Gospel Story Finder

Bro. Tew: Brothers and Sisters, Aloha. We are humbled and grateful for the opportunity to share some time with you this morning. As I finished my mission and my degree at BYU, I moved into an apartment complex in Murray, Utah and started working as an accountant.
Sis. Tew: As I finished my mission and my degree at Southern Utah University, I moved into that same apartment complex and started teaching first grade. I was assigned a wonderful home teacher. He came very faithfully every month, then he started coming every week, then he came over every day. So I decided to keep him.
Bro. Tew: We were married and began anticipating having a family. After a year we started seeing doctors and after two and a half years we filled out our adoption paperwork with LDS Family Services.
Sis. Tew: After five years, we were given a wonderful gift, our first daughter Jessica. I finally got to be a Mom. Now we have four adopted children, ranging from ages two to twelve.

Zoe got out of bed and put on her fuzzy slippers. It was Saturday! That meant extra time for games on Mom’s phone!
Zoe went into the family room and snuggled into a chair with the phone. She loved playing games.
When she was tired of one game, she opened another. And then another.
After a while Mom came in. “Zoe, I think it’s time to put it down,” she said.
“Not yet!” Zoe said.
“You’ve played enough today,” Mom said. “Why don’t you go outside or color a picture?”
Zoe didn’t want to play outside or color. She frowned as she handed Mom the phone.
The next Saturday when Mom came in and asked for the phone, Zoe looked sad again. The same thing happened the next week.
Finally Mom said, “I don’t think playing on the phone so much is making you happy. Next Saturday you can play for a little while, and then you need to do something else.”
Zoe tried not to think about next Saturday.
But Saturday came. Mom set a timer, and when it went off, Zoe knew her phone time was up. She trudged into the backyard.
The sun warmed Zoe’s face. It made her feel a little better. She looked down and saw daisies in the flowerbeds. Zoe smiled a little. When did those get there? She picked a few and tied the stems together to make a necklace. Soon Mom was calling her for lunch.
The next Saturday, Zoe felt a little sad when Mom took the phone. But she went to her room and colored a picture. Mom said it was beautiful.
A few weeks later when Mom came into the family room on Saturday morning, Zoe had just put down the phone.
“Are you already done?” Mom asked.
Zoe nodded. “Can I go play in the sprinklers?”
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea. Let’s find you a towel.”
Zoe laughed as she skipped through the sprinklers. Then she pretended she was a mermaid. She liked playing games on the phone, but there were a lot of other fun things to do on a Saturday morning.

When my class was studying architecture this year in school, each student was assigned to prepare both a report and a three-dimensional model of a famous building or other structure. Since my parents were married in the Salt Lake Temple, it is very special to my family. My dad had the great idea of using sugar cubes to make my model of it. We thought that sugar cubes were perfect because their white color symbolized the purity of the temple. I realized that the shape of the cubes was also appropriate because the Salt Lake Temple was built using huge granite boulders that were cut by hand into blocks.
My five-year-old brother, Rollins, decided to make a temple, too. We thought his turned out to look a lot like the Manti Utah Temple.
Presenting the report let me tell my class a little about the Church and the importance of temples. My model was even put on display in the school media center for a few weeks! Everyone who saw it could read the label we made for it: The Salt Lake Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I look forward to my next chance to tell others about the Church.
Niles Wimber, age 8McDonough, Georgia

We had just finished dinner at my grandparents’ cabin, and I was outside playing with my five little brothers when my dad walked out and called to me.
Of course when your dad calls you like that, you’re afraid you may be in trouble. So I trudged over and mumbled, “Yeah, Dad?”
Surprisingly, he said, “How would you like to go on a motorcycle ride with me?” I’m sure my eyes must have widened to the size of golf balls as I quickly responded, “Yes, of course I want to go.”
Soon my dad was leading the way as we each drove a motorcycle down a path that winds through the majestic forest surrounding our cabin and then climbs to the top of a hill. As we rode, I was so excited that I could barely keep the throttle on low. Once or twice my dad had to tell me to slow down.
My mind wandered as we rode. I was curious why I had been given this special treat and my brothers hadn’t. When we reached the top of the mountain, Dad said, “This looks like a nice place to stop and rest.” So we parked our motorcycles and sat down on some rocks overlooking the forest. We were both quiet for a moment, enjoying the beauty around us. As I glanced over at my dad, I noticed his thoughtful stare and knew something was coming.
He and I had never really talked a lot. I guess it was just too hard for him to express himself to anyone but my mom. Then he interrupted my thoughts and said, “Kjersten, your mother and I have been talking, and we have decided you are now mature enough to know some of the details concerning our marriage and family.” I could tell by the words he used and by the way he said them that he had been planning this talk for a while.
His voice was soft as he began. “Your mother and I first met at the fire station where I was a student firefighter, and she worked in the office. We began dating, and I realized she was different from the other young women I had dated before. I was a carefree young man who had been brought up in another church. But I hadn’t really paid too much attention to religion.
“I had very few values or goals at that time,” he continued, “and I really didn’t care.” He leaned forward and intently confided in me. “Kjersten, your mother set the most shining example of righteous living I had ever seen.” As he said this, a warm feeling swept over me.
My dad told me details concerning their marriage, my birth, and our family that I had never before heard. He told me the story of his conversion to the Church and how because they were first married civilly, they had to wait a year before they could be sealed in the temple. He also shared with me some of the adventures he and Mom went through in that first year of marriage. For the first time, pieces to a few little puzzles fell into place. I finally understood why my parents’ marriage and sealing dates are different and why they say that the first year of their marriage was the hardest they ever had.
As he related these things to me, his eyes would sometimes flicker with sadness and other times crinkle with laughter. I don’t remember exactly how much I understood back then, but I distinctly remember the feelings of surprise, confusion, and love that alternately came over me.
This experience really made an impact on me. I realized what a miracle families are, and it gave me a greater understanding of God’s plan. I also gained a greater faith in the gospel and an appreciation for the effects it can have on people’s lives. We discussed many things on that mountain, but there is one thing I will not forget. I have never felt so much gratitude and thankfulness in my heart as I did when my father told me of his strong love for God, the gospel, my mother, and our family. I realized the numerous ways the gospel had touched his life, as well as mine.
My father and I became very close that day. For the first time, I saw him as a real person with feelings and emotions and not just some ruling body who had to give me permission to have fun. I also think my dad learned more about me too. I will never forget that special talk with my dad and the feelings of love and understanding we shared.

