Gospel Story Finder

It was Christmas Eve, and I did not want to be out caroling.
However, my mom thought it would be fun if the family piled into our old car and drove down icy neighborhood roads to sing carols to three widows in our ward, and my dad was happy to support her suggestion.
I felt awkward. Who would want to hear us? I would die of embarrassment if I saw anyone I knew. Grumbling and sulking, I crawled into the back seat with my brother and sister.
The drive to the first apartment was only a few blocks away. Nobody answered. We drove to the second stop. Again, no answer. My spirits began to rise.
As we pulled into the narrow driveway of our last stop, I thought, “Please let no one be home.”
It was now dark outside. As my mother knocked and waited, the front porch remained dark. Good. Soon we would be home, where I could escape into my bedroom.
Suddenly the porch light snapped on and the door opened. I was so embarrassed. I felt certain we had disturbed her.
“Come in, come in,” the small, wiry woman said. She pointed to her old upright piano.
“Do you play?” she asked my mother. “Let’s sing around the piano.”
Her warmth and enthusiasm softened my heart. Maybe she didn’t mind so much that we were there. We had sung a few songs when she offered us hot chocolate.
“Can you come help?” she asked me. As we entered the kitchen, I was stunned to see a beautiful table set that was delightfully decorated for Christmas. It was so festive! At each place setting was a small, carefully wrapped package.
“Who is this for?” I asked. I knew she lived alone.
“For my neighbors,” she explained. “Every Christmas I invite those like myself—those with no family nearby—over for Christmas breakfast and a little treat.”
The idea exploded in my 13-year-old brain. Admiration filled my stubborn heart. How beautiful this room was. How beautiful this petite older sister was. How beautiful was my mother to bring us here. At last I was happy.
At church the next month this sister thanked us again for visiting. She told us we were the only ones that year who had remembered her. A few months later she passed away unexpectedly.
I look back at that Christmas and feel thankful for wonderful parents and for this older sister, each of whom wanted to bring Christmas cheer to others.
Brooke K., Utah, USA

When it seems like “Been there; done that” is the reaction to every suggestion made in planning youth activities, then you might try what members in the High Wycombe Ward in the Staines England Stake did. Think of something challenging and interesting, then see if it can be done.
The teens suggested that it might be great fun to record their own CD for their super activity. That meant writing the lyrics, performing the music, and, before anything else, making assignments.
What kind of song could they write? First, it had to include everyone, and some people readily admitted that singing was something they’d rather listen to than do. They agreed that to include everyone, they really needed something simple with some sections to pull in everyone. Lindsey Judd, a Mia Maid, agreed to write the lyrics. One of the Young Men leaders agreed to compose a background track.
Lindsey said, “My first source of information was For the Strength of Youth. That is where I found the topics to write about. I looked some of those topics up in the scriptures and found a really good first line in D&C 45:57. ‘For they that are wise and have received the truth, and have taken the Holy Spirit for their guide, and have not been deceived—verily I say unto you, they shall not be hewn down and cast into the fire, but shall abide the day.’ I had my topics, some scripture lines, and my own knowledge. I just started to rhyme.”
Next came the practicing. The date for the recording came, and 19 youth and 5 leaders drove to a small recording studio for what turned out to be a three-hour recording session. The professional musicians who ran the studio were overwhelmed to have 19 teens crowding into the small studio. Some parts took many retakes to get right, and other parts made it in one take. Every teen participated; every voice was recorded. The musicians asked some meaningful questions about the young people, who asked if they could say a prayer after the session was over.
The best parts of the day didn’t end up on the recording. MaLanie Robison said, “I learned how important it is for everyone to work together as a team. When we were all singing together, all bunched up around the microphones, I kept thinking how cool it was that each person, with his own unique talents and differences, could become one and sing about our similar belief in the Savior.”
“I think our recording of a CD was great,” said Richard Holt. “It taught us the importance of teamwork, patience, and, most important of all, we proclaimed the gospel.”
With the CD finished, the young people discovered that words put to music really make them easier to remember. “I think it was good,” said Camilla Warren, “to give the song words that remind us of our standards.”
So, as their song says, “Whether you’re in Malibu or in Timbuktu, if you pray with faith, He’ll always be there. He’ll be there to guide you and to answer your prayer.”
And in the background, you’ll hear the High Wycombe Ward youth humming along.

