Gospel Story Finder

I grew up in Nicaragua. When I was little, I did everything with my older brother. We walked to school together. We went to the store together. We had all sorts of adventures in our backyard. We were happy.
Then, when I was nine, something very sad happened. My brother died in an earthquake. At first it didn’t feel real that he was gone. I used to imagine that he would knock on our front door. He would tell us he had just been away somewhere. I used to stare at the door, wishing for it to happen. I wanted so much to see him again.
Over time, it got a little easier. I still missed my brother, but I was able to feel happy again.
Back then, I wasn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. But when I grew up, I learned about the Church and got baptized. One day I was washing my dishes. It was Easter time. I was thinking of the Resurrection and thought of my brother.
Suddenly a good feeling came over me. I remembered the daydream I had about my brother. I realized that it wasn’t silly at all! It came from the Holy Ghost, to comfort me and guide me. Someday my brother really will be resurrected. And I really will see him again.

When Drew* was a young boy, he lived next door to the bishop of his ward, Bishop Philip T. Sonntag. The bishop’s son Mark was one of Drew’s best friends. One afternoon, Mark and Drew were playing in different parts of the Sonntag yard, when the bishop came outside looking for his son. “Drew, do you know where Mark is?” he asked. Drew knew that if he told the truth, Mark would have to quit playing and go inside. “No, I don’t know where he is,” Drew answered.
The bishop went back into his house, and Drew ran to the other side of the large yard, where Mark was playing. “Who were you talking to?” Mark asked. “It was your dad,” Drew answered. “What did he want?” “He wanted you to go inside.” “Then I’d better go in,” Mark said. He left, and Drew stayed outside. A few minutes later Bishop Sonntag came outside again. He told Drew that what he had done was not right and that he (the bishop) was disappointed that Drew hadn’t told the truth.
Drew felt terrible. He was nine years old. He had been baptized. He knew that he was accountable and that he had made a mistake. He walked home and went to his bedroom. He cried as he knelt beside his bed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive him. Then he went back to his friend’s home. When Bishop Sonntag answered the door, Drew said, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry about what I did.” The bishop put his arm around Drew and invited him to come inside.
Drew learned two valuable lessons from the experience: First, it’s important to tell the truth. Second, when we repent after doing something wrong, we feel better. Drew always remembered the outpouring of love he felt from his bishop upon correcting his mistake. He appreciated the bishop and felt that he had been forgiven.

Jenny isn’t the only Flinn up early. By 6:15, her 17-year-old brother Peter is already off, pumping his bicycle down the lane to do his paper round, which covers most of the homes in Broadway. Peter isn’t particularly keen about getting up at dawn, at least not until he gets going. But by the time he’s halfway into town, he knows the joy of the morning too—the feeling that the day is his to conquer, his own marvelous opportunity to see things through.
Peter’s mind is on work this day, too. As he folds each Daily Telegraph and slips it into a door slot, he’s thinking of all the jobs he’s done, from egg selling to fruit picking, to put money away for his mission. He’s thinking how that mission is getting closer all the time. Peter might not say it out loud, either, but he’s glad he’s learned to work. It’s a skill that will help him as a missionary. And it feels good to start the day by getting something done.
Jenny and Peter are the oldest of Bruce and Margaret Flinn’s children. The others are Lindsey, 14; Neal, 12; Elizabeth (“Lizzy”), 9; and Rachel, 5. To visit the Flinns on their six-acre smallholding (family farm) is to see not two, but eight people who know a lot about working. To visit them is also to see much of what can make a family succeed.
“We moved here as much for the children’s sake as because of our own feelings,” explains Brother Flinn, who works full-time as a seminary teacher supervisor in addition to maintaining the smallholding. “Because of my work, I travel a lot. It would probably be easier to live in town.”
“But if we moved,” Sister Flinn says, “our quality of life would drop. We couldn’t keep all the livestock. We wouldn’t learn all the skills about being self-reliant. We might not know as much about how to love work.”
How to love work?
“We believe in the principle of work,” Brother Flinn explains. “We believe it’s a spiritual principle. It’s not just obtaining the end result; it’s the actual doing of the work. It’s good for you.”
And how does that fly with the children?
“When we complain about having to do things,” Lindsey says, “Mum will say, ‘Fine. Shall we move to the town?’ None of us has ever said yes.”
“There are pros and cons to everything,” Peter says. “But I’d say I’m fine here.”
Now all this talk about willingness to work may have you thinking the Flinns are ready to be translated. Far from it. They’re a typical family with teasing and quarrels and sometimes tears, just like any family. But they’ve learned to work at being a family, too.
“What do we gain from being together?” Jenny asks. “Patience, mainly.”
Does she ever think about being with her family forever?
“When they’re not annoying me,” she teases.
Her ability to laugh is typical of the entire family. They enjoy jousting verbally, but also know they have to do it with love so that feelings aren’t hurt.
“Everybody’s got their own personality,” Lindsey says. “We’ve learned to adjust for that. Besides, if you say anything negative, Dad makes you say two things positive on top of that.”
Other challenges? “One of the biggest ones is juggling time,” Jenny says. “I have to care for the animals twice a day, so that’s an hour each morning and evening, and in between I’ve got school. And there’s homework, two hours every night, and seminary is home study, so I have to find time for that, too.”
Church activity can be a struggle because of isolation. “We’re 50 miles from the stake center,” Peter explains. “There’s lots of traveling involved, and not everyone has a car. There’s only two of us in my quorum, and the other one lives 40 miles away. We make an effort to see if he wants to come out, but there are various problems, like parents who don’t want to bring him in because it’s out of the way. Distance is the major drawback.”
And in school, being a Latter-day Saint doesn’t mean that there isn’t temptation all around. Twelve-year-old Neal says a survey showed there were only two people in his entire class who hadn’t used alcohol. Jenny says there are “quite a few” girls in her year that have become pregnant.
What’s the counterbalance?
“We have good lessons at church,” Jenny says. “We have good lessons at seminary. And good home evenings at home. We live for Fridays (Mutual night) and Sundays to be with Church kids and strengthen each other.” And, of course, there are scriptures, and prayer, and family support.
“If I have a really major problem, I know I can turn to my family,” Lindsey says. “I suppose I’d call them my best friends. If I didn’t have them to turn to, where would I go?”
That’s an attitude Jenny exemplified when, even though she was sitting exams (taking finals) and needed to study, she walked down to the school to help Rachel. “Mum and Dad were late getting home,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “I knew Rachael would panic if no one showed up.”
That’s part of being a family, part of what the Flinns learn every day.
Step into the Flinns’ family room, and you’ll notice one wall is adorned with corn dollies, the kind actually made from wheat.
“You have to braid the stalk while it’s flexible,” Sister Flinn explains. “When it gets old, it’s brittle and won’t bend.” It’s an analogy that isn’t lost on her.
“That’s what we’re doing as a family,” she says. “We live the gospel. We learn about family love. And the children braid them both into their lives.”

