Gospel Story Finder

As he plows his farm today, Paulo still tries to plant gospel seeds by singing hymns for his neighbors, and he still travels 40 kilometers to church in Guarapuava. But now he travels with Rita and their son, Saulo, at his side, and rather than leave early Sunday morning, they take the last bus of the week late Friday night. After spending the weekend associating with the Saints and attending Sunday meetings, they return by bus to the farm on Monday morning—happy to have gone where the Lord would have them go.

A BYU–Hawaii student, working as a tour guide at the PCC, also shared the following story just a few weeks ago, “I took a father and his four sons on a tour last year. The father let me know that he was a former Church employee. Upon learning this, I was happy and eager to spend my day with someone who understands the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and to share my culture with him. However, when I started sharing some information about the Church here in Laie, to my surprise, he stopped me and told me they did not want to hear anything about the Church. He then told me how he just woke up one day and decided they didn’t believe in the Church anymore, so they left. I was taken aback, feeling awkward and embarrassed. Usually, when someone stops me while I’m talking, especially about the Church, I feel a bit defensive. But I didn’t. I felt calm. So, throughout the day, instead of mentioning the Church directly, we talked about our families. I shared with him how part of my family had also left the Church. He asked me, “What made you stay?” I had never really thought about what made me stay so the only words that came out of my mouth were “my testimony.” I have been in touch with him and his family ever since. Fast forward to last weekend, the father and three of his children were rebaptized as members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Had I been defensive about how he stopped me at the beginning of the tour, I would never have had the chance to share with him what made me stay.” [20]

Once I had a treasured friend, Hyrum Adams, who seemed to experience more of life’s troubles and frustrations than he could bear. Finally he lay in the hospital, terminally ill. I knew not that he was there.
Sister Monson and I had gone to that same hospital to visit another person who was very ill. As we exited the hospital and proceeded to where our car was parked, I felt the distinct impression to return and ask whether Hyrum Adams might be a patient there. Long years before, I had learned never, never, to postpone a prompting from the Lord. It was late, but a check with the desk clerk confirmed that indeed Hyrum was a patient.
We proceeded to his room, knocked on the door, and opened it. We were not prepared for the sight that awaited us. Balloon bouquets were everywhere. Prominently displayed on the wall was a poster with the words “Happy Birthday” written on it. Hyrum was sitting up in his hospital bed, his family by his side. When he saw us, he said, “Why, Brother Monson, how in the world did you know that this is my birthday?” I smiled but I left the question unanswered.
Those in the room who held the Melchizedek Priesthood surrounded this, their father and my friend, and a priesthood blessing was given.
After tears were shed, smiles of gratitude exchanged, and tender hugs received and given, I leaned over to Hyrum and spoke softly to him: “Hyrum, remember the words of the Lord, for they will sustain you. He promised, ‘I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you’” (John 14:18).