The Coopers are driving a long way to visit Grandma!
Will we ever make it? It’s taking forever.
Speed up, Mom, so we get there faster.
I’m going the speed limit now.
Can’t you go a little faster?
Remember the twelfth article of faith?
Oh yeah. The part about obeying the law.
Well, if we don’t make it tonight, we do have blankets …
… and sleeping bags!
… and food!
Ha, ha, ha!
Twelfth Article of Faith
“We believe in being subject to kings, presidents, rulers, and magistrates, in obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.”

Gaining a testimony is a major step. But what do you do when you know something is true and necessary—but it looks impossible to achieve? For example, what do you do when you have been taught how important temples are, yet you can’t travel to one? You do what the Lehmanns and other East German Saints did. You pray, and you live to be worthy of temple blessings someday in the future. And it looked like it would be a long way into the future.
But even faithful people can be surprised by blessings. And when the East German government announced in 1982 that the Church would be allowed to build a temple there, the members were grateful and astonished. “I was amazed,” says Michael simply. “From that time on, I knew everything else was possible.”
The brothers talk about the time they went with their father to see the temple while it was under construction. After work one night, they took off, riding their dilapidated bikes twenty-five miles through the hilly countryside. And when they got to the temple site, they just stood across the street from the rising walls and watched.
And they wept.

Will you learn, my young brethren, to take time-out? It even works in sports, because of the amazing influence it wields. I remember my first professional season, playing in a strange town; I had joined the club at midseason. The catcher, who was also the manager, was old enough to be my father. He was an old professional ballplayer from the Washington Senators and had had much experience. The team was a rough lot. I remember so well one night while visiting in a distant town, about two o’clock a knock came at my hotel door. I got up and answered it, and there standing in the framework was my manager.
He said, “Paul, may I come in?”
And I said, “Please do. What’s the matter?”
He said, “Close the door, and whatever you do don’t tell the others I came.”
I said, “Well, I won’t.”
He responded: “I’ve been watching you for these past two months. You know the Lord, don’t you?”
I said, “I think he’s my friend.”
He said, “Would you help me find him?”
We sat down in the room, and for over two hours talked about God, the Eternal Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. Tears began to form in his eyes.
I said, “Danny, have you ever prayed?”
He said, “No.”
I said, “Would it offend you to pray with me?”
“Well,” he said, “not if you will pray.”
I said, “I would be honored.”
So together we knelt down beside my bed, and talked to Heavenly Father. We took time-out. And as we arose from our knees, he pushed back the tears, threw his arms around me, almost choked me to death, and said, “Thank you, thank you. Could we do this some more?”
I said, “As often as you would like.”
We did on several other occasions. But you know what else was interesting? Before the season ended, several other knocks came at my door. One night it was the first baseman, then the shortstop, and the left fielder. And each in his own wonderful way said, “Don’t tell the others.”
I learned on that occasion that people are really seeking and want what you and I have. God bless you, my wonderful brethren, to have the wisdom and strength to call time-out and visit with your Heavenly Father. He really lives, as does his Son, to which I testify in the holy name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When the Titanic embarked on its maiden voyage in 1912, people said it was an unsinkable ship. However, when it hit an iceberg in the middle of the north Atlantic Ocean, it began to sink. The captain told everyone to get to the lifeboats, but they were convinced they were on an unsinkable ship. Most passengers saw no need to get on the lifeboat—until the Titanic tilted dangerously to one side. Then everyone wanted to get on a lifeboat. 1
But by then, it was too late.

