Gospel Story Finder

In 1888 the Relief Society and the young women’s organizations of the Church became charter members of the National Council of Women and of the International Council. These two organizations were established primarily to promote women’s suffrage and to improve the lot of women and children everywhere.
During those years our delegates had their good days and their bad, depending upon circumstances, the leadership, and their attitude toward the Mormons.
In April of 1945 Belle Smith Spafford became the president of the Relief Society. Only a week or two after she had been sustained a letter came from the National Council of Women, announcing their annual meeting to be held in New York City.
Sister Spafford had attended those meetings before, and in view of her previous experience, she and her counselors carefully considered the invitation for several weeks.
They decided to recommend to the President of the Church that the Relief Society terminate its membership in those councils. They prepared a statement of recommendation, listing all of the reasons for so doing.
Trembling and uncertain, Sister Spafford placed the paper on the desk of President George Albert Smith, saying, “The Relief Society Presidency wishes to recommend that the General Board terminate its membership in the National Council and in the International Council of Women, for the reasons listed on this paper.”
President Smith carefully read the paper. Had they not held membership for well over half a century? he inquired.
Sister Spafford explained how costly it was to go to New York, the time it took, and described the humiliation they occasionally experienced. She recommended that they withdraw because “we don’t get a thing from these councils.”
This wise, old prophet tipped back in his chair and looked at her with a disturbed expression. “You want to withdraw because you don’t get anything out of it?” he questioned.
“That is our feeling,” she replied.
“Tell me,” he said, “what is it that you are putting into it?
“Sister Spafford,” he continued, “you surprise me. Do you always think in terms of what you get? Don’t you think also in terms of what you have to give?”
He returned that paper to her and extended his hand. With considerable firmness he said, “You continue your membership in these councils and make your influence felt.”
And so they did! Sister Spafford took the gentle correction from that wise prophet, and the day came that she was president of that organization.

Blessed to be the mother of five children, eight grandchildren and 3 great-grandchildren, 77-year-old Carol Dunkley once enjoyed a life of physically active service and was a keen gardener. Nowadays, Carol, a member of the Townsville First Branch, which is part of the Townsville District in North Queensland, Australia, does what she can to be of service to the Lord because her body has developed some restrictions.
She remembers well the day in 2010 when a neurologist announced her ailment: “You have Parkinson’s.” Having had a hip replacement three years prior, Carol had suspected something was amiss with her hip because she couldn’t walk properly and went to her GP, who referred her to a specialist—so this diagnosis came as a shock.
The disease doesn’t yet have a cure. Initially, Carol had trouble walking; unfortunately, it progressed to instability and mobility uncertainty.
“Thankfully there are medications and surgical procedures that greatly help,” said Carol. She began a course of medications and felt much better. But frustrations became part of her life as she had to rely on others to do for her what she could no longer do herself—like gardening.
“I know that it is not curable. No surgery can fix it. One of the greatest lessons I have learnt is to take each day as it comes. If it is a good day, my prayer of thanks is given. If it has been a bad day – well tomorrow should be better. If things get too bad, I read. It takes me away from my problems and into another world; I know my faith is a great advantage. I am not alone. His help and comfort are always there. There is a lot to be thankful for, even though at times I have to look a bit harder for the blessings,” said Carol.
With physical service at a limit, Carol looked for a way she might still serve the Lord in a meaningful way—she found indexing—and for the past nine years has experienced great joy in helping to gather Israel in this important effort.

I remember once in Holland when we explained “every member a missionary” in a district conference and a sister came to see me in tears. “How can I be a missionary?” she wept. “I don’t know how to teach investigators.” We had not explained clearly and she had not understood that all she had to do was to be a link between the investigators and the missionaries, bringing them together. No wonder she was frightened.

The first lesson was learned when we were newly married and had very little money. I was in the air force, and we had missed Christmas together. I was on assignment overseas. When I got home, I saw a beautiful dress in a store window and suggested to my wife that if she liked it, we would buy it. Mary went into the dressing room of the store. After a moment the salesclerk came out, brushed by me, and returned the dress to its place in the store window. As we left the store, I asked, “What happened?” She replied, “It was a beautiful dress, but we can’t afford it!” Those words went straight to my heart. I have learned that the three most loving words are “I love you,” and the four most caring words for those we love are “We can’t afford it.”

