Gospel Story Finder

In the ten years prior to my being called to the Presiding Bishopric, I had the blessing and privilege of helping to identify and acquire sites for temples.

A few years ago President Thomas S. Monson announced that there would be a ­temple in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, so we went to work researching possible sites where that temple could be built. Two sites ultimately emerged—and it just so happened that they were across the street from each other.

With the approval of the First Presidency, and after doing some preliminary due diligence, we began the process of acquiring the properties. To my great surprise, the owner of the first site accepted our offer without negotiation. I can’t tell you how remarkable this was!

It has been my experience that when a property owner discovers that the interested party is the Church, the price often goes up. To put this in perspective, the owner of the second property across the street responded with a price that was more than four times the price we offered.

When I met with the owner of the first property, he explained that he had owned the property for almost twenty-five years and could have developed it several times. But he had always felt that the property had a “higher and better purpose.” When we offered to buy it, he said it felt right.

However, you probably already know that when it comes to building the kingdom of God—and especially when it comes to building temples—things often don’t go as smoothly as we would hope.

Shortly after we filed the paperwork, the city of Philadelphia, through a city-controlled agency, filed a legal claim that stopped the transaction. They wanted to take title to the property themselves. This was a very serious matter. We did everything we could to meet with the agency and remove the claim. We were unsuccessful. This was a real problem and was very discouraging. We had felt so good about the property. We believed that this was the place where the Lord wanted His temple to be built.

As a final step we took our appeal of last resort to the mayor. He was the only one with the authority to change the situation.

With a heavy heart I flew to Philadelphia with the Church temple architect. There we were joined by an Area Seventy and two local Church members. One of these members was someone you may have heard of. He, too, attended this university. In fact, he played on the BYU football team and eventually ended up playing professional football for the Philadelphia Eagles.

Vai Sikahema is a well-known local ­celebrity in Philadelphia. He had completed a successful career playing football and afterward became a sports announcer on a local tele­vision station.

Before the meeting with the mayor, our little group of five met together and talked about the purpose for the meeting. Then we knelt in prayer. We knew that we would desperately need the Lord’s blessing that day.

At the meeting, the mayor, a city council member, and some of the mayor’s staff were in attendance. After introductions, my heart sank as I realized the atmosphere in the room was more than a little cold. It appeared evident that the decision had already been made, that the hearts of the city officials had been set against our building a temple there, and that this meeting was little more than a formality.

As we started to explain the project, the mayor explained that his staff had assured him this property was better suited for commercial purposes—an office building or a hotel would not only benefit the city with jobs but would provide needed tax revenue. We would need to look for another site.

I know that the five members of the Church in that room were pleading in our hearts for heavenly help. What could we say or do that would help change the mayor’s heart and mind?

I asked the mayor if the architect could show a simple drawing or two of how the temple might look. He looked at his watch—a sign that he wanted the meeting to end—and said, “Okay.”

But before the architect could begin, Brother Sikahema asked the mayor if he could say something.

The mayor was acquainted with Brother Sikahema and said, “Of course.”

Vai paused for a moment and then stood. In a humble voice he went on to say something like this:

“Mr. Mayor, many years ago when I was a young boy in Tonga, my father and mother and my brothers and sisters sold our home, we sold fruits and vegetables, and we sold everything we could to have enough money to travel to Hamilton, New Zealand, to be sealed as an eternal family in the temple. You need this temple. This temple will bless your city. This temple will bless your community. It will bless the people.”

Then he sat down. We were all very quiet.

After a moment the Church architect stood and showed the mayor a few drawings of what a temple might look like. It was clear that in those few minutes something had changed. In reality, everything had changed.

As the architect sat down, the nonmember city councilman asked to speak. He stood and said, “Mr. Mayor, I have spoken with the leaders in the community and neighbors of this property. We want this temple. We need this temple. It will bless our city. It will bless our community. It will bless the people.”

