Gospel Story Finder

When our oldest children were still small, we lived on a busy street here in Salt Lake City. My wife, Verla, and I were concerned about the danger that street presented to our children. We used every opportunity to reinforce the importance of staying away from the street. In addition, this was a time in our children’s lives when they were learning about temples and eternal families. So our children’s prayers regularly included this request: “Please help us to be married in the temple and stay out of the street.”
One day after some of our neighbor’s children had gone home after playing at our house, my wife received a call from their mother. One of her children had heard a prayer while he was visiting us and had offered this variation when he said his own prayer at home: “Please help us stay out of the temple and get married in the street.”
I trust that that particular prayer was not received exactly the way it was phrased, but I do have a strong testimony of the importance of prayer in shaping our lives.

Four days after arriving in the valley, Wilford had been riding alone several miles from camp when he saw twenty American Indians on a ridge ahead of him. In coming west, the Saints knew they would encounter Native peoples along the trail and in the Great Basin. Yet they had expected to find the Salt Lake Valley largely unoccupied. In reality, the Shoshones, the Utes, and a few other tribes often came to the valley to hunt and gather food.
Cautiously turning his horse around, Wilford started back to camp at a slow trot. One of the Indians galloped after him, and when only a hundred yards separated them, Wilford halted his horse, turned to face the rider, and tried to communicate with improvised sign language. The man was friendly, and Wilford learned that he was a Ute who wanted peace and commerce with the Saints. Since then, the Saints had made additional contact with Indians, including the Shoshones from the north.14

I think one of the things that drew me to Pamela was her loyalty. My parents were not members of the Church, but they taught me that it is important to keep our promises and be dependable. When I was a boy, I played a lot of football (soccer). My father watched me play and gave me pointers. He bicycled long distances, often, to do that. But I always knew that if he said he would come and watch me, he’d be there. His quiet dependability meant a lot.

President David O. McKay used to tell a story about a railroad engineer. Let me share it with you as recorded by President Harold B. Lee:
“The engineer pulled his train into a station one dark night, and a timid passenger inquired of the engineer if he wasn’t frightened to pull his train out in the dark with 400 or 500 passengers’ lives at stake. The engineer said, pointing up to the bright headlight, ‘I want to tell you one thing: when I pull out of this station I won’t be running in darkness one foot of the way. You see that light a thousand yards ahead? I run my engine just to the edge of the light, and when I get there it will still be on a thousand yards ahead.’ Having said that, President McKay added: ‘I want to tell you something. Through all this dark night of uncertainty, I want to tell you that this Welfare Program will not be running in the dark one foot of the way. You remember it. We can only see the next October as the first circle of light. We have told you what to do six months from now. By the time we get there the light will be on ahead of us, but every step of the way that light will be there. You teach your people to follow the light and they will be safe on Zion’s hill when the destructive forces come in the world.’” (Welfare Agricultural Meeting, 5 Apr. 1969.)

Sometimes we make poor choices when we yield to peer pressure. Kieth Merrill had such an experience when he was a young man. He and his friends were diving from sheer rock walls at the East Canyon Reservoir, northeast of Salt Lake City. It inevitably turned into a teenage contest when one young man climbed up to the top of the dam and dived 50 feet into the deep water of the reservoir. The rest of the young men all went to the top of the dam and made the same high dive. One boy wasn’t satisfied with that, so he said, “All right, I’ll do one better!” He climbed 60 feet up the side of the cliff. Not wanting to be outdone, Kieth climbed up beside him. After the other boy had dived into the water and seemed to be all right, Kieth took courage and made his dive. The contest was now down to these two boys. Kieth’s friend then climbed up to 70 feet and dived. He came up from the water laughing, rubbing his shoulders and his eyes. He then challenged Kieth, “Well, are you going to do it?”

“Of course, I’m going to do it!” And everybody on the shore said, “Of course, he’s going to do it!”

So Kieth swam back to the shore and climbed up the rocks. He knew if he jumped from the same height of 70 feet that his friend would want to go higher, so he scrambled up 80 feet to the very top of the cliff. No one could go any higher than the top. As Kieth looked down, he was terrified to see the water so very far away. He had made a rash decision. It was not what he wanted to do nor what he felt was right. Instead he had based his decision on the prodding and dares of a half dozen young men whose names he cannot now even remember.

He backed up and ran as hard as he could toward the edge. He found the mark he had carefully laid at the edge of the rock and sprang out into space. On the way down he remembered his parents teaching him to be careful when making decisions, because a wrong one could kill him. And now he thought, “You have done it, because when you hit the water you’ll be going so fast that it might as well be concrete.” When he hit the water, it even felt like concrete. How grateful he was when his head finally popped above water.