Nathan started saving when he was even younger than Adam. When he was 10, he began delivering papers, shoveling snow, and mowing lawns. Now that he’s 15, he’s what he likes to call a “Babysitter Extraordinaire” for some of the families in his ward. He loves spending time with children, so it’s a great job for him. After paying tithing, he puts away 10 percent of each paycheck for his mission.
He’s had the desire to serve since Primary when he sang “I Hope They Call Me on a Mission” (Children’s Songbook, 169). “And when my brother went,” he says, “that made me want to go even more. It made a big difference for me. He set the example. He really changed his attitude toward life because of his mission.”
Going on a mission is really important to Nathan, not only because his dad thinks it’s really important or because his older brother set the example. He says, “It’s a commandment. I really need to go on a mission. It’s an important thing.”

If you were an explorer in Antarctica, you’d have the opportunity to meet another fantastic father, the emperor penguin. This stately bird has a seemingly impossible task as a father. In the middle of winter the mother penguin lays a single egg on an ice pack. For a few days she and the father penguin take turns incubating it. Then, because the mother needs to go to the sea to feed, she leaves the egg to the father to keep warm while she is gone. Through the worst part of the Antarctic winter, with temperatures ranging from -40° F (-40° C) to -100° F (-73° C) and with raging winds, the father covers the egg with his sagging belly. For most of two long, hard months this father stands faithfully holding his egg, usually huddling for warmth with a group of other penguin fathers.
When the penguin chick hatches, the father continues keeping it warm and protected as it huddles at his feet. If the mother has not yet returned, he also feeds the chick with a fluid secreted in the lining of his stomach. When the mother does return, she takes her turn caring for the chick while the father goes to feed at sea—finally! After gorging on fish and restoring his needed body fat, he returns and both he and the mother collect food for the chick. The father penguin continues providing warmth, protection, and food until the young penguin is about six months old and can fend for itself.

