Gospel Story Finder

The bell rang, and the boys of the teachers quorum left. But Tommy and Richard hung back. It was their responsibility to return the hymnbooks this week. Tommy was still thinking about the lesson, his face creased in a pensive frown.
“Do you teach any inactives, Richard?” he asked tentatively.
“Yeah, we’ve got Brother and Sister Dunbar, but I don’t know what we’re going to do about them. Brother Dunbar is even smoking in front of us now. Not much chance with him, I’d say.”
“What do you think about what Brother Wolff just said?”
“Oh yeah, that was good, but sometimes I guess it just doesn’t work out that way. Some people just don’t want to come back again, so you’re wasting your time, I guess.”
“Do you really think that?” Tommy’s worried frown had deepened, and he searched Richard’s face. “Really?”
“Well, you have to, don’t you? It’s no use thinking it’s all going to be marvellous when it isn’t.” Richard shrugged philosophically. “Have you finished with those books? I’ll take them back to the library.”
Tommy looked at the pile of books in his hands. “Oh, yes. Here you are,” he said, handing them over. He picked up his own scriptures, but his mind was still on Brother Tregaron. He was a problem with a capital P.
Tommy was going with Brother Carson to home teach Brother Tregaron this afternoon, but it was always the same whenever they went. All he did was knock back everything they said to him. If they greeted him with, “Nice day, isn’t it?” He would reply, “I don’t think it will last—probably have a storm later, I’d say.”
If they complimented him on his garden, he would only talk about the weeds, or the slugs and snails. If they asked him about his family, he would remark that he never heard from them, and why should he when they didn’t care about him anyway. He really was hard to talk to. Tommy always felt depressed when he came away from Brother Tregaron’s, depressed and useless. There didn’t seem to be anything anyone could do with him.
But Brother Wolff had said, “Never give up!” And when he heard him, Tommy felt as if Brother Wolff was begging and pleading on his own behalf again, reliving the alienation he had gone through for so many years, and pleading for someone to care enough, as his home teacher had done, to “never give up.”
Tommy shrugged. Maybe Richard was right. Maybe it was a waste of time. What could he, a mere teacher, do when grown men, even the elders quorum president himself, had failed? There didn’t seem to be much point. He would just go there this afternoon, go through the motions, and leave as usual. Only this time, he wouldn’t feel depressed about it, for now he understood that Brother Tregaron didn’t really want to come back. Yes, that’s what he would do.
And that’s what he would have done, if only Brother Wolff hadn’t come back into the room just then. He smiled at Tommy and gripped his hand. Maybe Tommy just imagined it, but a funny sort of feeling was in his stomach and a prickly sort of feeling around his eyes as he looked into Brother Wolff’s face. No words had been said, yet there seemed to be an understanding, as if Brother Wolff knew exactly what had passed through Tommy’s mind those few short minutes ago.
Later that afternoon, he found himself outside Brother Tregaron’s place. Brother Carson was taking the keys out of the ignition, and Tommy heard him say, “Well, come on, let’s get this one over with first.” Suddenly Tommy felt an overwhelming feeling come over him.
“Brother Carson,” he heard himself say, “could we have a word of prayer before we go in, please?”
“Eh?” Brother Carson seemed puzzled, and Tommy knew it was because he had never been asked that before. Usually they had the prayer inside with the family they were teaching—all except Brother Tregaron, of course. But Tommy felt an urgent need for a prayer and repeated his request, “A word of prayer, please.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” Brother Carson leaned back in his seat and nodded at Tommy. “Perhaps you’d like to offer it?”
Tommy felt strangely nervous, and his palms were sweaty, but he started the prayer, not knowing quite what to say or why he had even asked for it. Afterwards, he couldn’t quite remember what he actually said, but he did remember the look on Brother Carson’s face when he had finished. It reminded him of Brother Wolff.
Albert Tregaron opened the door to them with his habitual scowl and invited them in with his usual terseness. They followed him down the passageway into the small living room, and Tommy saw that nothing had changed much since the last time they had been there. It was a large, untidy room with a forlorn air about it. Tommy could almost feel the usual depression settle about his shoulders like a heavy cloak, and it took a great effort on his part to shrug it off. Never give up, he reminded himself.
Brother Tregaron was saying, “You’d better sit down, I suppose.” Brother Carson chose a big, faded armchair and perched gingerly on the edge of it, saying, with a hearty smile, “And how are you this month, Albert?”
“Okay, I guess,” came the reply. Brother Carson shifted uncomfortably and caught Tommy’s eye. Tommy could sense the hint of despair in his attitude, but it didn’t prepare him for Brother Carson’s next words.
“By the way, Albert, Tommy has something he’d like to say to you, wouldn’t you, Tommy?” Tommy felt his jaw drop as he met Brother Carson’s strained, jovial smile.
Hey, come on, Brother Carson, don’t leave it all up to me, thought Tommy desperately. His gaze swung from Brother Carson to Brother Tregaron’s face, which now had a speculative look on it.
“Well?” Brother Tregaron asked, mildly curious.
“Well, er …” Tommy fought desperately for the right words to say. Help me, Heavenly Father, he pleaded within himself. What shall I say? Then he heard himself saying, “Well, there’s an elders quorum activity this Saturday. It’s a picnic, and there’s going to be some rafting and games and so on, and we, that is my family and I, thought you might like to come with us?” I must remember to tell Mom and Dad, he thought to himself.
“Ah, no, that’s not my idea of spending a Saturday …” started Brother Tregaron, but Tommy was already brushing aside his refusal.
“Oh, please, Brother Tregaron. See, Dad and I wanted to be in the tug-of-war against the Williamses, but we haven’t got quite enough for our team. Wouldn’t you make up the numbers for us?”
Again the shake of the head came, but still Tommy persisted.” And the deacons reckon you were really good with the rafting competitions at one time.” Brother Tregaron’s head slowed its shaking and tilted to one side, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Tommy.
“Why are you doing this, boy, eh? Why do you want me?”
Tommy stopped in mid-sentence, dumbstruck. Why was he doing it? What answer could he give? What should he say? Then he said something he immediately felt was the stupidest thing of all to say, “Because you’re my brother.”
He flushed crimson. What a stupid thing to say! He began to think of all the things he could have said, should have said, but his mind had gone blank. He was about to apologize when he noticed that Brother Tregaron’s face had softened and there was a hint of a tear in his eye. The silence stretched into infinity as they looked into each other’s eyes.
At last, Brother Tregaron broke the silence with a mumbled, “Well, I guess I could see if I’m free.” It was more a question than a statement. Tommy felt his heart swell.
“Sure, Brother Tregaron! What time shall we pick you up?”
“Hang on, young man. Not so fast. I only said I’d see if I was free.” But there was a smile in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and the stern lines of his face were relaxed. Tommy grinned and looked across to where Brother Carson was sitting, but in his mind, he saw only Brother Wolff looking at him. He heard him say again, “Never, ever, give up on anyone.” And as he turned back to Brother Tregaron, he knew that despite the heartaches that might lie ahead, he never, ever, would.

