Gospel Story Finder

I have been involved in many adoptions over the years so I will tell you a true to life adoption story. One day a bishop referred a young college student to me for birthparent services. She was a bright student on a full scholarship and she had a delightful personality. She had made a mistake and found herself pregnant with no possibility of marriage. She and her parents consulted their church leaders and LDS Family Services to find out her options.

Her parents were financially strong and could have easily supported one more child in the family. But after much prayer, this young woman and her parents decided to follow the counsel of the First Presidency and place the child for adoption with a temple sealed couple. Emotionally, it was not an easy thing to do but their great faith carried them through.

The birthmother selected a humble, righteous couple and corresponded with them throughout the pregnancy. A gorgeous little boy was born and the adoptive couple excitedly flew to Hawaii at the time of the birth. The placement took place in a peaceful, beautiful home where the Spirit of the Lord was indeed present and very strong. When the birthmother and her parents met the adoptive couple, there was instant love as though they had known each other before. There were hugs and tears.

After talking together for quite some time, the birthmother played a lovely piece on the piano, Canon in D, for the adoptive couple. The adoptive mother was a talented violinist. She and the birthmother then played two songs together with the piano and violin. One of the songs was "I Am a Child of God." "I am a child of God, And he has sent me here, Has given me an earthly home With parents kind and dear. Lead me, guide me, walk beside me, Help me find the way. Teach me all that I must do To live with him someday." This was the wish of the birthmother that her child would have such a life.

The birthmother then went to the other room to get the baby and she walked out confidently and placed the child into the arms of the adoptive parents. There were great expressions of how cute he was. Many tears fell. We all felt the Spirit that day and there was such deep love manifested.

This birthmother has since served the Lord in many ways and is now sealed to a faithful husband and has her own family. The special, beautiful baby was sealed in the temple to his parents and is loved and cherished by a large, righteous extended family. The birthmother listened and obeyed the counsel of the Brethren and she, the child and the adoptive parents have been blessed immensely.

Anthony Quasie had a life-changing experience while just a boy growing up in Cape Coast Ghana. His mother told him that when he was 5 years old, he witnessed a man, who was hired to help at his home, cut the neck of a chicken just enough for the chicken to run around in pain before dying. He remembers his mother saying that “I folded my arms and cried all day”, and when it came time to eat the chicken, it made him very sick. He grew up not liking it when people mistreated animals.
This tenderness of heart allowed Brother Quasie to be touched by the Spirit when he first heard about the Church. In 1986, when he was 16 years old, the Church was new in the Cape Coast area. One night, a friend invited him to see a movie in the town open market. It was a movie about Joseph Smith’s First Vision and the Book of Mormon. After watching the movie, he felt that it was true and wanted to learn more but wasn’t sure how to get more information. Then he met Elder and Sister Nelson from the United States. They taught him the gospel by having Anthony proselyte with them and after a week, they asked him if would like to be baptized. “I decided to be baptized without consulting my parents, who were Catholic. I took that decision independently”, he said.
In those days, baptisms in Cape Coast were done in the ocean. On 30 April 1986, Brother Quasie was baptized on the same beach that the first Ghanaian members had been baptized a few years earlier.
The day after his baptism, he wanted “to have an experience like Joseph Smith in the grove of trees, so I walked into a very deep thick forest”.
Initially he was scared, but he summoned the courage to kneel and pray. But he didn’t see anything. “I wasn’t sad, but I really wanted to know how to explain everything to my parents”, he said.
When he came home that evening, something happened that he would never forget.
“I was sleeping with four of my siblings and around 2 a.m. I had a dream. In that dream, the Savior visited with me, and he opened His arms to me. In the dream, I stood up and tried to embrace the Savior, but then I woke up and I was standing and trying to hug someone who wasn’t there.” He was so touched by this experience that he decided to share it with his parents.
When he joined the Church, he knew that it was true, and he wanted to bring his family to the Church. Now, after these many years, almost all of his family members have joined. Anthony’s conversion not only blessed his own family, but also the people he worked with in Kenya as a missionary, and the countless others he has served throughout his life.

I first met Sally Pilobello in the Philippines in 1972 when I was sent there as a health missionary. I learned that she and her husband had lost their first baby when the baby was five months old. Sally had other children, but she now was pregnant with another and asked me, “What can I do to have a healthy Mormon baby?” I thought of her courage and faith as she responded to truth and adopted some new habits and traditions. Soon people in the neighborhood were sharing the news: “Mormon baby is coming!”