We are fortunate in our family to have a special member who has touched everyone’s heart. My grandfather is blind, but his handicap has made him all the more special to me.
My grandpa, Maurice Beckstead, began to go blind in 1967. My brother Shane was the last grandchild my grandfather was able to see. Grandfather now has three more grandchildren and one great-grandson. When we told him he was now a great-grandfather, his comment was, “I know, I’ve always been great!”
When he started losing his sight, it was hard for him to adjust. He had worked hard his entire life. He enjoyed working and was proud and independent. It was a difficult step in his life for him to accept the fact that he would have to take an early retirement because of his eyesight.
After Grandpa retired, he continued to work hard on his yard and garden, something in which he and my grandmother took great pride. Even with his failing eyesight, he would walk quite a distance every week to turn the irrigation water down to his property in order to water his garden, pasture, and lawns. One summer night his turn came at midnight, and it was a dark and frightening time in his life. After he had taken his water turn and was attempting to return home, he became lost in a cornfield adjoining the right-of-way to the canal. He lost his sense of direction and panicked. He was lost for over an hour, with my grandmother and the neighbors searching, thinking he might possibly have drowned in the canal. They had decided to call the police, but at that moment, a neighbor found him crawling along the side of the road quite a distance from his home. After that incident, his neighbors insisted that they turn the water on for him. He also started to use his cane, a need that was difficult for him to accept.
Grandpa has a terrific memory. He can remember birth dates and special events in great detail. He is also the family taste tester. He likes to sample special dishes and desserts we make for family dinners. And when Grandpa says it’s good, we consider it high praise. For his birthday, Father’s Day, or Christmas, it is difficult to buy him a gift because he can’t enjoy many things, so we usually give him chocolates or candy. When he receives these gifts, he hides them from everyone else so that when he and Grandma are alone, they can enjoy them. And boy, does he enjoy them!
He knows his yard and house by heart. If anyone moves anything of his, such as his shoes, hat, or cane, it makes it nearly impossible for him to help himself and he must ask for help. He always has a horse or cow that he feeds at a specific time twice a day. He usually cares for my uncle’s colt. He knows exactly how much grain, water, and hay to give it. He is always proud of his accomplishments, and whenever someone comes around, he takes pride in showing them how well the animal looks. Because he can’t see a clock, all of his children bought one that chimes on the half hour and the hour. He listens carefully for the chimes.
Grandpa loves to have the grandchildren perform. It doesn’t matter if it’s in marching, singing, dancing, reciting the alphabet, or just talking to him. He will sit and listen to the comments of other people around him, and when someone comes to see him he will say, “You should have seen my granddaughter the other night. She looked great. She was the cutest thing you’d ever want to see.”
My grandfather has taught me a lot through his example. I hope I can learn to be like him with his great sense of humor, his determination, and his love.

For example, Julia Mavimbela shows charity in her community service in Soweto, a township outside of Johannesburg, South Africa. She works to eliminate illiteracy and other social problems among her people. In addition to working with national and community leaders, she began gardening with children, many of whose parents were out of work because of the political disorder. These children began showing their parents gardening skills, which led to many new family gardens. As others watched them establish gardens, they, too, became involved. Julia not only helped alleviate temporal distress, but she also met the social and spiritual needs of many members of her community.

When I was growing up, my parents never took my siblings and me to church. We were not a religious family. For me, Sunday was just a day off from school when we could play. I thought my life was complete. It wasn’t until a friend showed me what I was missing that I realized how empty my life had been.
When I was 11 or 12, my mother was baptized into the Church. She would often ask me if I wanted to go to church with her, and I always said no. When we moved to Texas the summer before my junior year in high school, I still didn’t go to church with her.
At the beginning of the school year I had no friends. After a few weeks, I became friends with Brad. He was in some of my classes. We would talk in class but never did anything outside of school.
One day my mom took me and my four siblings to church with her. I went, hoping to leave as soon as possible. When we sat down, I looked up and saw Brad preparing to bless the sacrament. Brad saw me as well.
The next day at school, Brad came to me and said, “I didn’t know you were a Latter-day Saint.”
I replied, “I’m not.”
Pretty soon Brad was taking me to Mutual, youth conference, and I was even coming to church every Sunday.
Having never read the Bible, I didn’t know much about Jesus Christ. Brad gave me a Book of Mormon, and I started to read it. From that time, there was a visible change in my life for the better. I knew what I was reading was true. The Holy Ghost bore witness of it. It was through the Book of Mormon that I came to know Jesus Christ and all He has done for me. I changed the way I acted. I started living the way the Bible and Book of Mormon told me I should live.
One day Brad finally asked me, “Donny, what do we have to do to get you baptized?” I had never thought about it before, but it felt like the right thing to do. On June 26, 2000, Brad baptized me into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Three months later, I baptized my older brother, Dan. We are both currently serving missions.
Looking back at how I felt about religion before, I have gained so much. Now I know my Savior Jesus Christ. I have the scriptures to guide me. And I have the gift of the Holy Ghost, who bears witness of the truth.

