Gospel Story Finder

Joseph Smith, however, remained a big concern. I couldn’t believe he was a prophet of God, and every time someone taught about him I wanted to shout, “That’s not true!” But I couldn’t utter it. When I was asked to share my testimony, I repeated words I had heard others speak.
Though I did not believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, I did believe some of the Church’s teachings and enjoyed attending church—except for the first Sunday of the month. Over and over I would hear the members bearing testimony that Joseph Smith was a prophet. It irritated me. I eventually became so angry that I didn’t want to attend church. I made up excuses not to attend, but Papa wouldn’t allow any of his children to be left at home on Sundays.
I was about 14 years old when Papa enrolled me in seminary. That really bothered me. I wasn’t interested, and I felt forced to attend. The first meeting, I purposely arrived late. But to my surprise, no one was at the chapel except Brother Cedillo, the custodian. He turned out to be my seminary teacher.
When the other students arrived, Brother Cedillo asked if any of us had read the Book of Mormon. Nobody answered. He opened the book and asked us to read with him, beginning at 1 Nephi 1:1. I do not remember what else my teacher said that day, but I do remember the powerful testimony he bore of the Book of Mormon. I was touched in my heart, and as I walked home I felt happy. I couldn’t understand why.
That night I resolved to read the Book of Mormon. I started reading after dinner, with a prayer that I could understand. I kept reading till midnight. As I read, I imagined the characters in the Book of Mormon acting out the scenes as if I were watching television. I didn’t understand some of the words, but as I read of the sufferings the prophets in the Book of Mormon endured for testifying of the truth, tears rolled down my cheeks. I had been angry at members of the Church for doing the same thing the prophets had done! I pictured myself as one of those who had persecuted the prophets—and realized how ungrateful I had been.
I continued reading the next day and into the night. I couldn’t sleep until I finished reading the Book of Mormon. When I finally closed the book, I knelt and asked God for forgiveness. In my prayer, I testified that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. And I knew that if the Book of Mormon was true, then Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, because he translated the book. As I said “amen,” my face was wet with tears. I felt at peace and filled with joy.
The experience helped me later when I served a full-time mission in the Philippines Cebu Mission. It helped me understand better my investigators’ concerns about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon. Today my heart still fills with gratitude for the great blessings God has given me and my family.

On a beautiful summer morning, our family attended the Special Olympics to watch our son Scott participate. The Special Olympics are held each year to allow people with disabilities to enjoy friendly competition. We observed that as the runners were taking their positions for the fifty-yard dash, they were being encouraged by special friends affectionately known as huggers. Seconds before the start of the race, these huggers took their places at the finish line of the race. It didn’t matter who crossed the finish line first. What did matter was that every runner completed the race and that every runner received a congratulatory hug. Both the courageous runners and the caring huggers taught important principles of truth.

To illustrate the second great stabilizing force, I relate another experience. Some years ago, I was serving as a young bishop. We were holding a ward social around a swimming pool near the apartment where most of the ward members lived. I was introduced to a new member of the ward—a young woman by the name of Carol. Carol had cerebral palsy. She walked with great difficulty; her hands were crippled. Her kind and dear face was also affected, as was her speech. But as I would come to understand, to know Carol was to love her.
I had only to wait a few minutes to begin learning the great lesson she would teach. While we were talking, we watched a tall, very athletic young man dive off the diving board and seem to injure himself slightly. He got out of the pool, holding his neck, and went and sat under a tree. I watched as Carol struggled to prepare a plate of food and with great difficulty delivered it to him—a guileless act of service, of “good works.” Carol’s good works became a legend. She cared for the sick; she took food to the hungry; she drove people places; she comforted; she lifted; she blessed.
I walked with her one day on the sidewalk that passed through the apartment complex where she lived. From the windows, from the balconies, from the porches came cries of “Hi, Carol!” and “How are you doing, Carol?” and “Come up and see us, Carol!” Occasionally someone would say “Oh, hi, Bishop.” It was clear that Carol was loved and greatly accepted through her wonderful good works.
My most vivid recollection of Carol occurred in the spring of that year. The ward had agreed to participate in the stake five-kilometer fun run—an oxymoronic term, to be sure. Carol wanted to be with the rest of the ward members, but we didn’t see how it would be possible. For her, just walking was a great difficulty. Nevertheless, she was determined. She struggled and trained each day to increase her endurance.
The race finished in the stadium. Two or three hundred of us were in the stands by the finish line, drinking juice and catching our breath. And then we remembered Carol—she was left somewhere back on the course. As we ran out the entrance of the stadium to find her, she came into view, struggling to breathe, barely able to walk, but determined to finish. As she started around the track toward the finish line, a wonderful thing happened. Suddenly the track was lined on both sides with hundreds of cheering friends. Others were running alongside to support and hold her up. Carol had finished the race.