Why did he jump? What was he trying to prove? The young men who dared him didn’t care and probably don’t even remember that foolish act. But Kieth realized afterward that he had made what could easily have been a fatal decision. He had yielded to the pressure of friends expecting him to do what he didn’t want to do. He knew better. He said: “I was living in the world, and at that moment I was of the world because I was not in control of myself. I was not making decisions about my own life. The world made the decisions for me, … and [I] had barely avoided being in the world about six feet deep.”

Christmas as a family. Before I joined the Church, I thought that Christmas was just a time when people wore new clothes and shoes and when there were colored, blinking lights. But one December after I joined the Church, I received a letter and a card from the missionary who baptized me. Among his many words, the following stood out to me: “Christmas is a day when we can be with our families to have a beautiful dinner and to eat together.” It was a short sentence, but it had great significance to me.
That day I called everyone in my family to see if they could all come to a great Christmas dinner. Many were surprised because we had never celebrated Christmas as a family before, but they all accepted the invitation. My sisters and I worked hard so that everything would turn out right for our first family dinner. Everything was simple, but my mother was very happy, and everyone was excited to be together.
That Christmas was the happiest one I had ever had, and it was made possible by a simple card and letter reminding me that Christmas is a time to celebrate the birth of the Savior with my family. We have celebrated Christmas as a family ever since.Gedalva S., Brazil

I was feeling down one day at Young Women camp, so I decided to sit in the wooded arena where we gathered for skits. I sat there for about 10 minutes when I had the sudden thought to leave and go back to my cabin. At first, I ignored the idea and just remained where I was. The longer I sat, the more uneasy I felt, and the stronger the urge to go became.
Finally, I obeyed the prompting. I walked back up to my cabin and hung out with a few of my friends and some of the cabin leaders. Not more than 10 minutes later, everyone was forced to enter the cabins because there was a grizzly bear in the area. We found out later that the bear was spotted in the same place I’d been sitting moments earlier. I was so relieved that I had been prompted to move and that I had obeyed the prompting. I knew the Lord was watching over me. Then and there I could feel the love that God has for me. I knew that He knew me, and that was such a relief, especially since I had been feeling so sad earlier.

Eleven-year-old Beth Burroughs pulled the reins gently but firmly to the right and guided her horse, Ebony, down the side of a rocky dry wash. The homemade wreath of flowers she had slung over the saddle horn bounced as she maneuvered her animal down the little zigzagging ravine. By taking this route, Beth would save herself a good mile and a half of riding time on the road. She had to get to Heaven’s Gate Cemetery and back home so that she could help her mother with the wash.

The predawn light had turned the mist that hung over Hampton Lake into silver lace as Beth galloped along its south shore. Her horse was starting to show signs of strain, so she decided to pull up and let him rest.

Looping the reins about a large dead limb that protruded from other woody shore rubble, Beth knelt at the water’s edge and gazed at her rippled, distorted reflection. If it had been someone’s first view of her, she thought, she would have been as badly misrepresented as Rebecca had been.

Ebony lifted his dark head, shook his mane, and went back to drinking. Beth gazed fondly at him a moment, then her eyes returned to the rippling water. She remembered her father talking about the worth of the individual soul, about how each person that ever was, is, or ever would be is a child of God and therefore special in his or her own way. He said that no one should judge anybody else by appearance because his character, like his soul, is inside and can only really be seen by Heavenly Father.

But somehow, Beth painfully recalled, her father’s teachings had been hard to put into practice whenever Rebecca was around—until the day of the field mouse. …

Ebony lifted his head again, his thirst now satisfied. Beth lingered a minute or two, watching her reflection clear and sharpen in the settling water. Then she remounted Ebony and continued down the road.

Mr. Flannagan chugged by in his Model T, waving and honking as he traveled in the opposite direction. Such a noisy, happy machine, Beth thought, then decided she was wrong. Machines might be noisy, all right, but they didn’t have feelings. People could feel happy. She had been happy, very happy in the time she had spent with Rebecca after the day of the mouse’s burial. Beth had made more and more visits to the yellow house on Banberry Road. She and Rebecca had helped Sister Johnson bake cookies, walked the fence in the big grassy field just down from Tucker’s Mill, and lain on their backs, watching the clouds sail wildly by in the yellow sky.
Rebecca had a smile for everyone, a smile, Beth was sure, that could light up the world. She was like a little child. But had not the Savior Himself taught that “of such is the kingdom of heaven”? Beth hadn’t minded the funny looks some of her old friends gave her every now and again after she became friends with Rebecca. Her real friends respected her for her feelings. Besides, she knew Heavenly Father approved, and He was her most valued friend.

