Gospel Story Finder

More than once I have repeated an experience I had in getting my portrait painted.
In the temple on the fourth floor is the room of the Council of the Twelve Apostles with large chairs in a semicircle. Here important meetings of that body are held. Around its walls are portraits of the Brethren. When I came to this service, I looked upon them with admiration and affection, for these were truly great men with whom I was associated.
Sometime later authorization was given by the First Presidency of the Church for my portrait to be added to the others.
Lee Greene Richards was selected as the artist, and we began immediately. I sat on a chair on an elevated platform in his studio and tried very hard to look handsome, like some of the other brethren. With paints, brushes, and palette ready, the artist scrutinized my features and daubed on the canvas alternately. I returned many times to the studio. After weeks the portrait was exhibited to the First Presidency and later to my wife and daughter.
It did not pass, and I was to submit to a redoing.
The angle was changed, the hours—many of them—were spent, and finally the portrait was near completion. This particular day was a busy one like most others. I suppose I was daydreaming, and quite detached from this world. Apparently he had difficulty translating my faraway gaze onto the canvas. I saw the artist lay down his palette and paints, fold his arms, and look straight at me, and I was shocked out of my dreaming by the abrupt question: “Brother Kimball, have you ever been to heaven?”
My answer seemed to be a shock of equal magnitude to him as I said without hesitation: “Why, yes, Brother Richards, certainly. I had a glimpse of heaven just before coming to your studio.” I saw him assume a relaxed position and look intently at me, with wonder in his eyes. I continued:
“Yes. Just an hour ago. It was in the holy temple across the way. The sealing room was shut off from the noisy world by its thick, white-painted walls; the drapes, light and warm; the furniture, neat and dignified; the mirrors on two opposite walls seeming to take one in continuous likenesses on and on into infinity; and the beautiful stained-glass window in front of me giving such a peaceful glow. All the people in the room were dressed in white. Here were peace and harmony and eager anticipation. A well-groomed young man and an exquisitely gowned young woman, lovely beyond description, knelt across the altar. Authoritatively, I pronounced the heavenly ceremony which married and sealed them for eternity on earth and in the celestial worlds. The pure in heart were there. Heaven was there.
“When the eternal marriage was solemnized, and as the subdued congratulations were extended, a happy father, radiant in his joy, offered his hand and said, ‘Brother Kimball, my wife and I are common people and have never been successful, but we are immensely proud of our family.’ He continued, ‘This is the last of our eight children to come into this holy house for temple marriage. They, with their companions, are here to participate in the marriage of this, the youngest. This is our supremely happy day, with all of our eight children married properly. They are faithful to the Lord in church service, and the older ones are already rearing families in righteousness.’
“I looked at his calloused hands, his rough exterior, and thought to myself, ‘Here is a real son of God fulfilling his destiny.’
“‘Success?’ I said, as I grasped his hand. ‘That is the greatest success story I have heard. You might have accumulated millions in stocks and bonds, bank accounts, lands, industries, and still be quite a failure. You are fulfilling the purpose for which you were sent into this world by keeping your own lives righteous, bearing and rearing this great posterity, and training them in faith and works. Why, my dear folks, you are eminently successful. God bless you.’”
My story was finished. I looked up at the portrait artist. He stood motionless in deep thought, so I continued: “Yes, my brother, I have had many glimpses of heaven.
“Once we were in a distant stake for conference. We came to the unpretentious home of the stake president at mid-day Saturday. We knocked at the door, and it was opened by a sweet mother with a child in her arms. She was the type of mother who did not know there were maids and servants. She was not an artist’s model, nor a society woman. Her hair was dressed neatly; her clothes were modest, tastefully selected; her face was smiling; and though young, she showed the rare combination of maturity of experience and the joys of purposeful living.
“The house was small. The all-purpose room into which we were welcomed was crowded and in its center were a long table and many chairs. We freshened up in the small bedroom assigned to us, made available by ‘farming out’ to the neighbors some of the children, and we returned to this living room. She had been very busy in the kitchen. Her husband, the stake president, soon returned from his day’s labors and made us welcome and proudly introduced us to all of the children as they returned from their chores and play.
“Almost like magic the supper was ready, for ‘many hands make light work,’ and these numerous hands were deft and experienced ones. Every child gave evidence of having been taught responsibility. Each had certain duties. One child had quickly spread a tablecloth; another placed the knives and forks and spoons; and another covered them with the large plates turned upside down. (The dishes were inexpensive.) Next came large pitchers of creamy milk, high piles of sliced homemade bread, a bowl at each place, a dish of fruit from storage, and a plate of cheese.
“One child placed the chairs with backs to the table, and without confusion, we all knelt at the chairs facing the table. One young son was called on to lead in family prayer. It was extemporaneous, and he pleaded with the Lord to bless the family and their schoolwork, and the missionaries, and the bishop. He prayed for us who had come to hold conference that we would ‘preach good,’ for his father in his church responsibilities, for all the children that ‘they would be good, and kind to each other,’ and for the little cold shivering lambs being born in the lambing sheds on the hill this wintry night.
“A very little one said the blessing on the food, and thirteen plates were turned up and thirteen bowls filled, and supper proceeded. No apologies were offered for the meal, the home, the children, or the general situation. The conversation was constructive and pleasant. The children were well-behaved. These parents met every situation with calm dignity and poise.
“In these days of limited families, or childless ones, when homes often have only one or two selfish and often pampered children, homes of luxury with servants, broken homes where life moves outside the home, it was most refreshing to sit with a large family where interdependence and love and harmony were visible and where children were growing up in unselfishness. So content and comfortable were we in the heart of this sweet simplicity and wholesomeness that we gave no thought to the unmatched chairs, the worn rug, the inexpensive curtains, the numbers of souls that were to occupy the few rooms available.”
I paused. “Yes, Brother Richards, I glimpsed heaven that day and many days, in many places.” He seemed uninterested in his painting. He stood listening, seemingly eager for more, and almost involuntarily I was telling him of another flight into heavenly situations.
“This time it was on the Indian reservation. While most Navajo women seem to be prolific, this sweet Lamanite wife in their several years of marriage had not been blessed with children of her own. Her husband was well employed. These new converts to the Church were buying their weekend groceries. As we glanced at the purchases in the large, well-filled basket, it was evident that only wholesome food was there—no beer, no coffee, no cigarettes. ‘You like Postum, do you?’ we asked them, and their reply touched our hearts: ‘Yes, we have had coffee and beer all our lives, but since the Mormon missionaries told us about the Word of Wisdom we use Postum, and we know it is better for the children and they like it.’
“‘Children?’ we asked. ‘We thought you were a childless couple.’ This brought from them the explanation that they had filled their home with eighteen Navajo orphans of all ages. Their hogan was large but their hearts even larger. Unselfishness—the milk of human kindness! Love unfeigned! These good Indians could shame many of their contemporaries who live lives of selfishness and smugness.”
I said to the artist: “Heaven can be in a hogan or a tent, Brother Richards, for heaven is of our own making.” I was ready to return to the picture but apparently he was not so inclined. He stood and listened intently.
“This time I was in Hawaii in the beautiful little temple at Laie. It was a missionary group. The spirit was there; the proselyters could hardly wait their turns to bear testimony of the Lord’s gospel. Finally, the little Japanese missionary gained the floor. By the pulpit in her stocking feet she knelt reverently, and with a heart near bursting with gratitude for the gospel and its opportunities, she poured out her soul to heaven.
“Heaven was there, my brother, in that little room, in that sacred spot, in that paradise of the Pacific with those sweet, consecrated young soldiers for Christ.”
I continued: “Heaven was in my own home, too, Dr. Richards, when home evening was held. Through the years the room was filled with our children, when each, eager for a turn, sang a song, led a game, recited an Article of Faith, told a story, and listened to faith-promoting incidents and gospel teaching from parents who loved them.
“Again, I found heaven in Europe:
“Elder Vogel was a local convert German boy of great faith. His parents refused to assist him in the mission which he so desired to fill. A kind American member helped with a monthly check to assist with the mission expenses. He enjoyed his work and all went well for a year and a half. One day a letter came from the wife of his sponsor, advising that her husband had been killed in an auto accident and it would be impossible to send any more money.
“Elder Vogel kept his disappointment hidden and prayed earnestly for a solution. As he and his American companion, Elder Smith, passed a hospital one day, a solution to his financial problem was born in his mind. The next day he made an excuse and was gone for a time. When he came back he said little but went to bed early. When asked the reason, he said he was a little extra weary. A few days later Elder Smith noted a small bandage on the arm of the German brother, but his question was passed off lightly.
“Time passed and Elder Smith became suspicious of the periodical bandages until one day, unable to keep his secret longer, Elder Vogel told him: ‘You see, my friend in America is dead and can no longer give support to my mission. My parents are still unwilling to help me, so I visit the blood bank at the hospital so I can finish my mission.’ Selling his precious blood to save souls! Well, isn’t that what the Master did when he gave his every drop in the supreme sacrifice?
“Do you believe in heaven, Brother Artist?” I asked. “Yes, that is it. Heaven is a place, but also a condition; it is home and family. It is understanding and kindness. It is interdependence and selfless activity. It is quiet, sane living; personal sacrifice, genuine hospitality, wholesome concern for others. It is living the commandments of God without ostentation or hypocrisy. It is selflessness. It is all about us. We need only to be able to recognize it as we find it and enjoy it. Yes, my dear brother, I’ve had many glimpses of heaven.”
I straightened up in my chair and posed again. The artist picked up his palette and brushes and paints, did some touching up of the portrait, and sighed contentedly as he said, “It is completed.”
In due time it was placed with those of others of the Brethren in the Council of the Twelve room on the fourth floor of the Salt Lake Temple, where it hangs to this day.