As he spoke, you could feel the Spirit come into the meeting. It was a sacred moment. What was to have been a thirty-minute meeting lasted for the better part of an hour and a half. Oh, how different things were after that sublime moment!

To my surprise, at the end of this public meeting the mayor turned and asked if I would offer a prayer in that setting. His heart had changed. The temple would go forward. It would be built on the selected site.

“I’m tired of being a clown,” Till sighed one day. “I think I’ll leave the circus.”
So, still wearing his clown suit, he set out on his way through the German countryside. By the time the sun had set, Till was quite tired. He stopped in front of a little village bakery. Mmmm—the bread and rolls sure look good, the traveler thought. How I’d like to bite into one of those freshly baked rolls!
“I need a helper, friend,” said the baker, who suddenly appeared at the door to his shop. “Can you bake?”
“Bake, uh, why of course!” answered the clown with a smile. Now Till knew as much about baking as an elephant knows, but he was hungry and needed to earn some money.
“Fine, you’re hired,” the baker said, leading him inside. “Here’s your apron. Now let’s go to work.”
Till watched the baker carefully and did whatever his master showed him. This was fine for a while, but one morning the baker announced, “I’ve been invited to a wedding feast in a neighboring village, and I won’t be back until tomorrow. Tonight you’ll have to do all the baking yourself.”
Till was worried and thought, What can I do with no one here to show me? With a puzzled frown he turned to the baker and asked, “What shall I bake?”
“What should you bake? Ha-ha, what a joke! Bake owls and monkeys for all I care!” The master laughed, for he thought Till was just asking a silly question. Laughing uproariously, he repeated, “Bake owls and monkeys for all I care!” Then he left, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Owls and monkeys,” Till muttered. “Then owls and monkeys I shall bake.”
He mixed the dough just as his master always did. When it had raised to twice its size, he punched it down and broke off a piece about the size of a small ball. He squeezed and patted it until he had made a monkey figure with a long curling tail, and he used raisins for its eyes. He made tray after tray of monkeys until he had filled five trays.
With the remaining dough he shaped owls with round heads atop their small squat bodies. He gave them raisin eyes too. From ten o’clock at night until three o’clock in the morning he worked, baking nothing but owls and monkeys.
Early the next day the master baker returned, expecting to see the bread and rolls all finished. Instead he found the bakery full of owls and monkeys. “What is this—a zoo?” he shouted.
Till held up a final tray proudly. “See,” he said, “I baked owls and monkeys just as you suggested. Don’t they look real?”
“Out, out, you chowderhead!” cried the master. “But first you must pay me for the dough you’ve wasted.”
Till thought fast. “All right, I’ll pay, but only if you let me take the owls and monkeys with me.”
“Take them,” said the angry baker. “What do I want with such foolishness?”
Till paid the baker and gathered up all the owls and monkeys. He put them into a large sack and quickly left the bakery. Then he ran off to the marketplace in the center of town where people were beginning to arrive to do the day’s shopping. When they saw the funny clown with his baked animals, they were indeed amused.
“Owls and monkeys!” exclaimed one woman. “Look at these!”
People gathered to look and to buy, and soon everything was sold. Not one owl was left. Not one monkey remained. Someone had even bought the sack!
When the baker saw all the excitement, he rushed out of his shop. “I’ll get that rascal!” he cried. “I forgot to charge him for the wood he burned in the bake ovens. He owes me more money.”
The angry baker looked all around the marketplace, but Till had gone. All he saw was a crowd of happy people with their owls and monkeys.
And where was Till? Who can say!”

A few years ago my older sister passed away. She had a challenging life. She struggled with the gospel and was never really active. Her husband abandoned their marriage and left her with four young children to raise. On the evening of her passing, in a room with her children present, I gave her a blessing to peacefully return home. At that moment I realized I had too often defined my sister’s life in terms of her trials and inactivity. As I placed my hands on her head that evening, I received a severe rebuke from the Spirit. I was made acutely aware of her goodness and allowed to see her as God saw her—not as someone who struggled with the gospel and life but as someone who had to deal with difficult issues I did not have. I saw her as a magnificent mother who, despite great obstacles, had raised four beautiful, amazing children. I saw her as the friend to our mother who took time to watch over and be a companion to her after our father passed away.