As Beth’s horse clip-clopped past the bright red covered bridge a half mile from Heaven’s Gate Cemetery, she couldn’t help but think about Rebecca’s death a year ago. Rebecca had disappeared into a neighbor’s burning house and lowered a small child out a window into someone’s waiting arms just before a section of roof collapsed on her, burying her beneath the fiery timbers.

Beth laid the homemade wreath of flowers on Rebecca’s grave. A couple of minutes later she again climbed onto Ebony’s back and rode out of Heaven’s Gate.

The sun seemed to perch on top of the mesa as horse and rider turned up the little treelined path toward home.

“Did you have a good ride, honey?” Beth’s father asked as he stepped from the barn, leading a plow horse.
“Sure did,” Beth replied, walking her horse toward him. “There’s a lot to see when the sun comes up. First you see a little of this, then a little of that. Pretty soon everything is all lit up as pretty as can be. As pretty as a good memory. As pretty as Rebecca Johnson.”

Many years ago when I was practicing law in California, a friend and client who was not a member of our faith came in to see me and with great enthusiasm showed me a letter he had received from an LDS bishop of a nearby ward. The bishop wrote that a member of his congregation, a former employee of my client, had taken materials from my client’s work site and had rationalized that they were surplus. But after becoming a committed Latter-day Saint and attempting to follow Jesus Christ, this employee recognized that what he had done was dishonest. Enclosed in the letter was a sum of money from the man to cover not only the cost of the materials but also interest. My client was impressed that the Church through lay leadership would assist this man in his effort to be reconciled to God.

The LDS Scouts came from all over the world, including Germany, Wales, Guam, England, and South Africa, but most were from the United States and Canada. One thing they all shared was a zest for getting to know Scouts from other parts of the world. One LDS Scout executive was worried because he had heard a complaint that the U.S. Scouts weren’t integrating well enough with other contingents. Determined to do his part, he hailed a passing English Scout. He was surprised to find that the lad did not have an English accent.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Campbell.”
“Where are you from?”
“Salt Lake City.”
The “English” Scout had traded uniforms with a friend in the British contingent. This was not unusual. By the end of the jamboree, many of the LDS Scouts looked rather like a walking world atlas, with headgear from one nation, shirt from another, trousers from another, and a neckerchief from still another.

However, some of my negative feelings still remained. I still felt like I wasn’t worth anything. Then I suddenly remembered a story my mom had told me. When I was three years old, my mom was woken up in the middle of the night by the Spirit whispering, “Go to Anna.” She ignored it and tried to go to sleep. Again she heard it, and again she ignored it. The third time it was even louder, so my mom got up and went into my room. She found me turning blue and having some form of a fit, like a seizure. She called an ambulance, and I was quickly sent to the hospital. The doctors took care of me and told my mom that if I had been left a little longer, I might not have survived.
When I think I have no worth or purpose on earth, I reflect on this story and the peace I felt from the Holy Ghost, and I realize that I’m worth so much to my Heavenly Father. Even though I don’t understand it all yet, I know that I have an important mission on earth. I am a daughter of God, and He truly loves me.