On a recent assignment in the Philippines, I met Karen, who shared an experience she had as a Laurel while studying for a bachelor’s degree in hotel and restaurant management. A teacher required that every student learn to make and taste the variety of drinks that would be served in their restaurants. Some of the drinks contained alcohol, and Karen knew it was against the Lord’s commandments for her to taste them. In the face of serious consequences, Karen found courage to arise and shine forth, and she did not partake of the drinks.

Karen explained: “My teacher approached me and asked me why I was not drinking. He said, ‘Miss Karen, how will you know the flavor and pass this important subject if you do not at least taste the drinks?’ I told him that I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and as members, we do not drink things that are harmful to us. Whatever he expected of me, even if it meant receiving a failing grade, I would understand, but I would not fail to live my personal standards.”

Weeks passed, and nothing more was said about that day. At the end of the semester, Karen knew her final grade would reflect her refusal to taste the drinks. She hesitated to look at her grade, but when she did, she discovered that she had received the highest grade in the class.

She said: “I learned through this experience that God … will surely bless us when we follow Him. I also know that even if I had received a failing grade, I would not regret what I had done. I know that I will never fail in the Lord’s sight when I choose to do what I know to be the right thing.”

Children are uncomfortably adept at seeing through insincerity, and sometimes startlingly open about stating it. I remember taking my son with me to the grocery store once when he was about four years old. At the checkout counter when he wanted a candy bar, I responded, “I’m sorry, Matt, I don’t have enough money for a candy bar.” I thought it was a clever response—I was telling him I didn’t want to while hiding behind words that suggested I didn’t have enough money. That night, when I told him it was time to go to bed, he responded, “Sorry, Daddy, I don’t have enough money to go to bed.” He was not fooled by my words in the grocery store. He knew I was saying that I didn’t want to buy the candy bar, and so he used my manipulative tool, words, to say that he didn’t want to go to bed.

I want to begin by telling you a pioneer story. Clara Matilda Erickson was born on November 21, 1868, in Julita, Södermanland, Sweden. Her father, Karl Erickson, was a farm laborer at that time, but later he became a builder and carpenter. The family consisted of five children. Amanda Charlotta, the oldest child, died at the age of three years, and Emil, the youngest, died during his first year of life.