On 20 January 1973, Sarah Pilobello was born—a healthy, beautiful “Mormon baby.” Her mother’s pioneer spirit had enabled her to do things she had not done before—to add more truth to what she already knew. Sally used to smile at me and say, “Sister, you can never teach an old dog new tricks.” Then she’d pause and add: “But Sister, I am not a dog!”

In 1984 I received a letter from eleven-year-old Sarah—“Little Melon” to her family and friends: “I’m sorry that I have not written for a long time because every time I’m going to start my letter my playmates are insisting me to play with them. Now I firmly decided to write to you. We are glad that Mommy is doing what the family preparedness program of the welfare missionaries taught them. We now purify our water and have a balanced diet. That is why we grow faster than the other children. The temple is now being made and I hope I’ll see you there. I love you. Little Melon.”

I also received a letter from her mother, my dear friend Sally: “I want to express my gratitude for the things I have learned which are making such a difference in my family. I realize now that some of the things my mother taught me—things her mother taught her—were not correct. But the truths I’m learning will now be taught to my children, and to their children, and to the generations to come. We will not be damned any longer by ignorance. ‘Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free!’ As they say, it is never too late to learn and change. God must love us dearly to allow us to have so much truth.”

This truth gives me so much hope for the future. It also confirms the strength I have been feeling since my father passed away. One day, I saw a little boy and girl run up to their dad and give him a big hug. My heart dropped. I wanted my dad so badly. At that moment I wanted to give up and cry forever.
After I pondered this for quite some time, my heart was turned to someone for comfort: Jesus Christ. I had to learn to have faith in Jesus, rely on Him, know that He has suffered, and know that He helps me if I allow Him to. I exercised faith by remembering that He knows how to help me, and I need to do everything I can to be closer to Him so I can more fully feel of His love. The only way to true happiness is having faith in Him and knowing that He will never leave you (see John 16:33).

Elders Pratt and Johnson taught the gospel to Erastus, barely a teenager, during their brief stay at the Snow home. He and his mother both believed, but father Levi was less enthusiastic. “I began to mend my ways,” Erastus noted, “and prayed to God to soften the hearts of my parents that I might have the privilege of obeying the Gospel.”

His prayers were answered. Through his mother’s intercession with his father. Erastus was allowed to visit his LDS brother, William, at nearby Charleston, Vermont. William baptized his teenage brother on February 2, 1833, through ice in cold Lake Derby. His baptism was ice-cold, but his eagerness to spread the gospel grew red-hot. “I then desired to preach the Gospel and began to search the scriptures that I might be able to instruct others.”

This story happened in Bolivia.
Papi clapped his hands at the end of family home evening. “I have an idea for a family goal,” he said. “Let’s read the Book of Mormon together every day.”
Sami’s older brothers, Andrés and Juan, nodded with big smiles at the idea.
“OK!” said Andrés.
Sami was excited too. But then he remembered something. He raised his hand. “I don’t know how to read. How will I help?”
Juan shrugged. “You can just listen.”
Sami’s brothers already knew how to read. But Sami was only five. He hadn’t learned to read yet.
“But I want to help too!” Sami said with a frown.
Mamá gave Sami a hug. “And you will,” she said. “There is always a way to do what God has commanded us.”
The next night, Sami’s family gathered to read the Book of Mormon. They all brought their own scriptures, except Sami. Mamá gave him a picture book of Book of Mormon stories.
“You can’t read words yet. But you can read pictures,” she said with a smile.
Sami held the book close. Now he could read with his family too!
They all took turns reading. Sami looked at the pictures that showed the story. When it was his turn, he told the others what he saw in the pictures. He told as many details as he could.
As the days passed, Sami wanted to read more and more. Mamá taught him what sound each letter made. Then she showed him how to sound out words. Months later, Sami didn’t need the picture book as much. Instead, he read the last word of every verse his family read. Mamá read the word first, and Sami said it back.
At first, they read slowly. Getting to the end of each chapter took a long time. Andrés and Juan groaned when it was Sami’s turn. But they still read as a family.
Little by little, Sami read more. He read one word of a verse, then two words, then three. Then he started reading a whole verse!
Near the end of their goal, Sami could read a few verses by himself. His reading had gotten much better. His love for the Book of Mormon had grown too.
At last, Sami’s family finished the Book of Mormon. It had taken two years! Now Sami was seven years old, and he had learned to read very well.
“Congratulations!” Papi said. “We did it!”
Sami cheered with his family. He had helped them finish the Book of Mormon!
Juan gave Sami a big hug. “What will be your goal for the next two years?”
Sami smiled. He stood tall and said, “I will read the Book of Mormon again!”
What helped Sami read the scriptures?
Illustrations by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