Harry de Leyer was late to the auction on that snowy day in 1956, and all of the good horses had already been sold. The few that remained were old and spent and had been bought by a company that would salvage them.
Harry, the riding master at a girls’ school in New York, was about to leave when one of these horses—an uncared-for, gray gelding with ugly-looking wounds on its legs—caught his eye. The animal still bore the marks that had been made by a heavy work harness, evidence to the hard life he had led. But something about him captured Harry’s attention, so he offered $80 for him.
It was snowing when Harry’s children saw the horse for the first time, and because of the coat of snow on the horse’s back, the children named him “Snowman.”
Harry took good care of the horse, which turned out to be a gentle and reliable friend—a horse the girls liked to ride because he was steady and didn’t startle like some of the others. In fact, Snowman made such rapid improvement that a neighbor purchased him for twice what Harry had originally paid.
But Snowman kept disappearing from the neighbor’s pasture—sometimes ending up in adjoining potato fields, other times back at Harry’s. It appeared that the horse must have jumped over the fences between the properties, but that seemed impossible—Harry had never seen Snowman jump over anything much higher than a fallen log.
But eventually, the neighbor’s patience came to an end, and he insisted Harry take back the horse.
For years, Harry’s great dream had been to produce a champion jumping horse. He’d had moderate success in the past, but in order to compete at the highest levels, he knew he would have to buy a pedigreed horse that had been specifically bred to jump. And that kind of pedigree would cost far more than he could afford.
Snowman was already getting old—he was eight when Harry had purchased him—and he had been badly treated. But, apparently, Snowman wanted to jump, so Harry decided to see what the horse could do.
What Harry saw made him think that maybe his horse had a chance to compete.
In 1958, Harry entered Snowman in his first competition. Snowman stood among the beautifully bred, champion horses, looking very much out of place. Other horse breeders called Snowman a “flea-bitten gray.”
But a wonderful, unbelievable thing happened that day.
Snowman won!
Harry continued to enter Snowman in other competitions, and Snowman continued to win.
Audiences cheered every time Snowman won an event. He became a symbol of how extraordinary an ordinary horse could be. He appeared on television. Stories and books were written about him.
As Snowman continued to win, one buyer offered $100,000 for the old plow horse, but Harry would not sell. In 1958 and 1959, Snowman was named “Horse of the Year.” Eventually, the gray gelding—who had once been marked for sale to a low bidder—was inducted into the show jumping Hall of Fame.
For many, Snowman was much more than a horse. He became an example of the hidden, untapped potential that lies within each of us.
As illustrated in the story of an old, discarded horse that had within him the soul of a champion, there is within each of us a divine spark of greatness. Who knows of what we are capable if we only try? The abundant life is within our reach if only we will drink deeply of living water, fill our hearts with love, and create of our lives a masterpiece.

It hasn’t been all fun and laughter, though. There have been some major setbacks along the way.
Val remembers hitting his own personal rock bottom. He’d been working for several years designing cheese and hot-dog labels for an advertisement company. Then that company went out of business. He’d attempted college four different times without finishing a single term. He was close to bankruptcy and running out of options. He didn’t know what to do next.
So he went to the temple for guidance. While there, he picked up the Book of Mormon and opened to Helaman 12:2. Val read about how the Lord prospered His people “in the increase of their fields, their flocks and their herds, and in gold, and in silver, and in all manner of precious things of every kind and art.” His eyes landed and stayed on the word art.
“It was an answer to prayer,” Val said. The next day, he launched his cartoon business. He’s been going strong ever since.