After that experience, the temple was one of her favorite topics. “Chris, isn’t the temple a beautiful place? That’s where I’ll get married someday. I’ve promised myself that.”
“I guess I wouldn’t mind getting married there either,” I said. “It’s really no different than a cathedral.”
“It is different. When two people are married in the temple, they’re married forever.”
“That’s fine with me. I’ve always believed that true love lasts forever.”
Liz grew very serious. “You don’t understand. Only active members of the Church are allowed in the temple. You wouldn’t be allowed to enter.” She explained again that when her time came, she would be married in the temple. No other place was acceptable for her.
“But what if you really love a guy who’s not LDS?” I asked. “If you really love someone, it shouldn’t matter where you get married. All that matters is that you’re together and you’re in love.”
“If two people really love each other,” she answered shaking her head, “they’d never settle for anything less than an eternal relationship.” She paused and looked me in the eye. “I never would.”
As we neared the end of our senior year, we had many arguments about temple marriage. Liz maintained that she’d never marry outside of the temple. I argued that, in true love, the ceremony was not important. Love was eternal regardless of the type of marriage.
The more we discussed it, the more she talked about the temple and how special it was. I was confounded. It was obvious that we were falling in love, yet Liz wouldn’t budge on her temple marriage hang-up. I felt positive that if our love matured, she would eventually give in and agree to be married anywhere. I was wrong.
One afternoon at school, Liz met me at our locker. Her eyes were tearfully red, and her voice was taut with emotion. “Chris, I’ve decided that we can’t see each other anymore. We can’t go out again—ever.”
Her words stunned me. “What do you mean? Look, I don’t care what your parents think …”
She looked up at me with tears streaming down her face. “It’s not my parents. It’s me. I can’t allow myself to date you. I don’t want to fall in love with you.”
“Liz, you’re just upset. Why don’t we just talk this out like we’ve always done? You’ll feel better in a little while.”
She backed away from me. “No, I’ve made up my mind,” she sobbed. “I can’t afford to see you again!” She pressed a shiny black paperback into my hands and ran down the hall.
We stopped seeing each other. Liz started going out with LDS guys, and I moped around campus. I thought about the many discussions we’d had. What was it that made her so stubborn about a temple marriage? Why wouldn’t she compromise? What made her so special?
Several weeks after we broke up, I returned to school late one spring afternoon. I searched through the mess in my locker and soon found what I was looking for. The little black paperback was slightly dog-eared but still readable. Maybe it would answer some of my questions. I glanced around to make sure no one saw me carrying an LDS book, tucked it inside my jacket, and went home.
When I got home I hurried upstairs with my secret bundle and hid it in my desk drawer. I knew my parents wouldn’t approve of me reading Mormon “propaganda.”
Two weeks passed before I had a chance to be alone with the book. When I had the opportunity, I took the book out of my desk, stretched out on my bed, and started to read.
I opened the book, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, and skimmed its pages. A section about the Joseph Smith story caught my eye, so I read it carefully. As I read the story of Joseph Smith’s vision, I knew that it was true. I also knew that if his story was true, then the church he founded must also be true.
A little later I agreed to take the missionary discussions, and I rapidly gained a testimony of the principles of the gospel. After the discussions, I knew that I should join the Church, and after much fasting, praying, and soul searching, I was baptized. Liz was there. She cried.
A little more than a year after I was baptized, Liz and I again visited the temple, this time to be married for time and all eternity. That was 13 years ago. Today, and every day, as I watch our family blossom and grow, I’m grateful for the strong testimony of that cute little Mormon girl. I’m thankful that she was courageous enough to refuse to compromise on an issue that meant eternal happiness for her, and eventually, for me too.

To the west of our home was our garden plot, and I rode the horse, while Father plowed the ground. Part of the garden was in potatoes and the new rich soil brought forth bounteously. One day, Pa said to Alice and me, “There are many more potatoes than we can use. If you would like to sell some, you may do so.” Accordingly, I dug the potatoes with our digging fork and Alice cleaned the dirt from them. We put them in a box in my little red wagon and hauled them down to the Brinkerhoff Hotel.
Sister Brinkerhoff was a very pleasant person, but we were still a bit frightened at first trying to sell our potatoes. She readily purchased our whole box. I believe we received two dollars for the entire lot.
As we showed the money to Pa, he asked, “What are you going to do with it?” We indicated we would divide it before buying some ice cream, popcorn, and candy. Then he questioned, “What about your tithing?” We had earned so little money that we had quite forgotten our lesson with eggs, but he outlined it for us again. Afterward, we went through the orchard and climbed through a hole in our wire fence to take our ten cents each to the bishop, and he gave us a receipt for our tithing.

