Gospel Story Finder

A couple of years ago, as Sister Dickson and I arrived at the Missionary Training Center to speak with the missionaries, the MTC president asked if I would tie my tie for the missionaries to help them understand that they could handle the challenges that come with missionary service. I considered his request and adjusted my talk to cover some of what has been mentioned in this article. As I was about to conclude, I invited four missionaries in the front to come forward for a little race at tie-tying. One asked if they should just use their left hand, but I suggested they would need them both. As you can imagine, the missionaries were quite excited when I won.

This article, however, really has little to do with being the fastest tie-tier, the best quarterback, cheerleader, or hamburger-eating champion. It simply has to do with knowing who we are, that we truly matter to our Heavenly Father and that He loves us and wants us back. At the same time, He wants us to be clean and to learn and to grow from our experiences.

Over the years I have handled many challenges in my life, as you will in yours. During the time between those interesting adventures, life has been restful and easy, but any true personal growth has always come when I was working my way through one of life’s challenges. As challenges come, we must look at them as stepping-stones in our development rather than barriers to stop our progress. Come they will, and we must simply win and move on.

Last semester a coworker and I met with a cherished friend of ours. During this meeting with this friend we hoped to discuss ways on how we can improve a particular area in BYUHSA. Ways of improvement were discussed but the agenda soon changed when personal concerns of this individual came up. With tears and sadness she began telling us of how she was bullied in High School because she was different. She was excited to come here to BYU-Hawaii to seek refuge. Tears began streaming even quicker as she said that the bullying behaviors followed her but in a lesser extreme. She even went on to say that she might not return. She was comforted and reassured of the importance of her in our lives. That day she became our little sister.