A noted columnist, Erma Bombeck, described an experience which reminds us that little things can mean a lot. She recounted a frustrating morning of numerous phone calls and interrupting conversations before leaving for the airport.
And then she said, “[At last] there were thirty whole beautiful minutes before my plane took off—time for me to be alone with my own thoughts, to open a book and let my mind wander. A voice next to me belonging to an elderly woman said, ‘I’ll bet it’s cold in Chicago.’
“Stone-faced, I answered, ‘It’s likely.’
“‘I haven’t been to Chicago in nearly three years,’ she persisted. ‘My son lives there.’
“‘That’s nice,’ I said, my eyes intent on the printed page of the book.
“‘My husband’s body is on this plane. We’ve been married for fifty-three years. I don’t drive, you know, and when he died a nun drove me from the hospital. We aren’t even Catholic. The funeral director let me come to the airport with him.’”
Erma said, “I don’t think I have ever detested myself more than I did at that moment. Another human being was screaming to be heard and in desperation had turned to a cold stranger who was more interested in a novel than in the real-life drama at her elbow.
“All she needed was a listener—no advice, wisdom, experience, money, assistance, expertise or even compassion—but just a minute or two to listen. …
“She talked numbly and steadily until we boarded the plane, [and] then found her seat in another section. As I hung up my coat, I heard her plaintive voice say to her seat companion, ‘I’ll bet it’s cold in Chicago.’
“I prayed, ‘Please, God, let her listen.’” (Erma Bombeck, “Are You Listening?” If Life Is a Bowl of Cherries—What Am I Doing in the Pits?, New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., 1978, pp. 197–98.)

The Parable of the Nursery Leader
A certain sister was called as the nursery leader in her ward. She was well-trained in child development and had many ideas for activities and crafts the children could make. She decided to make the nursery a showcase.
After many weeks, the sister was discouraged. Nursery was a burden. She dreaded facing the children. Despite her plans, the children fussed and cried every week. Nothing she tried worked well.
In frustration she cried out: "I have done my best; what more can I do?" A thought came into her mind: "Ask Heavenly Father." Wiping away her tears, she knelt in prayer. She prayed about the nursery-her hopes, her frustration, and her disappointment. She prayed for His help and guidance.
Heavenly Father answered her prayer. She was impressed with the thought that her focus needed to change. The Lord taught her she needed to focus on the children-learn to know them and love them.
The sister knew she had to repent. She needed a new attitude and a new approach to the nursery. She prayed for forgiveness of her pride, her reliance on the arm of flesh, and her attitude toward the children. She sought inspiration from the scriptures asking herself: "What would Jesus do?"
When the sister went to the nursery the next Sunday, she had new hope. She did not know all that she would need to do, but she trusted the Lord. Rather than setting up when the children arrived, she met them at the door with a personalized greeting. Some of the children cried and fussed, but there was a different feeling in the nursery that week.
Little by little as the sister got to know the children better, her feelings about them changed. She looked forward to Sundays. She was excited and happy to be with her nursery kids.
And, inspiration came. One week she took a camera to nursery and took each child's picture. She prepared a picture board, mounted each child's picture on the board, and took the board to nursery every week. The children loved seeing themselves on the board. They not only felt important, they felt loved.
After a time, the children loved nursery so much they would run to nursery after sacrament meeting. The children loved being in the nursery, and the sister loved them.

“Well, Cory, based on what we’ve talked about, I would be pleased to recommend you for full-time service as a missionary,” my bishop said, nearing the end of the interview.
“So, I guess I’m pretty well on my way to the mission field after this,” I said. I was already picturing myself in an exotic land, saving lost souls. But the bishop interrupted my daydreams.
“Actually, there’s one more very important thing I wanted to talk about before we end this evening,” he said. “Far too often potential missionaries are so involved in checking off items on their ‘to do’ list that they don’t keep their temple ordinances in the right perspective.” I felt like the bishop was describing me as he went on, “For some missionaries, receiving their endowment is sandwiched between checking the dimensions of their luggage and hitting next weekend’s two-pant suit sale.” My bishop’s words made me realize that I needed to consider the temple with the importance it deserved.
During the rest of the interview he explained the sacred nature of the endowment. By going through the temple, he told me, I would be making sacred covenants with my Heavenly Father that go far beyond the mission and are essential to my exaltation. “Not only that,” he continued, “your temple experience will fill you with the desire to serve. You will want those you teach to receive the same blessings of the temple that you have received. The strength you’ll receive from your temple covenants will benefit you as a missionary, but they also have eternal significance.”
The bishop’s words weighed on me as I walked slowly home. I began to feel nervous. I had looked forward my whole life to the time when I would enter the temple, but now I was especially eager to be ready.
A few weeks later I received my mission call. With excitement I read the words “Brazil Porto Alegre North Mission.” I could hardly wait to be among the Brazilian people, sharing the message of the restored gospel. I shared the news of my call with my extended family, ward members, and friends. I also noticed how many people were just as eager to know when I would go through the temple. Many had words of advice to offer me on how I should prepare myself mentally and spiritually before entering the house of the Lord.
During the next few months I made sure to attend temple preparation classes. I read my scriptures and prayed for a continuing reassurance of my decision to receive my endowment. The Spirit comforted me again and again. I also read the pamphlet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, written to assist those preparing to attend the temple for the first time. I was so grateful for the statements about the reverence and peace that prevail in the temple. During this time of preparation I gained a much stronger testimony of the sacred nature of the Lord’s house and the work that is performed inside.
I will always remember the sight of the temple the day I arrived to receive my endowment. I was filled with deep respect and reverence. I was humbled by the thought that I would go inside and make sacred covenants with my Father in Heaven.
I had arrived dressed in my Sunday best, knowing that my outward appearance reflected my inward respect for the house of the Lord.
“Welcome to the temple,” I was greeted as I showed my recommend and walked inside. Everything about the temple was beautiful. It felt like a piece of heaven on earth, and the friendly temple workers seemed like angels.
I remained in awe at the Spirit I felt. While I didn’t immediately understand everything that was taking place, I did realize the importance of the covenants I was making. It was clear to me why my bishop had spoken of the temple the way he had. The endowment I was receiving would extend not only far beyond the two years of my mission but even into the eternities. More meaningful to me than any of the advice I had received from various people was a scripture I had read as part of my preparation, “And that all people who shall enter upon the threshold of the Lord’s house may feel thy power, and feel constrained to acknowledge that thou hast sanctified it, and that it is thy house, a place of thy holiness” (D&C 109:13). I knew that the temple was the Lord’s house, sanctified and holy. I went expecting to feel God’s love, and I did.
Throughout my mission I frequently reflected on my first temple experience. I was also thankful for having attended the temple each week at the MTC. The blessings of the temple fortified me and gave me strength through difficult times. I was filled with the desire to serve and bring others to a knowledge of God’s plan. I wanted everyone I taught to have the same opportunity to make covenants with Heavenly Father and receive a greater understanding of His infinite love.
I am grateful for having realized that the temple will be a part of me forever and not something to simply check off before leaving on my mission. Since returning home from my mission, I have made temple attendance a priority in my life. The temple is a place of clarity and renewal for me. It is a place of holiness where I can feel God’s love for me and for all His children.

