
“Good morning!” The teacher smiled at everyone. “I’m Ms. Albano. To start off, can anyone tell me what identity means?”
A girl raised her hand. “It means who you are. What’s most important to you.”
“Exactly!” said Ms. Albano. “So let’s get to know each other. What are some things that are part of your identity? What things make you you?”
“I like video games!” said a girl in the front row. Ms. Albano smiled and wrote hobbies on the board. “What else?”
GianMarco raised his hand. “I’m from Italy.” Ms. Albano nodded and wrote down country.
Easton tried to think of something to say. “I go to church,” said a boy in the back.
“That’s a good one!” Easton thought. “I should’ve said that.”
Someone laughed. And then a lot of kids were laughing. Easton looked at GianMarco, confused. GianMarco looked confused too. Why would they laugh?
When he got home, Easton told Mom what happened.
Mom frowned. “Some people don’t understand why church is important. They think it’s silly.”
“Oh,” said Easton. He didn’t think church was silly at all.
A few weeks later, Ms. Albano asked the students to do a presentation with a parent about their family’s identity.
“What should our project be?” Mom asked as they set the table for dinner.
Easton thought about how the class had laughed. “I think we should do it about the Church,” Easton said.
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
“And could GianMarco and Sister Finotto do it with us?”
“Great idea. I’ll call them after dinner.”
The next day GianMarco and Sister Finotto came over. First they all talked about what they thought was most important about the Church. Mom wrote down all their ideas in a notebook. Then they got poster boards and found pictures of Jesus and prophets and temples to glue on.
Finally it was time for the presentation. Easton stood with GianMarco and their moms at the front of the class. He took a deep breath.
“We are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” he began. They each took turns explaining things about the Church. GianMarco talked about scriptures. Mom talked about prophets. Sister Finotto talked about family home evening. Easton talked about baptism. It was really cool!
Easton felt pretty good when they were done. Nobody laughed—the kids actually seemed to like it! He was glad he could share something so important with his class. He smiled. He knew his identity. He was a child of God!

Here is another example from my own experience. More than a decade ago I was watching an NCAA basketball tournament game. The house was quiet because the young children were asleep and the older children were waxing responsible and attacking their homework. I thought, This is great! A free night! No interruptions! Such are the feelings of one whose heart gets too easily set on the things of the world. The game was going magnificently. With 2:08 minutes left in the first half, one of my high school daughters came downstairs and made a request: “Dad, I’m stuck on this math problem. Could you help me?”

At that moment I was struck by a very human feeling. The feeling was inescapable. If put into words it would be something like “I believe helping her is the right, fatherly, responsible, loving, committed thing to do.” I simultaneously betrayed that feeling. The next few moments were predictable. I looked pained. I whined some question to my daughter like “Do you have any idea how often I get to watch a playoff game?”

She was unmoved: “Well, it shouldn’t take too long, if you would just . . .”

I interrupted her.
Terry: “Have you worked out the sample problem they give you at the beginning of the chapter?”
Daughter: “Well, no, but . . .”
Terry: “Well, how do you expect me to help if you haven’t even tried? Do you want me to do your work for you?”
Daughter: “Not exactly, I just . . .”
Terry: “When is this assignment due, Kathie?”
Daughter: “It’s due tomorrow, and . . .”
Terry: “How many times have I told you not to leave things until the last minute?!”

By this time her lower lip was starting to curl out in a sort of defensive martyrdom. She withdrew, haughtily enough that I could comfort myself by saying that if she really were responsible she would have tried harder before asking me.

Such are the feelings of the self-deceived. Like the high school student who couldn’t concentrate on lettuce and avocados anymore because of his violation of conscience, so I didn’t concentrate on the game much. My eyes were on the screen but I wasn’t seeing anything. I was muttering in my mind, something I’ve come to see is typical when we are hard-hearted or when we knoweth to do good and doeth it not. I was rehearsing thoughts about why I was right and why my daughter was wrong.