I sat at the table in my new apartment and glared at my noodles. It was raining, and it was Monday. I had just gotten the results back from a biology test and was not very pleased with myself. Furthermore, I had tripped in the crowded library as I was running to my next class. Now I was eating the last thing I had in the cupboard—bland noodles.
This is not the college experience I had imagined, I thought. I had pictured myself as a triumphant Joan of Arc figure, out to rid the world of injustice. At the end of my first month away from home, I was feeling like the noodles in my bowl of soup, tangled and limp. I was just one in a sea of thousands of college students, and I could not help but feel a little alone.
“Package!” my roommate yelled as she came in with the mail. I looked up to see a brown box flying across the kitchen.
Someone is sending me a package? It wasn’t my birthday. I curiously opened the package and found a note and a small rectangular object wrapped in one layer of colorful paper and then wrapped with a solid layer of tape. I read the note first. Written in 10-year-old cursive, the note read, “I hope you will enjoy your present. This is a short letter, but I miss you. Love, Maria.” As if on second thought, “Maria” had been crossed out several times and the “anonymous” sender instead had carefully drawn a heart with a question mark inside. I unwrapped the colorful rectangle and found a candy bar—my favorite kind.
I sat at the table and studied the note, realizing that I wasn’t just another face. Far away from my college dorm room, I had a sister who knew who I was, who missed me, and who loved me. She cared how I was feeling and sent me a reminder that I was important.
She now became a reminder to me of the power of service. This simple, thoughtful act had changed my entire attitude that afternoon and had a tremendous impact on my week. As I sat at the table, her example spoke of the blessings that come to both the doers and the receivers of service. I felt loved, and my sister was coming to know the Savior.

The Ninth Ward of the Las Vegas Nevada Stake planned a 5-day superactivity that would take place in their own valley. The focus of the activity was to learn more about the life and hardships of the early pioneers in their area.
The theme of the activity was “Handcarts to Husqvarnas,” representing old-fashioned and modern methods of travel in the valley. Handcarts were used by the early pioneers, and Husqvarnas, a type of motorcycle, are a popular vehicle with the members of the Ninth Ward.
The opening activity was a game night in which the group was divided into companies of ten each. Of the twelve games played, six were games that might have been played in pioneer days, and six were modern games. The companies finished the evening by decorating their handcarts for the Saturday trek.
Friday evening a modern formal dinner was served complete with musical entertainment. The evening was concluded with a film on the history of the Las Vegas area.
Early the next morning, the groups met at the chapel ready for a day of exploring the valley’s history. On the way to the desert, the caravan of trucks and cars stopped at designated spots to receive short 15-minute history lessons on the area. After arriving at the desert, the group mounted motorcycles or loaded into trucks for a three-mile ride to a predetermined destination. There they found the handcarts waiting for them. Loading up the carts, the youth began the trek that would cover the same three miles they had covered so quickly by modern means. They soon found it was hard work as the sun heated the desert. In rest areas planned along the way, the groups were encouraged to stop and appreciate nature or stop and bury bad habits.
After a pioneer luncheon cooked over an open fire, the group cleaned up the area and returned to the chapel to clean the trucks used on the outing.
On Sunday evening a special fireside was held with the featured speaker talking about looking to the past to help with the future.
The final day of the superactivity was held on the following Activity Night. Video movies had been taken of the various activities and were shown. A local historian talked about the places the youth had visited. The Las Vegas youth felt they really had learned more about their home area and had a greater appreciation for the sacrifices of the pioneers that settled their valley.

Stephen Smyth, a 16-year-old priest in the Londonderry Branch, Scotland Glasgow Mission, recently finished second in the “Superyouth” athletic competition open to all schools in Ireland. Stephen competed in six events—high jump, swimming, 100-meter race, 1,500-meter race, basketball, and overall fitness.
Preparing himself by an hour of intensive road work and general fitness training each morning before seminary (of which he’s president), Stephen was able to rank nationally over 100 other young men from across the country who competed in the section for 16- and 17-year-olds.
“My parents have been a great influence for good in my life,” said Stephen. “They’ve always set the standard and been the perfect example for me.”
Stephen is preparing to serve a mission and is looking forward to attending BYU eventually. He is currently assistant branch clerk, assistant to the president of the priests quorum, and branch music director.
To celebrate his success, the Young Men of his branch held a fireside at which he was the guest of honor. In addition, the members of the Londonderry Branch presented him with a copy of a one-volume history of the Church.