What these sources teach us is that repentance is essentially a six-step process. First, we must come to a recognition of our sin. Second, we must develop what Paul calls a “godly sorrow” for our sin. Third, we must completely abandon our sin. Fourth, we must confess our sin and make what restitution we can. Fifth, we must replace the negative action of the sin with the positive action of a recommitment to keep the commandments. And, sixth, we must receive a final forgiveness of our sin. Let me illustrate this process with a personal example.
When I was a freshman in high school, I developed the terrible habit of profanity. My friends used foul language and, while I resisted its allure at first, I finally became seduced by its strains as it ran filthily, though I imagined it trippingly, off the tongue. After about a year, just as I was turning 16, I developed, for a number of reasons, a deep sense that I had been committing a very serious sin. This sense, inspired, I am sure, by the Holy Ghost working on my conscience, seemed to almost envelop me totally with a dark sense of guilt, and I determined to repent and put this sin away from me forever. Thus, I had fulfilled the first two steps toward repentance by recognizing my sin and, then, by feeling a deep sense of sorrow because of it.
I started an intense program of deprofaning my language, concentrating on steps three, four, and five of the repentance process. I began avoiding my especially profane acquaintances in favor of others, mostly Church members, and developed other words to express myself. I slipped occasionally, of course, but eventually got to where I could avoid vocalizing the profanity altogether.
Then, after having successfully gotten the vile words out of my mouth, I went to work on getting them out of my mind. I prayed each morning for strength and reported my progress in my nightly prayers, always reiterating my desire to receive a forgiveness of my sin. I told my friends of my efforts and asked their forgiveness of my former language. They were understanding and helpful.
And finally, having mastered my tongue and my mind, I felt I had completed every step necessary to be forgiven short of the final one, which is the forgiveness itself. But I had to wait awhile for that last step to be accomplished, just like I had to wait for my dry-cleaned slacks. Then, one night, as I lay in bed after my prayers, the sweet sense of forgiveness I had been seeking came to me through the Spirit. I felt a great joy over my spiritual cleansing, far more profound that the relief I had felt over the physical cleaning of my favorite slacks.
Now, about 15 years later, it is sometimes hard for me to believe that I ever used such foul language. I remember, certainly, that I did, but not with the pain I had felt earlier, because I know that I have been forgiven and that I have kept my forgiveness in force by never having fallen back into that same sin.

1. Integrity is the foundation of our character and all other virtues. In 1853 the Saints commenced the construction of the Salt Lake Temple. For the better part of two long, hard years the Saints dug the excavations and laid the foundation: over eight feet (2.4 m) deep, made of sandstone. One day the foreman came to President Brigham Young with this devastating news: there were cracks in the blocks of sandstone. Brigham Young was faced with this dilemma: (1) do the best they could to patch up the cracks and build a temple of much less weight and grandeur than anticipated or (2) rip out two years of work and replace it with a granite foundation that could support the magnificent temple God envisioned for them. Fortunately, President Young chose the latter course.3
Integrity is the foundation upon which character and a Christlike life are built. If there are cracks in that foundation, then it will not support the weight of other Christlike attributes that must be built upon it. How can we be humble if we lack the integrity to acknowledge our own weaknesses? How can we develop charity for others if we are not totally honest in our dealings with them? How can we repent and be clean if we only partially disclose the truth to our bishop? At the root of every virtue is integrity.
Christian author C. S. Lewis noted that once we make a mistake in a mathematical equation, we cannot just keep on going: “When I have started a sum the wrong way, the sooner I admit this and go back and start over again, the faster I shall get on.”4
Likewise, we cannot continue to fully acquire other Christlike virtues until we first make integrity the granite foundation of our lives. In some cases this may require us to go through the painful process of ripping out an existing foundation built upon deceit and replacing it stone by stone with a foundation of integrity. But it can be done.