The apostle John had me pegged:

He that saith he is in the light, and hateth his brother, is in darkness even until now.
He that loveth his brother abideth in the light, and there is none occasion of stumbling in him.
But he that hateth his brother is in darkness, and walketh in darkness, and knoweth not whither he goeth, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes. [1 John 2:9–11]

I was as blind in that moment as I had been with my other daughter and the stain. Now, lest you think I walk in darkness all the time, and thereby give you an excuse to use my behavior as an excuse for when you do as I have done, I must say I also have seen, honored, and walked in the light—and did in both of these situations. I sought out my preschooler and asked her forgiveness. I went upstairs after my math daughter retreated and offered help and an apology.

When I was a boy, we had a horse named Junie. She was one of the most intelligent animals I ever saw. She seemed almost human in her ability. I couldn’t keep her locked in the barn because she would continually undo the strap on the door of her stall. I used to put the strap connected to the half-door of the stall over the top of the post, but she would simply lift it off with her nose and teeth. Then she would go out in the yard.
There was a water tap in the yard used for filling the water trough for our animals. Junie would turn this on with her teeth and then leave the water running. My father would get after me because I couldn’t keep that horse in the barn. She never ran away; she just turned on the water and then walked around the yard or over the lawn or through the garden. In the middle of the night, I would hear the water running and then I would have to get up and shut if off and lock Junie up again.
My father suggested that the horse seemed smarter than I was. One day he decided that he would lock her in so that she couldn’t get out. He took the strap that usually looped over the top of the post and buckled it around the post and under a crossbar, and then he said, “Young lady, let’s see you get out of there now!” My father and I left the barn and started to walk back to the house; and before we reached it, Junie was at our side. She then went over and turned the water on again.
I suggested that now, perhaps, she was about as smart as either one of us. We just couldn’t keep Junie from getting out of her stall. But that doesn’t mean she was bad, because she wasn’t. Father wasn’t about to sell or trade her, because she had so many other good qualities that made up for this one little fault.
The horse was as reliable and dependable at pulling our buggy as she was adept at getting out of the stall. And this was important, because Mother was a licensed midwife. When she would get called to a confinement somewhere in the valley, usually in the middle of the night, I would have to get up, take a lantern out to the barn, and hitch Junie up to the buggy.
I was only about ten or eleven years old at the time; and that horse had to be gentle and yet strong enough to take me and Mother all over the valley, in all kinds of weather. One thing I never could understand, however, was why most of the babies had to be born at night and so many of them in winter.
Often I would wait in the buggy for Mother, and then it was nice to have the company of gentle old Junie. This experience with this horse was very good for me, because early in life I had to learn to love and appreciate her for herself. She was a wonderful horse with only a couple of bad habits. People are a lot the same way. None of us is perfect; yet each of us is trying to become perfect, even as our Father in heaven. We need to appreciate and love people for themselves.
Maybe you need to remember this when you evaluate your parents or teachers or ward and stake leaders or friends—or brothers and sisters. This lesson has always stayed with me—to see the good in people even though we are trying to help them overcome one or two bad habits.

Merrell: At the same time I was doing The First Vision, Kieth was doing Indian and trying to find an Indian to do the title song. Although I wasn’t Indian, I figured I had nothing to lose, and I sent him a 15-minute tape anyway. In my letter I told him that not only could I write the title song but I felt I could also write the rest of the music for the movie. He liked my tape and asked for more and eventually gave me the contract. That began our association together.