Recently we toured the Tahiti Mission and had several faith-promoting experiences with the Saints on the many small islands cradled by oceans of water.
Tahitian nights are cool and clear, and while most of the islanders were sound asleep, a small group of Latter-day Saints began packing belongings into their suitcases at 3:00 A.M. to catch a small twin engine propeller plane to Makemo, a small island in the Tuomatu group.
The plane with all 16 aboard taxied down the grassy runway and off we flew into the dark sky, where stars shone brightly and a full moon reflected on the water below.
President Stephen L. Graham, the mission president, was eager to tell us about his mission and how the Lord had answered his prayers. He smiled, spoke softly, and we listened. The roar of the engines was constant, and after a few hours, the sky gradually became lighter as the rising sun brightened on the horizon.
The plane gradually descended, and the short landing strip appeared. We slowly glided to a stop on the grass, gravel, and coral runway. As we arrived safely, we recognized that our prayers had been answered. Many people, our own members, were there to greet us warmly and wish us “Welcome, come and stay. We are happy to see you.” Greetings were exchanged as cheeks were kissed in friendly and familiar tradition. Handmade gifts of shells and flowers were hung around our necks. Their generosity and gifts brought tender feelings, and tears ran down smiling faces.
The island has about 60 Latter-day Saint members, and all had come to greet their visitors. We went a short distance to their new meetinghouse, a beautiful new Latter-day Saint chapel. Many had been waiting for the fulfilling of a promise that their prayers would be answered and one would come by assignment from the prophet to dedicate their building. The chapel was filled to overflowing, and each one sat in solemn silence as a prayer was given. Over 187 attended, many of whom were not members of the Church but who had desires to know about its message.
With that spiritual experience placed firmly in our hearts, we moved on to another assignment on a neighboring island. We approached the wharf. There the three small handcrafted, open boats, each about 20 feet in length with only outboard motors to propel them, were waiting. The mission president rode with us and looked after every detail. Ten to fifteen people crowded into each of these little wooden boats. The big surprise came when a 50-gallon drum was placed in the middle of the boat. We gazed, bewildered, and it was explained that that was our gas supply. An ordinary garden hose was dipped into the opening and a piece of Styrofoam, irregularly fashioned, held it in place. Three men had to sit on the bow, and then the signal was given to push off. The engines started effortlessly and all three boats headed out for the open seas as tearful Saints waved good-bye and anxiously asked, “You’ll come back, won’t you?”
When we were a short distance from shore a remarkable thing happened: the boats met, as if by appointment, and formed a small circle. The engines were stopped. Hats, which shielded us from the heat of the sun, were removed. Then, in a very spontaneous and special moment, the occupants looked at the mission president and he invited one to be voice and petition the Lord for safety during our journey. What reverence and what a sweet spirit touched our souls as we felt the hand of the Lord watching over us—a small band of Saints upon the beautiful blue waters of the vast Pacific Ocean.
Then the engines on all three boats were started, and one by one the boats moved out into the open, choppy waters. In a short time we were out of the harbor and the endless waves became larger and the skill of our skipper was felt. The relentless waves, one after another, persistently pounded our small boats. As the waves became more intense, the boat was tossed and rocked and we held on tightly. The salty spray soaked us, and we had to protect the gas barrel with a plastic cover. Flying fish were frequent sights as they swiftly glided past and narrowly skimmed the water. Land was nowhere to be seen. The salty spray was felt repeatedly and the sun was hot at noonday. The relentless waves tossed the beaten boat so forcefully that the boards on the bow broke and would need to be repaired.
After several hours we finally saw a faint irregularity appearing as a silhouette, and our skipper announced that land was in sight. We approached the tiny atoll of Taenga.
As we neared the island the engines were again stopped, hats were removed, and heads again bowed as President Graham called on one to offer a prayer of gratitude for a safe journey. You see, we were on His mission and He had truly answered our prayers.
Excitement was again felt as we disembarked on this lovely island and more lovely people greeted us. Another new chapel was to be dedicated. Heads were again bowed and prayers of thanks were sounded. What a spiritual experience! Our prayers and their prayers were answered.
The greetings of the Saints of Taenga, Makemo, and then Maniki islands, like those of the Saints throughout the Pacific Isles, were warm and wonderful. Shells, leis, flowers, baskets, handshakes, kisses, and hugs were commonplace, and the hearts of all of us were pounding in prayers of gratitude as heavily as the waves on the water.

The winding ways Sister Secuya and her family traverse reflect her journey in bringing her family to walk the covenant path together. At first, Sister Secuya was the only Church member in the family, but she had become less active.
Then, one day, she saw the full- time missionaries. “I’m a member of the Church, come please,” Mitzi excitedly called them out. The missionaries set an appointment with the family, and invited them to hear about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
At first, Richard Secuya wasn’t that receptive to the missionaries, but as he thought of his wife and children, he became more responsive to the promptings of the Spirit. The entire family became members of the Church, and were sealed for time and all eternity in the temple.
“I know the Lord will not forsake us if we come to Him,” Brother Secuya testifies, “and it is truly wonderful that we are now members of the Church. He really is mindful of us.”