Eighteen years ago, during my first visit to general conference as a new stake president, I learned a valuable lesson in punctuality. I wanted to visit all the Church departments, which at that time were spread over a wide area of Salt Lake City. Above all I had an earnest desire to meet President David O. McKay. I inquired whether it would be possible to see the prophet for just a few minutes and was delighted when I was told to return at 1:30 P.M. for this great privilege. My heart sang as I made other visits during the morning, and the time passed very quickly.
Suddenly I looked at my watch and was horrified to see that it was almost the appointed time. I literally ran to the Church Administration Building, arriving red-faced and breathless. Imagine my feelings when I was told, “By being one minute late you may have missed a golden opportunity.” Those words still ring in my ears, even though I was subsequently able to meet President McKay.

My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.

It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.

Several months later, with my mother’s story crowded into the recesses of my mind by school and work, I received an assignment in one of my classes at Brigham Young University to find 8 to 10 primary documents containing the name of one of my ancestors.

My genealogical training to that point consisted of singing the Primary song “Family History—I Am Doing It,” but grades weren’t negotiable in my mind, so I began at the only place I could think to start—Orla’s family. I looked her up on a pedigree chart and traced her line back until I found her grandfather, Joseph Argyle Jr.

One afternoon, I made the trek across the BYU campus to the library and into the family history library. I explained to a worker who Joseph Argyle was and the little information I knew about him.

For the next two hours, that worker guided me through a treasure hunt, which took us all over the library. We searched records of Mormon passengers on emigrant vessels, discovering that Joseph and his family crossed the Atlantic on a ship. Later that year, he traveled to Salt Lake Valley with the Ellsworth handcart company, which we found in a record book of handcart companies. We looked through the Endowment House records (found where he received his temple ordinances), the Utah death index (he lived to 84), and old Church membership records (there he was).

In an online database of Utah newspaper archives, I found a front-page obituary for my great-great-great grandfather. Published in the Davis County Clipper in February 1927, every sentence contained an interesting fact, such as Joseph’s contribution to the building of the Salt Lake Temple.

“He has the credit of having hauled the largest stone put in that building which weighed 13,000 pounds,” the article read.

I began to get a glimpse of the impact we can have on future generations when I discovered he had 88 descendants at the time of his death, a number which increased exponentially in the past 79 years.

Every time I found another document with my ancestors’ names on it, I felt a little tingle of excitement run through my body. It was like a mystery novel, putting all the pieces together, little by little beginning to understand who this man was. I became so immersed in learning about my ancestor, I didn’t leave until late in the afternoon, almost missing work!

I completed the assignment and received an A, but even more importantly, I created a tangible connection with one of my relatives. Joseph Argyle left his home, sailed across the ocean, traveled to Utah and helped build the temple, all because he believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ, a legacy which I inherited and which gives me the strength to fight my own battles in the 21st century.

I am a link in the chain of Joseph Argyle, and I can pass on his example to strengthen my children and their children. There are others I can help as well. The temple work for the vast majority of my ancestors has yet to be completed, and hundreds, even thousands, of my ancestors are waiting for me to do my part.

For more information on how to get started on your family history, visit your local family history center or go to www.familysearch.org.