During that final evening with my sister, I believe God was asking me, “Can’t you see that everyone around you is a sacred being?”

From the Spirit’s rebuke at my sister’s bedside, I learned a great lesson: that as we see as He sees, ours will be a double victory—redemption of those we touch and redemption of ourselves.

Robbie buttoned his jacket to the top and stuck his hands deep into his pockets as he turned to leave.
“Do you have enough money for your valentines?” his mother asked.
Robbie nodded, making the coins in his left pocket jingle.
“Remember to get enough for everyone in your class,” Mother cautioned. “And don’t forget your new teacher.”
Should I get a valentine for Miss Evers? he wondered. She’s just a substitute teacher.
Robbie was choosing some valentines from the drugstore card rack when two of his school friends came in.
“Hi, Steve, Rick,” Robbie greeted them.
“Any good ones left?” Steve asked.
“Lots of them,” Robbie answered.
“Maybe I’ll just get this package,” Rick decided, picking up a cellophane bag and reading: “Forty valentines with envelopes, plus one for Teacher.”
“I wish we knew Mrs. Davis’s address,” Robbie spoke up. “I bet she’d like to get some valentines from the class.”
“I have an idea!” Steve said excitedly. “We could all put cards in the valentine box for Mrs. Davis and ask the principal to take them to her.”
“That’s a great idea,” Rick agreed. “And we don’t have to worry about giving Miss Evers a valentine.”
Robbie frowned. He didn’t like Miss Evers very much, but he wondered if she’d be hurt when no one gave her a valentine.
“I might get one for both of them,” Robbie announced.
“How come?” Rick wanted to know. “Miss Evers isn’t really our teacher and it’s no fun being in her class.”
“I know,” Robbie admitted. “And I’ll be glad when Mrs. Davis is back, but—”
“But what?” Steve interrupted.
“Well, if I were a substitute teacher, I’d feel kind of bad if all the children brought valentines for the regular teacher and nobody gave one to me,” Robbie explained. “After all, Miss Evers has been our teacher for almost two weeks now.”
“But it’s her own fault that nobody likes her!” Rick argued. “She could at least smile once in a while.”
I wish she would smile, Robbie thought. Miss Evers is strict, all right, but at least she keeps the room quiet and makes sure we do our work.
When Robbie got home, he showed his mother the valentines he had picked out.
“Your friends at school will like these,” she said. “And I’m glad you bought one for each of your teachers. I know they’ll both appreciate them.”
After supper that night, Robbie signed and addressed his valentines. On Mrs. Davis’s card he added, “Get well soon!”
He wasn’t sure what he should put on Miss Evers’s card or even if he should sign his name. Finally he wrote, “I hope you have a happy Valentine’s Day!” and then he signed his name “Guess Who.”
The next afternoon Miss Evers placed the large red and white box on a table at the front of the room and removed the top. “We’ve finished our work for the day, and now it’s time to pass out valentines,” she announced.
Robbie’s heartbeat quickened as Miss Evers began to read off the names on each valentine. “Here’s one for Mrs. Davis,” she said. “I’ll see that she gets it. And here’s another one for her!” Soon there was a little stack of cards for Mrs. Davis.
“Marcia, Steve, Johnny, …” Miss Evers called as she passed out the valentines. Everyone seemed to be getting nearly an equal number—all but Miss Evers; she didn’t have any.
“Sharon, Robbie, Miss Evers—
Suddenly she stopped passing them out. “Miss Evers?” she echoed, a surprised look on her face. “How nice!”
Everyone was quiet as she opened the envelope. Robbie watched her expectantly.
“What a lovely valentine,” she said, smiling and holding it up. “And it’s from somebody named ‘Guess Who!’”
Robbie blushed as Steve and Rick looked at him.
“This is the nicest valentine I’ve received during all the years I’ve been a substitute teacher,” Miss Evers continued. She looked at the card again. “Thank you, ‘Guess Who,’ whoever you are!”
Miss Evers smiled a beautiful smile and it seemed to Robbie as though she were smiling right at him.