My wife, Carmen, and I just had our first child when I was called to be the bishop of our ward. At the time, we struggled financially. It became stressful for me to provide for my family and at the same time watch over and care for the members of our ward.
One Sunday, I noticed a single mother with her four little children in sacrament meeting. She sat on the last bench in the chapel and tried her best to keep her children quiet. I knew she was struggling financially as well, but she never asked for help. Weeks passed, and every Sunday she came to church with her children.
One day, I received my paycheck. Blessed to receive a bonus, I decided to use the extra money to purchase supplies for much-needed repairs on my house. But while I was heading to the market, this sister and her children came to my mind. I felt I should use the extra money to buy food for them. I called Carmen and told her what I felt I needed to do. She agreed.
As I shopped, my eyes fell on some cookies. I thought that maybe the children would like some sweets. I filled two bags with food and made my way to this sister’s house.
I knocked on the worn wooden door several times. When I was about to leave, the door finally opened. “Bishop,” the sister said, “I am surprised to see you here.” Instantly, her children ran out from behind her.
“I brought you some food,” I said.
One of her daughters found the cookies and shouted, “Cookies!” Her brothers and sisters excitedly gathered around. A seven-year-old daughter hugged me. “Thank you, Bishop!” she said.
I looked inside their home and saw that this sister had been washing clothes in a pan on the floor. The family had no table and slept on a mattress on the floor. I realized how much they were in need. I made arrangements to make sure they would have a table and that each would have a bed.
This experience helped me to recognize that the Lord guides and blesses His servants. We do not need a special calling in order to help our brothers and sisters. We just need to be in tune with the Spirit, recognize who needs our help, and be willing to be instruments in the Lord’s hands.

Truman Osborn Angell was born in 1810 in North Providence, Rhode Island, to James and Phebe Osborn Angell. The fifth of ten children, Truman learned responsibility at an early age. When he was only nine, his father left home for a time, and the young boy became responsible for much of the work on the family farm and was able to attend school for only two winters. At the age of seventeen, Truman was apprenticed to a joiner to learn the craft of carving and fitting beautiful wood trim for homes.
About this time, an important occurrence took place in his life. In his journal he wrote, “I felt an earnest desire to become a subject of Christianity.” For months he prayed for guidance, and his “mischievous life and shortcomings were laid aside.”
This change prepared Truman to accept the message of two Latter-day Saint missionaries a few years later, after he had moved to western New York. He was baptized, and so were his wife, Polly, and his mother. Then, fired with the spirit and happiness of the gospel, Truman and a cousin traveled east five hundred miles, preaching daily for nine weeks.
Truman had a desire to join the main body of the Church, and in 1835 he moved his little family to Kirtland, Ohio, where he found work waiting for him in the temple. Pulpits, pews, stairs, window casings, and doorjambs all needed to be built. The Prophet Joseph noticed his fine work and put him in charge of many other buildings in Kirtland.
When the Kirtland Temple was almost completed, Truman was ordained a seventy. Eagerly he prepared for another mission. But shortly before he was to go, Joseph Smith asked him to stay and build a store. Truman told the Prophet that he was now a seventy and wanted to serve a mission. The Prophet simply said, “Well, go ahead.”
After Joseph Smith left, Truman struggled with his thoughts: How could he bear testimony of a prophet of the Lord if he, Truman, was not willing to heed that prophet’s counsel? Truman remained in Kirtland and built the store and many other buildings that were needed. Joseph Smith prophesied that the joiner would have enough work for twenty men, and he did.
Continuing to move wherever the main body of the Saints settled, the Angell family suffered from mobs and persecution in Missouri and Nauvoo, and over the years several of Truman’s young children died. While the last of the Saints were being driven from Nauvoo, Truman and a few other brethren remained behind to complete the temple and dedicate it to the Lord. The young joiner must have been heartsick to hear how that sacred building was later desecrated and burned.
Truman was among the first group of Saints to enter the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. Two years earlier he had been told in a patriarchal blessing that “thy calling is more particularly to labor in assisting the Saints to build cities and temples than travelling abroad to preach the gospel.” The young joiner’s abilities as an architect were recognized by Brigham Young, and soon Truman was busy designing homes, schools, churches, a sugar factory, forts, stores, a penitentiary, a theater, a governor’s mansion, and, most importantly, temples.
Many beautiful buildings still stand today as proof of Truman Angell’s architectural talent. The Salt Lake and St. George temples and Brigham Young’s Beehive House, Lion House, and Eagle Gate are just a few examples of his work.
Truman considered his work a calling rather than a job. Most workers donated a tenth of their time to Church projects, but full-time workers like Truman were paid in tithing scrip, which could be exchanged for groceries, clothing, and other necessities.
Truman studied architectural design and innovations in building. The constant pressure of being the Church’s architect was a strain on his health, so Brigham Young called him to serve a mission in Europe, where he was to not only preach to the people but also visit the great buildings and study the architectural styles there. He had been on his mission for thirteen months when he was called to return to help with the Salt Lake Temple.
Work on the temple did not progress very rapidly at first. There were several delays, such as the time President James Buchanan sent United States troops to Utah with a new governor to replace Brigham Young. The Saints, remembering the mob violence of the East, were not going to allow their new homes and lands to be plundered again. They stripped their homes of valuables and filled them with straw to be set afire if and when the enemy troops came. Even the foundation of the temple was covered with dirt, making it appear to be only a plowed field. Fortunately a peaceful settlement was reached before the troops arrived in Salt Lake.
As the building of the temple progressed, Truman sought the advice and counsel of President Young almost every step of the way. There were many details that had to be taken care of, and the work required Truman’s constant supervision. All his efforts were devoted to serving the Lord, despite constant poor health and personal heartaches.
The architect did not live to see the completion of the beautiful Salt Lake Temple, but the majestic structure will stand for many years to come as a monument to his and other Saints’ dedication in building the Lord’s kingdom here on earth.