I found myself sitting in the backseat of our car, the one we call the Green Machine, wondering how I got myself into this mess. We were helping my older sister move away from home for the first time, and I didn’t want to be there. I dreaded saying good-bye. I didn’t know what to say or do.
Why had I come, I asked myself. Because you’re a fool, I answered. A fool who thought your sister would want someone there besides Mom and Dad. She probably couldn’t care less, or so it seemed to me by the smiles and chatter that came nonstop from the front seat.
I shifted restlessly, hoping we were almost there, and thinking back to the argument we’d had just a couple of weeks ago.
“Will you hurry up with the hair dryer!”
“I’m drying my hair as fast as I can!”
“Well, could you let me use it for a minute? I have to leave.”
“So do I, but I can’t curl my hair unless it’s dry. Besides, I thought I’d have enough time because you said you were going to take a shower.”
“I was, but you used all the hot water.”
Bicker, bicker. Finally, we both got so fed up that we stopped talking to each other. We always seemed to fight like that. Funny though, a couple of hours later we’d be joking, laughing, and borrowing each other’s clothes as though nothing had happened. We were never angry with each other for long.
My thoughts were interrupted as we pulled up to a small, brick house, stepped out of the car, and went inside.
I lugged one of my sister’s suitcases around, while following my parents and dreading the moment when we would say good-bye. I’d have to hug her and then say something like, “I’m going to miss you” or “Have fun in California,” and then she’d hug me back and say, “I will.” Blech!
I walked outside and paced up and down the cracked sidewalk, awaiting the inevitable, as my dilapidated tennis shoes crumbled the dry leaves that had fallen from the tree in the yard.
Footsteps sounded behind me and I turned to see my sister coming toward me, a big smile on her face. I stood where I was, my hands in my pockets, as she set the box she was holding on the ground and came towards me.
We hugged each other, and I said, “I’m going to miss you. Have fun in California.” I let go, and she grinned and said, “I will.”
I turned away and crossed the street to the curb, unwilling to let her see my watery eyes. As I leaned against the car and lifted my tear-stained face to the wind, I softly whispered, “I love you.”

A long time ago in a faraway village lived a man who everyone did their very best to avoid. He was the type of person who believed that there was only one competent person in the world, and that one person was himself. Consequently he was never satisfied with anything. His shoes never fit right. His shirt never felt comfortable. When his food wasn’t too cold, it was too salty, and when it wasn’t too hot, it was too bland.

If a field wasn’t sowed by himself, it was not sowed well. If he didn’t close the door, the door was not closed properly.

In short, he made a career of frowning, lecturing, criticizing, and mumbling about the incompetencies of every other person in the rest of the world.

Unfortunately, the man was married, which made matters all the worse. No matter what his wife did, in his eyes it was wrong. No matter what the unfortunate woman cooked, sewed, or cleaned, or even when she milked the cow, it was never satisfactory, and he let her know it.

She tried very hard to be a good wife, but it seemed the harder she tried the less she pleased him. Finally, one evening she could take no more.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” she told him. “Tomorrow I will do your chores and you will do mine.”

“But you can’t do my chores,” the man replied. “You don’t know the first thing about sowing, hoeing, and irrigating.”

But the woman was adamant. And on top of that, she was filled with a righteous anger that frankly astonished and frightened the man to the point where he didn’t dare disagree.

So the next morning the wife went off to the fields and the man began the domestic chores. After thinking about it, he had actually convinced himself he was looking forward to it. Once and for all, he would demonstrate to his wife how things should be done.

Unfortunately, not everything went according to plan. In fact, nearly everything the man touched turned into disaster. He spilled the milk, let the pig get into the house, lost the cow, burned the dinner, and ultimately set the house on fire, narrowly escaping with his own life.

When his wife returned, she discovered her husband sitting on a pile of ashes, smoke still rising from his clothes. But the woman wasn’t the type to rub things in. She helped him up, wiped the soot from his beard, fixed him a little something to eat, and then prepared a bed of straw for them to sleep on.

From that day forward, the man never complained about anyone or anything else for as long as he lived.

The word of God is powerful, too, in helping us find hope in coping with our daily trials. Sister Patricia Holland, wife of Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve, experienced the pressures many women feel during the early years of her marriage as she supported her husband in school, moved many times, and cared for their very young children. At one point when her husband, a graduate student, was called to serve in a stake presidency and Sister Holland was called as ward Relief Society president, she admitted, “I really wanted to give up. … It wasn’t easy.”
Her husband’s gentle counsel was, “Read your scriptures more meaningfully. … The only way we will survive [feeling considerable pressure himself] is through spirituality. We will survive through the strength of the Spirit.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Sister Holland thought. On a day of fasting and prayer, “his words kept coming to my mind. … I remember walking over to my scriptures with the attitude, okay, we’ll just see if there’s something to this. And of course there was. The answers were there” (New Era, April 1981, pages 42–43).