For some reason as Peter Nordhoff walked through the room, the words he heard from the television made him stop. General conference was being broadcast, and his wife, who had been recently reactivated through the fellowship of a friend, was watching.
Peter and Adrina had been raised in the Church and married in the temple, but for nearly ten years they had not been involved much with the Church. At first, his work kept him busy on Sundays. When that changed, they used Sundays to relax together.
But that conference Sunday changed their lives. “The words of a prophet of God affected me,” Peter says. “The Spirit spoke to me through God’s mouthpiece. It was like a second birth for me. Listening to the prophet helped me realize that I must start doing the things I was supposed to be doing if I wanted my wife and daughter near me in eternity.” Later that day, Peter and Adrina went to their bishop.
“We went from less-active to overactive very quickly,” recalls Adrina, smiling.

Two acclaimed British composers whose recent composition reached Classic FM’s top five selections have been commissioned to write the finale for the highly anticipated ‘Lamb of God’ concert at Manchester’s renowned Bridgewater Hall. The collaboration brings together Sam Petchey, from the Staines Stake, a distinguished military musician whose service included performing at Buckingham Palace, and Abby Twigger, from the Aberdeen Stake, a talented composer and vocalist, whose combined artistic vision will culminate in a powerful new piece titled ‘Awake My Soul’ for the 100-person choir and full orchestra.
The composers’ previous work, ‘The Lamb’, garnered national recognition when it was selected as one of five winners in the Making Music Classic FM carol competition and aired on Classic FM in December 2023. The carol also reached the semi-final of the UK Songwriting Contest and was shortlisted in the Sir David Willcocks Carol Composer Competition, demonstrating the duo’s exceptional musical talent.
Their collaboration came about after Abby started writing music again, following the birth of their fifth child, when she heard about Sam’s professional musical experience from a fellow member in his ward. Sam helped Abby record the songs she had written and they worked together on other compositions, even from opposite ends of the United Kingdom. They have since released a full CD of original Christmas songs, which has also been printed as sheet music for others to use.
In 2024 they were commissioned to arrange ‘The Lamb’ again – this time for a big charity fundraiser, featuring NHS Grampian Hospitals’ Choir, a string orchestra and brass quintet, for performance on 15th December at Music Hall Aberdeen. That same month the solo voice and piano recording of the carol was included on UCB 2, United Christian Broadcaster’s playlist and was played throughout the month.
"For me, music is a fast track to the spirit," shares Sister Twigger, whose background includes music studies at Brigham Young University and performances at Magdalene College, University of Cambridge. Abby is married to Ben, they have 5 children, and she is currently serving as stake Young Women president in the Aberdeen Stake. Her collaboration with Brother Petchey, who brings extensive experience from the Royal Corps of Army Music and the Royal Northern College of Music, has already produced numerous successful sacred works, including a cantata celebrating women of faith. Sam is married to Vicky, they have 4 children and he loves writing sacred music.
The performances of ‘Lamb of God’ at Bridgewater Hall, Manchester showcased their newest composition alongside other sacred music, continuing their commitment to creating uplifting, spiritually enriching musical experiences for audiences across the United Kingdom.

In the United States, on the morning of the Fourth of July 1952, as all the three major networks at the time were present with cameras rolling at the eastern edge of Catalina Island off the coast of California, 34-year-old Florence Chadwick waded into the water. She was a celebrated endurance swimmer, who now planned to swim 21 open-water miles to the southern California coast. Twenty-one miles! She had already conquered the English Channel. Now she was determined to be the first woman to swim the California Catalina Channel. She began the solo swim.