Herman H. Sundström was born in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1860 and baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Copenhagen by Elder Andrew Jenson in 1880. Herman was called as a missionary to the Stockholm conference two months later. He was arrested in April 1882 and sent in chains to prison, where he was incarcerated for 19 days, tried on various charges, and then set free. In 1883 Elder Sundström was sent to Eskilstuna, where he baptized Clara Matilda Erickson and her family. It is further noted that he was responsible for baptizing 55 people, selling books to the value of 642 kronor, and traveling on foot about 10,000 miles.1 He was released from his mission in 1884 and emigrated to Salt Lake City.

Clara left Sweden in 1889 at the age of 19, the only one of her family to come to the United States. She traveled to Copenhagen, Denmark, boarded a Church-sponsored steamship, and crossed the North Sea, arriving at Hull, England. She took a train from Hull to Liverpool and boarded the ship Wyoming, joining other Saints from the British Isles. She traveled second-class and landed in New York. The entire voyage took about six weeks. She was sick the whole trip. She took the train from New York to Salt Lake City. She never returned to Sweden and never saw her family again.

Clara met Carl Erik Hoaglund in 1891, and they were married. They had three children, two boys and a girl. Carl became sick with consumption (now known as tuberculosis). He wasn’t able to work, so Clara did washing and ironing to support the family. Carl died in 1898.

In 1903 friends introduced Clara to Carl John Anderson. They were married that same year. They had four children, one daughter and three sons. Carl had been married previously. His wife had died and left him with five children. A son and a daughter from that marriage lived with Carl and Clara and were quite resentful that their father had remarried so soon after their mother’s death. In 1916 Carl and Clara were divorced.

In 1934, at the age of 66, Clara received a patriarchal blessing. In that blessing it stated:

You were willing to sacrifice, to leave home and loved ones and cross the great waters to be here in Zion that you might do the things that the Lord would have you do. As a consequence, you have suffered and have had sorrow come into your life, but the Lord has been with you to support you and help you across the difficult places and peace and happiness have come to your soul and the satisfaction of knowing that you have done that which was right and honorable before the Lord.

The blessing continued:

I bless you to live yet many years to accomplish good, bless you that as you engage in the Temple work a great thrill may come to your soul as you release your ancestors and open the way for them to continue in their progression, for progression, as you know, is endless, and those whose relatives care for them in the House of the Lord are fortunate indeed.2

Clara had sacrificed by leaving her homeland and loving parents and siblings and coming to a foreign land. She struggled with the language and had to raise seven children, basically on her own. However, she never complained. She saved enough money to hire a genealogist in Sweden to do research so she could submit names to the Salt Lake Temple and have ordinances performed for her family, ancestors, and her first husband.

Clara died at the age of 81. Clara was my paternal grandmother.

When I was growing up in Guatemala, my family owned a factory that made uniforms for sports teams.
My dad wanted the children in our family to learn to work hard. We helped him in the factory. I got in trouble a lot when I was little. I always seemed to break things! But when I was older, my dad let me take care of the knitting machines.
My dad paid us for the work we did. Then he would ask, “What are you going to do with your money?” I knew what the right answer was: “Pay my tithing and save for my mission.”
When I was about 13, our business lost a lot of money. We had to get rid of a lot of our sewing machines. Instead of having two hundred workers, we had fewer than five. They worked in our garage at home.
I had always paid my tithing, but I never really understood how important it was. Then I learned an amazing lesson. One Saturday morning I heard my parents talking quietly. My dad told my mom that there was enough money to either pay tithing or buy food. There wasn’t enough for both. I was worried. What would my dad do?
On Sunday I saw my dad hand an envelope to our branch president. He chose to pay tithing! I was glad he did, but I was also worried. What would we eat?
The next morning some people knocked on our door. They told my dad that they needed uniforms right away. Usually people paid us after the order was finished. But these people paid my dad that day, even before we had made the uniforms!
In one weekend, I learned a beautiful lesson that has lasted me a lifetime. The law of tithing helps us build our faith and show our gratitude to Heavenly Father. Paying tithing is a blessing!

When I was a recent convert and living in Colombia, a very special family from my ward invited me to family home evening. It was the first time I had attended home evening, and the spirit of love and faith I found there surprised me.
Once everyone had gathered together, we had a prayer and then shared what we had done during the past week. After we talked, we had an activity.
With the lights turned off, we wrote certain phrases onto colored paper hearts. When we had all finished, we turned on the lights and displayed what we’d written. Some had done not so well, some terribly, and others like me wrote with much difficulty; I think my writing was the worst of all. Of course, the lesson was very clear: when we don’t have the light of the gospel in our lives, everything looks dark, is distorted, and difficult.
This lesson reached me deeply. And in the years since that day, I have tried to ensure my life has taken a course filled with gospel light especially so that I can be an example to my children.
Dina del Pilar Maestre, California, USA

My wife, Rhonda, and I have parents who are just regular people—probably a lot like your parents. But one thing I love about our parents is that they dedicated their lives to serving God, and they taught us to do the same.
When Rhonda’s parents had been married for just a couple of years, her 23-year-old dad was called to serve a full-time mission. He left behind his young wife and their 2-year-old daughter. Then his wife was called to serve with him during the last seven months of his mission—leaving their daughter in the care of relatives.
A few years later, now with four children, they moved to Missoula, Montana, so her dad could attend the university. However, they had been there only a few months when President Spencer W. Kimball and Elder Mark E. Petersen extended a call to my father-in-law to be the first president of the newly created Missoula stake. He was only 34. Thoughts of the university were left behind as he sought to do the Lord’s will—not his own.
My parents have served in the temple for more than 30 years—Dad as a sealer, Mom as an ordinance worker. They also served five full-time missions together—in Riverside, California; Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia; Nairobi, Kenya; the Nauvoo Illinois Temple; and the Monterrey Mexico Temple. In Mexico they worked hard to learn a new language, which wasn’t easy at 80 years of age. But they sought to do the will of the Lord rather than to pursue their own desires in life.
To them, and to all such dedicated Latter-day Saints throughout the world, I echo the words spoken by the Lord to the prophet Nephi, the son of Helaman: “Blessed art thou, … for those things which thou hast done … with unwearyingness … , [for thou] hast not sought thine own life, but hast sought my will, and to keep my commandments.”8
As we seek to do God’s will by faithfully serving Him and our fellowmen, we feel His approval and truly come to know Him.