Whenever he was in New England, Brigham was anxious to visit and teach his many relatives there. In October, after he had returned to Kirtland, his cousin Willard Richards, who had read the Book of Mormon, visited him:
“I invited him to make his home at my house, which he did, and investigated thoroughly the principles and doctrines set forth by the Prophet and Elders of the Church. Dec. 31st, he requested baptism at my hands, which ordinance I administered to him in the presence of Elder Heber C. Kimball and others, who had spent the afternoon in cutting the ice to prepare for the ceremony.”16

—Susi Hayden-Smith, 12, of the Pennant Hills Ward, says that from the moment she entered the temple, “I felt really special, like Jesus was watching. One of the main things I was thinking about was that when I go to heaven, the people I was baptized and confirmed for will thank me. That’s a really special feeling.”
Susi had a long talk with her father before she came to the temple. “He told me how grateful he felt when my brother was baptized for my grandpa,” she says. “He told me how blessed we are to grow up as members of the Church.”
—And three cousins, Laura Walker, 12, of the Blacktown Ward; Rachel Alekna, 13, of the Baulkham Hills Ward; and Brooke Mauger, 13, of the Castle Hill Ward, explain how three generations have been brought closer together through the temple, right here and now.
“Our grandfather is a sealer at the temple,” Rachel says. “He comes every Tuesday. Our parents come all the time. Now we’re coming, too.”
“There are six of us who are cousins, all born within 12 months of each other,” Brooke explains. “Two times now, we’ve all come to the temple together. It’s great.”
“You get used to coming to the temple,” Laura says. “You feel reverent, but you also feel comfortable. You start to think about coming here with your husband someday, to be married for eternity.”
And you start to understand that the blessings of the temple are the blessings of forever, that by starting when you’re young, you can have their influence with you constantly.
GEELONG—Anthony George, 17, lives in this seaside town southwest of Melbourne. “I actually got my testimony from attending the temple,” he says. “Before I started going to the temple, I didn’t really have much of a testimony. I just went along with everyone.” Then, a few weeks before his third trip to the temple, Anthony’s Sunday School teacher told the class that everyone needs a testimony. “So I started thinking about that.”
At the Sydney Temple a few weeks later, Anthony was in the font. “I had already been baptized a few times, and they said the baptismal prayer and I was baptized again. I just had this really good feeling like the person was grateful for what I had done for him. I just felt that this was the right thing, and that going to church was the right thing.” Everything just came together “like a jigsaw puzzle the Spirit put together for me.”
Nerissa Bielenberg, 16, also of Geelong, is willing to sacrifice quite a bit for trips to the temple. When she goes, she passes up a couple days’ wages from her job at the local Kmart. In addition, there’s the actual cost of the bus fare and food during the stay. But it’s worth it. “It’s just different from anything else,” Nerissa explains. You have an experience in there and you know you’re doing the right thing, and you want to keep that same spirit with you all the time.”
ADELAIDE—The Clements and McFarlane families live in the beautiful green hills above Adelaide. For them it’s a two-day drive to the temple with an overnight stop. If they lived closer, “I’d go all the time,” says Rachel Clements, 14. “You feel really spiritual when you come out of the temple.”
Daniel Clements, 16, agrees that the temple gives you a boost—especially your testimony. “It makes it stronger because of the feeling that you get when you go there.” Twelve-year-old Jacob admits to being a little nervous when he went to the temple for the first time. But the temple workers made him feel at home.
Over at the McFarlanes’, 14-year-old Matthew also admits to having been nervous his first time at the temple. But once he was there, “I had a warm feeling,” he says. When he got home, he told his younger brother Paul, “It was beautiful; you’ll enjoy it.” So now Paul looks forward to going when he’s 12.
The Semmler family of nearby Christy’s Beach tries to go to the temple together once a year. Catherine Semmler, 16, says that in the temple, “everything’s perfect. Everything’s peaceful, and everyone’s happy and friendly.” That can make going back to school kind of a shock. But, still, the feeling of the temple stays with you.
The Soinninens are another Adelaide family with a strong temple tradition. Erin, 12, is the most recent family member to go do baptisms for the dead: “You just feel special, that you are doing something really good.”
Her sisters echo those feelings. Kate, now 17, first went when she was 12. “I thought it was kind of like a renewal, as if you were being baptized yourself.” Amelia, 15, repeats what so many of the others have said: “I felt the Spirit there.”
Luke tells us that when young Jesus was in the temple, he amazed the people with his understanding. By following the Savior’s example, young Latter-day Saints who go to the temple are gaining wonderful understandings too.
Aussie teens who go to the temple know that in the temple you can learn what the Spirit feels like, that you can learn what real peace is—the peace that comes from God. They know that in the temple there is reassurance that you are on the right course and that the Church is true. Great blessings—you can find them in the temple, even at the age of 12.