I once had a friend who was a mountain lion hunter. He loved to saddle up his favorite horse, tie on the saddle bags, and make sure his gun was cleaned and ready for instant firing.
One day while I was visiting him, I noticed he had a full-grown hunting dog tied to one of the sheds. “Isn’t he a beauty!” I commented.
“He’s got to go,” my friend replied. “I can’t be bothered with him.”
“Why? What’s the problem?” I asked in surprise.
My lion-tracking friend explained that ever since the dog was a pup it had been trained to track lions. “He knows what I expect,” the man continued, “but the last time we were on a three-day hunt he took off after a deer and then a coyote and finally some rabbits, and was gone the best part of a full day. He knows he must stay on the trail of the lion to be one of my helpers. Our business is mountain lions, and this dog is bad for business. Now he’s for sale pretty cheap.”
I felt sorry for that beautiful, healthy, yet disobedient dog. He couldn’t stay on the path that would keep a place with his master for him.

Another time when I learned the importance of prayer was when I was preparing for my first piano recital. I was about seven years old, and I was very nervous. I was afraid I would forget the piece, and I was also worried that my hands would shake so badly that I couldn’t play.
My mother knew I was scared, and she suggested that before I go on stage to play, I bow my head and ask Heavenly Father to help me feel calm and remember what I had practiced. I followed Mother’s advice, taking a moment to pray right before I performed.
He answered my prayers, and I learned that Heavenly Father could help me at all times in my life, even during piano recitals! I started to realize that He could help me in school. I prayed and asked Him to help me study and learn and take tests.
A few years later, when I was ten, my family visited the Hill Cumorah and the Sacred Grove. I remember standing on the Hill Cumorah and listening to Daddy explaining exactly what happened there. Then we went to the Sacred Grove, and Daddy told us about Joseph Smith praying to Heavenly Father for the truth. Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appeared to young Joseph, blessing him with the answer to his prayer. I knew that if Joseph could get answers, so could I.
Throughout my life, I have talked to Heavenly Father regularly through prayer. I am very grateful to my parents for teaching me that Heavenly Father lives and that He always listens to us. He listens to me, and He listens to you. I know that He will always be there for you.

Priscilla Sampson-Davis first met the missionaries in 1964 while living in Holland. Her husband rejected them, but Sister Sampson-Davis was interested and read the Book of Mormon. When the family returned to Ghana, she found Brother Johnson’s group studying the doctrines of the Church and became an active participant. Fourteen years later, she and her children were among the first to be baptized when the missionaries arrived in Ghana.

One Sunday after joining the Church, Sister Sampson-Davis saw a vision. It was as if she were at sacrament meeting. A person in white apparel stood in front of the stand, beckoning to her. “I came and stood by him. He asked me to turn around and look at the faces of the people to see if they were all enjoying the service. I saw that some of them had bowed their heads. He asked me why some of those people were not joining in the singing. I said, ‘Because they didn’t go to school and they can’t read English. They can’t sing, and that is the reason they bow their heads.’