I have friend who grew up in the Catholic Church with a desire to be a Catholic minister all of his life. He wanted to become a priest and a bishop. The old Catholic father who taught him prophesied. He said, “Gary, if you’ll just live the way you ought to, someday you’ll be a priest and someday you’ll be a bishop.” Gary said, “I was headed for the ministry, and then just by chance someone gave me a book called the Book of Mormon.” He said, “I read that book. I knew it was true. I got a hold of the Elders." He said, “You know, believe it or not, I became a priest. I was baptized, and then I was a priest.” Then he said, “A few years passed and I became a bishop.” He said, “You know that old Catholic father really knew how to prophesy, didn’t he?” He said to me, “That book changed my whole life.”

Today that man is not only a priest and bishop, but he is one of the General Authorities of the Church presiding as a member of an area presidency in one of the foreign countries. While I was a General Authority, I toured his mission and had him tell me all of his stories about how he grew up as a Catholic and what the Book of Mormon had really done for him.

I lived in California, USA, with my family growing up. In the summer we harvested grapes at a vineyard. We had a big family, and we all worked together. I was young, but my father taught me to work hard.
We cut bunches of grapes off the vine. Then we piled the grapes on a metal tray. When the tray was full, we took it to my father. He spread the grapes out to dry into raisins in the hot sun. The owner of the vineyard paid my father for the raisins we made.
Each time we took grapes to my father, he told us, “Go forward and harvest on.”
So we went to the next vine to harvest the next bunch of grapes. We did this again and again. We focused on the next vine and the work ahead of us. We didn’t let ourselves get distracted by what was behind us.
Every week my father paid my siblings and me for our work. He taught us to take out 10 percent for tithing. We saved the rest. When we had enough, we each bought a wooden airplane or our favorite candy. We spent Saturday afternoons playing in the park with our airplanes and eating our candy.
My father’s saying to “go forward and harvest on” has become a tradition in my family. It teaches us the value of hard work. It is important for us to “go forward and harvest on” in all we do. When we work hard and follow what God asks us to do, we can find joy in life.

Many years ago my family and I visited Arches National Park in Utah, USA. One of the most beautiful and famous arches in the park is Delicate Arch, and we decided to climb the mountain to reach it.
We started enthusiastically, but soon the others wanted to rest. I wanted to get there sooner, so I went on alone. Without paying attention to the path I should take, I began following a man who seemed to know where he was going.
The path became harder to climb. I was sure my family could not have made it. Suddenly I saw Delicate Arch, but to my surprise, I couldn’t reach it. The path I had taken didn’t lead to the arch.
I was frustrated and turned back. I waited impatiently until I met my group again. They told me they had followed the signs showing the right way and, with care and effort, had reached Delicate Arch. Unfortunately, I had taken the wrong way. What a lesson I learned!

“Triple, tap, step. Triple, tap, step.” Tanya could hear Mrs. Nimitz’s dance students in the adjoining room clicking their tap shoes in time to her instructions.
For as long as Tanya could remember, she had wanted to take tap dancing lessons, but her parents had never been able to afford them. Now she had a chance to earn them for herself.
Today while Mrs. Nimitz was teaching her advanced class, Tanya was baby-sitting for her. If everything went well, she would have the job of tending two-year-old Cathy from three until five on Monday and Wednesday afternoons.
Mr. Nimitz came home early on Fridays, so he watched his little daughter during his wife’s class for beginners. And Tanya intended to ask Mrs. Nimitz if instead of paying her, she would allow her to be a member of that Friday afternoon class.
Nine-year-old Tanya had never baby-sat before, but she was sure that she could do the job.
Cathy was napping, so Tanya relaxed and decided to fix herself a snack. Mrs. Nimitz had said that it would be OK.
Tanya carefully lifted the lid of the cookie jar and smelled the sweet aroma of butter and cinnamon. As she reached in for a cookie, she thought how good it would taste with a cup of hot chocolate.
I bet I could make some, she decided. I’m sure Mrs. Nimitz wouldn’t mind, as long as I clean up after myself.
She measured a cup of milk into a saucepan and placed it on the stove. She had just turned the burner on, when slam!
That sounds like the bathroom medicine cabinet! Tanya thought as she dashed down the hallway. “Cathy?” she called. “Is that you?”
She found Cathy standing on the clothes hamper by the sink, peering intently into the medicine cabinet mirror.
When Cathy saw Tanya’s reflection in the mirror, she said, “I like lipstick!” Turning to face Tanya, she added, “See! I pretty!”
Tanya couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t heard a sound until the cabinet door slammed, but there stood Cathy, her face painted bright red from cheek to cheek. Her hands were streaked with lipstick, and the bathroom sink was ringed with red fingerprints.
If Mrs. Nimitz sees this, Tanya thought, I’ll never get my lessons. Oh, how can things go so wrong so quickly!
“Cathy! Look at you! You’re a mess!” Tanya scolded.
“Mess?” Cathy giggled as she held two chubby hands out to have Tanya help her down off the hamper.
Tanya smiled in spite of herself. “Come on, let’s clean you up before your mother sees you.”
She had the lipstick off Cathy’s face and was starting to scrub her hands when she heard a splashing, sizzling sound. “The milk!” Tanya cried, dropping the washcloth and racing into the kitchen.
The pungent odor of scorched milk stung her nostrils. She grabbed a pot holder and was taking the smoking pan from the burner when the kitchen door opened and Mrs. Nimitz peeked in.
“I thought I smelled something burning,” she said.
Tanya wished that she could sink out of sight. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Nimitz. I was heating some milk for hot chocolate when Cathy woke up. I went to get her and forgot about the milk. I’ll clean it up.”
“Mama!” Cathy cried out as she toddled into the kitchen. “See! I mess!” Then she held her lipstick-red hands out to her mother. Mrs. Nimitz walked past Cathy and into the bathroom.
Tanya choked back the tears. “I’m sorry, I …” But Mrs. Nimitz didn’t seem to hear Tanya.
“Never mind. I’ll have to clean it up later,” she said, greatly irritated.
As quickly as she had appeared, Mrs. Nimitz disappeared, shutting the door hard behind her.
Tears of disappointment spilled down Tanya’s cheeks. She slumped into the nearest kitchen chair and began to sob as if her heart would break.
“Don’t cry.” Tanya felt a tiny hand patting her arm.
She pulled the little girl to her and gave her an affectionate hug.
“It’s OK,” she said through her tears. “I guess I just expected everything to go perfectly.” Then, trying to be cheerful, she added, “Come on, Cathy, let’s see what we can do to straighten things up around here. I may not get any dance lessons, but at least I won’t feel like running and hiding every time I see your mother coming.”
Tanya gently scrubbed the lipstick from Cathy’s hands and arms. Then she put a heavy plastic bib on the little girl and let her help scour the bathroom sink.
In the kitchen, Tanya assigned Cathy to rinse out the cleanup cloths. Cathy was so enthusiastic that Tanya had to mop up the spills. But as the mop was returned to the closet, Cathy clapped her hands and proclaimed, “All clean!” Everything was too. Not a hint of lipstick or scorched milk could be seen.
An hour later the kitchen door opened. Tanya braced herself.
Mrs. Nimitz glanced at the kitchen range. “I’ll get my purse and pay you for today,” she said as she started down the hall.
Mrs. Nimitz paused just a moment outside the bathroom doorway before going on to her bedroom. As she came back down the hall, Tanya watched intently. But Mrs. Nimitz’s expression told her nothing.
“Tanya,” Mrs. Nimitz began in a serious tone. “I can’t believe what a responsible little girl you are. If I hadn’t peeked in earlier, I wouldn’t have ever guessed that you had had any trouble today. You did a fine job of cleaning up. And Cathy hasn’t even been at the door once crying for me.” She smiled at Tanya. “Yes, I think that you’re just the girl for this job. Would you like me to pay you each time you come or by the week?”
“Pay me? No. I mean … I’d like to … Oh, Mrs. Nimitz, could I take dance lessons instead of being paid?”
“Dance lessons? Why, yes. A lesson for one day’s work would be a good trade. But I’ll pay you for the other day. All right?”
“That’s great!” Tanya exclaimed, hardly able to keep herself from jumping up and down.
As she skipped home, she thought, I guess dreams really can come true. You just have to work at them a little.