You and I have been blessed with the promise of such an inheritance. I owe much of my happiness in life to a man I never met in mortal life. He was an orphan who became one of my great-grandparents. He left me a priceless heritage of hope. Let me tell you some of the part he played in creating that inheritance for me.
His name was Heinrich Eyring. He was born into great wealth. His father, Edward, had a large estate in Coburg, in what is now Germany. His mother was Viscountess Charlotte Von Blomberg. Her father was the keeper of the lands of the king of Prussia.
Heinrich was Charlotte and Edward’s first son. Charlotte died at the age of 31, after the birth of her third child. Edward died soon thereafter, having lost all his property and wealth in a failed investment. He was only 40 years of age. He left three orphaned children.
Heinrich, my great-grandfather, had lost both of his parents and a great worldly inheritance. He was penniless. He recorded in his history that he felt his best hope lay in going to America. Although he had neither family nor friends there, he had a feeling of hope about going to America. He first went to New York City. Later he moved to St. Louis, Missouri.
In St. Louis one of his co-workers was a Latter-day Saint. From him he obtained a copy of a pamphlet written by Elder Parley P. Pratt. He read it and then studied every word he could obtain about the Latter-day Saints. He prayed to know if there really were angels that appeared to men, whether there was a living prophet, and whether he had found a true and revealed religion.
After two months of careful study and prayer, Heinrich had a dream in which he was told he was to be baptized. A man whose name and priesthood I hold in sacred memory, Elder William Brown, was to perform the ordinance. Heinrich was baptized in a pool of rainwater on March 11, 1855, at 7:30 in the morning.
I believe that Heinrich Eyring knew then that what I am teaching you today is true. He knew that the happiness of eternal life comes through family bonds which continue forever. Even when he had so recently found the Lord’s plan of happiness, he knew that his hope for eternal joy depended on the free choices of others to follow his example. His hope of eternal happiness depended on people not yet born.
As a part of our family’s inheritance of hope, he left a history to his descendants.
In that history I can feel his love for those of us who would follow him. In his words I feel his hope that his descendants might choose to follow him on the path back to our heavenly home. He knew it would not be one great choice to make to do so but many small choices. I quote from his history:
“From the time I first heard Elder Andrus speak … I have always attended the meeting of the Latter day Saints and the instances are very rare indeed, when I [have] failed to go to meeting, it being at the same time my duty to do so.
“I name this in my history that my children may imitate my example and never neglect this … important duty [to assemble] with the Saints.”
Heinrich knew that in sacrament meetings we could renew our promise to always remember the Savior and have His Spirit to be with us.
It was that Spirit that sustained him on the mission to which he was called only a few months after accepting the baptismal covenant. He left as his heritage his example of staying faithful to his mission for six years in what was then called the Indian Territories. To receive his release from his mission, he walked and joined a wagon train from Oklahoma to Salt Lake City, a distance of approximately 1,100 miles (1,770 km).
Soon thereafter he was called by the prophet of God to move to southern Utah. From there he answered another call to serve a mission in his native Germany. He then accepted the invitation of an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ to help build up the Latter-day Saint colonies in northern Mexico. From there he was called to Mexico City as a full-time missionary again. He honored those calls. He lies buried in a small cemetery in Colonia Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico.
I recite these facts not to claim greatness for him or for what he did or for his descendants. I recite those facts to honor him for the example of faith and hope that was in his heart.
He accepted those calls because of his faith that the resurrected Christ and our Heavenly Father had appeared to Joseph Smith in a grove of trees in the state of New York. He accepted them because he had faith that the priesthood keys in the Lord’s Church had been restored with the power to seal families forever, if only they had sufficient faith to keep their covenants.
Some of Heinrich Eyring’s descendants have seemed to wander. But many of his great-great-grandchildren go to temples of God at 6:00 in the morning to perform ordinances for ancestors they have never met. They go out of the heritage of hope he left. He left an inheritance that is being claimed by many of his descendants.

Ever since he was little, Chance A. has always loved movies. And growing up in a musical family, he’s always loved music too. Now, at age 17, he’s working—and already finding success—where movies and music come together.

“A lot of my favorite composers are film composers,” says Chance, who lives in Texas, USA. “I get so inspired by their music. I’m able to connect on an emotional level with the video and the music that attaches to it.”

He loves movie music so much that he wanted to give film scoring a try. So, of course, he searched “film-scoring contest” on the internet. In order to gain experience, he had entered a couple of small music-composition contests before, without any success. But then he saw the top hit on his web search: the fifth annual Marvin Hamlisch Film Scoring Contest. This international competition, named for a famous film composer, includes a youth category. It’s a pretty big deal. Chance decided to enter it. It would be good experience, he thought.

He was sent a four-minute animated film to score. He was excited. He was ready. He had time—the submission deadline was three months away. The music that had been bottled up inside him could now come pouring out.

But then weeks went by. He watched the video over and over, he thought, he prayed—and no inspiration came. Feeling completely blocked, he shared his frustration with his mom (who, incidentally, is a vocal performer and majored in music). It was a good move.

“There’s a pivotal point in the film,” says Chance, “a climax in the story that the music should lead up to. My mom had the brilliant idea to just start there. So I got that section written out and scored and then worked my way backward to the beginning and then on to the end.” He felt the inspiration flowing.

The rest, as they say, is history.

He submitted his entry. A while later he learned he had made the top 10. He was overjoyed. Then, a couple of months after that, he received an email thanking everyone for entering. The next line said he was the winner. “When I read that, I jumped up. I was amazed!” he says.

He and his mom got to go to New York City to accept the award. While he was there, he met other composers as well as people involved in other aspects of film and animation.

Chance traveled to New York City with his mother to receive the first-place award in the youth category of the Marvin Hamlisch Film Scoring Contest.

Chance with his film scoring award.