“Then he said, ‘Wouldn’t you like to help your sisters and brothers who can’t read and who can’t join you in singing praises to Heavenly Father?’”

Even though she couldn’t write the language well, she replied, “I will try.”

The vision ended, and she immediately translated “Redeemer of Israel” into her native language. Sister Sampson-Davis went on to translate the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, Gospel Principles, and various other Church materials. (These items are still in preparation.) In seeking approval to translate the Book of Mormon, Priscilla says:

“I discussed the translation with the mission president, and he asked me to continue. …

“I felt good as I translated the Book of Mormon. I knew the Lord wanted me to do it, because at times when I would use a certain word or a phrase, suddenly, as if somebody was standing behind me, I would hear, ‘No, use this word,’ or ‘No, not that word.’ I always had an eraser with me, because the Spirit was always teaching me.”

Some time ago I was at a gathering in Frankfurt with Church leaders from all over Europe, preparing for a large event, which we would later need to postpone to 2021 because of the pandemic.
At this meeting, Elder Massimo De Feo, counselor in the Area Presidency, concluded his teaching, and the entire meeting by showing a video, a piece of music with the Norwegian singer Sissel Kyrkjebø and The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square called “Slow Down.” This is from a concert she held with The Tabernacle Choir in 20192, but I had simply not seen or heard this, even though I am also from Norway.
I was indeed not prepared for what I experienced when Elder de Feo started the video. Just seconds into the performance, it was as if I heard Him in a way that I perhaps never had heard Him before. My emotions completely overpowered me, and I cried like a child. I tried to not let my body shake too much and I looked down so it would not be apparent that I was weeping. I was afraid it would ruin the moment for all others present. The piece of music prompted me to experience God‘s grace, love, and forgiveness through the Savior Jesus Christ for me personally, that all my mistakes in life were mixed with all the demanding experiences life had offered, could be healed and taken away. I felt a glimpse of heaven, a taste of a celestial existence.
Later, I went online and read some of the comments others had left on the video. The following are two comments: “I will NEVER forget when I first saw this. I am autistic and have struggled with chronic depression and suicide ideation. The last few weeks before that concert were pure torture for me, and I was completely lost in what to do anymore. A few days before this song was performed, I asked a few friends of mine in the Choir for some support which they gave and when I first heard this song, I was drowning in tears. Truly the light will always come at the end of the tunnel. Thank you, Tabernacle Choir, my dear friends, for being such heroes in my life and such wonderful friends! I love you all forever!”
And the second comment: “I’m so glad they didn’t edit out the applause. That moment when she realizes that approximately twenty thousand people are giving her a standing ovation is magical.”
Dear friends, hearing Him is magical; it is a celestial experience and it touches our hearts, our spirits, and helps us continue our journey home to Him. That is worth fighting for. What can you do to hear Him more often?

Mike and Lynn are a young married couple with two young children. They especially wanted to share this day with their children and make it special for the whole family. Their entire family worked hard that day to be nicer to each other. They spent the day in the canyons learning about each other and our Father in heaven. As Mike said, “You cannot have a perfect day and not improve your family life. It was wonderful.”
Lynn shared another experience that had happened to her. “Early that morning I arose and decided to fix a good breakfast. I started making pancakes first. I was whipping up the pancakes with a wire whip a little too vigorously, I guess, because suddenly the batter splattered all over everything—the cupboards, the floor, me. Then I looked down at my son and his face had dozens of tiny pancake batter specks on it, and his eyes were big as saucers. When I looked at him, I began to laugh. Usually I would have become very irritated in that kind of a situation.
“And just after breakfast, I received a call from my mother asking if I could give my sister a ride to work that morning. I bundled up the kids, warmed up the car, and drove out to mother’s. By the time I got there my sister had found another ride to work. Again I was able to accept the situation instead of becoming angry or disgusted.
“As I was driving home from Mother’s I began to cry. My son asked what the matter was, and all I could say was, ‘We are going to have a perfect day.’