By that time there was a blockade all over Nigeria, so I could not write any letter to the headquarters of the Church. At the removal of the blockade in 1971 I wrote a letter for instructions. Pamphlets, tracts, and a Book of Mormon were sent to me, including “Joseph Smith’s Testimony” about the restoration of the gospel. Brother LaMar S. Williams was in the Missionary Department at that time, and his instructions were that they had no authority to organize the Church in Nigeria then. I was totally disappointed, but the Holy Spirit moved me to continue writing. Many a time in dreams I saw some of the missionaries of the Church discussing matters about the Church.
Persecutions, name calling, and all kinds of abuses were rendered to me. I was persecuted in various ways but I kept deaf ears. I knew I had discovered the truth and men’s threats could not move me and my group. So we continued asking God to open the door for us.
Elder W. Grant Bangerter answered a letter I sent in the same way—that the Church could not be organized in Nigeria yet, but that the leadership had the desire to do so.
On 9 October 1976, I wrote to Elder Bangerter:
“I have received your letter of Sept. 24 with thanks. I have noted what you said therein. We are not discouraged anyhow but shall continue to pursue the practice of our faith which we have found to be true. …
“We are very optimistic that Our Lord Jesus Christ will make it possible in the future for the Church to take more direct action. We are well aware that our faith is being tried. We are doing everything we can to establish the truth among so many of Our Heavenly Father’s children in this part of the world.”
Brother Williams gave us a program to follow on Sundays. We continued praying always, until the 21st of November 1978, when the Church was officially opened for the black race (in Africa) with the authority to hold the priesthood and administer the ordinances thereof.

Marie Michelle and Assoné Blanc are known in their area as a family who have shown great faith in their Savior Jesus Christ. At the beginning of the 2000s, they felt a strong inspiration to seal their marriage in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple, which had recently been dedicated. However, the travel from Port-au-Prince to Santo Domingo cost more than 300 American dollars. It was impossible for them to find such an amount of money at that moment. What was to be done?
As the days went by, it became more and more difficult for the family to save enough money to undertake the travel to Santo Domingo. Even with their many prayers and fasting, they still struggled to find the way towards the temple. The Blancs had as their sole source of income a small truck with which they operated passenger transport as a public service in the Metropolitan area of Port-au-Prince. Then they hit on an idea: to sell the truck to get money for the travel. Some friends and relatives who heard about this idea said that it would be a very unwise decision. Indeed, selling the truck meant for them that the Blancs would agree to cut the very branch they are sitting on. Selling the truck meant compromising their ability to provide food, healthcare, education for themselves and for their children.
Finally, Assoné and Marie Michelle Blanc sold the small truck and went to the temple to be sealed. What was the rationale behind a so perilous decision? Marie Michelle explained that exaltation is far more important than food and education. She said that they could not miss the opportunity to show the Lord that they trusted Him and that He could rely on them.
Source: https://catalog.churchofjesuschrist.org/record?id=bf98017f-07db-4508-afb3-3b4ccc8502b7&view=browse

Brayden listened to Mom read from the Bible and looked at the picture she showed them. It showed Jesus after He was resurrected. He was talking to some of His disciples who were on a fishing boat.
The disciples had fished all night without catching anything. When Jesus came, He told them where to put their net to catch fish. They tossed the net into the water. This time it caught so many fish they couldn’t pull the net back up!
“They caught that many fish?” Brayden’s brother, Christian, asked, eyes wide. Mom nodded, and kept reading.
She read how the disciples dragged the net to shore. It had caught 153 large fish. But even though it was so full, the net hadn’t broken! (See John 21:2–11).
This time, it was Brayden who had a question.
“What do you think they did with all of the fish?”
Mom set her scriptures down on her lap. “You know, I’ve read these verses many times, but I guess I never really thought about that. But I love your question! Let’s keep reading and see what it says.”
Soon they found a verse that said Jesus cooked fish for Peter and the other disciples.
“So they ate some of the fish?” Brayden asked.
Mom nodded, but before she could read more, Christian jumped up and down.
“I know! I know!” he said. “The fish were like money back then, right? Because fishing was Peter’s job. Like our dad has a job building walls with cement.”
Mom smiled. “That’s right! So the fish were probably a blessing to Peter’s family, just like the money Dad earns is a blessing to us.”
This time, Brayden’s sister, Victoria, spoke up.
“Maybe they traded fish with a carpenter to get some furniture,” she said. “Joseph was a carpenter, right?”
Mom put her arm around Victoria and squeezed her shoulders. “Wow! You guys have some great ideas about this story. Let’s think of some of the blessings our family has. We already talked about one—that Dad has a job. What are some others?”
Making this list was easy.
“Our house!”
“Clothes!”
“Food!”
Brayden and Christian and Victoria were still calling out answers when they heard Dad open the door.
“You’re home!” Victoria said as she jumped into his arms.
Dad kissed the top of her head. “What are you kids up to?”
“We’re talking about blessing fish!” Brayden said.
Dad raised his eyebrows. “Sounds exciting! I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
That night Brayden and his family decided to start a new tradition. Every night after dinner, they would tell each other about new blessings they had noticed. Tonight, Mom even brought out a bowl of fish-shaped candy to eat while they shared.
Brayden smiled as he took a bite. Who knew that blessings could be so sweet?