Paul Hanks gripped the handle of his canvas duffel bag with a sweaty hand and listened to his mother repeat the instructions that she had been drilling into him all week.
“Now, your bus will get to Cheyenne in the middle of the night, and you’ll have to change bus stations there. Just go outside the depot, look across the street, and you’ll be able to see the other depot. Go over there and buy your ticket right away, even though you’ll probably have a couple of hours before your bus leaves, and—”
“You’ll get to Grandma and Grandpa’s in the middle of the morning!” Paul’s two little sisters, who had heard the speech as many times as he had, finished their mother’s sentence in shrill unison.
“Maybe you should send them, too, Rose,” Paul’s father said with a chuckle. “It’s just a bus trip. He’ll be fine.”
“Sure, Mom,” Paul reassured her. “I remember how the rest of us did it when Dad couldn’t go a couple years ago. I’ll be OK.” Then, thoughtfully, he added what he’d been thinking ever since he’d found out that he’d be going to Wyoming by himself for the summer. “You know, I wish I was going by covered wagon or pulling a handcart. All the challenges are gone now. I’m going to be doing in a few hours what the pioneers spent most of a summer doing—and some of them died in the effort.”
“No challenges!” his mother exclaimed. “I’m worried to death about turning a twelve-year-old boy over to an impersonal bus company, and you’re looking for challenges! I suppose you want to hunt buffalo too!”
Paul grinned. “Well, it might keep me from getting bored.”
Before he could continue, a big silver bus pulled up to the curb, and a voice over a loudspeaker announced that it was the bus to Cheyenne and that it was ready to board. Paul hurriedly hugged his sisters and father, gave his mother a quick kiss, and, hopping that he looked more confident than he felt, boarded the bus. As it pulled out of the depot, he waved from a window seat, then settled back to watch the prairie whiz by.
Paul was sound asleep when the bus reached Cheyenne, and the driver had to wake him. But Paul managed to retrieve the big suitcase that he had checked, and he struggled across the street with it and his duffel bag. He bought his ticket, checked his suitcase again, then bought some cookies and a can of pop from a vending machine. He was glad to go back to sleep again on the bus when he was finally headed north.
Paul was tired of sleeping, tired of sitting, and tired of reading, when the bus pulled into a small rural town in northern Wyoming at midmorning. He was glad to see Grandma and Grandpa Hanks waiting for him. They loaded Paul’s baggage into the back of a battered pickup and, amid lots of hugs and questions about his trip and the family, had him sit between them on the seat.
“We have one stop to make before we go home,” Grandpa told Paul. “If you’re going to be my best hand for the summer, you need some irrigation boots and a shovel.”
“That’s great,” Paul agreed. “I’d love to have my own shovel, but not those hot, heavy rubber boots. I brought a couple pairs of old sneakers. I’ll just use those.”
“But your feet will be wet and muddy all the time,” Grandma protested.
“Now you sound like Mom.” Paul grinned. “A little mud never hurt anyone.”
It was after lunch before Paul and Grandpa Hanks left the house to irrigate.
“You drive,” Grandpa told him as they neared the pickup.
“Me? Oh boy!” Paul climbed in proudly, then found it wasn’t as easy as it looked to work the clutch on the old pickup and back up smoothly. He killed the engine a time or two and jerked the pickup so much that Grandpa had to hold his hat with one hand and the dashboard with the other. Maybe it’s a good thing that the pioneers had horses, Paul thought.
“By the time your father was your age, he could drive everything on the place,” Grandpa said. “Why, I started him guiding the truck across the field while I fed hay to the cows off the back of it when he was only eight years old. When we got to the end of the field, he just turned off the ignition key and waited for me to turn the truck around and start us back. It was a proud day when he could reach the brake and the clutch pedals without getting off the seat and when he could shift gears without taking his eyes off the road. You turn here.”
Paul turned the pickup at the head of a grassy field and stopped beside the dam in the irrigation ditch.
“Whew!” he gasped. “That was fun. I’m too young to drive at home. I wish I could live in the country all the time.”
“We’ll see how you feel about that in a few weeks,” Grandpa replied. “Now let’s walk down the field and see if the water has run all the way through.”
Paul took his new shovel and followed Grandpa down the field. He helped reset the irrigation dam twenty rows from the last setting and learned to carefully shovel cutouts. They had to be just so—too deep, and the turbulent water would wash away the sides of the ditch; too shallow, and the feeble stream of water wouldn’t reach the end of the field. After only a few minutes of digging, the shovel handle had made blisters on Paul’s hands. He was hot and thirsty, and there were two more fields to irrigate before chore time. By the time they had finished irrigating, Paul could almost drive the pickup without it jerking.
Grandpa proudly pointed out the various crops that they passed: a new variety of field corn that was supposed to produce superior silage, a field of alfalfa for hay, a field of oats, and a small field of winter wheat. “Wheat for man, and corn for the ox, and oats for the horse,” Grandpa said, quoting the Word of Wisdom scripture that was familiar to Paul too.
“It’ll be a good crop,” Grandpa said, “if the irrigation water just holds out. We’ll have to make the most of what we have.” He pointed out one field where the water that ran through it would be used on the field below it. “Every drop counts.”
Besides irrigating, the chores that Paul was to help with included feeding a few pigs and a couple calves (Grandma tended the chickens), calling the saddle horses in from pasture for grain, watering the stock, and milking and feeding the milk cow. But when Grandpa saw Paul’s broken blisters, he decided to wait a few days to see if Paul remembered how to milk.
When Grandpa asked the blessing at suppertime, he said, “Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for this fine young man who has come to brighten our days and ease our way …”
That night as Paul settled onto the fluffy feather pillow and cool, smooth sheets with the moonlit tree-limb pattern on them, he decided that he had had enough challenges for one day.
In the next few days the blisters on his hands turned into calluses as Paul followed Grandpa and helped irrigate and rode horseback to move a dozen heifers to a different pasture. He carried heavy buckets for Grandma and still found plenty of time to watch the baby chicks and play with a litter of kittens.
On Saturday afternoon, when he and Grandpa went to make the second irrigation settings of the day, Paul counted the rows to where he thought he should move the dam.
“Not there,” Grandpa told him. “Go more than twice as far.” When he saw that Paul didn’t understand, he explained. “Tomorrow is Sunday. If we spread the water farther, it can run over twice as long. We can leave it safely until early Monday. We’ve labored our six days. I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a day of rest.”
They were on the last field, setting long sets with small, shallow cutouts, when Paul heard a splash, a sickening snap, and a cry of pain. He turned in time to see Grandpa sliding in the mud with one leg in an unnatural position under him. Paul ran quickly to him. “Grandpa, are you all right?”
Grandpa grimaced and gasped in pain. “My leg is broken. You’ll have to go for help. Tell your grandma to call for the county ambulance—and don’t you let her get all upset! Tell her I’m going to be fine. Looks like you’ll have to do chores by yourself. Can you do it?”
Paul nodded.
“Now go—and be careful.”
Paul put his shovel over his shoulder and ran toward the pickup. At least we can call the paramedics, he thought. What would I have done on the prairie in a handcart company?