President Young had said, “If the people of the United States will let us alone for ten years we will ask no odds of them.”

Eight years to the day after the 1849 celebration, the Saints were in Big Cottonwood Canyon to celebrate another 24th of July. Four horsemen rode in to report that an army 2,500 soldiers strong was on the plains. The army of the United States, commanded by Colonel Albert Sidney Johnston, was ordered by President James Buchanan to crush a nonexistent Mormon rebellion.

The Saints broke camp and headed for home to prepare their defenses. Rather than flee, this time President Young declared, “We have transgressed no law, and we have no occasion to do so, neither do we intend to; but as for any nation’s coming to destroy this people, God Almighty being my helper, they cannot come here.”

Neither mobbings nor the army could turn the Saints aside from what they knew to be true. A settlement was negotiated, and the Utah War (later called Buchanan’s Blunder) was over.

For example, Ella was quite shy growing up. She didn’t want her shyness to stop her from having lots of friends and being involved in school and Church activities. Now, at 17, Ella certainly isn’t shy, and she has many friends in many towns. She travels with the track team and is also involved in debate and forensics. She plays the piano, sings, and figures out how to attend just about every activity for youth in her stake, even though the stake center is in Juneau and the stake itself extends from White Horse to Ketchikan, a distance so great that it’s hard for the stake to get together for anything.
How did she cure her shyness? “I watched the good things other girls did, how they acted, and what they talked about,” says Ella. “Then I tried to do the same things.” By trial and error, Ella found her place and a comfortable way to relate to others. She learned how to be a kind and supportive friend. Since she can’t talk to her friends by phone regularly, she has discovered e-mail and uses the computers at the public library to keep in touch. Then, when she does visit their towns for school trips or other reasons, she arranges to go to church or seminary or Mutual with them.

The Lord placed me in a home with loving parents. By the world’s standards, they were very ordinary people; my father, a devoted man, was a truck driver; my angel mother, a stay-at-home mom. The Lord helped me find my lovely wife, Melanie; He prompted a businessman, who became a dear friend, to give me an employment opportunity. The Lord called me to serve in the mission field, both as a young man and as a mission president; He called me to the Quorum of the Seventy; and now He has called me as an Apostle. Looking back, I realize I did not orchestrate any of those moves; the Lord did, just as He is orchestrating important moves for you and for those you love.

When he returned home, William picked up his music career where he had left off, gaining a strong fan base through self-released albums. His incredible talent with the piano enabled him to compose his own New Age-style pieces, while at the same time performing classical pieces to perfection. His unique style soon caught the attention of producer David Foster, senior vice president of Warner Brothers records, who happened to be in Phoenix for a charity event.
“I was introduced to David four hours before the event, during sound check. The person who introduced me asked, ‘Could he play your piano?’ and David said, ‘Yeah, yeah, bring him up.’” David put William on stage and instructed him to “play something.”
“I definitely felt like this would be a good time to not mess up,” William says. He began to play a song he had written called “Within.” After just a few seconds, David led the band on stage to play along.
“I’m totally playing my heart out, and the next thing I know I’m playing with this world-class band, and they join in on the spot, while David’s conducting over me. And, when I finished, everyone in the room was clapping. He gave me a high-five and said, ‘What was that song?’ I said that it was a song that I wrote, and he said, ‘I want you to come back tonight for the show.’ It was the biggest show of the year in Arizona, and he said, ‘You’re going to open the show.’”
After a successful performance at the concert, David Foster signed William to a record deal, and they produced an album in only two months. He opened for Josh Groban’s 2004 tour, and toured with Clay Aiken in 2005.