During my senior year in high school, I realized that I wouldn’t be seeing my family very much. With homecoming activities, honors classes, and my job, the hours I spent at home were few and far between. In the mornings I would kneel with the family for prayer. Then with a quick amen and hugs all around, I’d rush out the door to the bus. A foil-covered dinner would greet me each evening when I arrived home late. The rest of the family was asleep, so a textbook propped up against my glass of milk was my only company as I ate.
Later, I’d tiptoe upstairs and whisper good night to my sleeping parents. Mama would prop up a little on her elbow, “How was your day?”
“Fine.” The standard answer, but one they accepted.
I’d feel my way down the hall into the dark bedroom where my five other sisters slept. I always made sure I kissed them each on their cheeks and whispered, “I love you.” I wonder if my words ever entered their dreams. Then, setting my alarm clock, I’d say my prayers and crawl into bed.
Life continued like this for several months. I was just too busy.
Then one morning I was awakened by a flashlight shining directly into my eyes. Startled and peering past the bright beam, I was surprised to see my Papa clad in pajamas and robe with a big grin on his face.
“What time is it?” I asked, yawning.
“4:00 A.M.,” said Papa, his face never losing the grin.
“You’re kidding. Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said, “follow me.”
I crawled out of bed and sleepily followed him downstairs. As I rounded the corner, I was surprised to see the living room light on and a small table pulled up to the couch. On the table were two dishes of ice cream with chocolate cookies stuck in the top. It looked very inviting.
“What’s this?” I asked incredulously.
“Have a seat,” Papa said. He took me over to the couch and sat me down. “All right, let’s talk.”
“Papa, you’re kidding. No one gets up just to talk and eat ice cream at this hour.”
“I know, but I haven’t seen you for a while, and I wanted to know how things are going in your life.” He hugged me and handed me some ice cream.
As we ate, we talked, really talked, for the first time in many weeks. Papa wanted to know about everything: How’s school? Work? Grades? Are you okay for money? Do you have a boyfriend? Are you healthy? How are you doing spiritually?
One by one I answered his questions, told him my concerns, and asked for advice. My heart thrived on the love I felt from him. With 10 other children in the family, how could he possibly care so much about my life? But he did. Momentarily all the bills, work, Church callings, and the interests of a dozen other people he had to care for were forgotten. He was concerned about me. On that couch, side by side, giggling, laughing, and sharing the deepest feelings and thoughts within us, we passed the early morning hours. We talked long after the ice cream was gone.
It has been many years since that morning. I don’t live at home anymore, and now it’s normal not to see Papa or the family for a few weeks or months. But that four o’clock morning is engraved on my soul, a memory sweeter than ice cream. That morning I really knew someone cared—my father.
Many times since then, when life gets rough, I have been awake at 4:00 A.M., wishing for someone to talk to, wishing for someone who cared enough to ask me those questions. Papa cannot drive the many miles to shine a flashlight in my face. And most people are too practical to serve up ice cream at four in the morning.
However, even when my papa isn’t there, I know from his example of another Father who also watches over his daughters and his sons. A Father who is willing to listen about school, about problems, about life; one who knows us so well that He can see into and feel our hearts; a Father who understands perfectly the world we are facing, our fears and hopes, and asks all the right questions.
That morning reminds me of Heavenly Father, a Father who is omniscient and omnipresent. This Father, too, is always willing to talk, no matter what time it is. And that’s even better than 4:00 A.M. ice cream.

The wind was howling and shaking the palm trees by the time Grandma’s car reached Ana Luisa’s house. “Grab your things, girls, and go inside,” Grandma said. “I’m going to find some rocks to put behind the car’s tires.”
“Why?” Rebecca asked.
“So maybe the car won’t blow away,” Grandma said.
Rebecca and Sarah looked at each other, their eyes wide.
The girls didn’t remember the last hurricane that had come to Puerto Rico eight years ago, when Sarah was two and Rebecca just one. But they knew that the Arecibo River had flooded their neighborhood and that a lot of houses had been destroyed. Now Hurricane Georges was on the way, and newscasters warned that this hurricane might be even worse.
“So, girls, are you ready for Hurricane Georges?” asked Ana Luisa as they stepped through the front door.
“Brother Soto came to our house this morning and nailed boards on all the windows. Grandma says we need to pray that everything will turn out all right,” Sarah said.
“That’s right,” Ana Luisa said. “Heavenly Father will watch over us.”
Ana Luisa was a friend from their new church. Even though the girls were worried, Ana Luisa’s comforting words and the familiar smell of rice and beans inside her cozy house made them feel better.
The sister missionaries, who had taught Grandma and the girls the gospel just three months ago, were spending the night at Ana Luisa’s too. “It’s going to be fun,” Sister Lewis, one of the missionaries, told them, “like a party, except with really bad weather.”
For a while it was like a party. They ate dinner, then munched on cookies and listened to the radio. Every once in a while they heard a crash outside. Rebecca and Sarah wondered if Grandma’s car had blown away after all, but it was too dark to see.
Later, the lights flickered and went out. As Rebecca made a funny face in the beam of her flashlight, Grandma said, “Now is probably a good time for bed.”
After they put on their pajamas, Grandma called Sarah and Rebecca back to the living room. “We’re going to say a prayer together,” Grandma said. Sister Lewis asked Heavenly Father to keep them all safe during the hurricane and to protect Rebecca and Sarah’s house. Hearing Sister Lewis pray helped the girls feel calmer.* * *
The next morning, when Sarah cranked open the metal window slats, Ana Luisa’s street looked like it belonged on a different planet. Grandma’s car was still there, but some trees had fallen down, and sheets of metal from people’s roofs were on Ana Luisa’s lawn. Pigeons waddled helplessly down the sidewalk, too heavy with rainwater to fly. “If Ana Luisa’s street looks like this,” Sarah asked Rebecca nervously, “what do you think ours looks like?”
Early that morning Grandma had driven over to check on their house. She finally came back around lunchtime. “The neighborhood is flooded,” she said. “I couldn’t even get near our street.”
Rebecca wanted to cry. Sarah asked, “What do we do now, Grandma?”
“If it’s OK with Ana Luisa, we’ll stay here for a few more days. Maybe by then the water will go down, and we can go home.”* * *
Everyone from church wanted to help Grandma, Rebecca, and Sarah. Ana Luisa cooked dinner for them, and the sister missionaries brought clothes that Sister Lewis’s family had sent. Bishop Espinosa even came to give Grandma a blessing when she was feeling sick. But it was hard not to be in their own house and harder still not to know if their house was even there anymore.
After eight days the streets in their neighborhood were finally clear. Buckled into the backseat of Grandma’s car, Sarah and Rebecca felt a twist of excitement and fear in their stomachs. As they rode, they saw houses with walls that had been blown down. Broken tables, waterlogged mattresses, and mud-crusted refrigerators lay abandoned on the side of the road.
“What if our house is gone?” Rebecca asked.
“Then Heavenly Father will help us find a new one,” Grandma replied.
The streets in their neighborhood were still oozing with thick black mud, so they had to drive very slowly. Finally, Grandma turned the corner onto their street.
“I see it!” Rebecca shouted. “Our house is still there!”
“There’s a hole in the roof,” Sarah pointed out.
Inside, everything smelled musty. The girls leaned their mattresses against the wall to air them out and helped Grandma wipe up the water that had come in through the hole in the roof. “Can we stay here tonight, Grandma?” Rebecca asked.
“I don’t think so. We’ll have to wait a few more nights until we can get the roof fixed.”
Rebecca sighed and sank onto the damp couch. “I wish we could stay.”
“I’m just glad our house is still here,” Sarah said.
“Heavenly Father listened to our prayers,” Grandma said. Then, looking through the doorway, she pointed toward the street. “I think He’s still listening.”
Outside, a large truck with a crane was pulling up. Bishop Espinosa and Brother Soto hopped down, along with some other men from their ward.
“Do you need any help?” the bishop called. “Maybe some people to fix your roof?”
Sarah and Rebecca grabbed hands and squealed. “Does this mean we can stay, Grandma? Can we sleep here tonight?”
Grandma smiled and nodded. “Welcome home, girls.”