Paul hurried to the house and told Grandma to call the county ambulance. Then he did the chores by himself, just as Grandpa had asked. Later, after the ambulance had taken Grandpa to the hospital, Paul kept on helping Grandma with the work around the farm.

The next day was Sunday, and Paul went to church with Grandma. He thought about Grandpa’s broken leg and about all the work that had to be done on the ranch, and he realized that the “challenges” he had been wishing for had come after all. They were not the kind he had expected, but they were real enough.

When Grandpa came home from the hospital, Paul was waiting for him. “How is your leg?” he asked.
“It’ll heal,” Grandpa said. “And you did fine while I was gone.”
Paul smiled. “I guess the pioneers had challenges enough.”
Grandpa smiled back. “They sure did. And so do we. The important thing is to do what needs to be done.”
Paul nodded. He knew now that real challenges were not something to hunt for just to keep from getting bored. They were opportunities to serve and to grow.

(To be continued.)

“There is enough food for only one more day,” the captain said. “Would you like to eat it all or divide it into smaller portions to last three days?”
The company agreed to divide the food. Louisa’s stomach growled as she and her family accepted their tiny portions. As a member of the Martin Handcart Company, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had enough to eat.
That night, the company gathered around the fire to sing. “And should we die before our journey’s through, happy day! All is well!”*
Louisa’s sister Elizabeth wiped away a tear.
“Are you worried about Mother?” Louisa whispered.
Elizabeth tried to smile. “A little. But remember Mother’s blessing?”
Louisa nodded. “Yes. It comforts me too.”
Mother had been sick before leaving England, and Father had helped carry her onto the ship. Mother had been given a blessing that promised she would live to see her children reach Zion. Though she improved during the sea voyage, pulling a handcart through the early winter snow and surviving on such little food had weakened her again. Every day she grew worse.
Staring into the dying fire, Louisa tried not to think about the snowy graves that had been dug for so many of her friends along the trail. Instead she thought about Mother’s blessing and the warm feeling of assurance she had felt. Mother, Father, and all six of her siblings—even the two-year-old twins—would make it to Zion safely. Louisa was sure of it!
The next morning, as they plodded through the snow, Louisa’s mother began to stumble.
“Go on without me,” she called to Louisa’s father. “I can’t go any further!”
“You have to keep trying,” Elizabeth pleaded.
It was no use—Mother’s strength was gone. She kissed each family member good-bye. Then she hobbled over to a boulder, sat down, and cried.
“The company can’t wait for us,” Louisa’s father said, his eyes filled with sadness.
Louisa tried to keep her voice steady. “Elizabeth, will you help Father take care of the others?”
Elizabeth’s eyes grew wide. “Louisa—”
“We can’t all stay here, and we can’t leave Mother alone to die,” Louisa insisted. “I’ll stay here. Don’t worry.” She tried to sound brave. “Heavenly Father will help us.”
As the weary company struggled past, tugging their sagging handcarts, Louisa sat next to Mother and watched them disappear over the ridge. Soon Louisa and her mother were alone, listening to the howling wind. Louisa’s skin prickled at the thought of howling wolves.
“I’ll be right back, Mother,” Louisa said. She walked down the trail a short distance and knelt in the snow. “Please, Heavenly Father, wilt Thou protect us from the devouring wolves? Wilt Thou grant Mother the strength to continue so we can reach camp tonight?”
Louisa remained on her knees, waiting. She thought of camp, its welcoming bonfire and loving family members huddled around it. She thought of Zion, still hundreds of miles away.
Even though the chilling wind blew, she felt a warm spot growing in her heart. Yes. Heavenly Father would answer her prayer.
Louisa hopped onto her sore feet and started back up the trail, but something lay in her path. She blinked in surprise. She squinted and crouched down for a better look.
There, in the middle of the road, was a perfectly made pie.
“Oh my goodness,” Louisa cried. “Manna from heaven!” Laughing, she snatched it up. It looked and smelled delicious, like the pies Mother used to make back home in England.
“Mother, I’ve found something!” Louisa called.
“What is it?”
Louisa’s eyes glittered above her rosy cheeks as she placed the pie in Mother’s hands.
She gasped. “Louisa, where did you get this?”
“I prayed for you, and Heavenly Father sent me a pie. I found it on the road.”
Tearfully, Louisa’s mother thanked Heavenly Father for the miraculous gift. She ate the pie and rested awhile.
“I’m feeling much better,” Mother finally said, pulling herself onto her feet. “The Lord doesn’t want us to give up, and I won’t—not ever again.”
Louisa grinned. “Let’s catch up with the others. We can still make it to camp tonight.”
After darkness fell, they met Louisa’s father coming back to look for them. He rejoiced that Mother had regained her strength.
For the rest of the journey, whenever Louisa’s mother felt like quitting, she remembered the gift of the pie and offered a prayer of thanks instead.
Louisa and her family prayed with gratitude all the way to the Salt Lake Valley, where they arrived together safely on November 30, 1856. Mother’s blessing was fulfilled, just as Louisa had always known it would be.