“Missionaries from the Western United States knocked on my door in England many years ago. After telling my wife and me that they were representatives of the Lord Jesus Christ, they told us that the Book of Mormon was the word of God and that it had been translated from ancient records by the power of God. They told us how this wonderful book came to be. As I looked at it, a warm feeling came over me and I knew that the writings were true. I still had to read more and then pray before I knew that the young boy, Joseph Smith, whom the Lord used to translate the Book of Mormon, was indeed a prophet. My family and I were baptized. A desire to know the truth, coupled with study and prayer, gave me a testimony. Everyone can receive the same blessing through study and prayer. President Benson has challenged every member of the Church to read the Book of Mormon every day because it will bring us nearer to our Heavenly Father and Jesus than any other book.”

I would like to tell you about a little bird that was lying on the parking lot pavement. During the night it had been blown from its nest by the high winds in the storm. Apparently hatched just a few days earlier, it had few feathers, but enough to identify it as just a common sparrow.
As it lay there awaiting whatever fate would come, a young woman walking to her car in the parking lot saw the little sparrow and picked it up. Feeling sympathy for the helpless little bird she took it home to care for it. She prepared a nest in a basket with soft tissues, which were changed often to keep a clean and comfortable bed for the little bird.
She fed it often each day, watching it gain strength, and within a few days it opened its eyes and could see for the first time. It saw the girl who fed it and the family who lived in the home. It heard and became accustomed to the sounds around it, and it was not afraid.
As the days passed, it was able to hop about, and it was taken from the basket and put into a clean birdcage.
It trusted the girl and the family, and when it wanted food, it would chirp and flutter its growing wings rapidly, and when the cage door was opened it would hop out onto the girl’s hand and sit there patiently while she fed it.
It would sit on her hand as she walked through the house and even when she went outside. To help it become accustomed to the outside world where it soon would have to live, she would take it out on the lawn where she and her sister would sit under the tree and visit while the bird would look and observe all around it.
It came time for the girl and her sister to go to girls’ camp, so the bird went with them and spent the week on Cedar Mountain with the girls. It was there that it tried to fly for the first time, flying from the girl’s hand to the low branches in a nearby tree.
It was glad to come back to the familiar hand and security of the girl’s love, and although it was learning to fly it did not leave. When the girls’ camp was over the bird came home with the girls and continued its flying lessons.
The girl, realizing the bird must soon join its own kind, took it out on the front lawn and encouraged it to fly away. It flew across the lawn to a small pine tree, where it perched and looked around. The girl left it there, assuming it would now join the other birds, and she returned into the home.
It wasn’t long before a chirping could be heard outside in front of the home, and when the girl went out to see what the bird was chirping about, it flew out of the tree and landed back on her hand, and she fed it.
For the first few nights the bird would come back to the house and want to come in with the family for the night. Soon, however, it began to stay out with newly found friends living in the trees close by the home. When the girl would go outside and whistle, it would respond and return and land on her hand, and my daughter, Trinilee, would feed it.
That little bird and my daughter taught me a great lesson in faith and trust. Although it was just a fraction of the size of its human friend and could be in great danger for its life amongst humans, it trusted her and had faith it would not be harmed and would be fed by her—and it responded to her beckoning call.

Although it’s been nearly 28 years since I graduated high school, it doesn’t seem that long ago. I was so excited to graduate and go to college at that time. I knew what I wanted to study. For as long as I can remember, I had dreamed of becoming a mechanical/aerospace engineer. I was fascinated with aircraft, energy conversion, and all kinds of mechanical objects. I wanted to learn how to improve the world by creating something new and innovative. I was thrilled to start taking my classes. At this time, I didn’t really think about asking the Lord if this was what He wanted me to do. I’m sure I assumed that because I had been planning this for as long as I could remember, it would be what the Lord wanted for me. As I started my first classes, I found different challenges. First, my calculus class was taught by a graduate student from China whom I could barely understand. Very quickly, I started to fall behind, and after failing my first midterm, I decided I needed to drop the class. As I got into my first general chemistry class, I soon learned that chemistry and I didn’t mix very well. Although I felt I was having a rough start, I absolutely loved my first engineering class. I persevered over the next few semesters, determined to do better, for I felt I was meant to be an engineer.