It started out as an ordinary Primary lesson. I was standing in front of my class of eight-year-old boys and girls, telling them a story about one of the latter-day prophets. When I finished, I began to question them about the moral the story taught. Everyone in the class wanted to answer my question—everyone, that is, but Robert.
I thought nothing of it. He was new in the class, and I thought he was probably just shy about speaking out on his first day. But as the answer was given and as we talked about it, I noticed that Robert’s face got more and more troubled. He wasn’t understanding the idea.
The week before, I hadn’t had time to finish the lesson I had prepared. I knew there wasn’t much time again now, and so I told myself I couldn’t make the other children wait until I had explained it again for Robert’s sake. I decided to go on. After all, I told myself, we will probably go over this idea again some other time.
I made one quick look around the room to make sure the rest understood. As my eyes passed by Robert’s, my heart froze. In an instant it seemed as though his face faded away and in its place I saw that of my three-year-old son, Sam. Startled, I just stood there, staring at Robert as if I expected the transformation to happen again. It didn’t then, or ever again.
Then I realized the impact of what I had done. I had passed over a child of God simply because I couldn’t be bothered. I had lost an important teaching moment. I had been given the opportunity to place a child closer to his Father in Heaven, but had turned my back.
I’ve never forgotten the lesson I learned that day—that only when I have done my best on behalf of all the children I teach can I pray for the best from another teacher on behalf of my own child.

On a warm summer evening, my son Paul was playing with friends near our home. Nearby was a group of teenagers. One of the teenagers started smoking something bad. She called to Paul, “Hey, do you want to try this?”
Paul remembered what he had learned at school and Primary and from his parents. He looked right into the girl’s eyes and said, “No! Drugs are bad for you!”
The girl took the drug out of her mouth, threw it on the ground, and crushed it with her shoe.
Later, Paul curled up on my lap and told me about it. I am grateful that Paul has been taught that drugs are bad for the body and that he had the courage to try to be like Jesus Christ and obey His commandments.

Dad felt his calling as an Apostle was an absolute priority—and for good reason. There is only a small group of men called as special witnesses to lead God’s work on the earth, and they can’t take a day off, let alone a year.
Fulfilling his assignments was more important to my father than even his health. Dad left it to the Lord to renew his body (see D&C 84:33). He once asked me to go with him to a regional conference in Paris, France. His doctor thought he should take several days to make the trip because of the toll traveling would take on Dad’s body, but we flew directly to Paris. I could hardly keep my eyes open, and Dad was off energetically conducting meetings, interviewing, and lifting others.
Toward the end of his life, he was often in terrible pain. I didn’t know the human body could endure such pain. “Dad,” I asked, “do you think we really shouted for joy to have a body like this?” With conviction he answered, “Yes.” Then he added with a bit of humor, “I’m not sure we knew the whole story.”