Last year, when I was five years old, I wanted to practice being a missionary. I decided to give the family home evening lesson. I prepared the lesson by myself. I cut out temple pictures from old magazines so I could talk about temples. When I showed a picture of a temple, I asked my family to guess which temple it was. Then I read the name that was written on the back of it. I wore my church clothes. On my white shirt, I had attached a little missionary tag that my grandparents had given me. It said “Future Missionary.”
This experience helped me to be more like Jesus Christ because He was a missionary too. He taught and served many people. I want to be a missionary like Jesus Christ.

Bowling also teaches you to “follow through and keep going.” How has this helped you to overcome challenges? Before I release my bowling ball, I must keep my body in proper alignment, especially my arm, hand, and wrist. Even a slight turn of the wrist can send the ball off course. This is also true for my spiritual and personal growth.
When I experienced ongoing bullying from a peer, I was troubled for a time. I sought advice and comfort from my parents and seminary teacher and through studying the prophet’s counsel and the scriptures. The bully eventually moved away, and I was able to “course correct” by remembering my divine worth.

By Geiziane Morais Freitas Duarte, Brazil

I once ministered to a sister who had stopped attending church. When I visited her, I would share how much the Savior loved her and her family. I would always invite them to come to church the following Sunday. This practice went on for a long time, but they never came. I felt discouraged. The temptation to give up was strong. But every time my companion and I visited their home, we had a glimpse of heaven. We would always picture them in the temple, dressed in white. We knew we had to keep trying.

After many prayers and visits, the day finally came—the family came to church! They kept coming back each week. The family put in hard work to grow their faith and get on the covenant path. It became evident that the gospel had strengthened them.

Eventually, I received an invitation to their temple sealing. As I watched the sacred ordinance, I couldn’t help but shed tears of joy. It was a miracle.

At times I wanted to give up. But every time I visited them, I saw the temple. God showed me a glimpse of His plan for this family. He used me as His instrument to stay in touch with them. I am grateful to Him for showing me the true vision of ministering.

When young Gordon had a bout of whooping cough, his doctor suggested that he spend time in the country to recover, so his father purchased a 30-acre fruit farm in Millcreek, on the southeast side of Salt Lake City. The farm did more than help the boy regain his health—it helped him and his brothers learn to work. Each Saturday during the spring and fall, his father took them to the farm. The family lived there during the summer months and in town during the school year.

But many of the biggest miracles in this powerful program are the most personal. During her sophomore year, Mary Mulvey found herself being pulled further and further away from church and family. “My life was going in a very bad direction,” she recalls. Then she was called into the Laurel presidency in her ward. Her adviser asked her to help get other girls involved with Personal Progress, so Mary started working on it herself. “I started with some of the easier experiences,” Mary explains. “For two weeks, I tried being nicer to my older sister, and that really changed our relationship.” Next she set goals to clean up her language and improve the way she dressed. “Everything I did helped change my overall attitude. I was changing all the little things that had pulled me away in the first place.”

Soon Mary felt worthy to receive her patriarchal blessing, another huge help in her life—especially when she lost her old group of friends and had to start over socially at school. “Personal Progress was life changing,” Mary reflects. “It redefined who I am and helped me see where I need to go in my life.” As her last value project, Mary set a goal to go to the temple regularly to do baptisms for the dead. Today people in her ward often tell Mary that she now has a visibly brighter countenance. It all started when she started her Personal Progress.