When we lived in Winnipeg 30 years ago, a local LDS musician, Randy Bachman, had established a huge reputation in the world of rock music. His groups, "The Guess Who" and "Bachman-Turner Overdrive" sold millions of albums and his hit single, "American Woman", too screechy for my personal taste, can still be heard occasionally. Randy stayed active in the church in spite of the conflicting lifestyle usually associated with the music scene. He wasn't bashful about letting people know his beliefs either, and a stream of roadies and fans at various times touched base with the church because of Randy's efforts. When I was branch president of the Winnipeg 1st branch back in the early 70s, at one sacrament meeting, we were just ready to begin when a couple of scruffy-looking fellows with hair down to their waists walked in and sat near the front of the chapel. Internally I must have shook my head and thought "Randy, what are you doing?" But I made sure I met them after the meeting, and made a note of their names "John Moore and Glen Cranwell". To my surprise they continued to attend meetings regularly, and as weeks passed, the hair became a little shorter. We talked and I discovered they were nice fellows. They had been roadies with Randy's group, but were realizing that there really was no future for them there. Imagine my reaction when the missionaries reported baptism dates for the two of them. They had both reached a crossroad in their lives, had made commitments, and were ready to start over. Today John Moore is 1st counselor in the Winnipeg Stake Presidency and last I heard Glen Cranwell was on the high council, both model priesthood holders who had the courage to change their lives and begin again, converted and committed to a higher set of values. This should remind us that we need to be supportive and not judgmental in response to others as they encounter the challenges of starting over.

For as long as I can remember, our family had no contact with my dad’s side of the family, except for his two sisters. I had never known my grandfather, much less anything about my father’s genealogy. That all changed a few years ago.
My grandfather had disapproved of our religion, and in past years he had often criticized it in his letters to my family. My father had tried many times to reason with him, but it never worked. So unfortunately, when I was four years old, our family lost all contact with him.
Then in January of 2002, I began looking through our family records for names to take to the temple during an upcoming temple trip. To my disappointment, I discovered only five temple-ready names in my mother’s files. We had very few names on my father’s side, and the few we had were already done. I prayed hard for a long time about where to start researching further.
Then one day, out of the blue, we received a letter from my great-uncle Birl, my grandfather’s older brother. He wrote that he wanted to get back in contact with our family, and he enclosed his e-mail address and two sheets of genealogy. The Sunday before we received the letter I had been set apart as the first counselor in the Beehive class presidency. My blessing said I would “receive the materials needed to support the Church and my family.” I felt that Uncle Birl’s letter was the answer to that blessing and my prayers.
Still, I was a little uneasy at first. I had never even heard of my Uncle Birl before, and for all I knew he could disapprove of our religious beliefs as my grandfather did. But the more I thought about it, the more excited I got. I finally had names for the upcoming temple trip.
After looking over the genealogy, I went to my room and got down on my knees, asking my Heavenly Father for guidance. Should I contact my uncle and pursue the rest of the family history? My answer came. A few minutes after I finished my prayer, a peaceful feeling washed over me, bringing me again to my knees in awe. I knew that this would unite our family again.
That night I e-mailed my uncle. Since then, Uncle Birl has sent me vast amounts of information, including his complete database of more than 6,000 names he has been compiling throughout his life. Many of these files he had already given to the Church. He has told me more than once that he has great respect for our beliefs.
I love my Uncle Birl very much. Through him, I was finally able to meet my grandfather and reopen the gates of communication between us. With all this help, our family has been able to supply the members of our ward with many names they can take to the temple.
Every time I go to the temple to perform baptisms for my ancestors, I know I am really making a difference. I truly believe this is one of the greatest services we can do here on this earth. And every day as I learn more about my ancestors, I am also learning more about who I am.

When the Civil War erupted, Louisa felt a need to do her part. In 1862, she moved to Washington, D.C., and served as a nurse in the Union Army. She worked hard and got very little sleep because of her concern for the wounded soldiers. She became a trusted friend of many of the young patients. However, after only a few weeks at the hospital, Louisa became very ill with typhoid fever. Her father arrived in time to take her back home, where fresh air, rest, and her mother’s care helped her to recover. Later Louisa compiled the letters that she had written to her family from Washington about the suffering soldiers into a book called Hospital Sketches.