As the time got closer for me to put my mission papers in, I really started pondering and praying about if a mission was right for me. It seemed like such a sacrifice and I thought putting my education on hold for two years would be so difficult. While seeking an answer, I remembered attending the many mission farewells for my cousins. As I went to their homecomings, I remember being so impressed with the spiritual giants they had become. I decided to move forward in faith that the Lord knew what was best for me and in 1996, I was called to the England London South Mission. I will always be eternally grateful for this decision. Not only through this experience was I able to witness many wonderful miracles while teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ, I was also able to meet and baptize my eternal companion. My wife likes to remind me of what the consequences would have been if I had not chosen to serve.

Toward the end of my mission, I decided that I really wanted to understand the Lord’s will for me. I started to sincerely fast and pray about what the Lord wanted me to do with my life. Very quickly, I received a distinct impression: “Roy, you are not to go into engineering.” This hit me like a ton of bricks. Didn’t the Lord know that this was one of my greatest desires? How was I to move forward without having something that I thought was so key to my identity? But I could not deny the inspiration I had received.

As I waited in the long December checkout line, my ears drifted to the conversation ahead of me. The woman in line must have been in her mid-30s, but her disheveled and stressed countenance added at least five years.
As she vented to the cashier, I learned the cause of this lady’s anxiety. She explained how she despised the holiday months, the time of year she associated with long lines, family drama, and the pressure to decorate and be jovial.
“Pressure?” I thought in disbelief. My heart ached for this woman, who clearly had a skewed view of the holidays. I tried to put myself in this woman’s shoes, and I could see what she meant by pressure. There is food to buy and there are goodies to prepare. There is pressure to buy gifts for the kids. Not only that, but we sometimes think the gifts have to be impressive. However, we each have the choice to rise above the commercial pressure of the holidays.
I can think back to one Christmas in which our family budget was extremely tight. We were supporting one of my brothers on his mission to Chicago, and that required us to skimp on nonessential items. The only gift-wrapped item I got that year was a fleece blanket. Nothing extravagant, just a plain blanket. I tried to talk it up to my friends at school and make it seem like it was a really great gift, but there was no use. It couldn’t compare to a video game console.
Since then, that blanket has come to symbolize much more to me. That gift was one of warmth. Yes, it warmed me on those few cold Arizona nights, but it also warmed me with love. My parents gave me more: they gave me fun family traditions, a firm sense of belonging, and a knowledge that true gifts are ones of service, love, and sacrifice. My parents sacrificed their money for my brother’s mission, but they never sacrificed their love for me, our family, and everyone around them as they served that year.
I wish I could go back to the school cafeteria table when my friends asked, “What did you get for Christmas?” I wish I could have answered them proudly: “I got a blanket, a blanket that warms me with the true love of the most wonderful time of year.”

After eight months I received the Melchizedek Priesthood. My son, Anderson, who was not a member of the Church, had a skin problem on his neck and had already been examined by three doctors. But even after taking antibiotics he saw no improvement.
I believed the priesthood could help him, and I explained priesthood blessings to him, but he did not accept my offer of one. He thought the medications would soon heal the infection. Finally, after several months he asked me for a blessing.
This was the first time I had exercised my priesthood in this way. Five days later Anderson entered my room very happy. His neck was completely healed.

Over the last nine years I have observed hundreds of young men receive the Melchizedek priesthood and go on missions. I always listened carefully to the testimonies of these young men as they received the higher priesthood or left for missions. I was particularly listening to hear if they had a testimony of the living God and the atonement of Jesus Christ. I frequently heard things like, “I am thankful for my family or for my friends who are always there for me. Or, I know the church is true and that President Hinckley is a prophet.” While these things were all appropriate, to me the telling point was if they understood their relationship to God and Jesus Christ and had somehow personalized that knowledge. During this same period of time I have heard literally hundreds of young men and women report their missions. How gratifying it was to have almost 100% of them say they knew God lived and they knew that Jesus Christ had died for their sins. One young man left a lasting impression on me when summarizing his mission he simply said, “I did it for Christ”. The spirit told me that he knew why it was important to do things like serve a mission.

When they were 13 and 16 respectively, they decided they wanted to climb the steep western face of Mount Timpanogos in the winter. This is a hazardous climb, involving deep snow and treacherous ridges of ice. After they had received instruction from their neighbor James Jensen, who had climbed in Antarctica, they dressed in their warmest clothing and hiking boots, took their homemade crampons and borrowed ice axes, and started climbing one morning at 3:00 A.M.