I returned from youth conference and informed my mother (who by this time had remarried) and my stepfather of my desire to be baptized. They did not like the idea and grounded me indefinitely. The tables were turned, and I spent the next two years of my life being the one persecuted. For two years I was not allowed to date any LDS girls, go to Church activities, or even have a Book of Mormon in my possession. I tried to share the beauty of the Book of Mormon with my mother and stepfather, but my stepfather threw it across the room and demanded I return it immediately.
With tears in my eyes I rang the doorbell of the Bulleigh home. Joel, one of their sons, answered, and I returned the borrowed Book of Mormon he had given me. Would my testimony of the Book of Mormon be strong enough to support me until I turned 18 and could join the Church? Sure it was.
At 8:00 A.M. on my 18th birthday, my mother and stepfather asked me to leave their home, and I joined the Church one week later. I moved in with the Bulleigh family and used the $9,000 I had saved by working between the ages of 16 and 18 to support myself until I graduated from high school seven months later. I read the entire Book of Mormon after being baptized and learned of a prophet named Alma who had also persecuted the Church of God. He spent the rest of his life preaching the gospel to amend for his past transgressions. I decided also to serve a mission.
After graduating from high school, I continued to work and save money so I could pay for my mission. I recently finished serving in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission. Choosing to be a missionary cost me my family, my home, and a lot of money.
I am thankful that at the age of 10, God sent a Latter-day Saint to play baseball on my team. That event has changed my life forever and enabled me to help change the lives of many others with whom I labored on my mission.

By a raise of hands, how many of you have relatives here today? That is wonderful! I, too, have had the joy of discovering relatives using this app.

Suzie Upchurch, Kindra Bingham, and I all attended the Willowbrook Ward. One Sunday we decided to see if we were related. We discovered we are each connected to the other and we now affectionately call each other ‘cuz! Since this time, Suzie and Kindra have moved from Rexburg, but we are still in contact and find support and gladness in our friendship.

I encourage you to use this app to find more family who can also be called friends, which will thus increase your gladness.

In August of 1976 tragedy struck the family when one of those precious little souls died. Grandmother Funk flew immediately to England to be with her daughter and son-in-law through this trial. On her return home she remarked to friends, “My heart’s never been so heavy. But I believe I’ve learned something exquisite from the experience—I believe I’ve felt in some small measure the suffering the Lord himself feels when he sees his children suffer.”