Before Christmas my parents bought a box full of copies of the Book of Mormon to give to people. That was when I had the idea to take some to school and give them as presents to three of my teachers.
When I got to the music classroom, I saw my music teacher and thought, Go ahead, Sophia. Give one to her! I walked slowly up to my teacher. But I didn’t have the courage to give her the book.
I went to a corner of the room and prayed very quietly. “Heavenly Father, I ask Thee to help me give this book to my teacher.” When I finished my prayer, I felt very strongly that I should give the book to her. Suddenly I had courage.
I went up to her. She looked at me, and I gave her the Book of Mormon and said, “Teacher, I love you from the bottom of my heart, and I want to give you this Book of Mormon!”
She took it and looked at the cover. “Look inside!” I said. She saw that I had written a few words.
She hugged me and said, “Oh, Sophia, thank you for giving this to me!”
After I sat down, she said to the class, “Look what Sophia gave me. I am going to read it during the holidays!”
When I got home, I ran to my mother and said, “Guess what! I gave my teacher a Book of Mormon.”
She smiled and said, “That’s wonderful! You’re a great example to me, Sophia.”
We decided to pray to thank Heavenly Father for giving me the courage to give my teacher the Book of Mormon.

Like many returned missionaries will tell you about their time serving the Lord, I absolutely loved my mission. For me, it was two years of almost nonstop spiritual experiences and blessings, watching and helping people come closer to Christ and overcoming periods of trial and homesickness. It was amazing, and I wouldn’t trade my mission for anything.
But my experience right after my mission was not what I had imagined. I came home and felt like I was suddenly facing all kinds of expectations about where I should go, what I should do, and how I should act. I felt blindsided by questions from others about my dating life and my career, and I didn’t have solid answers. And along with these extra expectations came increased temptation. Much like Nephi in the Book of Mormon, I felt “encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me” (2 Nephi 4:18).
I never stopped going to church or trying to fulfill my callings. I even got married in the temple. Still, I knew that there were parts of my behavior that were not the way they should be. I kept going back and forth between the testimony I had shared on my mission and the way I was behaving now. I knew that Heavenly Father and the Savior loved me, but even with that knowledge, I questioned why—why would They love a person like me who kept making such silly, easily avoidable mistakes? Or, for that matter, how could They love a person who made even more serious poor choices?
Eventually, I realized I needed to find answers to my questions. So I began to really study more about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and ponder the things I read and how they applied to me.
Moses 1:39 teaches that God’s purpose is “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” I knew that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is what makes the whole plan of salvation possible, and that it was through His Atonement that Christ took upon Himself “the pains and the sicknesses of his people” (Alma 7:11). During the agony of His suffering in Gethsemane, Christ suffered for all my sins and pains. He knows everything I have done and knows that I will fall short in the future. The suffering was so painful that He even asked God to “remove this cup from me.” And yet, even while suffering for the sins of all mankind, even after asking for the pain to go away, He still said, “Not my will, but thine, be done.” (See Luke 22:42.)
Studying Christ’s Atonement helped me understand that Heavenly Father and the Savior love me despite my shortcomings and my sins, but I still struggled to understand why They love me the way They do.
I finally found my answer after pondering Doctrine and Covenants 18:10: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.” This verse wasn’t new to me—I’d heard and read it dozens of times. However, this time the Spirit helped me understand that this verse did not just mean that it is God’s opinion that souls are valuable, as I had always interpreted it before. No, “the sight of God” means so much more.
In my limited sight, I was only seeing my poor choices in the moment. I was imagining myself making those same choices throughout the rest of my life. I was not seeing through God’s sight; He sees not only my current situation but also my potential.
Both Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know perfectly well that I have made and will make many mistakes. And through Their heavenly eternal perspective, They also see the total worth of my soul—They see what I can become. This is why Christ paid the price for my sins in Gethsemane and on the cross, even after understanding all the wrong that I would do.
Now, I know I’m not perfect. I will continue to fall short as I learn to be more like Christ. However, now I understand that when He said, “What manner of men ought ye to be? Verily I say unto you, even as I am” (3 Nephi 27:27), being “even as He is” includes having the heavenly vision to see my potential. Reaching that potential won’t be immediate. It likely won’t even be in this life. But I know by embracing the gift of repentance and focusing on Christ, I can look past the mistakes I make each day to see myself even as He is—even as I can become.

The year 2024 is something of a milestone year for me. It marks 75 years since I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Zwickau, Germany.
When I think about my personal journey of discipleship, my mind often goes back to an old villa in Zwickau, where I have cherished memories of attending sacrament meetings of the Church of Jesus Christ as a child. It is there where the seedling of my testimony received its earliest nourishing.
This chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever operating the bellows to make the organ work. I sometimes had the great privilege of assisting in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. From the bellows operator seat, I had a great view of some stunning stained-glass windows, one depicting the Savior Jesus Christ and another portraying Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove.
I can still remember the sacred feelings I had as I looked at those sunlit windows while listening to the testimonies of the Saints and singing the hymns of Zion.
In that holy place, the Spirit of God bore witness to my mind and heart that it was true: Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. This is His Church. The Prophet Joseph Smith saw God the Father and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices.
Earlier this year, while on assignment in Europe, I had the opportunity to return to Zwickau. Sadly, that beloved old chapel isn’t there anymore. It was torn down many years ago to make room for a large apartment building.
I admit that it’s sad to know that this beloved building from my childhood is now just a memory. It was a sacred building to me. But it was just a building.
By contrast, the spiritual witness I gained from the Holy Ghost those many years ago has not passed away. In fact, it has grown stronger. The things I learned in my youth about the fundamental principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ have been my firm foundation throughout my life. The covenant connection I forged with my Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son has stayed with me—long after the Zwickau chapel was dismantled and the stained-glass windows were lost.
My dear brothers and sisters, my dear friends, there’s a part of me that misses the old Zwickau chapel and its stained-glass windows. But over the past 75 years, Jesus Christ has led me on a journey through life that is more thrilling than I could ever have imagined. He has comforted me in my afflictions, helped me to recognize my weaknesses, healed my spiritual wounds, and nourished me in my growing faith.