But that was all before I began using my famous one-liner: “I intend to go on a mission for the Mormon church, sir.” This was not an original phrase for me. I just happened to pick it up one day in World Studies II, Advanced Review of the Emerging Third-World Nations. In this class we spent a lot of time memorizing the African states, capitals, and leaders. A Mr. Cranberg from Trenton, New Jersey, taught the course very methodically. Most days I quickly memorized my three countries and went on to my geometry. I never noticed that everyone else around me did the same until one day I suddenly detected a slight change in Mr. Cranberg’s drone.
“Anderson, stand!”
“Sir?” replied Anderson, standing in the formal Eaton manner.
“What are you doing?”
“Reading, sir.”
“World Problems?”
“No, sir.”
“How then, explain, do you expect to succeed in this class? And if you do not succeed in this class, how do you expect to understand this complex world in which you live?”
“I live in the dorms, sir. It’s very educational.”
Even I snickered at this.
“Don’t be funny, Anderson. You do not seem to understand the necessity of succeeding in this world. What may I ask do you intend to do after your graduation?”
Looking straight ahead and without a smile, Anderson replied, “I intend, sir, to go on a mission for the Mormon church.”
“A what?”
“A mission, sir.”
“To where? Africa?”
“My brother, sir, went to New Jersey.”
The class broke into an uproar. Mr. Cranberg, furious at this apparent slight toward his home state, assigned us all 18 extra pages of reading, with outline. All of us except Anderson who got 36. No one complained much because of the great joke. And also because of who Anderson was.
He was fairly good-looking and a pretty good athlete, but most of all he was just the sort of fellow who was friends with everyone. Never crude or wild or conceited like some of the boys I watched, he was always so friendly, as though his world were an excellent place into which he wished to draw all his fellows. Even me, it seemed, which puzzled me. I had never had a close friend with whom I confided my problems, my hopes, my dreams. I believe that is why his warmth fascinated me. And also that is why I took as my own his famous line.
It was not that I intended to go anywhere for the Mormon church. In my mind the Mormons were still out in the Rocky Mountains trudging around the hills in their covered wagons. I didn’t connect Scott Anderson with them; I just admired him so much that I stole his line. Besides, I was tired of being “we” and needed a conversation stopper.
But soon after I began using it, I became Anderson’s close friend.
It happened in gym through a bizarre accident. We were on the field playing soccer, when suddenly a ball came sailing from nowhere.
“Save it, Jack, save it,” I heard, and the next thing I felt was a terrible blow to my head. Some primitive instinct told me to fight back, so I kicked with all my strength and heard a crunch before I fell into blackness.
When I awoke, I saw the white curtains of the infirmary and knew I was going to be sick.
“Want me to call Ol’ Collins?”
I rolled over and in my misery saw Anderson’s grin with a slightly fat lip and missing one tooth.
“Anything you want,” I groaned.
Collins came bustling in, murmured about “concussion” and “our mother” and bustled out.
“I didn’t know you could kick so hard.” Again I saw the snaggly grin.
“It must have been the blow to my head. It gave me strength.”
“Your head is only half your problem. We also have two months in the clink together for fighting.”
“Fighting? Who was fighting? And what’s the clink? Where am I, Africa?”
“You and I, sir, have two months in detention hall.”
And that’s how I met Scott Anderson.
For a first friend there could have been no better. He showed me how to play soccer, and I showed him geometry and sentence diagraming. He explained to me the caste system of Eaton from the lowliest freshman to the headmaster. His parents had been assigned to a post overseas, so he was at Eaton finishing up his junior year. His comprehension of human systems astonished me just as my understanding of split participles fascinated him. I felt as though that day of our soccer crash had been for me a grand awakening to a world that had always been but I had never seen. I was a blind man granted sight.
It was four weeks into our detention that I mentioned to Anderson his famous quote from World Problems.
“That was some line,” I said.
“Yeah, but it’s no joke, you know. I really am going on a mission.”
“A mission, a mission, what is a mission, Dr. Livingstone?”
“I’m going out into the world to teach people about the gospel of Jesus Christ.”
“Why?”
“Because the Church is true.”
“Are you really Mormon?”
“Sure thing, died in the wool, true blue.”
“No kidding. I never thought they got out of Utah.”
“Yeah, they did. Got out all over the world.”
So not only did I meet Scott Anderson, but also the Mormon church.
Too soon the term came to an end. When I came back from vacation, Scott Anderson was gone. “Moved,” somebody told me, “back to Utah.” I clung even more to his famous one line in memory of our friendship.
It was a fresh April day at the Apothecary Outdoor Restaurant when I had a final chance to use Anderson’s line. We had just finished our salad and were beginning our soup when an acquaintance of my mother stopped to greet us. He added the usual, “And what are you going to be doing next year, Jack?”
“I will be going on a mission for the Mormon church, sir,” I replied.
“You will?” He seemed more than astonished. “Why I didn’t know you were Mormons!”
“We’re not,” my mother smiled her let’s-get-on-to-other-things smile.
“But I am,” the man went on. “As a matter of fact, I’m bishop of the Manhattan Third Ward.”
“A bishop? I’ve heard of bishops,” I said. “You see, I had this friend at school …”
And so I met Bishop Beesely. And now I am going on a mission for the Mormon church. My father thinks that I am tomorrow’s Dr. Livingstone because I am going to South Africa.
My mother, though, is her same plural self. Just yesterday she said, “We’ll be needing some white shirts and dark suits now, won’t we, Jack?”