When Australians Robert and Darice Dudfield arrived in Ethiopia in August 2020, they arrived in a country of about 120 million people—and not one missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on the ground. Ethiopia’s four fledgling congregations had not met since the pandemic hit, and although the Book of Mormon was available in their language, Amharic, few other Church materials were.
The Dudfields knew that opening the new Ethiopia Addis Ababa Mission would be a great learning opportunity. They immediately got to work.
Soon after their arrival, eight Ethiopian elders and sisters were called to serve missions in their home country and received training via Zoom from Ghana. Only two months later, however, President Dudfield contracted a severe case of COVID-19.
Covered with vein-searching-bruises, he required oxygen and a month of hospitalization, and at times, Robert thought he wouldn’t make it. Darice put all such thoughts aside, “The Lord didn’t bring you to Ethiopia to die this early on!” she assured her husband. “You’ll get through this.”
It took another month of quarantining at home before he fully recovered. The Dudfields first setback taught them “there are tremendous lessons to be learned through trials. It’s all about our approach in dealing with our circumstances.”
In December 2020, Church services resumed, and the missionary force started growing, but so did political unrest, and President Russell M. Nelson ultimately decided the missionaries needed to move out of the country.
Miraculously, some of the missionaries serving in remote areas were able to fly to the nation’s capital before access to Addis Ababa was cut off. “On our mission, we learned that you’re never alone. The Lord is at the helm” recalled Darice. Missionaries who had been tested for COVID-19 were put on a plane to Kenya, where the Ethiopia mission was relocated.
They operated from Kenya, although most of their missionaries were reassigned temporarily to the Kenya Nairobi Mission. Those who remained in the Ethiopia mission used telephones and limited technology to connect with members and friends of the Church in Ethiopia, where local leaders took over the responsibility of missionary work.
Of the Kenya experience, senior missionaries, Elder and Sister Moyers said, “We experienced that unexpected and drastic change presses on our emotions, intellect, and especially our faith in our purpose . . . Being relocated is either a blessing or a challenge, and each missionary has the agency to choose which it will be for him or her.”
The Moyers served as member-leader support missionaries and helped to build the Church from within. President Dudfield said, “We learned the significant value of missionary service and the great value of senior couples. This is a call for those willing and able to serve. It changes your life.”
As things began to settle in Ethiopia, missionaries returned in stages. “Greeting the last of our missionaries back into Ethiopia at the end of June 2021 was an emotional and sacred experience,” the Dudfields recalled. The Church began to grow again, and the number of those consistently attending worship services increased from around 80 to over 400.
Reflecting on their three-year tenure in Ethiopia, the Dudfields’ saw the hand of the Lord bring great miracles to pass, including:
Relationships built with the ministry of peace, resulting in a $250,000 donation of funds for COVID-19 equipment plus ongoing support for important initiatives
Conferences and more frequent activities for youth, children, women, and young adults
Training to increase the quality of leadership and teaching
Seminary, institute, and the launch of the BYU-Pathway Worldwide program
Preparing 40 members to attend the temple for the first time
The translation of hymns and Church materials into local languages
A Light the World musical presentation, and a music video created for a Church global music festival
“What we learned from the people of Ethiopia . . . is that the things that are most important bring the greatest joy. Ethiopians are people of faith, with a great love for family and community.
“We see the countenance of Christ in images of Ethiopians and joy in their faces.”
On their decision to leave the Australia they love to help pioneer a path for future generations to the blessings of the gospel, the Dudfields testify, “We learned that we are all called where the Lord needs us. We absolutely felt His direction and guidance. We learned that faith precedes miracles. If we endure well, we will see many miracles.”