About a month after I joined the Church, I met my wife, Magareth, and one year later we got married. While we were dating, I told her that because I knew Joseph Smith was a prophet, I desired to build our family upon the words and teachings of the prophets. For example, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) was the prophet at that time, and he counseled Church members to stay out of debt. In close to 29 years of marriage, my wife and I have never paid one penny of interest. Never.

One day my friend got angry with me. She yelled and shouted at me. For two weeks I was angry with her. After the first week, she asked me if I wanted to walk with her. I said no. Then one day I prayed and asked Heavenly Father if He would help me not be angry. The next week my friend asked me if I would walk with her, but I still said no. The next time she asked me, I wasn’t angry, and we walked together from then on. Heavenly Father helped me forgive my friend. And that’s how I learned that self-control works, just like Elder Gibbons said in the Friend.

Elder Orson F. Whitney tells about how he almost missed out. When he was a young, yet unconverted missionary, he was being enticed by the vain imaginations of the world. He was more interested in writing for newspapers than studying and preaching the gospel. One night, he had a dream that he was in the garden of Gethsemane standing behind a tree and witnessing the Savior’s pain and agony. Elder Whitney was heartbroken as he watched the tears stream down the Savior’s face. He recounts, “My whole heart went out to Him. I loved Him with all my soul and longed to be with Him as I longed for nothing else.” He watched the Savior walk to where the apostles Peter, James, and John waited -- fast asleep! The Savior shook them gently, awoke them, and without any anger or unkindness asked them if they could not watch with Him one hour. “There He was,” continues Elder Whitney, “with the weight of the world’s sin upon His shoulders, with the pangs of every man, woman and child shooting through His sensitive soul – and they could not watch with Him one hour!” Elder Whitney listened as the Lord admonished, “Watch and pray that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing but the flesh is weak.”[24]

Suddenly the circumstances in the dream changed. The apostles were about to ascend into heaven with the Savior. Elder Whitney could stand it no longer. He ran out from behind the tree and fell at the Savior’s feet and begged to go with them. “‘No my son; these have finished their work, and they may go with me, but you must stay and finish yours.’”

“‘Well, promise me that I will come to you at the last.’” [The Savior] smiled sweetly and tenderly and replied, “‘That will depend entirely upon yourself.’” Elder Whitney then awoke with a sob in his throat. He vowed after that experience never to be found “asleep at his post” again, losing the chance to do his duty to God, magnify a calling or accomplish righteousness. Think about it. He would have missed out on being an apostle of the Lord and ultimately on the chance to ascend with the Savior.[25]