I remember the first time I encountered the Americans. We came through a dense pine forest, and we had to go across the street. We pushed aside the tree branches and all of a sudden a huge tank was right in front, and the gun was aimed at us.
I was scared. I had never seen an American tank or an American. The top of the tank opened, and an American came out. Russian prisoners who had been freed by the Americans were sitting on top. They saw that we were shaking. The American asked me where we came from and where we wanted to go. I told him we wanted to go home. “No way,” he said. “You just jump on here, and we’ll take you along. At the next stop we’ll put you on a truck that will take you to a camp.”
I had put it in my pocket, and at the moment that we were faced with that tank I remembered it. I pulled it out and gave it to the Russians. They read it and then all of a sudden said, “Friend! Friend!” in German and talked to the American, telling him that I had given food to the Russians. He said, “I hear you have been good to the Russians. Instead of us taking you along, just go ahead.”

There were two outs, and I was up at bat. It was late in the game, and the score was close. We needed a run, but I was a very average second baseman. Trying to fake confidence, I nervously stepped to the plate.
“Strike one!” “Strike two!” The next pitch was fast and outside, but I wanted to hit it so badly I swung anyway. I heard a “crack” and watched my line drive sail over the third baseman’s head. I dropped my bat and ran, the first base coach waving me on to second. Adrenaline pumping, I rounded the base and saw the third base coach signal me to hold up. I had a stand-up double.
I was excited, but believe it or not, the hit wasn’t the most memorable part of the game. What I remember most is that my head coach called time out, left the dugout, and ran across the field. He hurried to second base with a huge smile on his face. “Good job! That’s how to hit!” He gave me a high five, then ran back to the dugout. The ump yelled “batter up,” and the game went on.
I think we won, but to be truthful, I don’t remember for sure. What I do remember is the coach’s compliment. It made me want to do better. I’ve noticed such moments don’t usually take much effort and don’t require a lot of time, but their effects last and last.

I had set a goal to read all of the magazine, even if I didn’t think I needed a particular article, and that’s why I read “Managing Postpartum Depression: A Gospel Perspective,” in the August 2009 issue.
But when my daughter was born in October of that year, I immediately recognized the symptoms I was experiencing and quickly got the help I needed, as the article suggested. I recovered in just a few months.
The Liahona is more than just a magazine; it is a recipe, a map, a guide, and a compass.
Bertha Viola Rétiz Espino, Mexico

One night in family home evening, Papa handed Carol Ann a small card with a picture of Jesus and some words on it. “This is your very own scripture,” he explained. “It’s a verse in the Bible, and it says: ‘We love him, because he first loved us.’ Think and pray about the scripture, and try to ‘liken’ it to yourself, as Nephi told us to do when we read in the Book of Mormon this morning.”
On Tuesday, Carol Ann asked Mama to read her the scripture again and again. By lunchtime she had memorized it.
That afternoon, she sat on the front porch in the sun with a kitten on her lap. She gently stroked its fur, and it licked her fingers with a little pink tongue and purred happily.
The kitten loves me, thought Carol Ann. I loved the kitten first, and then the kitten loved me.
On Wednesday, Carol Ann picked up things in Patty’s room. Later Patty gave her a grateful hug.
On Thursday, she dusted all the model cars in Brent’s room, and Brent gave her a happy smile and said, “Thanks.”
On Saturday, Papa washed the car. Carol Ann dried the hubcaps with a soft cloth until they shone. “You are a good helper,” Papa said. “I see that you have been thinking about your scripture all week. You really love people, and they love you back.”
Carol Ann was happy when she went to bed that night. She looked again at the card with the picture of Jesus. She knew that He loved her and that she loved Him.

One morning Samantha asked her mother if she could go over to Brother Brown’s house to help pull weeds in his garden.
“Of course you may,” Samantha’s mother replied. “Just be home before noon. I’m sure that Brother Brown will like your help.”
Samantha found Brother Brown in his garden. “Hi, Brother Brown,” Samantha said. “I came to help you.”
“I’m glad to see you, Samantha,” Brother Brown said. “There are lots of weeds to pull.”
Samantha pulled weeds in the carrots. She pulled weeds in the beets. Then she pulled weeds in the corn.
“You’re a wonderful helper,” said Brother Brown. “Come into the garage, and I’ll show you some other helpers.”
Samantha went into Brother Brown’s garage. “See that box,” said Brother Brown. “My other helpers are inside it. They help me get rid of little bugs that would ruin my garden.”
Samantha wondered what was in the box. She picked it up—it felt empty! Surprised, she took the lid off the box. Ten thousand ladybugs were crawling all over each other. Some of them flew out of the box. There were ladybugs on the car. There were ladybugs on the windows. There were ladybugs on the workbench and the walls and the rafters. There were ladybugs everywhere.
“Oh—oh,” said Brother Brown. “I forgot to tell you not to take the lid off the box until we took it outside.”
Brother Brown and Samantha carried the ladybugs that hadn’t already escaped out to the garden. Then they left the garage door open to let the rest of the tiny creatures out into the yard. And before noon most of the ladybugs were out in the garden, eating the little bugs that were eating the vegetables.
Brother Brown was very happy as he and Samantha looked over the garden. “I have the best helpers in the world,” said Brother Brown. “A wonderful young lady and ten thousand ladybugs can’t be beat!”