In 1847 Dr. Semmelweis, a Hungarian physician, was working as the chief resident in an Austrian medical clinic. There are many versions of the story, in which the details vary, but the crux of the story is that Dr. Semmelweis observed that approximately 10 percent of women who delivered their babies in his clinic, known as “the first clinic,” died from childbed fever. We now know that childbed fever is an infection of the female reproductive organs caused by strep bacteria. However, in the mid-1800s the cause of childbed fever was a mystery.

Dr. Semmelweis was first alerted to the potential ability to reduce deaths from childbed fever when he observed that the second maternity clinic, staffed primarily by midwives, had a much lower rate of childbed fever deaths—about 4 ­percent. More shocking, even women giving birth in the streets of Vienna were less likely to contract childbed fever.

Dr. Semmelweis undertook a rigorous study of the differences between the two clinics and for many months could not isolate a potential cause. The breakthrough occurred through tragedy. A friend and fellow physician at the clinic named Jakob Kolletschka was participating with students in a postmortem examination. During the exam Jakob was accidently cut with a scalpel. Within a few days he was dead, having died from a disease that produced the same signs and symptoms and seemed to follow the same natural course as childbed fever.

Following this tragedy, Dr. Semmelweis theorized that something from the cadaver was being carried on the physician’s hands to the maternity ward, and he proposed that the physicians should begin washing their hands with a chlorinated lime solution. This would be similar to a modern-day bleach solution. Although he was met with much resistance from the hospital staff, he enacted a policy, and as a result of the policy, a miraculous decline in childbed fever deaths occurred, dropping nearly 90 percent in a few weeks.

Despite the astounding evidence that this simple act of handwashing could save the lives of so many women, Dr. Semmelweis’s theory was rejected by his peers. In 1847, when Dr. Semmelweis undertook his investigations of childbed fever, most people in the world believed that disease was caused by a miasma—­specifically, that rotting organic matter polluted the air and that this polluted air spread disease. His findings fully contradicted the prevailing model of disease causation, which meant that he could neither explain why a physician going from a postmortem exam to the maternity ward could transmit childbed fever; nor could he explain why handwashing reduced the rate of disease. Dr. Semmelweis had proven with his experiment that handwashing worked, but because he lacked the explanatory details, he could not convince his peers to trust him or the data. The other physicians simply felt that handwashing was too difficult and too time consuming. They certainly were not about to change their practice without a complete explanation.

The germ theory of disease, which would provide a rationale for handwashing, would not become widely accepted until after 1880. Dr. Semmelweis died in 1865 and would not live to see the scientific confirmation of his theory. Although he would die without seeing his work validated or adopted, Dr. Semmelweis never questioned what the data had shown him and never abandoned his efforts to persuade others to adopt handwashing.

Just after my baptism on 31 October 1980, a friend invited me to a ward party. I said to myself, This Church is nice; they even throw a party for me. I later realized I wasn’t really the guest of honor. But at the party my friend introduced me to a young woman and told her to take good care of me. Annie Ortiz was indeed a good fellowshipper. At this time, she is still taking good care of me. We were married in 1985 and sealed in the Manila Philippines Temple.

President Hinckley himself is not intimidated by a difficult task. As newlyweds, the Hinckleys moved into the Hinckley farmhouse—a summer home with no furnace. Kathy says, “Dad approached this problem the way we would see him solve many others—head-on. He ordered a furnace and began reading the installation instructions. The furnace worked perfectly. He’s wanted us to take on challenges using the same approach—decide on what you want, follow the instructions carefully, and work at it.”

In a refugee camp in Bataan, Philippines, I watched as one of our lovely lady missionaries sat down on the dirty floor beside an old woman who was weeping and confused and afraid. She gently pulled this woman’s head over onto her shoulder and smoothed her hair with one hand as she put her other arm around her to comfort her.
I learned that this woman had been driven from her home. Some of her family members had been killed. She had been abused and driven through the forests and jungles and finally out of her own country. She could not even speak the language of her present benefactors.
Later, as we talked of the work she was doing, the lady missionary said, with tears running down her face, “This is the finest thing I have ever done.” Many things are only interesting and enticing, while other things are important.

And so began my swimming career.
There’s not much equipment required for swimming. The main thing is a good suit, and I had one—large, navy blue, boxer-style trunks with red trim. It had a pocket in front with a flap and a big red button. This not only added to the suit’s classic appearance, but also provided a handy place to keep my locker key.
Unfortunately, despite the flap and button, the key still tended to fall out. So I’d pin it to the waistband. Eventually, this began to break down the elastic, requiring me to fold it over two or three times to keep the thing up.
After one year on the team I had actually improved. But the following year our school hired a new coach.
Mr. Brockman coached at the local swim club. Under his direction real changes took place. For example, he made us practice four and a half hours a day, Monday through Saturday, with Sunday as an optional practice day. He would watch us all to determine where we would do best. Mr. Brockman decided I would compete in the 100 butterfly, although I’d swum distance events the year before.
Deep down I knew the reason was that no one else could swim that stroke. But part of me wanted to believe, maybe, just maybe, somewhere inside he saw a glimmer of talent.
Mr. Brockman was putting his trust and confidence in me, and I wanted to do my best for him.
Halfway through my junior year I noticed some improvement. Not only was I finishing races, but sometimes I actually placed. I still remember the first time I didn’t come in last. I thought I’d done something wrong like jumping the gun or something.
By my senior year I finally felt like a valuable contributor to the team. It was not uncommon for me to come in second. I had qualified for district championships and was close to breaking my event’s school record.
Then one day Mr. Brockman took me aside.
“Doug,” he said, “you’re three seconds from breaking the school record. I think you can do it and do well in the district meet. But it’s going to take a lot of work. I want you to give it all you’ve got and come to every practice—including Sundays.”
Suddenly a dilemma faced me. What do I do? I’d always been taught to keep the Sabbath day holy. But I really wanted that record.
Sure it was just a swim meet. But no one in the history of the Bernard family had ever competed in a sport, much less broken a record. This was the classic story of the underdog rising triumphant against all odds. I wanted this more than anything else in the whole world.
I went home and spoke with my dad about it. He told me he knew I’d make the right decision. That Sunday at church I talked to the missionaries. They reminded me that if I kept the Sabbath, I’d be blessed. After thinking about it all day, I made my decision. I’d work extra hard at every practice, but I would not swim on Sunday.
On the day of district championships, I stood on the starting block and thought, This is it. This is my last chance to prove myself. This is the last chance I have to break that record.
We took our marks, the gun fired, and we were off. And when I touched the pool wall at the end of the race, would you believe I came in first?
Of course I didn’t. And I didn’t break any records. I almost died out there. My breathing was out of sync with my stroke, I started swallowing water, and when I finally crawled out of the end of the pool I looked like a drowned kitten coughing and choking on the deck.
Later I cried. How could this happen? I’d kept the commandments. I’d avoided Sunday practices. So where were the promised blessings?
Later I realized the lesson I’d learned. Sometimes, even when we keep the commandments, blessings don’t always come the way we think they should.