My grandmother, Vera Allen, created such a mark on her celestial touchstone. During the Great Depression she lived in a rural area outside of Dallas, Texas. Homeless and unemployed men looking for work (referred to as “hoboes” in those days) frequently stopped at her home, asking if she had a job they could do or if she could give them a bite to eat. She always managed to find something for them.

On one occasion she asked one such destitute man why so many stopped at her home and not others. The man replied with a question: “You really don’t know?”

After she convinced him she did not know, he led her to the corner of her property and showed her a mark on a tree, put there many months before by a weary traveler. The mark signaled travelers who followed that this was the home of a kind, good-hearted woman who would provide assistance. I know Grandmother had many yellow marks on her touchstone, but to our family the mark on the tree was a special, well-earned honor.

One way the Lord is hastening His work of salvation is by guiding inspired men and women in their learning as He reveals additional truth at an ever increasing rate.

In my wife’s introduction, she mentioned some of the wonderful inventions that have impacted our lives. Each of these were based on what the world refers to broadly as technology. In the academic world, technology is defined as a body of knowledge that enables us to do something we could not do prior to the discovery, refinement, and application of that combined knowledge.

During much of my career, the focus of my academic work was on the development, refinement, and application of such technologies. Allow me to share a handful of illustrative examples of how revealed technology has played and continues to play a key role as the Lord floods the earth with truth.

The Written Word

The first example involves the development of the printed word. For centuries, copies of letters and manuscripts were made by hand primarily by monks. Then, in 1436, the Lord guided and inspired Johannes Gutenberg in the development of a new technology: the printing press and movable type. The first printing press could only print a single sheet of paper at a time and had with moveable type arranged and “set” by hand. The type would then be coated with ink, and as many pages as desired could be printed. Then the type would be broken down and sorted, and a new set of pages would be arranged and set, and the process repeated.

Though somewhat slow and cumbersome, almost immediately this new technology was used to convert handwritten manuscripts into printed pamphlets or tracks and even full books. With books more widely available, growing numbers of people desired to learn to read. All of this was prelude to the Lord causing His word–as found in the Bible–to sweep the earth as with a flood.

By the mid-1500s, brave men like Martin Luther and William Tyndale were using the technology of moveable type and the printing press to publish the Bible, making it available to tens of thousands of lay people. Previously the Bible had been read only by clergy (who possessed handwritten manuscripts and could read the original language in which it had been written). But now, with the printing of the Bible in common languages plus increased literacy rates, the word of God quickly became available to the lay person. This fueled the Reformation and the great opportunity for commoners to use their agency and faith in deciding for themselves what to believe.

Then in the early 1600s, King James of England sought to develop a standard version of the Bible that he hoped would quell the fighting among the various Protestant churches. The result was published in 1611 as the King James Bible, and it rapidly became widely available. The technology developed by Gutenberg, and refined by those who followed, helped accelerate the demand for religious freedom by flooding the world with the truth of God’s word. And, by 1820, these and other developments paved the way for a 14-year-old farm boy to read James 1:5 and follow its counsel by asking God for wisdom.

Exploration

The second example involves the tremendous exploration, discovery, and mapping of the earth that gained momentum in the late 1400s with the voyage of Christopher Columbus to the New World. Using the knowledge of ships, currents, winds, and navigation that others before him had developed, Columbus added the courage and faith required to make his epic voyage. While others had previously sailed the known world following a route from Northern Europe and the Mediterranean around the tip of Africa and traveling to India and the Far East, they rarely ventured more than a few days from the known land masses.

Until this time, the Lord had chosen to keep the Americas hidden from the view of the rest of the world. By 1492, He had prepared Columbus and his small band of comrades, spread between three ships, to make a discovery that would provide a place where freedom of religion could take hold and flourish. Indeed, Columbus said of his divine mission:

“The Lord purposed that there should be something clearly miraculous in this matter of the voyage to the Indies. … I spent seven years [in Spain] in [the] royal court discussing this subject with the leading persons in all the learned arts, and their conclusion was that all was in vain. That was the end, and they gave it up. But afterwards it all turned out just as our Redeemer Jesus Christ had said, and as He had spoken earlier by the mouth of His holy prophets.”14

While others may have given up, Columbus did not. He could not. As he recorded:

“With a hand that could be felt, the Lord opened my mind to the fact that it would be possible to sail, and He opened my will to desire to accomplish the project. … This was the fire that burned within me. … Who can doubt that this fire was not merely mine, but also of the Holy Spirit … urging me to press forward.”15

Columbus’ own account of his first voyage quickly became a bestseller throughout Europe, selling out three printings in its first year. This account, combined with the maps and charts developed and refined by other explorers who soon began to sail to the New World, resulted in the development of trade routes between North and South America and Europe. Within a century of Columbus’ discovery, growing numbers of Protestants seeking religious freedom were moving to the New World, establishing communities where they could worship freely, according to the dictates of their conscience.