It was an exhausting climb, but they moved fast. At one point they were confronted with about 100 feet of almost vertical ice, and they had to chop steps in order to keep climbing. When they reached the 11,750 foot summit, they became the youngest team ever to make the ascent in winter.

They’ve repeated the feat several times since then, but with a difference. On that first venture they took their “climbing dog” George with them, but he became so neurotic about going up and down the ice steps that he never climbed Timpanogos again. He earned his nickname, however, by later accompanying them on countless equally risky ventures, frightened out of his fur half the time, but faithful to the end.

George has since passed gratefully away to a more peaceful existence.

A short time after our visit, Luan’s condition worsened, and his doctors found a large tumor at the base of his spinal cord. It could not be removed surgically, so Luan went to the hospital for another round of chemotherapy.
One night when President Soares and I visited Luan in the hospital, we found him in a lot of pain. He asked us several questions, including “What is death?” and “What is dying like?”
I explained that dying is part of eternity and that death is not a closing door but a door that opens for us as we go back to the presence of God. Luan understood and smiled. He said that now he was prepared. Then he asked us to give him a blessing, and we did so.
In the bed next to Luan was a 14-year-old boy named Pedro. Now Pedro asked us to bless him too. I asked if he had faith in Jesus Christ, and he said he did. We explained what the priesthood is and that we would be blessing him in the name of Jesus Christ. He closed his eyes and smiled as we blessed him. Next an 18-year-old young woman asked us to give her a blessing too.
I found out that Luan and his mother had comforted Pedro and many of the other young cancer patients and their parents. As I left the hospital that night, I was edified to see that Luan and his mother, though suffering themselves, found the strength to visit others and minister to their needs.

“Now may I make a personal reference, which I’ll try to treat in such a way as to preserve the confidentiality. It involved a beautiful, young wife and mother from a prominent family. She had gone away from her home and was now in the East. She had gone out into an area where she and her husband had taken up with those in the ghetto, and she wrote me a rather interesting letter, and I quote only a paragraph: ‘Tomorrow my husband will shave off his long, full beard. Because of the request of the stake president and your direction in the Priesthood Bulletin, he must not have the appearance of evil or rebellion if he is to get a recommend to go to the temple. I have wept anguished tears; the faces of Moses and Jacob were bearded, and to me the wisdom and spirituality of the old prophets reflected from the face of my own spiritual husband. It was like cutting out for me a symbol of the good things my generation has learned.’ Then the letter concluded with a challenge to me: ‘We are prepared for clear, specific, hard-line direction as youth. Wishy-washy implications are not heard very well here. We look to you to tell it straight.’
“I don’t know whether she knew just what she was asking for when she asked me to tell it straight, but these are some things I wrote to her: ‘In your letter you address me as, “Dear President Lee,” and in your first sentence you refer to me as the Lord’s prophet. Now, in your letter you tell me that you are saddened because with the shaving off of the beard and the cutting of the hair, which, to you, made your husband appear as the prophets Moses and Jacob, he would no longer bear that resemblance. I wonder if you might not be wiser to think of following the appearance of the prophets of today. President David O. McKay had no beard or long hair; neither did President Joseph Fielding Smith; and neither does your humble servant whom you have acknowledged as the Lord’s prophet.
“‘The inconsistency in your letter has made me reflect upon an experience that I had in the mission field when, in company with some missionaries and the mission president, we were at Carthage Jail, where the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph and his brother, Hyrum, took place. In that meeting there were recounted the events that led up to their martyrdom. Then the mission president made some significant comments. He said, “When the Prophet Joseph Smith died there were many who died spiritually with Joseph.” Likewise there were many who died spiritually with Brigham Young, and so with others of the presidents of the Church, because they chose to follow the man who had passed on, rather than giving allegiance to his successor upon whom the mantle of leadership had been given by the Lord’s appointment.’
“And then I asked her, ‘Are you following, in looks, prophets who lived hundreds of years ago? Are you really true to your faith as a member of the Church in failing to look to those who preside in the Church today? Why is it that you want your husband to look like Moses and Jacob, rather than to look like the modern prophets to whom you are expressing allegiance? If you will give this sober thought, your tears will dry, and you’ll begin to have some new thoughts.’” (“Be Loyal to the Royal Within You.” Speeches of the Year, Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1974, pp. 97–98.)