On October 17, 1989, while driving home after work, I was approaching a stoplight at the intersection of Market and Beale Streets in San Francisco, California. At that moment I felt the car shake and thought, “I must have a flat tire.” As the car continued to shake, I noticed a bus quite close to me and thought, “That bus just hit me!” Then the car shook more and more, and I thought, “I must have four flat tires!” But it wasn’t flat tires or the bus—it was a powerful earthquake! As I stopped at the red light, there were ripples in the pavement like waves of the sea rolling down Market Street. In front of me a tall office building was swaying from side to side, and bricks began falling from an older building to my left as the earth continued to shake.
The Loma Prieta earthquake struck the San Francisco Bay Area at 5:04 p.m. that day and left as many as 12,000 people homeless.
The earthquake caused severe damage in the San Francisco Bay Area, most notably on unstable soil in San Francisco and Oakland. In San Francisco, the Marina District had been “built on a landfill made of a mixture of sand, dirt, rubble, … and other materials containing a high percentage of groundwater. Some of the fill was rubble dumped into San Francisco Bay after the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.”1
In about 1915, apartment buildings were erected on the landfill. In the 1989 earthquake, the water-saturated unconsolidated mud, sand, and rubble converted to a liquid-like mass, causing the buildings to collapse. The buildings were not built on a sure foundation.
The Loma Prieta earthquake impacted many lives, including my own. Pondering the events of that day reaffirms in my mind and heart that in order to successfully withstand the tempests, earthquakes, and calamities of life, we must build upon a sure foundation.
The Nephite prophet Helaman gave unmistakable clarity to the importance of building our lives on a sure foundation, even the foundation of Jesus Christ: “And now, my sons, remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall” (Helaman 5:12).
In the development of modern-day temples, careful attention is given to the design, engineering, and use of building materials. Thorough testing of the soils and geology takes place on the site where a temple will be built. Studies of wind, rain, and changes in the weather for the area are considered so that the completed temple can withstand not only storms and climate common to an area, but the temple is designed and positioned to withstand the unexpected earthquakes, typhoons, floods, and other natural calamities that may occur. In many temples, concrete or steel piles are driven deep into the earth to anchor the temple foundation.
Like the designers and builders of our time, our loving and kind Father in Heaven and His Son have prepared plans, tools, and other resources for our use so that we can build and frame our lives to be sure and unshaken. The plan is the plan of salvation, the great plan of happiness. The plan lays out for us a clear picture and understanding of the beginning and the end and the essential steps, including ordinances, which are necessary for each of Father’s children to be able to return to His presence and dwell with Him forever.
Faith, repentance, baptism, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end are part of the “blueprints” of life. They help to form the appropriate building blocks that will anchor our lives to the Atonement of Christ. These shape and frame the supporting structure of a person’s life. Then, just as temple plans have specifications that give detailed instructions about how to form and integrate essential components, praying, reading the scriptures, partaking of the sacrament, and receiving essential priesthood ordinances become the “specifications” that help integrate and bind together the structure of life.
Balance in the application of these specifications is vital. For example, in the process of making concrete, precise amounts of sand, gravel, cement, and water are used in order to achieve maximum strength. An incorrect amount or exclusion of any portion of these elements would make the concrete weak and not able to perform its important function.
In like manner, if we do not provide for an appropriate balance in our lives of daily personal prayer and feasting from the scriptures, weekly strengthening from partaking of the sacrament, and frequent participation in priesthood ordinances such as temple ordinances, we too are at risk of being weakened in our spiritual structural strength.
Paul, in a letter to the Ephesians, said it this way, which we can apply to the need for a balanced and integrated development of our character and soul: “In whom all the building fitly framed together groweth unto an holy temple in the Lord” (Ephesians 2:21).
Prayer is one of the most basic and important foundational building blocks of our faith and character. Through prayer we are able to express our gratitude, love, and devotion to God. Through prayer we can submit our will to His and in return receive the strength to conform our lives to His teachings. Prayer is the avenue we can follow to seek His influence in our lives, even revelation.
Alma taught, “Counsel with the Lord in all thy doings, and he will direct thee for good; yea, when thou liest down at night lie down unto the Lord, that he may watch over you in your sleep; and when thou risest in the morning let thy heart be full of thanks unto God; and if ye do these things, ye shall be lifted up at the last day” (Alma 37:37).