Minute after minute, hour after hour ticked by as Chadwick resolutely swam on, despite bone-chilling cold, unpredictable currents and terribly dense fog. Several times, sharks had to be driven away by rifle shots from the support boats. Ultimately, fatigued and chilled to the bone, an exhausted Florence Chadwick stopped. She lifted her goggles and looked in all directions but could not to see the shore through the fog bank. Disoriented, she lost her perspective and, temporarily, she lost her will.

From one of the support boats, her mother and her trainer pleaded with her not to give up. But from Chadwick’s compromised viewpoint in the water, all she could see was fog. So, after 15 hours and 55 minutes of constant swimming and over 58,000 strokes, she was pulled out of the water into the boat. She was utterly exhausted and was attended to medically. But Florence was even more devastated when she discovered she had tragically miscalculated her effort and distance. Where she had swum to was less than half a mile from the coast!

"I'm not excusing myself," she later told a reporter, "but if I could have seen land, I know I could have made it. I was licked by the fog." The resilient Florence Chadwick had been through tough times before. She immediately and resolutely began training, planning, and preparing again.

Two months later, renewed and indomitable, she once again entered the water off Catalina Island, determined to succeed in what no woman had done before. The networks were missing now but not Chadwick’s resolve.

Again, the same factors were equally present, along with their timing. The thick fog bank again descended and obscured her view at the same critical moment in this daunting endeavor.

But this time, Florence resolutely swam on, knowing that somewhere beyond this fog and ocean was land. I can imagine her repeating over and over, “Just keep swimming; don’t give up.”

This time, she swam directly through the fog bank and emerged on the sunlit, California seacoast. Not only was Florence Chadwick the first woman to swim the Catalina Channel but she beat the standing men's record by two hours!

The last story is about Christina (not her real name), who had been baptized and sealed to her family when she was a young girl, but somewhere along the way the family stopped living the gospel. Now she was in her late teens, and she had been making some wrong choices and was very unhappy.
One day I gave her a Personal Progress book and said, “This book will help you incorporate qualities of Christ in your life so you can make the changes you desire. I invite you to begin to work in your book today and then bring it with you to the youth fireside tonight and share with me what you have learned.” That night she said with tears in her eyes, “Today I started my personal progress.” She has written to me a few times since that day. She began going back to Sunday meetings, Mutual, and seminary. In a couple of weeks her sister and mother attended church with her. Later the father joined them, and now the entire family has been back to the temple together.

Many years later, when I was grown up and had my own family, we heard the message of the gospel of Jesus Christ when the missionaries knocked on our door. There was something in these missionaries—a glow of trust, a glow of hope, a glow of security, and a glow of love—that looked in the beginning to us like a fairy tale.
Could it be true? Could it really be true that we are all children of a loving Heavenly Father, and that through the Spirit of Jesus Christ I could come to an understanding of the feelings I had had at Christmastime in my childhood? Because this door opened, the understanding that led to our conversion and baptism helped us see that we could experience Christmas every day when we focus always on Him, listen to Him, and embrace Him with a loving, grateful heart. What joy came to my family when we opened our souls to the light of the gospel of Jesus Christ!

When Sister Burton and I were first married, we lived in the southeast part of the Salt Lake Valley. On occasion, as we bought groceries from a small neighborhood store, we saw President and Sister Joseph Fielding Smith in the same store, making their purchases. President Smith (1876–1972) was the tenth President of the Church.
I finally mustered the courage to ask President Smith why he traveled all the way from downtown, past a dozen grocery stores, to shop at this one. Looking over the tops of his glasses, he declared, “Son! Sister Smith and I patronize establishments that keep the Sabbath day holy.”