Now, once you receive it, be obedient to the promptings you receive. I learned a sobering lesson as a mission president. I was also a General Authority. I had been prompted several times, for the good of the work, to release one of my counselors. Besides praying about it, I had reasoned that it was the right thing to do. But I did not do it. I feared that it would be spiritually harmful to a man who had given long service to the Church.
The Spirit withdrew from me. I could get no promptings on who should be called as a counselor should I release him. It lasted several weeks. My prayers seemed to go no further than the room where I offered them. I tried a number of alternate ways to arrange the work, but to no avail. Finally, I did as I was bidden to do by the Spirit. Immediately, the gift returned! Oh, the exquisite sweetness to have that gift again. You know it, for you have it, the gift of the Holy Ghost. And the brother was not harmed, indeed he was greatly blessed and the work prospered.

Erroll Bennett, now a bishop in his native Tahiti, is a Latter-day Saint whose courage and commitment made a difference. At twenty-seven, Erroll was the top soccer player in Tahiti when he was introduced to the Church and was baptized, despite considerable opposition from family and sports officials.
Soccer is Tahiti’s biggest sport, and when Erroll was baptized all soccer games in the country were played on Sunday. Because of the Sunday play, Brother Bennet knew that deciding to join the Church and spend his Sundays in Church activities would mean the end of his soccer career, which was then at its height. The day after his baptism, a Sunday, Brother Bennett did not play, and he was prepared to resign his position during the coming week.
A few days later, when it was clear that Erroll Bennett meant to stand by his commitment, the league met and concluded that the long tradition of playing soccer games on Sundays was a bad idea after all. All twelve top clubs agreed to move their games to weeknights. (See Ensign, October 1982, pages 14-20.)

We just celebrated Pioneer Day a few weeks ago. May I share my own pioneer-like experience with you when I went back to grad school? At the time, I was newly divorced with 3 children and living in North Carolina. Through many sleepless nights, I made the decision to take my kids and go to Utah State to finish a masters and PhD in Mathematics so I could teach at a university. We started across the country in an old Oldsmobile station wagon, which didn't get out of Tennessee before it started having problems. The trip was one adventure after another until we finally reached Logan and marveled at the beauty of the place. We were especially amazed at the number of LDS churches; it seemed like one on every corner. We were all excited to start over and make Logan home for a while. We were alone, I and three kids, and 2000 miles from any family that I had. I had no support group but the members of my ward. A part of me was terrified that I might fail and what would we do then. We certainly had no money to get back to the east coast.

I studied and studied for my classes, taught classes as a TA, and tried to be both mother and father to my children. It was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. There were many, many nights when I cried myself to sleep, begging the Lord to help me get through. I really did try to do my best, and though my efforts didn't always seem very effective, I did learn some Mathematics and my children survived. I know that there were times when the Lord held me up by my arms and gave me strength when I had none. I know that there were times when I couldn't remember something on a test and then it would come to my mind or I would remember how to figure it out on the spot. I can honestly tell you that I worked well beyond my capacity and that I relied on the Spirit and the power of the Atonement to complete my work there. I know how I got through the program, on my knees and by the blessings of a loving Heavenly Father who wanted me to succeed as much as I did.

As I've had time to reflect over the years since then, I can see that the Lord has been beside me in every trial and in every success. I have never seen a burning bush. I've only audibly heard a voice speak to me once in my life and that was a life-threatening situation that called for immediate action. Instead, I have tried to figure out what was the best thing to do and sought confirmation by prayer. Sometimes, foolishly, I haven't waited for an answer. Sometimes, I've felt like I wasn't really sure what was best, but I've learned without a doubt that the Lord would take care of us and that has built my faith to move forward and how the blessings have showered down!