To say I was overwhelmed when President Hinckley called me to serve as Relief Society general president is a huge understatement! Can’t you relate? But, voice trembling, I responded, “Here am I; send me.” After a Jewish friend learned what my calling entailed, she looked at me like I was crazy and asked, “Bonnie, why would you do that?” (At times like these, I often ask myself the same thing!) But there is only one reason I did it: I have made covenants with the Lord, and I know what that requires. Plus, I knew that you and I would serve together and that my willingness was on behalf of all of us.
For centuries, righteous women have been stepping forward to join the cause of Christ. Many of you have only recently been baptized; your covenants are fresh in your hearts, your sacrifices still tender. As I think about you, I am reminded of Priscilla Staines from Wiltshire, England. Nineteen-year-old Priscilla joined the Church in 1843. Alone. She had to steal away in the night to be baptized, because of the persecutions of her neighbors and the displeasure of her family. She wrote: “We waited until midnight … and then repaired to a stream of water a quarter of a mile away. Here we found the water … frozen over, and the elder had to chop a hole in the ice large enough for the purpose of baptism. … None but God and his angels, and the few witnesses who stood on the bank with us, heard my covenant; but in the solemnity of that midnight hour it seemed as though all nature were listening, and the recording angel writing our words in the book of the Lord.”
Her words “None but God and his angels … heard my covenant” touch my soul, for like Priscilla—no matter our age, our gospel knowledge, our time in the Church—we are all women of covenant. That is a phrase we often hear in the Church, but what does it mean? How do covenants define who we are and how we live?
Covenants—or binding promises between us and Heavenly Father—are essential for our eternal progression. Step-by-step, He tutors us to become like Him by enlisting us in His work. At baptism we covenant to love Him with all our hearts and love our sisters and brothers as ourselves. In the temple we further covenant to be obedient, selfless, faithful, honorable, charitable. We covenant to make sacrifices and consecrate all that we have. Forged through priesthood authority, our kept covenants bring blessings to fill our cups to overflowing. How often do you reflect that your covenants reach beyond mortality and connect you to the Divine? Making covenants is the expression of a willing heart; keeping covenants, the expression of a faithful heart.
Sounds so simple on paper, doesn’t it? Of course, the doing is where we prove who we really are. Thus, every time we reach out with love, patience, kindness, generosity, we honor our covenants by saying, “Here am I; send me.” Usually we speak these words softly, unaccompanied by brass bands.
When have someone else’s covenants with the Lord blessed your life, brought you peace, nurtured your soul? When my husband and I were missionaries in England, we saw many elders and sisters whose lives were directly influenced by the covenants of worthy women. I was so thankful for mothers, sisters, aunts, teachers—like so many of you—whose honored covenants extended blessings to others by the way they taught those future missionaries.
Covenants not only coax us out of comfort zones and into new growth but lead others to do the same. Jesus said, “The works which ye have seen me do that shall ye also do.” His covenant keeping encourages ours.
Covenants save us from needless suffering. For example, when we obey the prophet’s guidance, we are keeping a covenant. He has counseled us to avoid debt, maintain a food supply, and become self-reliant. Living within our means blesses us beyond that obedience. It teaches us gratitude, restraint, unselfishness; it brings peace from financial pressures and protection from materialism’s greed. Keeping our lamps filled means that unforeseen circumstances do not hinder opportunities to declare with devotion, “Here am I; send me.”
Covenants renewed invigorate and refresh a weary soul. Each Sunday when we partake of the sacrament, what happens in our hearts when we hear those words to “always remember him”? Do we improve the following week by refocusing on what matters most? Yes, we face hard things; yes, making changes is strenuous. But have you ever wondered how our sisters survived being driven from Nauvoo, many walking the entire trek? When their feet were tired, they were carried by their covenants! What else could grant such spiritual and physical fortitude?
Covenants also protect us from being “tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the sleight of men, and cunning craftiness.” Women of covenant stand firm when evil is called good and good is called evil. Whether it be in the college classroom, around the water cooler, or watching TV’s latest “experts,” remembering our covenants keeps us from being led astray.
Covenants can keep us and those we love spiritually safe and spiritually prepared by putting first things first. For instance, when it comes to families, we cannot afford indifference and distraction. Childhood is a vanishing wonder; so few have had the sunny days I knew growing up on a farm. President Hinckley has said: “Our problems, almost every one, arise out of the homes of the people. … If there is to be a change, … it must begin in the home. It is here that truth is learned, that integrity is cultivated, that self-discipline is instilled, and that love is nurtured.”
Sisters, the Lord needs women who will teach children to work and learn and serve and believe. Whether they are our own or another’s, we must stand up and state, “Here am I; send me to watch over your little ones, to put them first, to guide and protect them from evil, to love them.”
Sometimes we are faced with keeping our covenants when there seems to be no logical reason to do so. I listened to a single sister tell of her experience of “coming to trust the Lord completely.” Her life had not worked out as she had expected. Sound familiar? This period of soul-searching was marked by changing jobs, new financial pressures, tugs from worldly philosophies. Now listen to what she did. She sat down with other sisters in her ward and found that they too were searching to find the peace the gospel brings. She asked for a priesthood blessing. She valiantly carried forward in her calling. She studied and tried to more fully commit her love, appreciation, and conviction to Jesus. She prayed. “I cried to the Lord,” she said, “and told Him I would do whatever He would ask of me.” She did all this despite those difficulties. And do you know what happened? No, her eternal companion did not appear on her doorstep. But peace made its way into her heart, and life got better.
Sisters, we keep our covenants when we share our life’s wisdom to encourage another, when we visit teach with genuine compassion, when we help a younger sister know that her fresh perspective will bless us in Relief Society. We can do that!