Hannah (name has been changed) experienced sexual abuse early in her childhood. Like other victims, she grew up feeling like she was a terrible person who had no worth. She spent most of her life trying to serve others enough to make up for her feelings of not being “good enough” for Heavenly Father or anyone else to love. In her relationships, she feared that if anyone truly knew her, they would think she was as awful as she believed she was. She experienced an intense fear of rejection that led to being afraid of trying new things in life or doing simple tasks like calling someone on the phone. She was blessed with a talent for artwork but gave up on it for fear of not being able to handle criticism.
For over 50 years her feelings of helplessness, powerlessness, fear, anger, confusion, shame, loneliness, and isolation guided her daily decisions.
For Hannah, her life had become so uncomfortable that she sought help. She knew from her testimony that she could feel peace and contentment in life but did not feel them on a consistent basis. Through prayer and talking with her bishop, she was guided to counseling, where she was able to gain the tools she needed to bring the truth out of darkness and share the awful burden she had been carrying alone. In doing so, she was able to release the pain and find the peace promised by the Savior (see John 14:27). Along with this peace and comfort came the desire and ability to forgive.
Hannah eventually found that she could turn the need for justice over to the Savior and in return find a feeling of peace in her life as she had never before experienced. Previously, she had feared attending family gatherings where the abuser would be present. Now, due to her willingness to face difficult emotional wounds on her way to healing, she no longer fears being in his presence and can even have compassion for him in his old age.

Micah had a frown on his face. Mommy asked him to help set the table, but Micah said no. Daddy asked Micah to stop teasing his little sister, but Micah said no. Daddy said, “Micah, when you obey, it helps our family be happy.” Micah liked it when his family was happy. He went to the table. He put the forks and spoons next to the plates. Mommy smiled. “Thank you, Micah.” Then he gave his little sister a toy to play with. She smiled. Daddy smiled too. “Thank you, Micah.” Micah didn’t have a frown anymore. It turned upside-down into a big smile!

Christmas is a time of coming together as families. I would like to share with you another time when I desired to return home to my family for Christmas. Our family had recently moved from Georgia to Rexburg for my new job at BYU-Idaho. My family had made the move earlier in the fall for schooling, but I, however, remained in Georgia to finalize details with my previous employment. A few days before Christmas, I packed up our remaining belongings and began the 2,000 mile trek to Idaho. The plan was for me to arrive at home on Christmas Eve. My wife had just delivered our tenth child, Rachel, two weeks prior. I could hardly wait to be with them. I had driven about 1,000 miles, when my vehicle broke down in the remote town of Abilene, Kansas. It became apparent that I was not going to be home for Christmas with my family, and would instead spend Christmas Day alone in a small hotel room. I remember on Christmas Eve, kneeling next to the bed, broken hearted. Sharing my predicament with my wife, I was overcome with emotion when she told me that the children had agreed that they wanted Dad home for Christmas to celebrate and open presents. Even though they were young and excited for some of the temporal aspects of Christmas, they were willing to wait until we could be reunited as a family to celebrate. On the evening of December 28th, I finally arrived home. I thought that they would be excited to open presents, however, we have a tradition in our family to read the nativity on Christmas Eve and act it out as a family. Before any presents were opened, my young family read Luke 2 and re-enacted the birth of our Savior.

I will always remember that Christmas as one which touched my heart with love and joy as we reunited as a family and my children showed me that they were more focused on being together as a family and celebrating the true meaning of Christmas than just opening presents.