The crowd seemed to calm down suddenly and every person stopped talking as if on cue. They focused their attention on the floor because they recognized that same girl—the one they had noticed earlier in the balance beam competition. This time she was swinging in ever higher circles around the uneven parallel bars, but she could have been just turning somersaults and they still would have noticed.
The girl on the floor was Diane Ellingson, a typical-looking gymnast with a tiny frame and a blonde ponytail. But her looks were the only thing typical about her, and the crowd could always sense that.
Maybe they noticed her because of the saucy way she held her pirouettes during her floor routine. It could have been the spectacular twists and turns she executed when she flipped from the uneven parallel bars. It might have been her effortless leaps over the vault, but above all that, it was probably her genuine love for the crowd. They could feel it when she flashed them that one-of-a-kind smile at the end of a perfect routine.
Of course, even when her performance wasn’t quite so perfect there was still something about that infectious smile. Even when she landed in a belly flop on national television after a routine, she smiled and waved to the crowd until they applauded. In a meet on her 18th birthday she told the judges it was her birthday so they would ask the crowd to sing “Happy Birthday” to her. “I wasn’t embarrassed,” says Diane. “I would’ve let them sing it twice just for the attention.”
Her love of the audience was a carryover from childhood. Once when she was nine or ten she didn’t come home from school when she was supposed to, so her father went looking for her. He found her in the center of a circle of children, entertaining them with her tumbling tricks, not for the glory, just for fun.
Diane’s sister Marie laughs at the memory of Diane as a child performer. “If you ever see our family movies, she’s always out in front. She was just always a show-off. Dad would be taking a picture of someone else and Diane would get in the picture somehow.”
That desire to perform fit perfectly into gymnastics, another of Diane’s lifelong loves. It was tough to convince her parents that gymnastics was a good thing for her, and even then she had to do something more.
“Our family had seven kids and couldn’t afford to pay for Diane to have lessons. She went down to the gym herself and told the coach that she’d do anything for them. So after workouts she’d clean the gym—vacuuming mats, cleaning bathrooms, whatever, to pay for her lessons,” says Marie.
Diane’s love of the spotlight was quickly matched by her gymnastic ability, and the two made a championship combination. She started training when she was 14 1/2, a late start by competitive standards, but within a year she was competing against the best in the country. She was the Junior Olympic National Champion in high school, and in college she led the University of Utah’s women’s gymnastics team to their first national collegiate title.
After her eligibility for college competition was up, she decided to go on a national professional tour. It was a tour that involved Kurt Thomas and other well-known gymnasts, and Diane would get paid $5,000 just to go. She says she knew her gymnastics career was mostly over, but she just wanted to hold on to the thrill of the spotlight and the fun of the sport for as long as she could.
During training for the tour Diane was practicing a vault she’d done thousands of times. She ran toward the vault just like she had done every other time. She jumped on the springboard like all the other times and flew into the air—just like all the other times. This time was different though. This time she rotated just a little too much. This time when she landed, she broke her neck. The accident put her in the hospital for almost half a year and in a wheelchair for the rest of her life.
That was on December 15, 1981. Diane spent that Christmas and the next five months in the hospital, trying to comprehend a life without gymnastics. After so many years of loving the sport, it was difficult for Diane to adjust.
“I hated being in the hospital, and I felt like I was in prison,” says Diane. For one month of the five she was in the hospital, she was in traction and couldn’t move at all except when the nurses came in and turned her a few inches every two hours. Diane had no idea she’d be in the hospital for so long. “In fact, when I was first injured I thought for sure that in a month I’d be back on the tour and back in shape. I thought, ‘If I have enough faith and believe in God and in myself, I’ll be okay.’ And I just knew it.”
Recovery wasn’t quite so easy though, and things seemed to get worse. “I was a horrible patient,” says Diane. “In the hospital I was really miserable because I was so stir-crazy. I was really impatient with people.” Finally Diane came to a turning point.
“Near the end of my traction one day I was in the depths of despair. I just felt like I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Diane says. She asked for a blessing. She knew the power to heal her was present, “but I only wanted that to happen if it was Heavenly Father’s will. I had this blessing and I felt the greatest sense of peace. It was like I knew that no matter what happened it would be okay. If I didn’t walk away from the hospital there would be a reason for it. I knew that I had always tried my best to live the gospel and do what I was supposed to do, so if anybody was worthy to have that blessing, I was. But from that point on I was a different person. I was totally comforted.”
Ironically, one of the biggest aids to her recovery was gymnastics. “I don’t know if I could’ve gotten up again if I hadn’t had that training in gymnastics,” she says. “I had a lot of chronic injuries when I was a gymnast that I just had to deal with. It was always down, up, down, up in gymnastics and this was just one more down I had to get up from. Gymnastics to a big degree made me so I could be a champion again.”
Being a champion is what Diane is all about. Marie says, “Her attitude’s always been, ‘If you want it, go for it.’ She decided when she was young that she would never give up.” And since Diane wanted to teach before her accident, she couldn’t just give that up, no matter what the odds.
Diane made the decision to return to school to finish her degree on the day she finally realized she would never walk again. She was lying on her bed amid scrapbooks filled with souvenirs and photos of her performances. Tears dripped down her face and splashed on the scrapbook pages. “I just realized right then that things weren’t going to get any better. As I lay there crying I thought, ‘I can either give up or get on with my life’ and that’s when I decided to go back to school and get my degree.”
Now she teaches a class full of third graders who are just the right height to look her in the eye. “The kids will do anything for her,” says Marie. “They just love her.”
Her students aren’t her only fans. Diane also gives fireside talks to teenagers who listen, captivated, as she tells her story. And her message is one of hope and perseverance, without bitterness for what has happened.
Her personality hasn’t changed at all, although she doesn’t wear her hair in a ponytail anymore. Just listen to her speak and you’ll see the exuberant, happy girl who used to charm arenas full of people. Now her charm is just aimed at another audience. Her voice seems to smile at every person in the room and her ready laugh frequently interrupts her stories.
“I think telling my gymnastics stories and sharing my experiences kind of breaks the wheelchair barrier. The kids can see that I’m just a regular person and we have a lot in common, even though I look a lot different than they do,” Diane says.
Her main message is one for potential champions: don’t give up, no matter what happens. “When I was a young gymnast I met a girl, an athlete named Nancy Thies. Nancy was a member of the U.S. Olympic team and one of the finest gymnasts in the country. I have never forgotten some very important things that Nancy taught me. I remember the first thing she said was, ‘Don’t be afraid to lose. She said, ‘If you fall down and you stay down, you’re a quitter and a loser and you will never win. But if you get back up and you try one more time, it will be your turn to be the champion, so just don’t give up.’” Diane says she made a promise to herself that she would remember that advice and never give up, no matter how many times she fell.
Once she faced the hardest fall of her life, not giving up was difficult, especially because of her wheelchair. The whole time she was in gymnastics, whether she was swinging high above the uneven parallel bars or just doing handstands for fun, she was only afraid of being blind or paralyzed. “I was so paranoid of wheelchairs that I would never talk to anybody in a wheelchair or go near a wheelchair. In stores, if somebody in a wheelchair was down an aisle, I’d never go down that aisle, no way. I was paranoid that I’d end up in one if I got too close. It was almost like having thought about it so much kind of prepared me,” she says.
It was probably Diane’s indomitable spirit that prepared her more than anything else. It’s a spirit that comes through in both her funny stories and her powerfully quiet testimony about the importance of an eternal perspective and God’s love for each of his children. It’s a spirit that Diane has always had. “I’ve never met anyone, except my father, who has a stronger testimony than she does,” says Marie. “There’s no doubt in her mind that what she’s doing is right and that the Church is true. She has always been a great example.”
The lights dim when she finishes her message, and a slide show featuring Diane, the ham and gymnast, flashes on the screen in time to some upbeat music. When it’s over, young people swarm around her, enveloping her tiny frame and wheelchair with their excitement.
Diane says, “It makes me feel really good when people tell me they’re going to try harder after they’ve heard my talk. One girl came to me once and told me she’d heard me speak four different times. The first time, she decided not to commit suicide. The second time, she decided that she didn’t have to flunk out of school. The third time, she made a goal to make the honor roll, and the last time she was on her way to that goal.” Another champion in the making, thanks to Diane.
Diane just shrugs and laughs a little when someone tells her she’s wonderful. She even looks a little embarrassed, which is rare for this experienced performer. “People always think, ‘You’re so amazing, you’re so incredible,’ but I’m not. People will say, ‘If that happened to me I could never cope with it,’ and the thing I have to say is, ‘Either you cope or you die.’ You have to take whatever life gives you and deal with it, even if you might not want to. You know, if somebody dies in your family, you have to live with it. If you break your neck you have to live with it, but you just learn and that’s what’s so great about time and the healing process. You don’t have to be miraculous.”
You just have to be as willing as Diane was to get up again, so that someday it will be your turn to be the champion. For Diane, the victory is especially sweet, because she has won back what she thought she’d lost.
She is a champion again.