When young Priscilla, our British convert of 1843, crossed the Atlantic, she was befriended by a woman the age of her mother. This older sister also felt the fire of covenants she had made. When they docked at the wharf in Nauvoo, she was by Priscilla’s side. Together, bold and believing, they joined with the Saints of God.
The spiritual integrity to keep our covenants comes from consistency in scripture study, prayer, service, and sacrifice. Such simple steps nurture our souls so we can say, “Send me to help a sister and her newborn; send me to tutor a struggling student; send me to love an outsider. Send me where you need me, when you need me.”
The Lord has called us to do all that we do with “holiness of heart.” And holiness is a product of covenant living. I love the words of this hymn and the way they make me feel:
More holiness give me,
More strivings within,
More patience in suff’ring,
More sorrow for sin,
More faith in my Savior,
More sense of his care,
More joy in his service,
More purpose in prayer.
Holiness prompts the words “Here am I; send me.” When Priscilla Staines made her midnight covenant in those icy waters, she stepped forward into a new life, clothes nearly frozen yet heart warmed with joy. “There was no turning back,” she said. “I … set out for the reward of everlasting life, trusting in God.”
President Hinckley, with the Relief Society sisters around the world, I commit to you that we stand united as women of covenant and hearken to your voice. In a host of different languages, hear the words of each Relief Society sister as we say, “Here am I; send me.”
May our individual covenants that bind us to our loving Heavenly Father guide us, protect us, sanctify us, and allow us to do likewise for all His children, I so pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The Adirondack region of central upstate New York is a land of rolling hills with lakes tucked in their pockets. In the winter, blizzards smother highways and countryside, then whisk on, leaving a skier’s paradise behind.
But by mid-January of the winter of 1980, the blizzards had still not come. What little snow had fallen stretched like a crust of dried frosting on the ground, shrinking from the sun to the shadows of the quiet, gray trees. Clouds hovered overhead but never released the hoped-for relief.
Resort operators were frantic. Skiers were disappointed. At Lake Placid, Winter Olympic stars worried about competing on runs with man-made snow. An international television audience lamented the lack of powder on the slopes.
For the young people of the Syracuse New York Stake, however, it was a time of anticipation and excitement. Each year the youth in the stake plan a Winter Weekend, and snow or no snow, they decided to hold their activity. While the Lake Placid ground crews were churning out artificial snow, youth chairmen and committees were busy churning out ideas for alternative activities in case the usual downhill skiing, snow-shoeing, and snow sculpturing had to be scrapped. They knew they were headed for the Star Lake Campus of the University of New York, and that was enough for starters. They’d make their own fun when they got there!
“On the night we arrived, it was raining like crazy,” Steve Beenfield, a 17-year-old priest in the Syracuse Second Ward, said. “But we knew there would be something fun to do anyway.” As everyone registered, chess and checkers tournaments and backgammon, Parcheesi, and other games kept those waiting occupied.
“It was cold outside, but indoors the games were nice, because we got to sit and talk and know people and find out why they believe in the Church and that they do believe in it,” said Mary Jane Morgan, a 15-year-old nonmember who accompanied her friend Sherry Jenkins of the Oneida Branch.
A letter-writing campaign was initiated, too, to encourage each participant to send a note of appreciation to his or her parents. Stationery and stamps were furnished by the youth leaders. “The letter-writing was planned as a way to let some of the kids open up communication with their parents,” said Shelley Moran, 17, chairman of the youth committee that planned the entire outing. “In fact, the whole theme of the talks and firesides seemed to be communication—how to get along with friends, parents, and Church members, how to share feelings with those you’re close to.”
The rain kept pouring. But inside the main lodge it was warm and dry and time for a dance. Chairs and tables were moved to the side of the hall, and soon the beat and the melodies chased away any blues brought on by lack of snow. Even the chaperones joined in the fun, twirling and swirling over the hardwood.
Committee members realized that their peers probably wouldn’t be eager to go straight to bed, so they planned a post-dance fireside to create a reflective mood. Bishop Parry A. Rasmusson of the Syracuse First Ward spoke about peer pressure, and Sister Gail Skinner, stake Laurel adviser, talked about maintaining quality in dating relationships. “The bishop gave some hints about avoiding negative peer pressure that I think will help me in a situation with one of my friends,” Elizabeth Chamberlain, a 16-year-old member of his ward, said.
As the young ladies filed off to the dormitory at the rear of the lodge and the young men rushed through the rain to various cabins where they were housed, the topics of the firesides were discussed over and over. Once the young people were in their bunks, only a pillow fight or two disturbed the silence until the weary young Saints succumbed to sleep.
While they were sleeping, a transformation took place outside. For the first time in weeks, flakes floated from the clouds to the hard-packed surface on the ground. It wasn’t a major storm, just enough of a flurry to build some fluff at foot level. But for the snow-starved New Yorkers, it was ample cause for celebration. When they awoke the next morning and saw powder, they could hardly rush through breakfast fast enough to get outside.
“We couldn’t believe it had really snowed,” said Susan Richards, 17, of the Syracuse First Ward. “But it sure was good to see it.”
Unfortunately, the snow wasn’t deep enough for downhill skiing or for snow sculpturing. Snowshoeing plans were abandoned; so were plans for classes about building snow structures. But every pair of cross-country skis furnished by the camp was used sometime during the day. One of the adult supervisors organized an orienteering class that sent compass watchers wandering in search of markers all through the area. Downhill sliding on toboggans, coats, sacks, plastic, and parkas marked a path down a nearby slope. And when someone found a soccer ball in a car trunk, most of the male population of the conference hurried to a local field for a marathon football match. (So what if the ball was round?)
And of course there were snowball fights. Not just run-of-the-mill skirmishes, but full-fledged attacks and counter-attacks. There was just one difficulty—the snow was too dry to pack. So instead of flinging iceballs at each other, the snowballers threw white puffs that inflicted no damage more severe than a wet face or fogged glasses.