As I stood in the family circle above the baptismal font, I watched our little grandson Clayton walk timidly down the steps with his daddy. Raising his arm to the square, his father said the baptismal prayer, then buried him in the water that sloshed and splashed around them.
After the last song had been sung and the closing prayer said, the families of the newly baptized children reverently left the meetinghouse. Later as we celebrated the occasion, one of the children looked up from his ice cream and asked, “Grandma, were you baptized in shiny blue water?”
“No,” I chuckled. “When I was baptized, we didn’t sit in a room with drapes and carpets with soft music and inspirational talks. No one wore white clothes and there were no relatives standing above a tile font.”
“Tell us about it, Grandma,” the children pleaded. And so I told them my story.
Well, you see, Hurricane was just a pioneer town in Southern Utah when I was little. We planned for me to be baptized in the Hurricane Canal on my birthday. I was so excited I could hardly wait. And then, just four days before my birthday, the canal broke.
The farmers were frantic. Peach orchards and hayfields were dry. Every man in town went up the river with his pick and shovel to help fix the break, but it was a bad one. The day before my birthday, I climbed the slope to the canal, hoping to see just one trickle of water. Instead, the hot, dry winds had caked and cracked the mud in the bottom, curling it up into little clay dishes. “Oh mamma, what shall we do?” I asked. “How can I be baptized when the canal is dry?”
“You can always go to the hot sulphur springs, like your sisters did,” she suggested.
“But their birthdays were in winter. We’d scald in July!”
Mama knew better than to suggest postponing the date. It was family tradition for each of us to be baptized on our eighth birthday.
“Let’s see what other choices you have,” Mama said. “Come with me.”
The cow’s watering trough was just outside the corral under the apricot tree, with a hole in the fence for the cows to poke their heads through.
“You could be baptized here,” she said. I looked at the long strings of floating green moss and shuddered. “You can scrub the trough with the broom and fill it with fresh water from the cistern.”
“But Mama …” I wailed.
“If being sorry would fix the canal, the water would be running in it now,” she said, cradling me in her comforting arms.
I had heard Uncle Ren say that the canal might be mended by sundown, so just before dark, I climbed the bank, hoping to see the frothy head of the stream. But the cracked clay was only curled deeper. Heavy of heart, I trudged home and plopped down on my bed in the peach orchard, where we slept in the summertime. Looking up at the evening sky I watched the first stars appear. “Please, Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “help the men get the water in the canal by tomorrow.”
I wasn’t surprised when a short time later I heard a little splash of water coming through the headgate high on the bank above our house. I sat on my heels and listened. The sound grew until it was the full-grown tumble of water, splashing over the rocks and, finally, rippling through the ditch past our place. The canal had been fixed before sundown, but the water had miles to race before reaching town.
“Oh thank you, Heavenly Father,” I whispered. Then I hugged my pillow and drifted to sleep, lulled by the merry music of laughing, tumbling water.
By the next afternoon, all of the debris and froth from the new stream had washed itself on through the canal and the water ran placid and smooth. I put on my clean white nightgown and Uncle Ren Spendlove came in his faded bib overalls. Mama walked to the canal with us. Sitting in the shade of the willows along the bank were my playmates and cousins, waiting. Uncle Ren stepped down the slick muddy side into the water then, reaching up, gave me a hand. Ripples of light danced on the stream, and a few willow leaves glided like canoes through the mottled shade. The wind held its breath as Uncle Ren said the baptismal prayer. I felt the rush of water in my ears, and he brought me up blubbering. He held onto me until I had caught my breath. Then I noticed everyone watching and smiling at me and I felt wonderful and loved.
“Mama, I’m baptized!” I exclaimed. Reaching for my hands, she pulled me up beside her. She had said that baptism was a sacred ordinance, and when she hugged me, dripping wet as I was, I knew it was true.