Ellie walked into the room she shared with her sister, plopped down on the lower bunk, and started sketching on her notepad. She was in the middle of drawing a majestic mountain scene when Addie walked in. “Get off my bed!” Addie said.
Ellie looked up, startled. “Fine!” She jumped off the bed and stormed out of the room. “I wish I had my own room!”
She headed to the bathroom to finish getting ready for school. “What’s going on?” Mom asked.
“Oh, Addie is just mad because I was sitting on her bed,” Ellie said, handing Mom a hairbrush. “It’s so hard sharing a room with her.”
“I know. I used to feel that way with my sister,” Mom said as she started brushing Ellie’s hair. “Addie seems to be feeling a little grumpy lately.”
“I know! I don’t get it!”
“Hmm,” Mom said. “What do you think we can do to help her feel better?”
Ellie thought for a minute while Mom finished putting rubber bands in her hair. Then she smiled. “I have an idea!”
She ran back to her room and opened her desk drawer. There they were—two tiny turtle charms made of glass. Ellie remembered the story Grandma told her when she gave them to her.
Once there were two turtles. One turtle had somehow gotten flipped over. Try as it might, it couldn’t flip itself back over. The other turtle noticed that something was wrong. Using its nose, it flipped the first turtle over so it could stand on its feet again.
Ellie loved that story. She ran to find her sewing kit and pulled out enough string to make two necklaces. She strung one turtle on each strand and knotted the ends. She put one necklace over her head. She put the other one in a tiny box and ran to find her sister.
“Addie!” Ellie said. “I have something for you!”
“What is it?” Addie asked.
“Here. Open it!”
Addie lifted the lid and carefully pulled the turtle necklace out of the box. She looked at her sister. “Thank you, Ellie!”
“You’re welcome,” Ellie said. “Remember the story about the turtles?” Ellie helped Addie put on the necklace. Addie nodded. “Well, I always want to help you get on your feet again whenever you are sad or mad,” Ellie said. “Oh, and I really do like sharing a room with you. I’m sorry about what I said.”
Addie gave her sister a giant hug. “I love you, Ellie. You can sit on my bed any time you want!”
The girls ran to get their backpacks for school. As Ellie climbed into the car next to her sister, she felt warm inside. Sometimes having a sister could be hard. But most of the time it was just plain wonderful.