Service is the gospel of Jesus Christ in action, and it’s evident in a story I love about Brigham Young. Upon learning that hundreds of handcart pioneers were stranded on the plains in unbearable conditions, he taught with power in this simple sermon at the October 1856 general conference: “I will now give this people the subject and the text for the Elders who may speak, … it is this, … many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with hand-carts, and probably many are now 700 miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. The text will be, ‘to get them here.’ …

“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess, it is to save the people. …

“I shall call upon the Bishops this day, I shall not wait until to-morrow, nor until next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen, I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them; also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams. …

“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the celestial kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”2

“If I’d been in the Church for the length of time I have now (one year), and they’d asked me to leave England and follow the Prophet, I would have said yes,” says 17-year-old Paul Lindsey, from Nottinghamshire, England.
But he admits it would have been the hardest of tests, and he’s not sure about swapping the 1800s for the 1990s. “I’m too comfortable with modern wonders—and I don’t like wearing these trousers,” he laughs.
So why is Paul in Victorian costume, parading around the streets of Preston, England? He’s one of 210 seminary students who’ve ridden into town in three coaches.
Students came from Nottinghamshire, Leicestershire, Warwickshire, and Northamptonshire. Some made outfits from curtains; some wear rented costumes or modified old clothing from their parents.
Arthur Hardy, their seminary coordinator, is about to bring Church history to life as their trip into the past begins.
“We may look a bit stupid,” grins a friend of Paul’s, Daniel Liddicott from Leicester Stake, “but it does lead to questions. One person said there’s absolutely nothing in Preston, so why are we here? It’s a good opportunity to tell them Preston was a place of great history for our church when the missionaries first came over.”
The obelisk in the market square was the scene of those mighty beginnings—a place for many outdoor sermons. The fruits of those beginnings are hard to take in. At one time, in 1850, there were 30,700 Saints in Great Britain, and only 26,000 in the United States.
But that’s jumping ahead. The adversary didn’t let the gospel into this land without a fight.
The youth are at the scene of the first battle—a tiny lodging house on the corner of Wilfred Street. There’s only room for eight students at a time. They climb a narrow, rickety staircase up two flights.
In this lodging house, the elders in England were tormented by evil spirits and feared for their lives. (See Orson F. Whitney, The Life of Heber C. Kimball, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, pp. 129–31.)
“It’s a bit creepy thinking about what went on in this house,” says Paul, “when they were attacked by legions of Satan’s followers. I can imagine it all happening.”
“It really adds to my testimony,” admits Paul, “to know that these men made the difficult decision to leave their families, come across the seas to England, and go through so much to teach people who’d never heard of the Church.”
“The sheer number converted shows how hard the Spirit must have been working to get a good base for what would follow, right up to us today,” says Paul.
Sara-Jayne Soverall, another of Paul’s friends, adds, “I wish we could be back in those times for a moment. I’d love to have seen them all.”
Apparently so would Preston’s Evening Post reporter, according to 16-year-old Michelle Armstrong. “It’s the best thing, walking around in Victorian costume,” she says. “Especially when that newspaper bloke took photos. He was trying to get us to reenact those first river baptisms, but it wouldn’t have been proper, so he got pictures of us pretending to teach people instead.”
Paul thinks it must have been harder then for a young person to be the only family member seeking baptism.
“My own family was cautious at first,” he remembers, “but now Mum sticks up for me, and my sister lends me her car to come to church. The Church today has been established long enough to be known, but then it was so new. I think people may have been more suspicious.”
The next stop on the pilgrimage is the Cockpit, a building rented for church meetings by early Saints from the local temperance movement, where people were taught the evils of alcohol.
Then, on by coach to the beautiful villages of Downham and Chatburn. To Paul Lindsey, in the 20th century, it seems a strange thing for the whole community to get up and go to Utah. He concludes, “The Spirit must have been very strong for that to happen.”
That same Spirit is still here in 1994. And amazing things still happen in England—not the least of which is the final site, the highlight of this seminary outing, a place which unites past and present in an excellent way.
Currently, it’s an empty field. Soon it will be the site of Britain’s second temple. The youth are impressed with the architect’s plans, marvel at miracles leading to the permission to build the temple, and can’t wait to enter its doors.
Wouldn’t those early Saints have loved to be here today? Maybe the strength of their faith and ours brings them closer than we realize.

In conclusion, I would like to leave you with an illustration that I hope will summarize what I have attempted to share with you today. It was 17 years ago this month that I graduated from Brigham Young University with a doctorate in counseling psychology. I value the many things I learned in my philosophical and clinical training, and I’m grateful for the experiences I had with fellow students, faculty, staff, and others, but the one academic experience I treasure the most occurred during the very last hour of my graduate school experience.