“Billy! Time to get up, or you’ll be late for school,” called Mother.
Billy Burke snuggled farther down under the warm quilt and wished that he didn’t have to get up. It was raining, and rainy days are nice times to burrow down in bed and sleep.
“Billy, do you hear me? I don’t want to have to come up there and get you. Hurry now, or you’ll be late for school.”
“Yes, Mother, I’m coming.”
Billy knew his mother didn’t want him to be late for school, but his horse, Brownie, could be depended on to get him there before the bell rang.
Living seven miles out in the country was fun most of the time. However, it meant that he had to get up earlier in the morning than the other kids and that he didn’t have as much time to play after school. He had his own horse to ride, though, and Billy thought he was about the luckiest ten-year-old boy in the county.
While Mrs. Burke piled hotcakes onto Billy’s plate, she said, “I want you to start early this morning because of the rain.”
Billy couldn’t understand why his mother never liked the rain when there was so little of it in this dry land. Nevertheless, he ate his breakfast quickly and went outside to the barn. Brownie stood in his stall, hunched against the chilly dampness. When Billy tried to put the saddle on Brownie, the horse shied away. “Stand still, Brownie. Do you want us to be late for school?”
Brownie usually liked the walk to school and the attention he got from the other children. Sometimes someone would bring him an apple or some carrots. But Brownie was behaving in a most peculiar way this morning.
“I know what’s the matter with you—you’re afraid the rain’ll make you rust, aren’t you? Well, it won’t,” Billy said as he tightened the cinch. As Billy rode out of the yard, he gave a quick wave to his mother.
The road followed the river up a narrow, steep canyon for the first two of the seven miles to town. There was no place to go in case of trouble except up the canyon walls—and that was where Brownie was going now!
“Brownie! Have you gone loco? Stay on the road.”
The usually obedient horse had a mind of his own this morning. Laying back his ears, he kept trying to climb the steep canyon wall, slipping and sliding on the loose stones. Billy did something that he had seldom done before—he smacked the little horse on the rump with the ends of the reins.
Ignoring Billy’s irritation, Brownie continued to scramble up the steep slope. The rain had seeped into the ground enough so that it was very difficult for the horse to keep his footing. Gooey mud tugged at his hooves, and the rocks were bruising his legs, but he kept struggling upward.
“Brownie! Please! I have to get to school. You know Mrs. Thompson gets cross if anyone is late. Now, come on. Please!”
Brownie slipped and went to his knees, then regained his footing and climbed frantically toward the top of the canyon walls.
Billy was getting scared. Brownie had never acted this way before. Realizing that he could not make the horse go back down to the road, Billy let the horse have his way. Once on the brow of the hill, Brownie headed straight home.
“Why aren’t you in school?” Mother asked.
“Brownie had other ideas, Mother. I couldn’t make him stay on the road.”
“Something must be wrong. Brownie never behaved that way before, and he’s trembling,” Mother said as she stroked Brownie’s neck. “Billy, why don’t you go inside, put some dry clothes on, and have a cup of cocoa. I’ll take care of Brownie.”
Suddenly, with a roar that shook the earth, a torrent of water surged down the river and through the canyon. It moved boulders as if they were pebbles, and great fingers of water reached out and grabbed trees and brush, devouring them in huge, gluttonous bites.
Billy turned and shouted above the roar, “Mother, what’s happening?”
“The river is flooding. There must have been a cloudburst in the mountains, and it’s just now reaching here. The farther it goes, the faster and more furiously it rages. You’d never have made it to school if Brownie had stayed in the canyon!” Mother declared.
Later, after Billy and his mother had thanked Heavenly Father for their safety, Billy helped her peel apples in the warm, cheerful kitchen.
“Well, now, apple pie sounds good on a cold, wet day like this, doesn’t it?” Mother asked.
“It sure does,” Billy answered as he went out the kitchen door with a bowlful of apple peelings. “And this ‘apple pie’ is for the smartest and bravest horse that ever set foot on this earth!”