Growing up, I heard magnificent stories about H?k?le‘a and I remember building the canoe out of brown paper bags and popsicle sticks in kindergarten at L?‘ie Elementary School. As my mother mentioned in the introduction, the ocean is a special place to me. Even though I didn’t become a professional surfer, I have been involved with water-related projects over the years at the Smithsonian Institution, National Council of Teachers of Mathematics, and East-West Center. About two decades ago while I was a student at the East-West Center, master navigator Nainoa Thompson asked me to help take care of the canoes, assist with education, and support the mission, “to perpetuate the art and science of traditional Polynesian voyaging and the spirit of exploration through experiential educational programs that inspire students and their communities to respect and care for themselves, each other, and their natural and cultural environments.”

For the first five years, I didn’t sail on any canoe or escort boat. It was never a goal for me to sail. Instead, I scrubbed the hulls, cleaned the sails, sanded the deck, and loved talking story with crew members. As part of preparation, we also went through medical, safety, physical, cultural, and educational training, to name a few. Then, a couple of years before we departed on the M?lama Honua Worldwide Voyage, my teacher Nainoa Thompson asked me to be an apprentice navigator on the first international leg from Hawaii to Tahiti. I honestly thought he was talking to someone else. The second time he asked me to be an apprentice navigator, I thought deeply about this lifelong commitment. The third time, he didn’t ask. My teacher told me, “You’re ready, let’s go.”

I recall that evening vividly when Nainoa Thompson invited me to talk story. We ended up walking at a sand bar on the south shore of O‘ahu and watched H?k?le‘a (Hawai‘i’s zenith star Arcturus) rising in the heavens. He gave me profound wisdom that I will remember for the rest of my life. He said, “Linda, you need to be prepared and have a vision. If you don’t, someone will take it away from you, or they will give you theirs.” The voyage from Hawai‘i to Tahiti was the first time for 9 of the 13 H?k?le‘a crew members to cross the equator by canoe. I used to fear the storm, but now I respect and embrace it because I know it is an opportunity to reach within and find what we are willing to sail for.

He continued to work on the farm and later went to the University of Utah. During his years at college he played football, played piano for a dance band, and was elected president of his senior class. His professional plans were made as his graduation drew near, but shortly before receiving his diploma he received a letter from President Wilford Woodruff, calling him to serve a mission in Great Britain. It was a major decision—and he struggled with it, as must some young men today. His ultimate decision, however, was to set aside his plans and accept the call.

My name is Mardi Datakasi, I’m 16 years old, and I go to Mt. Barker High, where I’m in year 11 and study maths, (Australians use the plural), English, chemistry, modern history, geography, drama, Australian studies, and biology.
I am currently the state champion and third in Australia for BMX (bicycle motocross) racing. I just returned from Holland after competing in IBF championships, where I came in sixth. This was a great experience and an opportunity to meet people from other countries, as there were 32 countries competing.
My day is very long. I get up at 5:30 A.M. to arrive at the chapel for seminary at 6:15. That’s a 20-kilometer trip. We finish at about 7:10. I eat breakfast, then go to the local fitness center and do my morning training for BMX, which includes weights and swimming. At 8:30 I leave there and walk to school. After school I train on my bike and do my homework. Every Monday and Thursday night I work at the Meadows take-away (fast-food restaurant) and get home about 10:30 P.M.
On weekends I race BMX bikes and go to church. I have just completed my third year of seminary and am a Laurel.