When our three children were small, my husband and I experienced an economic crisis. We had done all we could, but we had run out of money—and there seemed to be no help available anywhere. One morning, I fed the children the last of the food in the house for breakfast. There was not even a drop of oil to cook them something for lunch. My husband left for work, hoping to get at least enough money to buy food for that day.
I began to ask myself why I was being given this trial. What was I doing wrong? Then I realized that even if I were guilty of something, my children certainly were not! Where was my faith? If Heavenly Father’s eye was on the sparrow, would He not take care of us? I offered a prayer that He would help us find some food. Then, exercising my faith, I went on about my work.
At mid-morning, a neighbor lady knocked on the door and began to tell me about the approaching visit of her mother-in-law. She mentioned that she had prepared a big noon meal of chicken, rice, and many other delicious things. Then she left in order to be home when her mother-in-law arrived.
A short while later she returned and said that her plans had changed. Her guest would not be coming after all. Instead, their family would be accompanying the mother-in-law on a two-week vacation. But now she had a problem. What could she do with all the food she had prepared? A bit embarrassed, she asked me if I would be offended if she gave it to me.
I had told her nothing of my situation. Now I told her not to worry, that I appreciated her offer very much. I knew that this was the answer to my prayer. My neighbor was pleased that I would take the food and then asked, “Can I leave you the food in the refrigerator, too? We’ll be gone so long that everything will go bad.”
When my husband arrived that day, he had had no success in getting money. Nevertheless, we ate well, and the refrigerator was filled to capacity.

Brother Renzo Molly Barrios Matias, of Guatemala, learned the power of using scripture study to receive personal revelation for his own life.

“After Hurricane Mitch passed through Central America in 2001 and left everything in desolation, I had many questions,” he says. “Seeking answers, I went to a friend I greatly respect. He said, ‘Read the scriptures. You will find the best answers to your questions in them.’

“This revolutionized my life,” says Brother Matias. “After studying the scriptures for quite a long time, I began to find answers to my questions. I was able to see that my life did have meaning. It was then that I decided to serve a full-time mission.”

Soon Elder Matias was serving in the Honduras Tegucigalpa Mission, helping others discover the power of scripture study.