The home teachers had scarcely sat down and exchanged greetings with the family when their teenage son blurted out, “How can you say we’re the only true church when some of the best kids in school aren’t Mormons and they believe in their church just as much as we do?”
A quick glance at the young man’s father was met with a tired shrug, as much as if to say, “We’ve tried; now see what you can do with him.”
The older of the home teachers paused a moment, then said, “Well, Chris, that’s a fair question. It reminds me of something that happened when I was just a couple of years older than you are. When I first went away to college back east, I took certain notions along with me—prejudices, I guess. I thought I would be going from the shelter of simple farm life to a decadent city where my principles would be challenged every minute. But that didn’t really happen. I was surprised to find that most of my classmates were fine people. Some of them belonged to other churches, and some didn’t belong to any church at all. And as I observed their behavior, I sometimes wondered if I would have been as honest as many of them were if I hadn’t been raised in a Latter-day Saint family. Have you ever thought about that?”
Chris nodded, and the home teacher continued: “So when we say that ours is the only true church, we’re not saying that we’re superior to other people or that we’re the only people on earth who are concerned about doing good, but that this is the one church that the Lord has authorized through priesthood power to preach his gospel and perform the ordinances necessary for salvation. We want all people to have these good things. …”
The discussion continued calmly. After looking up “One Lord, one faith, one baptism” (Eph. 4:5) and a few other scriptures, Chris soon had a satisfactory answer to his question.

Maddie watched as Mom ladled raspberry jam into canning jars. Sunlight streamed through the kitchen window, making the dark red fruit sparkle like rubies in the glass jars.
Mom’s face was also red. She looked tired and hot.
Maddie thought about some of the important jobs her friends’ moms had. One was an accountant. Another was an engineer. Maddie wondered why her mom didn’t have a job like those. She couldn’t help thinking that if she did, Maddie’s family would have more money. Maybe Maddie could even have some new clothes for school.
“That’s done for another year,” Mom said as she placed a lid on the last jar.
“Why do you do all that work?” Maddie asked. “We could buy jam at the store.”
Mom swiped a hand over her forehead and sank into a kitchen chair. “What’s your favorite kind of jam?” she asked.
Maddie didn’t have to think about it. “Raspberry.”
“And Dad’s?”
“Raspberry.” Maddie was beginning to understand.
“I make raspberry jam because you and your brother and your dad like it so much,” Mom said. “It makes me feel happy when I see you pulling out a jar of my jam and knowing that I made it just for you.”
Maddie thought about how Mom helped her whenever Maddie got stuck on a math problem. And how Mom was always interested to hear about how the school day went.
Maddie wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist. “Thanks, Mom.”
Mom returned the hug. “For what?”
“For doing the things you do,” Maddie said. “Being a mom is the most important job in the world.”

The only light came from the glowing numbers of the digital clock. It was very late, and I was lying curled up in bed longing for sleep. I tried desperately to clear my mind. But there was too much to forget, too many memories swirling around in my brain, haunting me.
My conversation with a friend that day had stirred it all up. We had started talking about how much I would miss her when she moved away to school in a few months. We had grown up together in England, and now we would be apart for the first time. We progressed to old memories and then on to arguments we’d had. At first it was just funny, but then we got a little more serious as she told me things other people had said about me years ago. She didn’t think it would bother me. After all, we were all friends now. I had had such a difficult time finding friends back then. Finding out that even my best friends hadn’t liked me, had said things behind my back, affected me in a way I didn’t think it could. Feelings of loneliness rushed back into my memory.
I felt ridiculous. Why should I cry now? But I did. All alone in the dark, tears slipped down my cheeks and soaked my pillow as memory after memory of rejection replayed in my mind.
Abandoning hopes for sleep, I slipped from my bed, tiptoed to the bathroom, and turned on the light. I sat down and buried my face in my hands, sobbing as quietly as I could. I began to pray silently: “Please Heavenly Father, what do I have to do? Can’t the pain be taken away? Please, please take the pain away.” I repeated my plea over and over in my mind.
It happened in an instant. The answer came like a flood of light into my mind. The words were from a talk I’d heard months before, but the meaning had only just sunk in. The scriptures say that Christ would “take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people” (Alma 7:11). The Atonement is not just for sinners! He did not just suffer for my sins, He suffered everything I have suffered or ever will suffer! He knows what I’m going through, and by casting my cares upon Him, I don’t have to suffer old pains. I only needed to have faith.