Sharing our thoughts, feelings, and desires with God through sincere and heartfelt prayer should become to each of us as important and natural as breathing and eating.
Searching the scriptures on a daily basis will also fortify our faith and character. Just as we need food to nourish our physical bodies, our spirits and souls will be replenished and strengthened by feasting upon the words of Christ as contained in the writings of the prophets. Nephi taught, “Feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do” (2 Nephi 32:3).
While reading the scriptures is good, reading by itself is insufficient to capture the full breadth and depth of the Savior’s teachings. Searching, pondering, and applying the words of Christ as taught in the scriptures will bring wisdom and knowledge beyond our mortal understanding. This will strengthen our commitment and provide the spiritual reserves to do our best in all situations.
One of the most important steps we can take to strengthen our lives and remain firmly attached to the foundation of the Savior is to worthily partake of the sacrament each week. The sacrament ordinance affords every Church member the opportunity to ponder his or her life in advance, to consider the actions or nonactions that may need to be repented of, and then to partake of the bread and water as sacred emblems in remembrance of the body and blood of Jesus Christ, a witness of His Atonement. If we partake with sincerity and in humility, we renew eternal covenants, are cleansed and sanctified, and receive the promise that we will have His Spirit to be with us always. The Spirit acts as a type of mortar, a welding link that not only sanctifies but also brings all things to our remembrance and testifies again and again of Jesus Christ. Worthily partaking of the sacrament strengthens our personal connection to the foundation rock, even to Jesus Christ.
During His ministry the Savior taught with love and clarity the doctrines, principles, and necessary actions that would preserve our lives and strengthen our character. At the end of the Sermon on the Mount, He stated:
“Therefore, whoso heareth these sayings of mine and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, [which] built his house upon a rock—
“And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not, for it was founded upon a rock.
“And every one that heareth these sayings of mine and doeth them not shall be likened unto a foolish man, [which] built his house upon the sand—
“And the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell, and great was the fall of it” (3 Nephi 14:24–27; see also Matthew 7:24–27).
Brothers and sisters, none of us would knowingly construct our homes, places of work, or sacred houses of worship on sand or rubble or without appropriate plans and materials. Let us accept the Savior’s invitation to come unto Him. Let us build our lives upon a safe and a sure foundation.
I humbly testify that by anchoring our lives to Jesus Christ and to His Atonement and by carefully following His plans for our happiness, including daily prayer, daily scripture study, and weekly partaking of the sacrament, we will be strengthened, we will experience real personal growth and a lasting conversion, we will be better prepared to successfully withstand the storms and calamities of life, we will experience the joy and happiness promised, and we will have the confidence that our lives have been built upon a sure foundation—a foundation that will never fall. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My young friend has some difficult challenges. They limit him in some ways, but in other ways he is extraordinary. For example, his boldness as a missionary rivals the sons of Mosiah. The simplicity of his beliefs makes his convictions incredibly firm and steady. I believe that in Scott’s mind it’s unimaginable that everyone isn’t a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and that everyone hasn’t read the Book of Mormon and doesn’t have a testimony of its truthfulness.
Let me tell you of an event in Scott’s life when he was making his first airplane flight alone to visit his brother. A neighbor who was seated nearby overheard Scott’s conversation with the person next to him:
“Hello, my name is Scott. What is yours?”
His seatmate shared his name.
“What do you do?”
“I am an engineer.”
“That’s nice. Where do you live?”
“In Las Vegas.”
“We have a temple there. Do you know where the Mormon temple is?”
“Yes. It is a beautiful building.”
“Are you a Mormon?”
“No.”
“Well, you should be. It is a great religion. Have you read the Book of Mormon?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. It’s a great book.”
I agree wholeheartedly with Scott—the Book of Mormon is a great book. The words of the Prophet Joseph Smith cited on the introduction page of the Book of Mormon have always resonated with me: “I told the brethren that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”
This year in our Sunday School classes, we are studying the Book of Mormon. As we prepare and participate, may we be motivated to follow Scott’s bold example to share our love of this special scripture with others not of our faith.
A dominant theme of the Book of Mormon is expressed in the final verse of the first chapter of 1 Nephi. Nephi writes, “But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance” (1 Nephi 1:20).
I wish to speak about how the Book of Mormon, which is a tender mercy of the Lord preserved for these latter days, delivers us by teaching us in a pure and “most correct” way the doctrine of Christ.