Sandy Parker shortened his hold on Gretchen’s lead rope and waited tensely. There were over twenty purebred Hereford heifers in the class that he had entered in this year’s 4-H competition at the state fair. The judges were looking carefully at each animal. Would they see faults that Sandy had overlooked because of his pride in the calf?
Sandy remembered when he and his father had gone to check the cattle after a bad storm and found Bess lying dead, her newborn calf still standing beside her.
Sandy and his father caught the calf, put her into the back of their pickup, and took her back to the barn.
“Bess was one of our best cows,” his father had said as they drove back to the barn. “Her calf was sired by Mr. McCormick’s champion bull, Emperor, so she should make a good 4-H project calf, if you want her, Sandy.”
“If I want her, Dad? Of course, I want her!”
After they had unloaded the calf and secured her in a stall, Sandy went to the house for some milk. When he returned, the calf was standing in the far corner of the stall. She lifted her head to look at him. He took the bucket over and set it on the straw at her feet. Sandy placed his left arm around her neck and put the fingers of his right hand into her mouth. She began to suck immediately. With the palm of his hand over her nose, he slowly began to lower her head into the bucket. The calf continued to suck his fingers until her nose was in the milk. At the first taste of the warm liquid, she began to suck harder. Sandy kept his fingers in her mouth a little longer while she drank. Slowly he removed them. She drank for a moment, then raised her head. Sandy repeated the process twice more before the calf’s hunger was satisfied. Then she lay down and was soon asleep.
As Sandy and his father walked to the house that evening, Dad asked, “Have you thought of a name for the calf, Sandy?”
“Yes, Dad. I thought I’d call her Gretchen.”
That night Sandy’s sleep was filled with dreams of all the awards Gretchen would win at the county and state fairs. He thought that she was the finest calf that he had ever seen.
When Sandy woke up early the next morning, the first thing he thought about was Gretchen. He dressed hurriedly and raced down to the barn, where his father was already milking the cows. Sandy went into Gretchen’s stall and saw her lying on the straw. The calf didn’t even lift her head to look at him.
“Dad!” Sandy called. “Something’s wrong with Gretchen.”
His father hurried over and knelt beside the animal. A worried frown spread over his face. “It looks like pneumonia, Sandy.”
“Will she die, Dad?”
“I don’t know, Sandy. Get some milk, and see if she’ll take any. I’ll call Dr. Taylor to see if he can come over and examine her.”
Dr. Taylor made the Parkers his first stop that day. “Hear you lost Bess in that storm the other night,” he said as he got out of his truck.
“Yes, but it’s her calf that we’re worried about now,” Mr. Parker told the veterinarian. “Sandy is trying to raise her for a 4-H project, but it looks like she has pneumonia.”
“Well, let’s have a look at her.” Dr. Taylor followed Mr. Parker into the barn.
Sandy was waiting outside Gretchen’s stall for them. “She wouldn’t take any milk this morning,” he told Dr. Taylor.
The doctor took her temperature. “It’s a hundred six—that’s pretty high.” The veterinarian put his stethoscope to the calf’s chest and listened to her lungs.
“Do you think she has a chance?” Sandy asked.
“There’s always hope, Sandy. We’ll do our best. You’ll have to drench-feed her if she won’t eat on her own. I want you to feed her every four hours. I’ll give her a shot and hope that that will bring her out of it. I’ll stop back in a couple of days and see how she is.”
After Dr. Taylor left, Sandy prepared the milk to drench-feed the calf. He filled one of his father’s drenching syringes with warm milk, then got the wobbly calf to her feet. Sandy pushed the end of the syringe far back into Gretchen’s mouth, then gently pushed on the plunger and released a small amount of milk. Gretchen swallowed the milk with difficulty. Sandy repeated the process until the syringe was empty. It was slow work.
Four times that day Sandy drench-fed Gretchen, but she didn’t seem to get any better. When he took the calf’s temperature that night, it was 106.4° F. It was going up, not down! “I don’t know what else to do for you, girl,” Sandy murmured as he gently stroked the calf’s forehead.
The next morning Sandy anxiously counted the endless seconds as he took Gretchen’s temperature, then held the thermometer up to the light and read it. “Dad! Dad! It’s down. Her temperature is only a hundred and three!”
“Good,” replied his father. “Now let’s see if she’ll eat for you.”
Sandy was jolted back to the present by the announcer’s voice. The winner of the state 4-H class for heifers this year is Beck’s Hi-Wind Folly, owned by Miss Patty Beck.”
Sandy’s heart sank. He had paid careful attention to all the details that go into making a fine show animal. He had trimmed and polished Gretchen’s hooves, brushed her, bathed her, and brushed her again until she shone like the sun. She had taken top honors in all the local competitions. He’d worked so hard, come so far …
“Second place this year is Parker’s Gretchen.” Sandy’s head jerked up. He had almost missed his call. “We did it, Gretchen!” he whispered excitedly. “Second place in the whole state, in a class of over twenty top heifers!” Sandy seemed to walk on air as he led Gretchen to receive their award.
Sandy’s parents were waiting for him when he led Gretchen back to the stabling area. “We’re very proud of you and Gretchen, Sandy,” Dad said.
And Sandy could see the pride in their eyes. “Thanks, Dad,” he replied. “At first I was disappointed that we didn’t get the blue ribbon. But Gretchen is young yet. Maybe next year. …”

“I was with President Harold B. Lee in the hospital at the time of his sudden death. President Marion G. Romney, a counselor in the First Presidency, and President Spencer W. Kimball, of the Quorum of the Twelve, arrived and waited while the doctors did what they could. When it was announced that President Lee had died, President Romney turned to President Kimball and said, ‘President Kimball, what would you like me to do?’ In that moment—simply and without any doubts or questions—the leadership of the Church quietly changed hands in that hospital waiting room. It was a moment I shall never forget.”

It’s a bit quieter in the early mornings at the Dunlop household in Capalaba, Australia, these days. Oldest brother, Craig, is serving his mission in the Australia Perth Mission.

“He would come out of his bedroom about 5:30 and, bang, he would shut the door. He would bang down the hall,” said his mother, Kathryn. “We miss that, the big bang of the morning.”

The other seven Dunlop children feel there’s a big hole now that Craig is away from home. Nathan, 14, said, “Craig used to mug me and wrestle me to the floor.”

“He would keep us in line and tell us what we should be doing. Have we practiced our sport? Have we done our homework? Have we read our scriptures? Now he does it long distance,” said Melissa, 17.

This is love at home?

Yes, you feel it when each child grins, as they try to tell their favorite story about their brother.

Maybe the Dunlops learned to love each other from the example of their parents, particularly their father, Robert. Right while they’re talking about their family, Dad arrives home after having been away from home all week because of his work. Everyone is so glad to see him.

Leanne explains, “We miss him. When he gets home, we all bolt for the car when he drives up.”

Robert Dunlop tells of a sad experience in his past. “The last time I saw my dad was when I was going to boarding school. He was ill, and he wanted me to give him a kiss good-bye at the station. I was embarrassed and didn’t give him a kiss in front of all the other kids going away to school. It was the last time I ever saw him. I keep telling my own children of that.”