Before the curtains opened, I stood nervously backstage in the dark silence. Many precious hours were sacrificed in preparation for this moment. The curtains opened to reveal a high school choir poised and ready to sing. Our conductor stood in the wing across from me. She caught my eye and smiled before entering the stage.
I was the accompanist for the high school concert choir. Our conductor chose a series of songs that meant a great deal to her. The music was difficult, especially for a high school choir. I had labored long and hard over these songs, attempting to perfect each note. At this moment, however, I wondered if I had done enough to prepare. I worried that I might not live up to my conductor’s expectations.
I cautiously stepped onto the stage, sensing a thousand pairs of eyes on me as I sat down at the piano. Although shaking, I positioned my hands for the first chord and waited for my conductor’s cue. She looked into my eyes, and together we began the piece. Immediately, I felt a change come over me. The notes came easily and comfortably to my trembling fingers. It seemed that I was not playing the piano alone—something else inside of me was. I believe that the Spirit was there, guiding my fingers and calming my heart. Each song was better than the last. The choir sang with surety and deep emotion. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly in my young life.
My eyes brimmed with tears as the last notes lingered on the piano. The audience was struck silent for a moment before they applauded and gave us a standing ovation. They had also felt that overwhelming influence of the Spirit. After taking our bows, my conductor and I left the stage. She fell into my arms and we both cried because the Spirit had touched us so deeply. I received many compliments, but in my heart, I knew that I did not play those beautiful pieces alone that night. Something much more powerful than I had delivered those songs with such divine beauty.
Just as I did my part to practice the music, I know that when I do what the Lord asks me to do, He will bless me and guide me. My efforts were blessed that night on the stage and are continually blessed in my daily life as I strive to do my best to obey His commandments. I may fall short, but He can make up the difference. I gained a testimony one night on a bright stage while sitting at a piano.