My mom is a great example to me and takes time to help me learn how to clean and cook better. She also tries to help me sew. When I came in last during a race, she showed me the scripture in Ether 12:27 to help me realize that Heavenly Father loves me despite my weaknesses. She teaches us about loving our family when she reads to us and gathers us all around her. Because of her, we like to be together as a family.

Normandie Luscher, 29, a Master of Fine Arts student in Maryland, USA, uses her artwork for good. “I’ve been focusing a lot over the last couple of years on the most important commandment, to love God and to love our neighbor,” she explains. “In my artwork I’ve been focusing on telling stories. We can really learn how to be compassionate and love our neighbors more by listening to them and hearing their stories.”
A self-proclaimed “idea person,” Normandie brings people together for good in many ways. A school project led her to put on a fundraiser for a local women’s shelter: a gallery show featuring paintings she created telling the story of Job through a woman’s perspective. “Other women came and shared their stories and their experiences,” she explains. “And I thought that was a really powerful thing.”
Another idea Normandie pursued was for a collaborate zine (a self-published or online magazine). She reached out to other artists, and together they told Book of Mormon stories through the lens of contemporary art.
Personally, Normandie has found that she can be an influence for good by opening up to others. “I’ve been working on developing the courage to be vulnerable and share my own experiences and perspectives. Art is about being honest and sharing ideas. So in terms of being a force for good, I’m just trying to embrace those ideas of being honest and courageous and reaching out to other people and communicating through visual art.”
She encourages other young adults to develop courage to do good too. “Don’t be afraid of not being able to do enough,” she says. “I think a lot of people get overwhelmed with, ‘There’s nothing that I can do,’ and falling into that fallacy prevents so much good from being done. Don’t be afraid. Be courageous to move forward and to act.”

During the banquet and program, I sat next to a well-known personality, Flip Harmon, and his wife, Lois. Flip has been involved with the direction of the Days of ’47 celebration for forty-three years, this being an annual July 24th activity in Salt Lake City. Since Flip was up and around the room fulfilling his official duties, I had the privilege of talking with Lois. She mentioned that she and family members were in attendance at every presentation of the famous rodeo which is one of the highlights of the Days of ’47 celebration. Now, a rodeo is nice once in a while—but every night? I asked Lois how she endured the schedule. Her response was from the heart. “This is Flip’s life, and I want to be part of it. He counts on me.” The night I had attended the rodeo with Sister Monson, my Aunt Blanche (age ninety-five), and our grandchildren, Lois was surrounded by children and precious grandchildren. She was the epitome of happiness. Now, during our luncheon conversation, Lois volunteered to me a few details about her husband. She said Flip had an angel mother who prayed fervently for her sons as they served their country during wartime. When Flip returned home, he and Lois were married. A busy life and welcome children followed. Each year as their wedding anniversary approached, Flip would say to Lois, “What gift do you want for our anniversary?” Each year the answer was the same, “A temple sealing.” The gift was not given.

Then one year, as the perennial question was asked, “What do you want, Lois, for our anniversary?” and the usual response was given, “To go to the temple of God together,” Flip’s reply was unexpected: “Fine. I’ll prepare for such an event.” They were sealed for time and eternity in the holy house of God on their twenty-ninth anniversary. Later, Flip served as a bishop. Each remains faithful to the other and loyal to the Lord.