In my stake as I was growing up, fathers didn’t baptize their children; they assigned the priests to have that experience. So a young man baptized me. Afterward my father took me to a store, gave me some money, and told me that I could buy anything I wanted that would remind me of my baptism.
I remember looking and looking. Finally I found five wonderful pictures of the Savior and His life. One of them showed the star when He was born, and the rest showed other special scenes. I thought those pictures were the most wonderful things! I put them up on the wall in my bedroom. As I looked at those pictures every day, I had a peaceful, happy testimony that Jesus Christ was the Savior and that Heavenly Father loved me. It was a wonderful reminder of my baptism and of the promises that I made to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.

Another intervention and profound tutorial in my life I have spoken of before from this pulpit. As a stake president, I was counseling an older lady from the community who by her oppositional and combative personality had successfully irritated and alienated nearly every one in our community, bishops, police officers, and neighbors. As she was unloading her complaints on me, I too started to feel irritation and began to formulate in my mind a sharp rebuke for her negative attitude and complaining spirit. At which moment, words came forcibly to my mind, as if spoken from Heaven: "This is my beloved daughter, listen to her." Can you imagine how swiftly I was brought to attention and began to listen with true empathy?

I rejoice in this tutorial moment, because it clearly affirmed what so many of us forget, namely, that Heavenly Father loves all his children, even those, perhaps especially those, who may annoy us, we who are so comfortable in our own self righteousness.

After coming back from my mission, I moved from my home in Guatemala and started going to school at Brigham Young University in Utah, USA. I was sad and a bit discouraged to move to a place where I seemingly wouldn’t have many opportunities to share the gospel. So I prayed earnestly to find someone who needed to hear the truth.
After a few weeks, I went on a walk after church and saw a tall man looking at posters on campus. I immediately felt that I should talk to him. I was nervous because I was still polishing my English and had no clue what to say. I walked past him but then turned around and introduced myself, trusting Heavenly Father to help me (see Doctrine and Covenants 100:5–6).
We had a nice conversation, and he told me that he wasn’t a member of the Church but he was a student and that he was amazed by the service the Church does for people. I could not believe that I was talking to a nonmember on BYU’s campus! We exchanged phone numbers, and eventually I introduced him to more members of the Church and helped him learn more about the gospel.
The man didn’t join the Church, but through that experience I learned that if we desire to bless other people’s lives, God will help us take the opportunities all around us (see Doctrine and Covenants 4:3). So now I don’t pray for missionary opportunities—I pray to have the eyes to see the missionary opportunities that are in front of me.

Like the Semeonovs, other Soviets have learned of the restored gospel through friends outside the country. Among the earliest to be baptized were Yuri Terebinen and his wife, Ludmilla, of Leningrad. They joined the Church in the fall of 1989 in Hungary while visiting with friends. “We went to church with them,” says Yuri, “and felt something different in the people’s relationship with God and with each other. It seemed right that we should be free to communicate directly with God for ourselves, rather than through professional clergy. You are taught, and you teach; this brings you closer to God.
“For me, the rituals and language of other churches I had visited often came between me and God. Here, I felt intimately connected with Him, which made me also feel closer to people.”
When the Terebinens returned to Leningrad after being baptized, they relied on friends in Helsinki to put them in touch with the Finnish mission president, who at the time was Steven Mecham. President Mecham and his counselor Yusi Kempainen had already been visiting with members in Viborg and Tallinn. They visited with the Terebinens and other members in Leningrad. By December 1989, small branches of the Church were established in those three cities.
Yuri became the first branch president in Leningrad. Since then, the branch has been divided into two, with a total of over 160 members. There is now also a branch in Moscow.