After more than 50 years, I can still hear the words of a tournament official: “Sorry, son, we must disqualify you for signing an incorrect scorecard.” My disqualification came as a result of my mentioning to the official that I needed to correct my score. For weeks I said to myself: “Why didn’t I remain silent? Besides, the error was an innocent mistake. The total score was correct.” Though my performance was good enough to find me in the winner’s circle, I left the awards presentation empty-handed. And that’s the way it is.

Work had begun on the temple on June 5, 1833. For the next three years the Saints endured many trials and hardships in order to build a house for the Lord.
Most of the people had few possessions and little money. But every able man worked one day each week on the temple. They worked in the quarry, cutting sandstone to form the walls of the temple. They worked as carpenters, painters, teamsters, and in many other jobs. Sometimes as many as a hundred men worked on the temple at a time. The women spun, knitted, wove, and sewed to make draperies and carpets. They also made clothing and food for the construction workers.
Everyone was busy, but it was not just the Saints’ time and talents that the Lord required. The large three-story building cost between $40,000 and $60,000, an enormous amount of money at a time when the average worker earned only around two or three dollars a day. Many of the Saints gave almost everything they had to build the temple.
Some people in the area opposed its construction. Mobs came at night to destroy work done and to steal tools and supplies. It became necessary for men to stand guard each night.
When the temple was completed, it was the most beautiful building for miles around. Inside were two curved stairways and beautiful wood moldings and railings. But it will be remembered forever not for its beauty but for the marvelous events that happened there.
On Sunday, March 27, 1836, hundreds of Latter-day Saints came to Kirtland for the dedication. The doors opened at 8:00 A.M., and one thousand people entered. Hundreds more were left outside. They had also worked and sacrificed for the building of the temple. Seeing their disappointment, Joseph Smith decided to repeat the dedication on Thursday.
The choir opened the meeting, then President Sidney Rigdon spoke for two and a half hours. After a brief intermission, the officers of the Church were sustained. Then the Prophet offered the dedicatory prayer, given to him by revelation. This prayer is now section 109 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 109]. After the prayer, the choir sang “The Spirit of God,” which had been written specifically for the dedication.
The congregation ended the seven-hour service by standing and giving the sacred Hosanna Shout. Sister Eliza R. Snow said that it was given “with such power as seemed almost sufficient to raise the roof from the building.”
That evening over four hundred priesthood bearers again met in the temple, and while George A. Smith was speaking, “a noise was heard like the sound of a rushing mighty wind which filled the temple, and all the congregation simultaneously arose, being moved upon by an invisible power.” Many men began to speak in tongues and to prophesy. Others saw glorious visions, including angels who filled the temple.
People living nearby heard the sound, too, and ran to see what was happening. As they approached, they beheld a pillar of fire resting upon the temple, saw angels hovering over the temple, and heard heavenly singing.
Many other spiritual manifestations took place in the temple that year. Prescindia Huntington described how a little girl came to her door during one meeting and called out in excitement, “The meeting is on top of the meeting house!” Prescindia looked outside and saw angels walking back and forth on the temple. Many children in Kirtland saw the angels and remembered the glorious sight the rest of their lives.
One week after that first dedication, on Easter Sunday, April 3, 1836, Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery stood in the pulpit area of the temple and dropped the veils around the pulpit so they could be alone to pray. After their prayer, they saw the Lord standing upon the pulpit. “His eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was white like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun; and his voice was as the sound of the rushing of great waters” (D&C 110:3). Jesus told Joseph and Oliver that He accepted the temple and that in that house He would “appear unto my servants, and speak unto them with mine own voice, if my people will keep my commandments, and do not pollute this holy house” (D&C 110:8).
After this vision, Moses, Elias, and Elijah appeared and gave to Joseph and Oliver the keys necessary to continue the Lord’s work upon the earth. Among these keys was the sealing power that seals husbands to wives and children to parents for all eternity.
This was a time of rich blessings. Even though the temple was used only for a few years before the Saints were driven out of Kirtland, it was worth every dollar spent, every minute worked, and every hardship endured, because the Lord had indeed manifested Himself to His people.

Young Men and their advisers from the Sacramento Seventh Ward, Sacramento California Cordova Stake, undertook a five-day, 206-mile bike trip from Lake Tahoe to Yosemite. The trip would take them over six mountain passes.
Eleven riders and two support drivers with vehicles for equipment, food, and room to carry injured or tired riders started on the trip. As they reached the top of each pass with burning lungs and muscles, they exulted in the beauty of the summits and the thoughts of a long downhill run.
Pedaling into Yosemite on the valley floor was one of the more memorable experiences for the group. Pride in their accomplishment combined with the knowledge that, with preparation and determination, they had an experience that will remain with them the rest of their lives.

I have learned, as I have mentioned in previous messages, never to postpone a prompting. On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the old Deseret Gym in Salt Lake City when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs because of a malignancy and the surgery which followed. I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.

When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.

I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery—by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.

My friend was able to live many more years—years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord’s hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.

When he recalls the rigorous years he spent at Harvard Business School, Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles says of his graduate program, “I was stretched to my capacity.”
About this time Elder Hales received a call to be elders quorum president. He was concerned about the added pressure such a call would create on his schedule. “It was one of the few times in my life I didn’t say yes on the spot,” he explains. “I went home to my wife and said, ‘I will probably fail in school if I accept this calling.’”
Sister Hales responded, “Bob, I would rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard.” She then put her arms around him and added, “Together we will do both of them.”
They knelt in prayer and then went to work. The ensuing months were difficult, but they managed to “do both of them.”

Steve and Anita Canfield are representative of Latter-day Saints throughout the world who have experienced for themselves the transformative blessings of giving to the Lord. As welfare and self-reliance missionaries, the Canfields were asked to provide aid at refugee camps and immigrant centers across Europe. In her professional life, Sister Canfield had been a world-class interior designer, contracted by wealthy clients to beautify their luxury homes. Suddenly she found herself thrust into a world that was the complete opposite, as she served among people who had lost nearly everything in terms of earthly possessions. In her words, she exchanged “marble walkways for dirt floors,” and in doing so she found an immeasurable degree of fulfillment, as she and her husband began to befriend—and soon to love and embrace—those who needed their care.
The Canfields observed, “We did not feel as though we had ‘given up’ anything to serve the Lord. Our desire was simply to ‘give to’ Him our time and energies to bless His children in whatever way He saw fit to use us. As we worked alongside our brothers and sisters, any outward appearances—any differences in backgrounds or belongings—dissolved for us, and we simply saw one another’s hearts. There is no degree of career success or material gains that could have equaled the way that these experiences, serving among the humblest of God’s children, enriched us.”