I love him for other things, for other places walking in his footsteps has taken me. I love him for a phone call from Idaho. A young couple had just had twins prematurely. One of them was doing fairly well, but the other was brought into the University of Utah Medical Center, weighing just a little over a pound and a quarter. Think of five cubes of butter, if you would, and you’re talking about the size of this little soul. I received a call from Idaho: “He has been administered to, but would you mind going to the hospital and giving him a blessing?” I found that about the only hour available that particular day was at 5:00 A.M. I went up to the medical center, went into the room, and found the oxygen canopy. I put my fingers—all that would fit—on the forehead of this little soul, gave a blessing, and had the impression from God that one day this boy—182 cm. tall, ninety-one kilograms—would be a young ambassador for the Lord.

There are other experiences. Once as I was leaving a conference, a sweet family stopped me. They knew a nonmember man who was having severe problems, and they wondered if we would give him a blessing. We went to his apartment. In the living room were two pieces of furniture, a bean bag chair and a stereo set—and nothing else. A little girl, nine years old was taking care of her father because the mother, when she heard her husband had cancer, had abandoned him and the girl and her younger brother. The girl took us down the hallway into his room, and there on the bottom of two bunk beds we saw this man, 182 cm. tall, thirty point four kg. We administered to him, feeling he would not live. But we felt impressed to bless him with the thing that would be of most worth to him: that his son and daughter would be protected, that angels would walk through this life with them, that they would be protected when he wasn’t there to do it any longer. You can’t buy those kinds of experiences with all the money in the world.

Seeking to walk in the Lord’s footsteps recently brought me in contact with a young man and his father. The young man and a friend were up hiking in the lower foothills near Cody, Wyoming. The friend jumped across a high-power line that was down, but the young man got tangled in it and was electrocuted. The friend turned and ran all the way back down to where the father lived—and it wasn’t a short distance—and told the father that his son had been electrocuted and that he was dead. The father, who was not a young man, ran all the way back up, taking about fifteen minutes. When he got up to where the boy was lying across the wires, he somehow removed the boy from the wires with a board or a large branch. Then he picked his son up in his arms and held him, saying, “In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power and authority of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, I command you to live.” The dead boy opened up his eyes in his father’s arms and was taken to the University of Utah Medical Center, where he recovered.

When I was eighteen, my dad, my grandpa, and I went together to receive our patriarchal blessings. That was a spiritual highlight of my life. My grandpa was promised that if he remained faithful, he’d inherit the celestial kingdom. He was in his seventies then, so I knew where he was going to be. My dad received a wonderful blessing, and I did too. My spiritual heritage has given me a desire to do what’s right and to honor our family name. There have been many times in my life when I’ve been tempted to do wrong and thoughts of my father’s and grandfather’s goodness have prompted me to make better decisions.