In April, the branch start ed a Young Women program. At first there was only one participant: me! Even when I didn’t go, the teacher would wait for me. That seemed strange, too. Why was she so patient? Why did she wait so long even when she wasn’t sure I’d show up?
About that time, the mission presidents changed and the Suzuki family came to Sapporo. There was a young lady in the family, Naomi, who was my same age. We quickly became friends, since we were the only young women our age in the branch. She set a good example for me, and with her as a guide, I began to understand the patience of our teacher and the beauty of the gospel. Naomi’s example helped keep me going to church weekly and praying diligently. I was able to gain a small testimony and wanted from the bottom of my heart to be baptized.
I had talked to my parents once before about receiving that blessing, but they were against it. This time, armed with a tiny testimony, I tried again.
“Faith,” my father told me, “is not something that is grown in one or two days. It is the process of many years.” He felt that, to a student, school is more important even than religion, and he emphatically refused to give permission for baptism.
That had been a painful experience. But I got a grasp on myself, thought over what my father had said, and decided that one thing he had said was right. Religion should not be just a two-day spree, but a life-long adventure! I began attending seminary and studying the Old Testament in earnest. Fun lessons helped me gain insight into a subject new to me, and my knowledge of the gospel became fuller. However, I could not buy the home study manuals because that year was also the year for high school entrance exams, and my parents wanted me to spend time on school work, not religious homework.
I was overjoyed when the students in the class gave the manuals to me as a present! What could I give them in return? The best thing was to study those manuals hard. Even though my progress was slower than others, I was able to finish the manuals and turn them in to the teacher.
I also passed the high school entrance exams and felt relieved. My heart was lighter as I once again approached my parents about baptism, figuring I had proven I could be active in the Church and still succeed at school. Their response knocked me back into reality. “No,” my father said, “from now on school will be even tougher. You won’t have time for church and school too.”
My parents became increasingly upset by my diligence in attending Church meetings and would speak harsh words when I left the house on Sundays. After many months, however, they finally realized I wasn’t going to stop attending, and their resistance slackened somewhat. I continued studying seminary manuals, and my testimony grew more and more firm. But baptism still seemed impossible.
Finally, Naomi suggested that we should fast and pray about the situation. So every Sabbath day—for an entire year—we fasted. Naomi fasted and prayed right along with me. I could always feel God’s presence nearby, and my testimony became unshakable as we realized many other blessings that year. But my parents remained firm.
Last of all, my thoughts drifted to the beginning of this school year—my last in high school, the year of preparation for the college entrance examinations. I knew I would not be allowed to join the Church until the exams were over. I also wondered if my parents would allow me to be baptized even after the tests. One thing was certain, though. If I failed the exams, my parents would say, “The reason you failed is because you spent so much time with that church!” I had to prove that what they were thinking just wasn’t right. Somehow I knew that passing those tests was the key to my baptism, but I couldn’t see how.
I studied harder than I ever had before. Schoolwork passed ahead of everything, even Church assignments. Seminary studies began to pile up, but I rationalized that in order to be baptized, it was worth neglecting seminary in favor of schoolwork. The lack of seminary study worried me, however, for it was there I had grown the most and felt the strongest testimony. Now that testimony seemed to be shrinking as 13 home study books cluttered my shelf. My conscience told me I wasn’t doing what was right, that even with school there should be time for Church work and seminary too. On February 25 I promised myself I would complete all 13 books by March 4, the day exams began. Sandwiched in between my other schoolwork, seminary workbooks became a welcome break. On March 2, I handed all of my assignments, completed, to my amazed seminary teacher.
“It’s time,” the teacher supervising the exam said. I looked at the clock and whispered a prayer. Like a squadron of robots, the college entrance exam candidates rose and entered the testing area. Reluctantly, I joined them.
I passed! I couldn’t believe it! I was so excited! But several days later, when the scores were posted, I was listed. I would be able to go to college! I rushed to my parents with the good news and also asked if now I could finally have my wish—to become a member of the Church.
“No,” my father said simply. He startled the words right out of my mouth.
But my mother, although she had never done so before, came to my defense. She reminded him that I had been true to my studies and true to my religion for four years. “That’s such a good church that I don’t think my daughter would be doing anything wrong by joining it,” she said. “It is such a good church. I can understand why my daughter wants to go to it all her life.”
The three of us talked for hours, and I slowly realized my parents weren’t against me but loved me. They were concerned for my welfare and didn’t want me doing something blindly. I’m grateful to have such wonderful parents. I think they realized, too, that I wasn’t joining the Church on a whim. They gave me permission to be baptized! I made that covenant and received that ordinance on the same day I graduated from the Young Women program. My friends from seminary helped plan the baptismal service, and most of my family attended.
Of the high school- and college-age members of the Church in Japan, only about 5 percent have parents who are members. They may find that sharing the gospel with their families can be difficult and that parents of the Buddhist and Shinto faiths don’t always understand the joy that comes into someone’s heart through the knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But I truly believe that the Lord is mindful of us and will provide a way to help us. For me, it was through four years of patience that allowed my faith to grow strong.