President Hunter was born November 14, 1907, in Boise, Idaho. He was not baptized at age eight. His father was not a member and felt that Howard should wait until he was older to decide about getting baptized.
President Hunter said, “I did have a testimony though. My mother had taught me to pray and to thank Heavenly Father for the beauty of the earth and for the wonderful times that I had at the ranch and by the river and with the Scouts. I also learned to ask Him for the things that I wanted or needed.” When he was twelve years old, he pleaded with his father to let him be baptized and was overjoyed when his father gave him permission.

Let me share a very specific example to help you understand both the power and importance of building on such a foundation. The example I've chosen represents the most important aspect of building in which my wife, Margaret, and I have personally been involved - the building of our marriage and family. Even before we were married in the Logan Temple, we had decided that we wanted to build our marriage and family on the Savior and His teachings. We wanted a family built on a foundation of love, respect and service and obedience to all of the Savior's teachings. But like every young couple, we had much to learn about how to put that into practice. We had to adapt and learn how to become "doers" of His teachings, not just "hearers only."

Over the years as our family grew in number and age, and our personal circumstances made it possible to do so, we began planning for an extended family vacation every few years. Let me tell you about one of those memorable vacations. We decided we would go to Europe for three weeks, renting a van and staying in youth hostels, a friend's vacation house, and other inexpensive venues available at that time.

We gave assignments to our five children - ranging in age from 5 to 14 - to prepare reports on each of the places we would visit and to share those during the business portion of family home evening. We also decided where we would go in each country visited, what we would take with us, and what cities we wanted to stay in each Saturday and Sunday night so we could attend church and keep the Sabbath appropriately. This past week as I was preparing for this devotional, I asked our youngest son, Spencer, who was only five years old when we took that vacation to Europe, what he remembered of the trip. I was struck by his response. He said, "I recall so many wonderful memories: the big red van we all piled into, playing games in the airports as we waited for flights, the narrow streets in Spain where we had to pull in the side mirrors of our van to avoid having them hit the walls of houses, trying to keep serious faces for a photo in an old castle in Germany, falling into a cold mountain stream in Switzerland and having you come to the rescue and put an icy cold compress on my cheek, seeing the St. Bernard dogs at the border of Switzerland and Italy, and taking the ferry from Holland to England. But most of all I just remember the wonderful time we had as a family." Here is a photo of our family and that red van as we prepared to board the ferry in Rotterdam.

It has been over thirty years since we took that trip, but each of our five children remembers the many wonderful experiences as a family. At the time, our children thought they were going on a vacation, but Margaret and I hoped that we were building an eternal family on a foundation of love, respect and service. That trip was so successful that a few years later we took a fishing trip to Alaska. Here is one of the memorable photos from that trip. As we continued building our family on that sure foundation, their love, respect and service for each other continued to grow.

In 2001, Margaret and I were presiding over the England London Mission and 200 missionaries when my mother passed away after years of illness. Because we could not attend the funeral, our five children represented us. Here is a photo of them on that occasion as they supported each other while we were thousands of miles away.

Fortunately, that foundation of love, respect and service that we have sought to build for our family has continued to stand the test of time. Five years ago, our family decided to take another fishing vacation to that same spot in Alaska where we had gone decades earlier. Here is a photo from that vacation. And so you don't think we only gather for vacations, let me share one more photo when our family came for my inauguration as President of BYU–Hawaii in 2007. As captured in this photo we again had all of our family together. You will recognize the location as the Laie Temple. This is the photo I use as my screensaver on my personal computer. It reminds me daily that temples are an integral part of our family's foundation.

While we continue to renew and strengthen the foundation we started building on over forty years ago, we know now, even more surely that we did then, that the Lord and His gospel are the only sure foundation on which to build a marriage and family. As stated so clearly by the Psalmist: "Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain that build it;"

On Sacrifices to Keep the Sabbath
Sometimes we worked until midnight on Saturday to keep from breaking the Sabbath. We went to church the next day, often without much sleep. Once we came home from church, and a cow had gotten caught in the pasture fence and died. There were times when we had millions of yen worth of damage to our cut hay because it had lain in the rain on the Sabbath. We knew accidents didn’t happen because it was Sunday. If you worry about that kind of thing, you would never be able to keep the Sabbath. Accidents can happen anytime.