Today I would like to address one of the most joyful, glorious, and powerful gospel truths that God has revealed. At the same time, it is ironically one for which we have been criticized. An experience I had some years ago profoundly deepened my appreciation for this gospel truth.
As a representative of the Church, I was once invited to a religious conference where it was announced that from that moment on they would recognize as valid all baptisms performed by almost all other Christian churches, as long as the ordinance was done with water and in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Then it was explained that this policy did not apply to baptisms performed by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
After the conference I was able to delve deeper into the reasons for that exception with the leader in charge of the announcement. We had a wonderful and insightful conversation.
In short, he explained to me that that exception had primarily to do with our particular beliefs about the Godhead, which other Christian denominations often refer to as the Trinity. I expressed my appreciation for him taking the time to explain to me his beliefs and the policy of his church. At the end of our conversation, we hugged and then said goodbye.
As I later contemplated our discussion, what this leader said about Latter-day Saints not understanding what he called the “mystery of the Trinity” stayed in my mind. What was he referring to? Well, it had to do with our understanding of the nature of God. We believe that God the Father “is an exalted man” with a glorified “body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s; [and] the Son also.” Thus, every time we talk about the nature of God, in some way, somehow, we are also talking about our own nature.
And this is true not only because we all were made “in [His] image, after [His] likeness,” but also because, as the Psalmist recorded, God said, “Ye are gods; and all of you are children of the Most High.” This is for us a precious doctrine now recovered with the advent of the Restoration. In summary, it is nothing more or less than what our missionaries teach as the first lesson, first paragraph, first line: “God is our Heavenly Father, and we are His children.”
Now, you might say, “But many people believe we are children of God.” Yes, that is true, but their understanding may be a little different from the implication of its deeper meaning that we affirm. For Latter-day Saints, this teaching is not metaphorical. Rather, we truly believe that we are all literally the children of God. He is “the Father of [our] spirits,” and because of that, we have the potential to become like Him, which seems to be inconceivable to some.
It has now been over 200 years since the First Vision opened the doors to the Restoration. At the time, young Joseph Smith sought guidance from heaven to know what church to join. Through the revelation he received that day, and in later revelations given to him, the Prophet Joseph obtained knowledge about the nature of God and our relationship to Him as His children.
Because of that, we learn more clearly that our Heavenly Father has taught this precious doctrine from the very beginning. Allow me to cite at least two accounts from the scriptures to illustrate this.
You might remember God’s instructions to Moses as recorded in the Pearl of Great Price.
We read that “God spake unto Moses, saying: Behold, I am the Lord God Almighty, and Endless is my name.” In other words, Moses, I want you to know who I am. Then He added, “And, behold, thou art my son.” Later he said, “And I have a work for thee, Moses, my son; and thou art in the similitude of mine Only Begotten.” And then finally, He ended with, “And now, behold, this one thing I show unto thee, Moses, my son.”
It appears that God was determined to teach Moses at least one lesson: “You are my child,” which He repeated at least three times. He could not even mention the name of Moses without immediately adding that he was His son.
However, after Moses was left alone, he felt weak because he was no longer in the presence of God. That is when Satan came to tempt him. Can you see a pattern here? The first thing he said was, “Moses, son of man, worship me.”
In this context, Satan’s request to worship him may have been only a distraction. A significant temptation for Moses in that moment of weakness was to become confused and believe that he was only a “son of man,” rather than a child of God.
“And it came to pass that Moses looked upon Satan and said: Who art thou? For behold, I am a son of God, in the similitude of his Only Begotten.” Fortunately, Moses was not confused and did not allow himself to become distracted. He had learned the lesson of who he really was.
The next account is found in Matthew 4. Scholars have entitled this “the three temptations of Jesus,” as if the Lord was tempted only three times, which of course is not the case.
Hundreds of gallons of ink have been used to explain the meaning and content of these temptations. As we know, the chapter begins by explaining that Jesus had gone into the desert, “and when he had fasted forty days and forty nights, he was afterward an hungred.”
Satan’s first temptation apparently had only to do with satisfying the Lord’s physical needs. “Command that these stones be made bread,” he challenged the Savior.
A second enticement may have had to do with tempting God: “Cast thyself down: for it is written, He shall give his angels charge concerning thee.”
Finally, Satan’s third temptation referred to the aspirations and glory of the world. After Jesus had been shown “all the kingdoms of the world, … [Satan] saith unto him, All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me.”
In truth, Satan’s ultimate temptation may have had less to do with those three specific provocations and more to do with tempting Jesus Christ to question His divine nature. At least twice, the enticement was preceded by the challenging accusation from Satan: “If thou be the Son of God”—if you really believe it, then do this or that.
Please notice what had happened immediately before Jesus went into the desert to fast and pray: we find the account of Christ’s baptism. And when He had come out of the water, there came “a voice from heaven, saying, This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.”
Do we see the connection? Can we recognize a pattern here?
It is no wonder that every time we are taught about our divine nature and destiny, the adversary of all righteousness tempts us to call them into question.
How different our decisions would be if we really knew who we really are.
We live in a challenging world, a world of increasing commotion, where honorable people strive to at least emphasize our human dignity, while we belong to a church and embrace a gospel that lift our vision and invite us into the divine.
Jesus’s commandment to be “perfect, even as [our] Father which is in heaven is perfect” is a clear reflection of His high expectations and our eternal possibilities. Now, none of this will happen overnight. In the words of President Jeffrey R. Holland, it will happen “eventually.” But the promise is that if we “come unto Christ,” we will “be perfected in him.” That requires a lot of work—not just any work, but a divine work. His work!
Now, the good news is that it is precisely our Father in Heaven who has said, “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”
President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to “think celestial” implies a wonderful reminder of our divine nature, origin, and potential destination. We can obtain the celestial only through Jesus Christ’s atoning sacrifice.
Perhaps that is why Satan enticed Jesus with the very same temptation from the beginning to the end of His earthly ministry. Matthew recorded that while Jesus hung on the cross, those “that passed by reviled him, … saying, … If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross.” Glory be to God that He did not hearken but instead provided the way for us to receive all celestial blessings.
Let us always remember, there was a great price paid for our happiness.
I testify as with the Apostle Paul that “the Spirit itself beareth witness with our spirit, that we are children of God: and if children, then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also glorified together.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Jon Hays, 18, lives and works on an isolated army post in California surrounded by hundreds of square miles of windblown, sun-scoured terrain. Gnarled oaks dot the hills occasionally, and in the summer long tufts of dry, yellow grass wave across the dusty fields. During the spring rains the earth turns to a mud so thick that army tanks get stuck in the ooze. It’s hard to get them out.
Jon joined the army after high school. He’s the only known Mormon on the post out of three thousand men. When the barracks become too noisy or raucous for him, he sometimes slips outside to walk in the hills. “To be alone and think, you need to leave the barracks,” he said. “I like to walk out by the cattle and deer and to watch the hawks fly.
“I really like being in the military, but as far as the Church goes, it’s been rough. I never knew before what it is like being faced with grown-up temptations. The guys started teasing me, and I thought, well, it wouldn’t hurt to give in a little bit. And once you do that, you give in a little bit more. I want to get around Church members again. And I want to get active in the Church again,” said Jon.