How did it come to be that with all the construction of new buildings in the last few years, this perfect site is still open and still available? Here is the story:
When the President’s Council considered the location for what are now the Hinckley and the Ricks Buildings, there was a good bit of lobbying and a lot of logic behind building both of those buildings on the field where the auditorium will stand. It made all the sense in the world to put those new academic buildings right in the academic core of the campus. But President Bednar and the other members of the President’s Council were not settled in their minds. They decided to take a walk. As they looked at the field and visited sites up on the hill, the strong impression came that the new buildings should be built up on the south end of campus and that the field should be left empty. And so, long before the temple was announced, long before we knew anything about an auditorium, the hand of the Lord protected this site and extended the campus in the direction of what would be the Rexburg Temple.

One day I decided to make a Christmas wish list because I was so excited about Christmas. I made a fancy title and used Santa Claus hats as bullet points.
My older brother came into the room to print off his list. I didn’t really care about his list because mine was going to be so fantastic. Mine had color and Santa Claus hats, and his was only black and white.
I wanted a lot of stuff: a pogo stick, pens, a puppy, a cat, etc. When I was done, I put my list on the fridge. My brother’s list was already hanging up. It said, “This year I would like to use half my Christmas money to give to others.”
I was amazed at what my brother was doing with his Christmas money. I couldn’t believe it. My brother who gets in fights with me a lot was giving instead of getting.
My Christmas list now seemed small and almost useless. Maybe I could do the same thing. I would be helping others, and I would feel good about myself. There’s a center near my home that helps children. I asked my mom if I could make some blankets for the kids there for Christmas. I hope I can give just like my brother.
I learned a lot more than I probably have ever learned about Christmas. Jesus Christ gave His life for us, so why should we not give to others in need? We don’t need all our wants. This year I will think more about Christ and what He did for us than I ever have. And I will focus on giving instead of getting.

After many delays, our field camp at Coalsack Bluff was established. This location, selected by Dr. David Elliott of the Institute of Polar Studies, was within a fifty-mile radius of many barren windswept peaks and ridges. The random selection of this campsite was fortunate indeed, for the best fossil locality discovered was in the group of sandstone cliffs nearest our camp. It was therefore possible for us to carry out our work by motor toboggan when helicopter support failed, as it often did.
The day our three remaining helicopters arrived at Coalsack Bluff from McMurdo, Bill Breed and I flew off in one, only to have it crash. The tail-rotor shaft broke soon after liftoff, causing us to fall on the landing field. We were uninjured, but the helicopter was wiped out, leaving us with only two craft. Navy support policy was to fly helicopters in pairs with rescue backup always available in camp. This was no longer possible and led to many frustrating delays.

I am personally greatly motivated by the modest written and oral traditions of my own fathers which have been handed down.
For instance, as a young boy, my great-grandfather arose one Christmas morning with great anticipation and came down from the loft where he slept to inspect the stocking he had hung by the fireplace the previous night. To his dismay he found what was to constitute his entire Christmas that year—one piece of horehound candy! He was immediately faced with a weighty decision: Should he eat the candy in one glorious burst of flavor, or should he make it last? The scarcity of such delicacies apparently convinced him to make it last. He carefully licked the solitary piece of candy a few times and then wrapped it in tissue paper and hid it under his mattress. Each Sunday thereafter, following dinner, he retreated to his bed, retrieved his treasure, and enjoyed a few pleasurable licks. In that way he nursed the piece of candy through an entire year’s enjoyment.
This is obviously not an account of deeds of heroic proportions. And yet, in these times of overindulgence and excess, it is somehow very inspiring and strengthening to me to know that a little of my great-grandfather’s frugal blood flows in my own veins.

Consider the power to love. I remember a mother I met once as I made a professional house call. This woman was confined in an iron lung. The ravages of polio had effectively destroyed all the breathing muscles so that her life was completely dependent upon this large metal tank and the electrical motor that powered its noisy bellows.
While there, I watched her three children as they related to their mother. The oldest interrupted our work to ask permission to go to a friend’s house for an hour. Later the second child asked her mother for help with arithmetic. Finally the youngest child, so small that she couldn’t see her mother’s face directly, looked up at her image in a mirror that had been placed over the mother’s head and asked, “Mommy, may I have a cookie?” I’ve never forgotten that lesson on the power of love. This woman, virtually disabled and certainly incapable of any degree of physical enforcement of parental authority, sweetly influenced that home solely with the power to love!