As a young man, David O. McKay took a summer job delivering newspapers to a mining town. He made friends with the miners, and they were always glad to see him.
Miner: Here comes David with our newspapers!
David: Good afternoon, gentlemen.
The trip took five hours each way. This gave David plenty of time to read books, memorize quotations, and learn from the scriptures. He loved learning! Sometimes he stopped to pray about gaining a testimony.
David never stopped learning. When he was President of the Church, some of his sermons included quotes he had memorized long before while riding his horse.

In October of 1990 our neighbor’s daughter was involved in an automobile accident returning home from college. I was the bishop at the time and received a phone call about midnight from Kim’s father, Ralph Johnson, asking if I could go to the LDS Hospital in Salt Lake City and be with her because they were stranded in California, where they had driven that weekend, unable to get a flight back to Salt Lake City until the next morning. Brother and Sister Johnson wanted someone to be with their daughter, whose condition was critical. My wife, Sherri, and I, and my first counselor, Dick Beeson, traveled to the hospital. Kim was in a coma. Her uncle and boyfriend were already present. All during the night we prayed, waited, hoped, and cried. Sometime during the nigh t, feeling very bad, I decided to walk down to the area where Kim lay unconscious. It must have been three or four a.m. Much to my surprise I found my wife, Sherri, sitting by Kim, talking to her and stroking her arm softly. I said something to Sherri about coming back to the waiting room with me, to which she responded, “In a while. Someone who knows her and loves her should be with her. This is where Ralph and Nancy would be if they were here. She needs a mom. I will stay with her.”
I do not know if Kim knew of my wife’s care, but I hope she felt it even if she could not see it. Sherri gave Kim pure love unfeigned in the middle of that night while she lay dying. I learned that night that love is most pure when there is no consideration of a response from the person receiving it.

In 1835, Newel traveled to Ohio to help build the temple and to receive temple blessings. At Kirtland, he boarded with his good friends Hyrum and Jerusha Smith. There he met and fell in love with Lydia Goldthwaite Bailey, whose belief in Joseph Smith was equal to his.
A few years previous, Lydia’s husband had deserted her, and both of her children had died, so her family sent her to Canada for a change of scenery. In late 1833, while staying with the Nickerson family, she heard Joseph Smith preach and saw his face “become white and a shining glow seemed to beam from every feature.”3 This witness of the Spirit converted her. She then moved to Kirtland. On 24 November 1835, Joseph Smith performed Newel and Lydia’s wedding at Hyrum Smith’s home. The ceremony was the first marriage performed by the Prophet.4

A four-year-old Brazilian girl, Mayara Fernanda Dos Santos, suffering from leukemia and with oxygen going into her nose from a tube, was blessed in 1996 by Elder Claudio Costa and myself in Curitiba, Brazil. After the blessing, little Mayara smilingly wiped a tear from her anxious mother’s cheek. Instinctively wise beyond her years, Mayara knows how to “comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9), including her precious parents.

When my teenage daughter ran away from home, we were unable to persuade her to return, but we asked her to at least attend her meetings. She didn’t. The New Era was the only contact she had with the Church for over four years because of her hostility toward all Church members. But the New Era came to her every month, she read it regularly, and recently she came home, graduated from high school, and is now preparing to go to college on a national scholarship. She isn’t active in the Church yet, but she is home and safe and still reading your magazine.
Name Withheld

Sometimes we don't do good things to the "least of these my brethren," because we judge them. We put a label on them and then rationalize our misbehavior or our non-behavior toward them. Years ago, we moved in next door to an older couple who yelled so loud at each other, I was first disturbed, then disgusted by what sounded like constant quarreling. My resentment of the couple for all this noise kept me from making their acquaintance. "Little wonder no one visits them," I thought. As time went on, however, I suspected that they must be lonely. I was not aware of any family coming to see them. After many months, I mentioned this to another neighbor and wondered if I should visit them. This neighbor said, "I think it would be a great idea, but when you visit them, you'll have to yell because they are both nearly deaf."