One day the two of us were riding from Salt Lake City to Morgan, Utah, in a small old truck on a narrow road. It was a big adventure for me, a little boy who had never been on a trip in an automobile before nor traveled very far from home.
My brother had explained to me that we would be traveling quite fast and that it would be dangerous if a tire should blow out. Lincoln had me hold tightly to his arm, instructing me that if a tire should blow out, he would try to keep the steering wheel steady. He asked me to help him by holding on to his arm with all of my strength.
The next hour, as we drove along the road and up the canyon to Morgan, was one of the most exciting times of my life. It was the first time that I ever remember feeling really necessary—really important. We didn’t have a flat tire, but my wonderful big brother had made his little brother feel needed.
I have since traveled to many places around the world, but I remember that trip with my brother and the lesson he taught me as well as I remember any travel adventure.

“Blast that girl!” said Arnie to himself. “Blast me, too! And blast everything that has to do with that stupid art show.”
He glanced upward towards heaven. “Why?” he asked. “Why on the day before the biggest art show of my life does she have to come to my school? What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this?”
Not receiving any answer, Arnie looked down at the pad he held in his hand. The beginnings of a little boy playing in the sand were sketched lightly in blue. Oh, yes, the picture would be a good one, one of his best. It would make a nice finale to his entry in the contest. But it was nothing compared to Jana Lee Smithy’s paintings in oil!
Arnie grimaced. If only she had arrived two days later! Then the judging would have been over and the art student-of-the-year award would have been his. After that Miss Jana Lee could have been the best art student in the school; it wouldn’t have mattered. But no. There she was. And she was brilliant.
Arnie threw down his pencil and groaned audibly. He glanced around the small park where he drew many of his sketches and collected ideas. What a waste of a beautiful day! But how could he be content to turn in just four drawings? Jana Lee Smithy was going to show four completed oil paintings, each a vision of color and light. When her paintings were unveiled in the morning and the school compared hers to his slight “sketches,” Arnie knew how his classmates would react. “Well,” they would say, “Arnie’s not quite as good as he makes out to be, is he?” And people would nod in assent and then never stop talking about what a genius Jana Lee was.
Arnie looked at the small boy who was unknowingly modeling for his sketch. Hurriedly and quietly the boy was building himself a castle. Tiny hands moved quickly and knowingly through the granules of yellow dirt. Wary of sand too dry or sand too wet, the boy’s small fingers gathered piles of sand together and molded them into turrets and walls. Broken twigs served as posts and pillars and flags for the castle.
Arnie wasn’t sure what everything the boy made was, but it was certainly immense. When Arnie began his drawing, the little fellow had just begun the main building. Now stables, dogs’ houses, an armory, and finally a great wall had been formed. The child was amazing. Or, thought Arnie, he would be until something better came along. Then the castle would be merely a trifle, something to be forgotten—like Arnie would be after tomorrow.
Arnie frowned and looked at his drawing. Despite its unfinished quality, he felt tempted to just leave it as it was. Nothing could help him now. Numbers of drawings couldn’t change the quality of Jana Lee’s work. Finally, discipline got the better of him. He picked up the blue pencil and finished the final details of the picture.
After another 45 minutes the picture was finished. Arnie smiled at the little figure in the drawing. The contentment on the child’s face was contagious, and Arnie grinned. It was a futile effort, he knew, like the sand castle whose immortality would lie in the little boy’s heart rather than in the park. But, like the child, Arnie felt a glow at having done a good job. The glow wasn’t big enough to fill the emptiness he felt at being a failure, but it was nice nonetheless. He gathered up his pencils and put them in their case. Carefully, he stood and, with a nod to the little boy, headed for home.