In my particular discipline we were required to conduct original research in an area of our choice, formally write up the study in a doctoral dissertation, and then defend our work before an examination committee. The results of this exam determined whether we would pass or fail. I looked forward to defending my dissertation. I had worked hard and had been greatly blessed by studying my particular topic. I had also received tremendous help from the professors on my committee and felt confidant that I could adequately defend my work.

The first 15 minutes of the examination went quite smoothly. The questions were straightforward, and I felt I answered them well. I began to feel the excitement of having achieved a goal I had been working toward for several years. The next set of questions were more difficult, as we began to discuss some of the debatable parts of my work. I still felt fairly confident in my answers. Even though I realized that I would probably need to make some revisions, I felt I would pass. I wasn’t prepared for what happened next. One of the professors on the examination committee voiced his feelings that he wasn’t happy with the overall scope of my study. He didn’t know if he could give me a passing vote. After several more attempts to defend my work, I realized that this professor would not be convinced—and what he was saying appeared to be influencing the others. I began to lose hope.

At that critical moment, another member of my committee, Professor Richard N. Williams, asked the examination committee if he could make a few comments. For the next several minutes Professor Williams defended my work and he defended me. The spirit in the room changed dramatically. Differences were reconciled, a vote was taken, and I passed the examination and graduated—fulfilling the dream of a lifetime.

I hope each of you at some time in your life can have someone stand up for you, plead your cause, and rescue you as Professor Williams did. This experience helped me understand in a very meaningful way what is meant in scripture when the Savior is referred to as our “advocate with the Father” (D&C 110:4; JST, 1 John 2:1).

While serving in the little village of Taga Savaii, I was laying asleep one night when I was awakened by the presence of darkness, heavy darkness. I remembered the teachings of my father that when you feel the presence of evil, utter the words, "In the name of Jesus Christ and by the power of the priesthood I hold, I rebuke the evil in the room." The darkness was so heavy, that I struggled saying those words. But I did and the darkness was lifted immediately and light entered that little hut. I remember that I then reached for my Book of Mormon and held it close to my chest, and slept like that the rest of that night. I slept like a baby.

Now years later and just a few months ago, I shared that experience with one of my boys. One night, late, I went around the house checking the doors and windows, and my family as they lay asleep. As I entered my son's room, I noticed him sleeping, holding something to his chest. I walked over to look closer and noticed it was the Book of Mormon. As I looked at him, I was so grateful that I shared that story.

The exodus from Nauvoo in September of 1846 caused unimaginable hardship for the faithful Latter-day Saints. Many sought shelter in camps along the Mississippi River. When word reached Brigham Young at Winter Quarters about the condition of these refugees, he immediately sent a letter across the river to Council Point encouraging the brethren to help—reminding them of the covenant made in the Nauvoo Temple. He counseled: “Now is the time for labor. Let the fire of the covenant which you made in the House of the Lord, burn in your hearts, like flame unquenchable” (in Journal History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Sept. 28, 1846, 5). Within days, wagons were rolling eastward to rescue the struggling Saints.
What was it that gave those early Saints such strength? It was the fire of the temple covenant that burned in their hearts. It was their commitment to worship and honorably hold a name and standing in the house of the Lord.

Han Sang Ick of the Shin Dang Ward in Seoul knows that he has been richly blessed as a result of his obedience. Although his life has not taken the path he had originally planned, Brother Han says, “I am happier today than I ever imagined.”
A university drama student with aspirations to perform and teach, Brother Han was selected as student body president of the Latter-day Saint institute in Seoul. “All the prior presidents had served a mission,” he explains. “I found myself doing some serious thinking about whether I should serve a mission or not.”
Brother Han, baptized at age seventeen and the only member of the Church in his family, struggled with his family responsibilities. His father had died, and as the eldest son, he was responsible for his mother. “She really expected me to graduate, marry, and take care of her. That is the pattern established through the years.”
Instead, Brother Han graduated, arranged for his mother to be taken care of, and, at age twenty-six, became a full-time missionary. “And of course, that was the right decision,” he concludes. “My mother was blessed, and I established a pattern of righteous decisions.”