“So we give him kisses all the time,” said Leanne quickly.

But how does a parent let his children know he loves them when things don’t always go smoothly? “After we have an argument, Dad always says, ‘But I still love you,’” Melissa explains. “He always comes back and gives you a hug—always. Even if I am so angry that I think I don’t like him any more, then he comes back with that. He tells us all the time that he loves us.”

And the Dunlops make happy family memories. One of their favorite things to do together is bike riding—their Maleny bike ride. Sarah explains, “Mom and Dad take the older kids right to the top of the hill. Mom will usually drive down with the babies in the car, and the rest of us coast all the way down the mountain. We love that.”

Then the family all starts talking at once about who had bumped into whom and the funny things that happened, like when Sarah ran over a snake and they didn’t tell her because she would freak out.

Love at home? For the Dunlops it is.

Zachary didn’t want to be a Wise Man in the Church Christmas pageant.
“Wise Men wear crowns,” said his father, and he tried on Zachary’s crown. It was too small.
“Can Mr. Bear be a Wise Man, too?” Zachary asked, trying the crown on his teddy bear. It was too big.
“You’ll have to ask your teacher,” his mother said. “But the crown doesn’t fit him.” She put the crown on Zachary’s head. It fit just right.
The next evening Zachary watched the people coming to the meetinghouse to see the pageant. “Mr. Bear doesn’t like Christmas pageants,” he said.
“Mr. Bear will be very brave,” Father said.
“Mr. Bear needs a hug,” Mother said, giving him one on the spot. Since Zachary was holding Mr. Bear, they both got hugged.
Zachary went to the Relief Society room, where everyone was getting ready. It seemed like a long time before the teacher whispered, “The Wise Men are next. Don’t forget your presents.”
“Mr. Bear is scared,” Zachary said to himself and held him tightly.
The first Wise Man walked out with his present. Baby Jesus, who was really baby Sarah, pushed it away. When the next Wise Man held out his present, Sarah began to cry.
Zachary walked over to baby Sarah. He couldn’t give her his Wise Man present because he had left it in the Relief Society room. But he’d thought of an even better present.
“Mr. Bear is scared, too,” he whispered to her, “but he is being brave.” Zachary gave her the teddy bear.
Baby Sarah stopped crying. She held Mr. Bear tightly.
Zachary could see his mother and father smiling at him as everyone began to sing “Joy to the World.”
“I liked being a Wise Man after all,” Zachary said to his parents after the pageant, “but I forgot the present.”
“You were a wonderful Wise Man,” said Father.
“You were the very best Wise Man you could be,” said Mother.
“Mr. Bear was a good gift, too,” Zachary said. Then he gave Mother his crown and went to find Mr. Bear.

After I graduated from high school, Mom and Dad decided to move from our home in California to Idaho, USA. We hooked our trailer to our truck and headed north. We had just passed through Lovelock, Nevada, when I started driving too fast down a small hill. Because there were no stabilizing bars to keep the trailer in place, it started whipping from side to side. I slammed on the brakes, and the trailer jackknifed, sending us through a borrow pit and leaving the truck tipped over one way and the trailer tipped over the other way.
Fortunately nobody was hurt. But the outside and the inside of the trailer were a complete disaster. The trailer hitch was bent like a pretzel, the windows were all broken, and our belongings were scattered everywhere.
The highway patrol arrived and called a tow truck. Mom and Dad didn’t know what to do. The little money they had went to the towing company. At this moment I felt the overwhelming impression that I should go to church the following day, Sunday. Dad, who was not a member of the Church, thought I was crazy. We had to gather our belongings and fix the trailer, and since he was crippled and in poor health, I was the main worker. But the impression to attend church persisted. I asked Mom to talk to Dad for me. She did, and surprisingly he consented.
On Sunday morning I found the local meetinghouse and sat down on the back row of the chapel just as sacrament meeting was starting. I prayed for the Spirit to be with my family at this difficult time.
At the conclusion of the meeting, one or two people introduced themselves to me, and I briefly explained what had happened. I then returned to where we were camped and spent the rest of the day helping clean things up.
On Monday morning we had started to clean again when all at once members of the ward I had attended started arriving, offering help. The owner of a local window store said he would replace all of the trailer windows at no charge, and a welder offered to straighten the hitch for free.
My father said little but was obviously amazed, Mom shed tears of gratitude, and my sister and I were thankful for the help. By the end of the day, we were ready to continue our trip to Idaho.
As a result of this experience, I learned that the promptings of the Spirit are real. I also know that our prayers are frequently answered by other people and that trusting the Lord will bring peace and joy to our hearts.

I grew up in the Church and had always planned on serving a mission. Yet as the time for me to serve approached, I longed to have a powerful conversion experience of my own such as I heard other people talk about when they described joining the Church.
I knew that leaving on a mission would require sacrifices. I had a good job that paid well, and I wondered if I would be able to find one as good upon my return. I worried about interrupting my education and leaving family and friends. But I knew deep down that serving a mission was right, so I continued to prepare.
As part of that preparation, I went with the elders in my area to their teaching appointments. One evening the missionaries and I were teaching a man about the Word of Wisdom, but he would not accept the principle. When we left his home, I could tell that the elders were discouraged, and I felt sad too.
I wasn’t sure why I should be sad though, because I didn’t really know this man. I kept thinking about it, and I realized that I had these feelings because I had felt the Spirit during the lesson. I was saddened that this man had rejected something that had brought me so much joy.
With that thought I realized I was truly converted. I knew the gospel was true, and I couldn’t wait to share it. I was soon called to serve in the Italy Rome Mission.
I was blessed abundantly for the sacrifices I had made in preparing for my mission. I taught the gospel to many wonderful people, I made lifelong friends, and I learned English. The blessings continued after my return home. I was hired at the same job I had before my mission and even received a promotion.
Perhaps the greatest blessing, however, was an increased testimony of the gospel. My mission was a period of unparalleled spiritual growth, for which I will always be grateful.