By the time Arnie reached his street, the slight high that finishing the drawing had given him was gone. Even the coziness of the familiar, flower-lined path that led to his front door had no effect. There’s not much that can make a failure happy, he reflected. The sounds of family that echoed in the air didn’t help, either. In fact, the thought of seeing his hopeful mother, proud father, and admiring sister made him want to hide. They’d all had such high hopes for him. And now he was letting them down. Arnie stood on the doorstep for a second trying to decide whether or not to tell them that he’d seen the winning entries, halfway hidden behind Mr. Olsen’s desk, and they weren’t his. Arnie shook his head. He didn’t want their sympathy. He opened the door.
“I’m home,” he called.
Sheryll, his sister, bounded past him on her way to the kitchen. “You don’t say?” she laughed over her shoulder. “I never would have guessed.”
Arnie grimaced at her. Sisters. Freshmen. Two deadly ingredients when combined. He put his supplies down on the floor and headed for the stairs. His mother’s voice caught him two steps up.
“You’re not going to leave your things here in the hall, are you?” He turned around and looked into his mother’s warning brown eyes. Arnie grinned sheepishly.
“Me?”
She nodded. “My visiting teachers are coming over tonight.” Arnie looked knowingly at her. “Not,” she said, raising her voice as well as her eyebrows, “that that should make any difference.”
“Of course not, Mom,” Arnie replied. He gathered his things up and took them with him to his room. Carefully, he put the drawing on his desk and his kit on the floor. Shutting his door carefully behind him, he made his way to the bathroom where he washed his hands. As he did so, he tried to smile in the mirror. It didn’t do any good. His brown hair looked unruly, his eyes dim, and his face ruddy. What a depressing sight! If my eyes looked any redder … He shrugged off the thought. What had he to complain about? He wasn’t hoping to make a living with his face, just his hands.
“Which,” he said to the face in the mirror, “are proving to be betraying assets.” Arnie went down to dinner.
As the family took their places after the prayer, Arnie’s father looked over the mashed potatoes at his son.
“So, are you ready for tomorrow, Arnie?” he asked. Arnie choked on a pea.
When his coughing had subsided he replied, “About as ready as I’m going to get, Dad.”
“Then you should be plenty ready,” said his mother.
“What were you doing this afternoon?” asked Sheryll.
“I was drawing at the park.” Arnie looked down at his plate. “I thought one more piece might help me in the contest.”
“That smacks of overkill,” said his father.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” said Arnie.
“Besides,” said Sheryll, “everybody in school knows how good he is. All my friends like his stuff. One more drawing will be …”
“One more drawing,” interrupted Arnie. “Enough. Isn’t there anything else to talk about?”
His mother looked at him with concern. “Are you feeling all right, Arnie?”
“Just nerves, dear,” said his father. But still, even as he spoke, Mr. Wells looked at his son with a searching look.
Arnie ducked his father’s gaze and stuck his fork into his mouth. Oops, he thought as his father’s look changed to one of amazement. I should have put something on the fork first.
“Arnie, if there’s anything …”
Frustrated, Arnie stood up. “May I be excused? I’m finished. And I’ve got to mount this last drawing.”
He could see by the surprised looks on the faces of his family that they were amazed by the sudden outburst. He continued, “I’ll be in my room.” Arnie backed out of the room and fled up the stairs.
“Well, at least they only doubted my sanity,” Arnie said to himself as he shut and locked the door behind him. “They don’t have to doubt my abilities until tomorrow.”
He looked forlornly at the drawing on his desk. “Ah, friend, if you only knew what humiliation you will face tomorrow, you wouldn’t smile so much.”
The little boy grinned at him happily. The scripture in 2 Nephi flashed into Arnie’s mind. “And men are, that they might have joy” (2 Ne. 2:25). Arnie frowned. Well, he thought, joy certainly hasn’t been my cellmate these last few hours! What’s there to be joyful about? Instead of a talent made out of silk, I get one made of a sow’s ear. And I’m supposed to be happy! He shrugged and set about making the results of his poor talent presentable.
When he finished, Arnie put his five entries on his bed and looked at them one at a time. Each of them was pleasant to look at. The laughter and light in them was enough to make any viewer smile. Each drawing represented a lot of effort. It was a pity that they would go to waste. Arnie shook his head and readied himself for bed.