A few years ago, I had never heard of temples. After discovering the Church almost three years ago, temples still seemed like figments of the missionaries’ imagination. On my small Caribbean island of Barbados, the idea of a temple on the earth seemed like a magical fairy tale that was too good to be true. If they were so awesome, then why didn’t Barbados have one?
A year after joining the Church, I finally came to a greater understanding of the role temples play in our lives as members of Heavenly Father’s true Church. I had an extremely strong desire to visit the one that was closest to my tiny island—the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple.
The cost of an airline ticket to Dominican Republic was much more than the few dollars I had in my bank account. Setback after setback seemed to push me further away from what felt like an impossible goal of visiting the temple. But I made it a habit to never forget this quote by President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018): “Always have the temple in your sights. Do nothing which will keep you from entering its doors and partaking of the sacred and eternal blessings there” (“The Holy Temple—a Beacon to the World,” Liahona, May 2011, 93).
One of the greatest joys in this life is the joy the temple brings. Hearing the missionaries speak of the joy and overwhelming sense of peace that always filled them when they visited the temple always made me a little envious because although I remained committed to my covenants, I wasn’t as fortunate as they were, being unable to walk or drive to the nearest temple. With the Dominican Republic temple being far away, it started to seem like I would never be able to receive the blessings that awaited me there.
Just when I had given up all hope of ever visiting the temple, the Barbados Bridgetown Mission young single adults trip to the Dominican Republic made my temple dreams a reality. Preparation was key. Entering the temple is by no means a small or insignificant undertaking, so at the start of the year, I kicked into high gear making adjustments to increase my spirituality. I took the sacrament more seriously, I started to pay closer attention during sacrament meeting, I bore my testimony whenever I had the opportunity, and I stopped letting technology distract me and decided to dedicate my hours of church to finding even more ways to feel the Spirit more abundantly.
Being spiritually prepared and worthy before entering the temple ensures that we will receive the blessings that Heavenly Father has in store for us. After months of hardships, trials, and even the death of my beloved grandmother, no words can accurately sum up what I felt when I took those first steps onto the grounds of the Dominican Republic Temple. As I stood there with tears in my eyes, I felt the Spirit as I had never before.
During my many visits to the temple on that trip, I would always open my Book of Mormon to a particular scripture. It was one that I often read to my grandmother, although she was not a member of the Church before her death. It came from 1 Nephi 3:7, which reads “And it came to pass that I, Nephi, said unto my father: I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.”
I know with all certainty that Heavenly Father was preparing a way for me to reach the temple and that it was through His divine intervention that I was finally able to make it there. Where there is opposition or stumbling blocks in our path, Heavenly Father will make a way for us to move forward, even if our path seems dark. The temple is truly a sacred place where we can feel Heavenly Father’s love for us on this earth.

I love this gospel and I love street art, so I decided to combine the two. I packed my scriptures, a sketchbook, charcoal pencils, permanent markers, and cans of spray paint in my backpack. My companions laughed and asked, “What are you doing with spray paint?” I explained, “I may not speak the language yet, but I can show others my testimony.”
For the remainder of my mission, I used street art—on paper, not on buildings—and the Spirit to teach others about Christ. And as crazy as it sounds, it worked. Many people didn’t want to hear my message, so I sketched it. Doors and eyes opened when I told them that I did graffiti. They didn’t believe me. They timed me for three minutes, and I sketched the word faith while teaching them about it. Among them were many who felt judged and unloved. I could testify that with faith in Christ we can feel of His love and forgiveness, and He can help us change for the better. He did for me.

I mentioned the young man in another setting. Later I received an unsigned letter that began, “Elder Gong, my wife and I have raised nine kids … and served two missions.” But “I always felt I would not be allowed in the celestial kingdom … because my sins as a youth were so bad!”
The letter continued, “Elder Gong, when you told about the young man gaining hope of forgiveness, I was filled with joy, beginning to realize that maybe I [could be forgiven].” The letter concludes, “I even like myself now!”