A short time ago, in the Salt Lake Temple, we had such an experience. A young couple came to the temple. They had come from Sri Lanka to have their family sealed in the temple. They were a beautiful young couple with two beautiful children. The wife was to receive her own endowment, and then the family would be sealed. Before the endowment, the temple president and matron give instructions to those who are there for the first time.
We did that on this day. It was so beautiful. We were both touched by the young couple. With tears in their eyes, they expressed deep gratitude for the privilege of being in Salt Lake City in the Salt Lake Temple. This had always been a far-off dream. Following the instruction period, Sister Walker said to me, "Do you have any idea who is performing the sealing today?" I said, "I really don't." She said, "Why don't you call upstairs and ask?" So I did. I was told that no one had yet been assigned. And then Sister Walker said to me, "Why don't you go do it?" Now, brethren, this is evidence of the fact that some of our greatest inspiration will come from the women in our lives.
When the time came, we went upstairs to the sealing rooms. They brought this beautiful young couple in, and with tears running down their cheeks, they received the eternal ordinance that joined them together forever. Then, they brought the little four-year-old boy in. He was dressed in white and was the picture of reverence. His arms were folded, and he didn't make a peep. We had to have him step up and stand on the cushion at the side of the altar so he could put his little hand on top of his parents while the sealing took place. And then they brought his little sister in, eight months old, screaming at the top of her lungs. She had been away from her mother for more than two hours, and even her mother could not console her. She continued to scream, and so we proceeded by sitting her on the altar with her back turned to me. Her grandmother forcibly held her little hand on top of her brother's hand so that I could perform the sealing.
This little girl continued to scream until I came to the point where I said, "And I seal you" (naming her), "to your father," (naming him), "and to your mother" (naming her). Instantly, she stopped crying. She turned around and stared at me with big, beautiful, dark eyes. She remained completely silent until I said "amen," and then a huge smile came across her face. You know, I am convinced that that little girl physically had no idea what was happening in her life. She was too young. But spiritually, she knew. The Lord had taught her. Is it any wonder why He says, "Unless you become as a little child, ye cannot enter the kingdom of God." Her heart was pure, and the Lord had granted her a kind of understanding that transcends our mortal knowledge. Glimpse of eternity.

My senior couple friends, such moments should be in the making for many of you. Consider the story told by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles about what a senior couple serving in Chile was able to do. The parent of one of the young elders died. The mission president was far enough away that he couldn’t get to the missionary quickly.
“But there was a sweet [mature] missionary couple serving in the area,” Elder Holland says. “They came and sat with that missionary and tenderly cared for and comforted him until the mission president could make personal contact. We had great young missionaries in our missions, but no young single missionary could have done for that elder what that couple was able to do.”1
Their skill at that moment was simply to convey compassion in a time of need. They weren’t concerned about speaking any language other than the language of Christlike love. They weren’t worried about missing a grandchild’s birthday or a baby blessing, as important as those events may be. They were concerned about being where the Lord could use them to bless the life of one of His children. And because they were willing, He was able to let them represent Him.

When I was young my parents were faced with changing the long-standing religious traditions of their families. My parents moved from rural Ohio to the city of Flint, Michigan, a new place. My father found a mechanic in the dealership where he worked who wasn’t rude and didn’t smoke, drink, or swear. He found him to be friendly and helpful, and he wondered why. This man told my father it was because of his church.

My life was forever changed by the gospel of Jesus Christ when my parents invited two young men to our home. I remember the day they drove up in their American Motors Rambler and walked up to our house. They sat on the couch and pulled out a large flannel board and proceeded to teach us the gospel. My brother and I sat on the floor and watched as the missionaries placed cutouts of people and other figures on the flannel board. We would watch these flannel-board cutout characters slowly curl down, and we snickered and laughed as they fell to the floor. My father had to nudge us with his foot to keep us quiet. I had no idea that that moment was the beginning of a change that would forever affect our beliefs, our way of life, and our previously held notions and traditions. Life changed for us. We began attending church a couple of days a week. New terminology entered into our life.

I went to something called Primary and attended classes called CTR, Targeteers, and Blazers. There were things called sacrament gems and two-and-a-half-minute talks. We went to progressive dinners, bazaars, and ice cream socials. There were road shows and gold and green balls. Some of these traditions of the Church have changed over time, but the truthfulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ remains a constant. My family had to rethink our priorities, rethink who we were, and change the way we did things. We made covenants with the Lord as we realigned our lives with this newfound gospel. My life was forever changed and set on a different trajectory, one other than where it could have headed.