I was the healthy father of two beautiful children and the husband to a wonderful and hardworking wife. I had a good job with a stable income. Life seemed to be perfect, but my world started to fall apart when I was diagnosed with nasopharyngeal cancer, a rare type of head and neck cancer.
I was serving as a counselor to the bishop at the time, and we were holding our annual basketball tournament at the church when I began to feel very sick. I went to see the doctor, and after many lab tests, he announced that I had stage 4 nasopharyngeal cancer. I was worried and scared. I wondered if this was the end of my life and what would happen to my family if I died. The only thing I could really depend on for guidance and comfort was prayer to Heavenly Father.
After three days of constant prayer, I felt as if a soft voice whispered, “Fear not.”
From that moment on, the fear of death was no longer on my mind. Things were still difficult for me. There was a time I couldn’t swallow any food and I was too sick to sleep, but I never gave up or turned away from God—and He has helped me.
My cancer has been in remission for more than 18 years. I don’t know how long God will allow me to live, but I’m glad that I can still serve my brothers and sisters. I know that our Heavenly Father never leaves or abandons us. And if we want to receive blessings from God, we can’t leave or abandon Him.

The path since has not been easy. My former church asked us to leave the church-owned home we lived in. For a time, my family and I stayed in a dilapidated, half-built garage with a leaking roof, shifting our mattresses to avoid the rain when it poured. Yet, through these trials, my family has stood by me. My wife’s simple declaration, “Where you will be, there I will be also,” has been my anchor. My children have shown unwavering faith.
I am a pioneer for my family in this gospel. The struggles are real, but they are not a sign of defeat. They are the refining fire of a new beginning. I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the restored Church of Jesus Christ. I know that priesthood authority is real. And I know that the same God who led me through a lifetime of searching to find this truth will never abandon me or my family. My faith now is what I call “crazy faith”—believing in the promised land even while wandering in the wilderness, because I have seen the pillar of fire, and I know who leads the way.

As styles changed, more women were choosing to wear swimsuits that Rose Marie felt were immodest. Everyone thought she should start designing suits in the latest styles. But Rose Marie took a stand.
“I don’t like that style of swimsuit, and I don’t want to design for a company that makes them,” she said. Her business partners wouldn’t listen. Finally, Rose Marie decided to leave the company she had started. It was a hard choice. But she knew that standing up for what was right was more important than doing what was popular.

Each spring day, Tasha took her Seeing Eye dog, Goldie, for a walk. Her favorite part of the walk was passing Suzumi’s house.
Suzumi was always out in his yard. “How are you and Goldie today?” he would ask.
“We’re fine,” Tasha always answered. “How is your garden?”
Suzumi told her that he was edging his flower bed, or pruning his bushes, or digging around his trees. One day he said, “The sky is blue and the earth is warm and the snow has melted off Mica Peak. It is time to plant my pumpkins.”
Tasha nodded. She felt a warm breeze blowing against her cheek and smelled the sweet fragrance of apple blossoms—it was pumpkin-planting time.
“Tasha,” Suzumi asked, “would you like to plant a pumpkin?”
“Tomorrow?” she asked.
“The day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I must till the ground to soften the earth so that it is ready to receive the seed. You will hear the sound of my tiller when you walk by tomorrow.”
On the day of the planting, Tasha told Goldie to lie down and wait under the apple tree. Suzumi took Tasha’s hand and led her to the spot he had prepared for the pumpkin seeds.
He placed a pumpkin seed in her left hand. She touched its surface with the third finger of her right hand.
“It is like silk,” she said.
“Bend down,” Suzumi said, “make a little hole with your finger, place the seed in the hole, then gently cover it up.”
As Tasha patted the earth over the seed, the soil felt warm and soft under her hands. She placed a marker by her seed so that she could find it again.
She called Goldie and whispered in her ear, “Suzumi says that our pumpkin will be large and round and that we will be proud to show it to Mother.”
The next day, Suzumi showed Tasha where to stand with the hose to water her pumpkin plant.
A few days later, he guided her hands to feel the soft green shoot that had come up where she had planted the seed.
Another day he taught her how to feel the difference between a weed and her pumpkin plant. He showed her how to pull the weeds and how to hoe around her pumpkin plant.
On one very special day, he put her hand around a tiny pumpkin. Her very own pumpkin was starting to grow!
All summer Suzumi and Tasha hoed, weeded, and watered their pumpkins. Every day Tasha felt her pumpkin and knew that it was growing just as Suzumi had said it would.
Finally it was harvesttime.
“Tomorrow,” Suzumi said, “bring your red wagon when you come. It is time to take your pumpkin home.”
Long before he saw Tasha, Suzumi heard her wagon bump-bump-bumping toward the pumpkin patch.
“Bring it over here,” he called.
Tasha heard a thunk as Suzumi put the large pumpkin into her wagon.
“Your mother will be proud of your pumpkin,” Suzumi told her. “It is entirely your pumpkin. You planted it, weeded it, hoed it, and watered it.”
Tasha clasped her arms around it. Her fingers just touched like they did when she hugged her mother around the waist.
“How does it feel?” Suzumi asked.
Tasha hugged her pumpkin tighter. She laid her cheek against it. “It feels warm and round and good,” she said. “Like love.”