As Lois continued, I noticed tears brimming in her eyes. She said, “You know Flip always wears cowboy boots. At the end of each day he would sit in the chair before the fireplace, where he would take off his boots and then read the paper. He would never put away the boots, no matter how many times I mentioned the subject. Years ago that would bother me. But not anymore. Today I just love those boots. Tender are my feelings and full is my heart as I willingly and lovingly pick them up and put them away each evening.”

Now tears were brimming in my eyes. Unexpectedly, Lois Harmon was asked to come to the podium, where she was given signal honor for her silent service. A beautiful bouquet of red roses was presented to her. Flip was asked to respond. His expression was from his heart. It was as though the two of them were alone in the large hotel dining area. “Lois is the light of my life. She’s my eternal partner.” (The word partner seemed to fit with the cowboy boots.) “We’ll be together forever.” Patience was rewarded. Love was expressed. Heaven was near.

I say to you what I said to the boys—avoid pornography as you would a plague. I recall an assignment some years back to restore the blessings of a man who had been excommunicated from the Church because of his sin. He came to my office with his wife. I spoke with them individually. I asked him how it all began. He held a responsible position in the Church. He was likewise a professional man with high responsibility in the community.

His trouble began, he said, when he picked up a pornographic magazine to read on a plane. It intrigued him. It appealed to him. He found himself buying more of these things. Then he sought out movies which titillated him and excited him. Knowing that his wife would be a party to none of this, he went alone. He found occasion to leave town and go to other cities where he could more easily indulge his desires. He then found excuses to stay late at his office and asked his secretary to stay with him. One thing led to another until he succumbed.

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he sat across the desk from me and cursed the day he had read that first magazine. He spoke of his love for the wife who had forgiven him and remained true to him. He spoke of his love for his children, who had been shamed and embarrassed by his actions. He told of the hell through which he had walked for some four years from the time of his excommunication. He spoke of his love for the Church and of his desire to again enjoy its full blessings.

In the presence of his wife, I placed my hands upon his head and in the authority of the holy priesthood restored his priesthood, his temple endowment, his temple sealing, and all other blessings which he had formerly held. This great, strong man sobbed like a baby under my hands while his wife, holding her hand in his, wept like a child.

At the conclusion of that blessing, they embraced one another and he asked her to forgive him. She said she had forgiven him, and that she loved him and always would.

They were happy when they left, happier than they had been in years. And I was happy, too. But I thought of the terrible price he had paid and of the price he had exacted of his family through his foolishness and transgression.

It was now possible to think about organizing a trip to the temple for the members of the Reykjavík Branch. There was much preparing to be done—in addition to becoming worthy for temple recommends, branch members had to do genealogical research to find family names, and they had to save money for the trip. When whole families were planning to go, this became a sizable amount!

“There was a wonderful excitement, an extra amount of love and care shown among the members as they prepared for this experience,” recalls district president Ólafur Einarsson. “It brought a feeling of unity to the branch that we had not felt before.”

The necessary preparations were completed, and 38 members of the Reykjavík Branch—adults and children—journeyed to the London Temple in June 1995. For a week, they devoted themselves to the work of the Lord. “It was an unforgettable experience to see the joy on the faces of our group as the Spirit touched our hearts,” recalls one branch member. “The love and kindness we felt toward one another continued to grow as we shared the joy of our temple experiences.” They returned to their homes and families with strengthened testimonies and a renewed love of the gospel.

As the Church becomes stronger, the saga of the Saints in Iceland continues. In June 1996—still filled with memories of their experiences the previous year—some of the members of the Reykjavík Branch made a second trip to the London Temple. There, they once again were blessed to participate in holy ordinances as they renewed their covenants with the Lord—in the language of their Viking ancestors.