* * *
It was three weeks after my parents had come. We were in a small park in town where there was a set of swings and some old distinguished-looking trees. We were sitting on the swings enjoying the early evening solitude. I was playing my guitar and singing.
“You know a lot of songs, Greg.”
“I learned most of them when we used to stage sit-ins. When you’re sitting around some administrator’s hallway, it’s nice to have something to do. Did I ever tell you that I went to Chicago?”
“How did you like it?” she asked eagerly.
“Like what?”
“Chicago, silly.”
“I wasn’t on a Boy Scout tour,” I snapped. I couldn’t believe that she didn’t know what we had done at Chicago. “Don’t you associate anything with Chicago?”
She wrinkled her nose, a sign I had learned to recognize as indicating deep concentration. “Carl Sandburg.”
That broke me up.
She climbed to the top of the slide, cleared her throat, and began reciting “Hog Butcher for the World.” After four lines she paused, wrinkled her nose, and confessed, “I forgot the rest.” For her finale she slid down the slide, and then turned to me and took a bow. “Ta da!” she sang.
I put my guitar down and motioned to the stairs. “After you,” I said. We both climbed the stairs. We sat up at the top of the slide. I put my arms around her and we went down the slide together, “making a train” as I had called it when I was four or five years old. We landed in a pile at the bottom of the slide. After we got untangled, I helped her up and we sat down on the merry-go-round.
“Debbie, we are crazy. You know that, don’t you?”
“Why?”
“You’re Miss Goody-two-shoes, and I’m your friendly neighborhood hippie.”
“You’re not, Greg. You’re just playing a part. The hair, the beard—it’s a costume. Underneath waiting to get out is a man like your father who will be an effective leader in the Church.”
“It’s not true. Somehow for me the Church never took.”
She took my guitar, retuned it, and began singing in clear tones, “Give Said the Little Stream.” When she got to the part, “There is something all can give,” she looked up and smiled at me. She pointed her finger at me and said, “The Church wants to join you.”
“Debbie, what are we going to do? We’ve fallen in love, but there’s no way we can both be happy. You told the Sunday School class that you weren’t going to settle for anything less than a temple marriage.”
“That’s right.”
“Why?”
She thought a while before answering.
“Love was meant to last forever. But in this life, death robs us. First we see our parents sliding year by year. Lines of worry grow into deep ravines. They begin walking with a cane. Their fingers become gnarled by arthritis. Then someday they leave us. In a few years the same thing happens to us.”
The stillness of the night was occasionally disturbed by the sounds of the crowd at the high school game a few blocks away.
She continued. “But death is not the end. In the resurrection those broken bodies will become perfect. No more canes, no more arthritis. A man and a woman who have honored the promises made in the temple will experience the joys of marriage again. This time forever.” She touched my hand lightly. “I want that for my marriage.”
“But I won’t ever be able to go to the temple. Never.”
“I’ll get someone else then,” she whispered. It was as if the words had fought a long battle in order to escape from her lips.
“I thought you loved me,” I said.
“It’s more than that. I’m in love with you. There’s a difference.”
“And you’d toss everything we’ve got going for us into the air because of the Church?”
“Greg, I know Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. What else can I do?”
“Maybe you believe it sincerely, but you can’t know it.”
“Why not?”
“C’mon Debbie! This is the twentieth century. You can’t know anything is true. You’re in college. How can you swallow that now?”
She stood up. “And how can you sit through a fast and testimony meeting and not be moved. Why can’t you feel the influence of the Holy Ghost?”
We were standing up facing each other.
“I feel what can be recorded—sound, light, heat, taste, touch. That’s what we’ve got in this world.”
“No it isn’t. I know beyond any doubt that Joseph Smith was a prophet.”
“You can’t say that.”
“I am saying it, Greg.”
“That’s the same jazz I get from my parents every time I go home. I don’t want it from you.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s tearing us apart. I love you, Debbie. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. Except for your belief in the Church.”
“The things you respect in me are things that have come from my membership in the Church. Why are you fighting so hard?”
“Why? Welcome to the world! We’ve got problems to be solved. Our generation are the ones who have got to get it together before it’s too late. The Church may be all right, but it’s just not relevant in our day.”
“What problems?”
“Injustice, hate, pollution, poverty, wars! How does the Church propose to solve these problems?”
“If people would live the gospel of Jesus Christ, these problems would be solved.”
“Do you mean that the only thing you can suggest is for the whole world to join the Church? These are problems that won’t be solved by simple homespun ideas from Utah!”
“There’s a prophet of God in Utah. That’s worth more to me than some panel of experts predicting what the future will bring, or telling us that Christian ideals are old-fashioned, or that chastity is emotionally unhealthy. I’ve seen the gospel change the lives of people for the better. They pay their tithing and they get out of poverty. They have family home evenings and their love for each other increases. They live the Word of Wisdom and they are healthier. What program have you ever advocated that would touch people like that?”
It was the same argument we’d gone through before. “We’re not getting anywhere with this,” I said. “Let’s walk back to the car.”
I guess we both knew as we walked slowly to the car that we were breaking up. If we had loved each other less, maybe we could have gone on. But our love was too deep. Each disagreement brought pain. And if we married with our differences, we would live the same argument day after day.
Have I told you that when she laughed it was like the song of glass bells that ring with a gentle wind? And that she beat me at Ping-Pong eight consecutive games? And that she taught a Primary class for which she practiced the lessons on me? (“Greg, sit down and pretend you’re a four-year-old. Boys and girls, I’m going to tell you a story. What do you think about that?”) And that on one Saturday morning we got in my car and rode across the country roads, singing together? And that she talked me into taking her to the river to show her how to catch a fish with a spinner? (“Why would a fish want to eat a crummy piece of tin?”) And that her hair was like a halo around her face?
It was over.
On the way back to the dorm she tried again. “Greg, have you ever read the Book of Mormon?”
“I’ve read parts of it.”
“What parts?”
“The first few pages, until they start quoting Isaiah.”
“That’s all?”
“It’s a very confusing book.”
She gently rebuked me. “But aren’t you the college intellectual? The seeker of truth? And you’ve never read that little book?”
I pulled up to the dorm. “Not completely through, no.”
“Greg, I want you to read it this week.”
“It’s no good, Debbie. It won’t make any difference.”
“Greg, I want you to get a testimony so you can take me to the temple.”
“It won’t work. I’m not going to fake a belief even for that. Regardless of what I’m not, I am honest.”
“I know you won’t fake it, Greg.”
“Then why do you think it will make any difference?”
“There’s a promise with the book. You do your part and the Lord will do his. Greg, please read it and pray about it.”
I was worried about her. “Debbie, I don’t want to hurt you. If you believe in this, that’s great. But I don’t want to destroy your faith. If I read that book and nothing happens …”
“I know you, Greg. And, at least a little, I know my Father in heaven. It won’t fail. I know it.”
“For such a little girl you sure know a lot.”
“Will you read it?”
“Okay, I’ll read it.”
“And will you pray about it?”
“Debbie, I’m not even sure there’s a God.”
“There is. Ask him.”
“Okay, I’ll pray.”
“What will you pray for?”
“To know the right way, I guess.”
“No,” she said.
“No? What then?”
“Ask if the Book of Mormon is true.”
* * *
What can I say? If you’ve already got a testimony, you know what happened. And if you don’t, you’ll say I copped out because of her. At least that’s what my friends said when I told them about the Book of Mormon. If I could only make them see. But I can’t.
You know, it’s funny how a guy can grow up in the Church and escape a testimony of its truthfulness. I guess everyone must find out for himself the way Moroni said, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
Two weeks after it happened I walked into the foyer of the ward chapel. It was early Sunday morning before priesthood meeting. Brother Johnson was just walking out of the bishop’s office. When he saw me, he walked over and shook my hand.
“Hi there. I’m Brother Johnson. I don’t believe I’ve met you.”
“I’m Greg Jeffreys. I met you at the student open house. You walked up to me and said the same thing then.” I smiled and shook his hand.
“I did?”
“Yes, you did. But I had a beard and longer hair then.”
“Oh sure. You and Debbie have been going together.”
“Right. I need to talk to the bishop, Brother Johnson. I hope I can be advanced to an elder soon. I’ve got a date with Debbie at the temple.”