Despite fierce headwinds, many of the conference-goers listed the skiing as their favorite activity. One group ventured out on the hard, thick Star Lake ice, thinking skiing would be simple on the level, slippery surface. Going one way, the wind almost pushed them along. Going the other, its force nearly lifted them off the ice. No matter which direction they went, a powder of ice crystals whipped through the air.
“I’m so skinny I was afraid I’d blow away,” said Karen Kerns, 14, an investigator attending the Fulton Ward. “I leaned on my poles to hold myself up and let the wind move me across the lake.”
But for Mike Dippold, a 17-year-old in the Syracuse First Ward, the football game was the highlight of the outdoor sports. “I’ve never seen such sportsmanship!” Mike said. “It was a hard-fought game, but no one got mad.”
Fred Pappa, 15, of the Fulton Ward, agreed. “I’ve been playing football for five years, and I’ve never been in a game where everyone was courteous like they were out there today. One of the counselors said it was the best game for sportsmanship he’d ever seen.”
Fred said he felt the same attitude extended to other activities of the weekend. “The camp directors always like our group,” he continued. “We take an interest in them and ask questions about what’s going on. And they’re impressed by our language and the way we act. We don’t mess everything up; we take good care of things. We’ve been coming to Star Lake for years, and the only thing ever damaged was a pillow.”
The camp director remains impressed by the young Mormons. He and his wife spent more than an hour discussing the Church with adult leaders. A Book of Mormon received during earlier visits with full-time missionaries was opened again and passages reread. During testimony meetings, he and his wife listened attentively to the sincere emotions of their teenage friends.
In between all of the outdoor sport activities, there were hot chocolate breaks and lunches, then finally dinner, and the second night featured another dance, followed by an adventure movie about John Wesley Powell’s exploration of the Colorado River.
Before the movie began, some of the youths shared their feelings about the conference, about being young Latter-day Saints in New York, about missionary work, and about families.
“It’s good to see a big group of Mormons like this and know you’re not the only one,” Elizabeth said. “At my high school there are only five of us. We hang around together, and the other kids know we’re LDS. It’s nice to have them keep an eye on me, and I keep an eye on them. There are an awful lot of temptations, so I need them. My main friends are in the Church. Our lockers are in the same area; we get together before we go home and talk things over. But here at the conference there were a lot of us. It was good to see so many others who are trying to live the standards of the Church.”
Shelley talked about the difficulties she faces being a cheerleader in her high school, as well as being one of only three young people in her ward. “It’s hard to stay involved in planning Church activities when there’s so much going on at school, too. But the Church activities are important. I rely on the other committee members in the stake to do their jobs, and they count on me to do the same.
“My friends used to tease me about being a Church member,” she continued. “But they don’t bother me anymore.” She also said that anyone she dates meets her parents first, and that she goes on a lot of group dates.
Karen said she thought writing to her parents and sharing her experiences at the conference with them was a good idea. They aren’t members of the Church, and she wanted to share some of her enjoyment with them. She was first introduced to the Church by her next-door neighbors, who invited her to a home evening, then to worship services. “Now I go to church every Sunday, even though I’m not a member yet,” she said. “I do my seminary, too. Having friends who are members has given me a place to turn for support.”
Tim Halstead, 14, of the Fulton Ward, said he had learned something by obeying the camp regulations. “If you live a rule for a day or so,” he said, “it gets easier. Once you’re used to it, it’s not so hard to do.”
Dan Barker, 14, of the Watertown Ward, said he felt closer to the others at the conference because “we had a chance to get to know each other better.”
Jackie Biggs, 17, from the Syracuse First Ward, said the discussions at the conference had helped her understand ways in which she could improve her relationship with her parents. “Sometimes it seems like lessons don’t apply, but this one did. Sometimes I forget my parents are human, too.”
Jackie’s sentiments reflected feelings a lot of others shared, both during a testimony meeting and during an early morning seminary session.
“After the seminary lesson on parent-child relationships, my mother (who, as stake Young Women president, was at the conference) told me that she loved me,” Sherry said. “My back was to her and I didn’t hear her for sure. I thought maybe I was just wishing. Then turned around and saw her.”
Mike said his brother recently left for college and his sister got married, and he didn’t realize until they were both gone how much his parents meant to him. “I’ll try to learn from them from now on instead of just brushing it off,” he said.
President Ronald L. Scholl, second counselor in the stake presidency, was so impressed by the letter-writing idea that he promised he would write home to his mother. Other adults promised to do the same thing and to express their feelings to their children as well.
Susan said that for her the best part of the conference was the testimony meeting. “Everybody grows a little closer to the Savior during a testimony meeting. And your testimony grows stronger each time you bear it,” she said.
Margo White, 15, of the Tully Branch, said she enjoyed holding seminary as a stake group. “There are only four of us in the branch seminary,” she said. “We usually have our class on Sunday.”
Jackie was a fan of the scripture chase contest. “It helps me to learn scriptures that I might not otherwise learn. I need a little bit of encouragement, and scripture chase provides it.”
Star Lake 1980 wasn’t the usual Winter Weekend for the New York Syracuse Stake. Drifts weren’t deep enough to swallow cars whole. But it seemed fairly evident to everyone there that there was the same amount, if not more, of the spirit of fellowship and learning that has made the annual affair a lasting memory in the minds of the youth of the central upstate area of New York.
The banner the non-Mormon camp director taped to the front of the lodge welcoming the Latter-day Saints to the conference seemed to indicate he enjoys having them here. And a note from an anonymous teenager, scribbled in chalk on a blackboard, let the director know that the Mormons felt the same way and that they would be back next year.
“‘Bye Star Lake,” it said. “You were great! From the LDS youth.’”