The third temple to be topped with an angel Moroni statue was the Washington D.C. Temple, dedicated in 1974. Avard Fairbanks sculpted a graceful angel holding a trumpet to his lips and a replica of the gold plates in his left arm. Brother Fairbanks’s one-meter model was taken to Italy, enlarged, cast in bronze, and covered with gold leaf.

When the clay enlargement was finished, Brother Fairbanks invited the temple architects to Italy to see it. One of the architects, Keith W. Wilcox (who later became a member of the Seventy), mentioned that the angel looked as though he were drinking from the horn rather than blowing it. Brother Wilcox demonstrated how a trombone player “buzzes” with his or her lips to make a tone. With Brother Wilcox posing, Brother Fairbanks changed the angel’s mouth.7

During many summer vacations as a child, my family drove the long distance from our home in northern California to visit relatives in Utah. As a true city boy looking for adventure, I especially enjoyed our trips to my grandmother’s farm in southern Utah.
On the farm, my brothers, sisters, cousins, and I climbed to the tops of towering haystacks and then jumped off, flying down to a soft cushion of hay below. Next, we took turns on our uncle’s old tractors, grabbing the steering wheel and pretending we were racing across the field. After that, we balanced like tightrope walkers and made our way across the top of the rickety old fence rails that kept the cows corralled. The best fun, though, was riding old Blaze.
Blaze was a gentle, old, brown horse that loved kids to ride on her. When I was younger, I rode double with one of my older brothers or sisters. However, the summer I was about nine years old, I announced to everyone that I was old enough to ride Blaze all by myself. My parents agreed, so with a boost onto her back and some last-minute instructions from my uncle, I was riding Blaze all on my own like a real cowboy.
As I slowly guided Blaze into a partly fenced-in field, my family could see that I was handling Blaze as well as any professional cowboy. They left me to my fun and went inside Grandma’s old farmhouse. Holding the reins loosely in my hands as I sat atop the gentle horse, I felt like I was king of the world.
However, only a few minutes had passed when Blaze suddenly broke into a mad gallop. I pulled gently on the reins to slow her down, but she kept up her fast pace. I pulled harder on the reins and yelled, “Whoa!” But Blaze seemed to just go faster and faster. I kept tugging at the reins but didn’t dare pull too hard for fear that she would rear on her hind legs and buck me off.
I pulled again and again on the reins, but Blaze just kept on galloping out of control. My cries for her to stop turned into screams of panic as she raced from the safety of the field and away from the farmhouse while I bounced and jerked wildly in the saddle.
At a terrifying speed, she headed straight for an old tractor, swerving just in time to miss it. Racing like lightning, she headed next toward a wooden, railed fence. I thought for sure that we’d crash right into it, but Blaze swerved away again just in time.
No matter what I tried, I couldn’t control her at all. Eventually she galloped off the farm property onto the rarely used country road. With tears streaming from my eyes, I realized my situation had just grown considerably worse. I couldn’t stop her on my own, and it might be hours before anyone who could help me might venture this way. I could end up lost, miles away from my grandma’s farmhouse, before Blaze ever came to a stop or threw me off her back.
At that moment, I realized that there was only one thing left for me to do. I prayed with all my heart. I prayed in my mind, and I prayed out loud. I knew that Heavenly Father would hear my prayers and that He could help me.
It wasn’t long after my prayers that an old truck came barreling down the road. The man driving it saw right away that I needed help. Driving alongside the galloping horse and me, the man yelled from his truck window, “Pull on the reins!”
I pulled, but Blaze kept running. The man yelled for me to pull harder. Even though I was still afraid that Blaze might rear back, I pulled back even harder on the reins than I had tried before. Blaze kept on racing.
“Pull harder!” yelled the man.
I was afraid to pull any harder, but I realized that the man knew more about horses than I did. So, gathering all my strength, I pulled as hard as I could on the reins. Blaze didn’t stop at first, but with the man’s continual urging, the horse finally slowed to a complete stop.
The man in the truck pulled off to the side of the road and hopped out. My whole body shook as he helped me down off the horse. When I told him that Blaze was usually a mild-mannered horse, he explained that even the gentlest horse might break into a run if its rider holds the reins too loosely.
After thanking the man for his help and assuring him that I was OK, I started the long way back to the farmhouse, leading Blaze by the reins. As I walked, I realized that some people might say that the man coming by when he did was just a coincidence. But I knew differently. It was a direct answer to my prayers. Heavenly Father knew ahead of time that I would need help when I did. He inspired a man who knew a lot more about horses than I did to drive his truck down a lonely county road. I know with all my heart, that Heavenly Father answered the prayers of a terrified young boy who couldn’t stop a galloping horse on his own.