One of the reasons we must trust God is that we are presently locked in the dimension of time; he is not. This personal experience may be illustrative.

In May of 1945 as a frightened, not-too-effective young infantryman in the U. S. Army in combat on Okinawa, I had several soul-stretching, faith-promoting experiences, including a dramatic answer to my prayers that came during an artillery shelling of our company’s mortar position. It demonstrated to me, again, that the Lord was cognizant of my prayers. In one of those selfish, honest prayers that we offer when we are in real trouble, I promised the Lord that if he would spare me on that occasion, I would seek to serve him all my life. The prayer was answered at once. I foolishly thought then that I could repay the Lord. Since then I am more deeply in his debt than ever.

On a stopover on Okinawa in 1973, I found the same spot, now overgrown by sugarcane, where my foxhole was during that shelling. Just a few hills away, I was privileged to speak in a chapel full of Okinawan Saints and servicemen—not very far from where I and others spent those grim nights so many years before. Soon there will even be a stake of the Church on Okinawa!

I wonder if I had been told in the spring of 1945 that these things would happen later if my mind and heart could have been so stretched? The Lord foresaw, but I did not.

Hannah held tightly to her mother’s hand. “It’s OK, Hannah. I can go with you to Primary,” Mom said.
Hannah looked around the chapel. She didn’t like this new building. But mostly she didn’t like not knowing anyone.
Last Sunday, Dad had gone with her to Primary. There were only boys in her class. But the teacher said that there was a girl who should be back in class this week. Hannah tried to peek around the tall grown-ups to see the girl who might be in her class.
Suddenly Hannah felt a tap on her elbow. She turned around and saw a girl who was just her height and wore her hair in two long braids.“My name is Natalie,” she said. “Sister Davis said that you were in our Primary class. You can come with me.”
The girl took hold of Hannah’s hand. Hannah looked at Mom. “Thank you for helping Hannah,” Mom said, smiling at Natalie.Hannah swallowed hard and let Natalie lead her out of the chapel.“Now I’m not the only girl in our class,” Natalie said. “Will you be my friend?”“Yes,” Hannah said with a big smile.In sharing time, Natalie sat down next to four boys. Natalie patted the chair next to her so Hannah would sit by her.
“Hi, Natalie,” a boy said.“Hi, Tait,” Natalie said. “This is my new friend Hannah.”Sister Walker asked everyone to sing “When Jesus Christ Was Baptized.” Hannah smiled. She had learned that song in her old Primary. “That’s my favorite song,” she told Natalie.“Tait and I like it too,” Natalie said.Hannah sang with Natalie and Tait. Sister Walker held up pictures of Jesus. Hannah smiled. Maybe she liked this new Primary after all.

A few years ago, Sister Joyce Audrey Evans, a young mother in Belfast, Northern Ireland, was having trouble with a pregnancy. She went to the hospital, where one of the nurses told her she would probably lose the baby. Sister Evans replied, “But I can’t give up. … You have to give me hope.” Sister Evans later recalled, “I couldn’t give up hope until all reason for hope was gone. It was something I owed to my unborn child.”

Three days later she had a miscarriage. She wrote: “For one long moment, I felt nothing. Then a profound feeling of peace flowed through me. With the peace came understanding. I knew now why I couldn’t give up hope in spite of all the circumstances: you either live in hope or you live in despair. Without hope, you cannot endure to the end. I had looked for an answer to prayers and was not disappointed; I was healed in body and rewarded with a spirit of peace. Never before had I felt so close to my Heavenly Father; never before had I felt such peace. …

“The miracle of peace was not the only blessing to come from this experience. Some weeks later, I fell to thinking about the child I had lost. The Spirit brought to my mind the words from Genesis 4:25: ‘And she bare a son, and called his name Seth: For God, said she, hath appointed me another seed. …’

“A few months later I became pregnant again. When my son was born, he was declared to be ‘perfect.’” He was named Evan Seth.