After placing the five drawings and his books near the door, Arnie knelt to say his nightly prayer. “Heavenly Father,” he began. But his mind went numb. Arnie had always trusted his Father in Heaven, but this night he found it difficult to bare his soul. Before, he’d always known of his worth as a child of God. He’d never had any reason to doubt. But now, Arnie wasn’t everything that he thought he was. It was a little difficult to explain to Heavenly Father that things were different and that Arnie wasn’t quite the person he thought he had been.
Finally, after many minutes of silence, only one thing came to his mind. “I don’t understand,” he said softly, “why I am what I am. But I must be of some importance, despite my faults. Help me be happy.”
Arnie paused, then closed his prayer. He climbed slowly into bed, and after tossing and turning for a long while, drifted into sleep.
The next morning dawned much too early for Arnie’s likes. I’m not any happier, he thought, than I was last night. But he did feel a little more distanced from the despair than he had felt the night before. His drawings, as he looked at them one more time before leaving the house, didn’t look quite as inelegant as they had seemed. Still, they weren’t going to win any awards. Arnie still wasn’t quite good enough to be what was expected.
Despite Sheryll’s chatter in the car, Arnie maintained a stony silence on the way to school. Luckily, his lively sister was so excited about the competition, the weather, and her best friend’s new boyfriend, that it would have been impossible for him to have said anything had he wanted to. Finally, the ride was over. He said good-bye to his father and sister and escaped down the hall to the art department.
Voices could be heard behind the wood door as Arnie approached. He really didn’t want to see anybody just yet and was about to turn away when the door opened.
“Ah, Arnie,” said Mr. Olsen. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Arnie smiled weakly.
Mr. Olsen beamed at him. “I was just going to take Jana Lee down to where she’ll be hanging her paintings. But maybe you can show her.”
Great, thought Arnie, now I’m a glorified hall monitor.
Mr. Olsen continued. “Since you and Jana will be hanging your works next to each other, that should I make things easier for all of us. That’ll be all right, won’t it?”
Arnie nodded.
“Good.”
Arnie sighed and turned around. He heard the sound of Jana Lee’s feet behind him.
“Wait a second, Arnie,” she said as she reached his side. Arnie turned to give her one of his pained looks. But when he saw her he stopped.
Jana Lee smiled and adjusted the paintings which had started to slip. But that wasn’t what stopped him. It wasn’t the paintings either, though they were as magnificent as ever. It was something that he saw in her eye, something that he recognized. Her eyes were as red-rimmed as his own.
Why? he thought. What had she to worry about? When she was ready, they headed towards the library. Neither said another word, though Arnie saw her looking at him once as he glanced at her.
As Arnie thought about what he had seen and what it meant, something occurred to him that he had never thought of before. In the parable of the talents, different talents were given to the servants: five talents, two talents, and one talent. Arnie had always just assumed that some people were five-talent people and some people were two-talent people. But what he knew when the image of Jana Lee’s overworked eyes sank deep into his heart was that most people started out with both talents and potential for talents. Just because you didn’t have five talents the first day didn’t mean you couldn’t have them—if you worked. Didn’t the Lord say, “Well done, thou good and faithful servant” to the man who began with two talents? He had started with two and had come away with four. He had done good work.
Arnie was also a worker. Perhaps, today, Arnie had two talents. But, as he thought back, he’d only begun with one. Perhaps next time, at the next competition, Arnie would have a five-talent art like Jana Lee. She, as he saw in her eyes, had worked for hers. He, as he knew in his heart, could work for his. And with that revelation, being pleased with his own work, Arnie was, for the first time in a long time, content.
He and Jana Lee reached the wall where they would hang up their works. After he helped her with the paintings, Jana Lee helped him with his drawings. When they reached the last one, that of the boy in the sand, Jana Lee smiled.
“This one’s really good,” she said. “Who was the model? He’s got such a knowing look on his face.”
“I don’t know who he was,” replied Arnie. “But he was a smart kid. And he built a great sand castle.”