“But I don’t know anybody who wants to know about the Church,” I protested in family home evening. “My friends know that I’m a Latter-day Saint, and they don’t ever ask me to tell them anything.”
“But, Aaron, you need to ask them,” Dad pointed out with a smile. “Nobody expects you to go around knocking on people’s doors, but you meet people every day who might be interested in listening to the gospel message. You have to have courage to ask them, though.” Dad thought for a moment, then added, “Aaron, you’re named after two great missionaries.”
My full name is Aaron Ammon Anderson. Dad and Mom had named me after two of the missionary brothers in the Book of Mormon, and they didn’t want me to ever forget it.
“Aaron and Ammon were willing to do anything to share the gospel. Nobody else thought the Lamanites were interested in the gospel, but because Aaron and Ammon had the courage to try, they had wonderful success. Surely you can think of someone who might want to know about the Church?”
There were only a few Mormons in my school. Although I didn’t go around telling everybody that I was a Mormon, a lot of them knew. “I guess I could ask Bryan,” I muttered, figuring that he was the easiest guy in my whole class to ask.
“Oh, he’s the one you took to Cub Scouts last month,” Mom said, pleased.
I nodded, feeling that I was finally off the hook.
“What about your teacher, Mr. Santos?” my sister, Karen, asked.
“I’m not asking Mr. Santos anything,” I snapped. “He likes me. I don’t want to ruin anything. Besides, I already have my person.”
Mr. Santos was the best teacher at school. Everybody liked him, and he liked everybody. Everything he did in class was exciting and fun. The last thing I wanted to do was ask him if he wanted the missionaries to show up at his house. I didn’t want him to think I was weird.
“I think Mr. Santos would be a wonderful choice,” Mom spoke up. “Every time I’ve talked to him, I’ve been impressed by how kind and considerate he is. He has a wonderful wife and a darling little family. They need the gospel.”
“Mom,” I grumbled, “I’m asking Bryan. If you want to talk to Mr. Santos, then go ahead.” I hesitated. “But wait till I’m out of fourth grade.”
“Asking him about the Church won’t change how he feels about you, Aaron,” Dad said. “In fact, what you can do is give him a gift.” Dad handed me a Book of Mormon. “Take that to school with you. If everything is right and you feel prompted, give it to Mr. Santos and ask him to read it.”
I took the book because I wanted everybody in the family to stop bugging me. But the next morning when Mom slipped it inside my backpack, I complained, “I don’t want to haul a Book of Mormon to school. People will think I’m weird!”
“Take it. Just in case.”
I was in luck—Bryan was the first guy I ran into at school. “Did you see the game between San Francisco and Denver last night?” he asked excitedly.
I shook my head. “We were having family home evening.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s something the members of my church do every Monday night.” Then I figured that since I’d gone this far, I might as well take care of my home evening assignment and get it over with. “Are you interested in learning more about my church, Bryan?”
“Huh? Why would I want to know anything about your church? I’m a Baptist. You should’ve seen the game, though. Denver almost squeaked out a win. If they had made the field goal at the end, they would have won by two.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. That wasn’t as bad as I’d expected, and I was probably the first one in the family to complete my missionary assignment.
As I sat down in class, I opened my backpack and saw the Book of Mormon. I pushed it to the bottom of my backpack and took out my other books. As I did, I looked up at Mr. Santos. He was at the front of the class, smiling and calling the roll. I shook my head. There was no way that I was going to talk to Mr. Santos about the Church. Besides, I had already asked Bryan.
The rest of the day, I kept thinking of Mr. Santos and the Book of Mormon Mom had stuffed into my backpack. At the end of school that afternoon, I cleaned up after an art project. Before I knew it, I was alone with Mr. Santos. Gathering my things together, I started for the door. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Santos.”
He looked up from his desk and smiled. “You take care of yourself, Aaron. You got another hundred percent on your English quiz.” He winked at me. “Keep up the good work.”
As I pushed open the classroom door, I paused. “Do you need any help this afternoon, Mr. Santos?”
He leaned back in his chair. “You don’t want to hang around here any longer, do you?”
“I wouldn’t mind. I could run to the office and call Mom and let her know.”
Mr. Santos grinned. “Well, I don’t ever turn down good help.”
As I hurried down the hall, I thought about Aaron and Ammon in the Book of Mormon and about how their offering to help had led to the conversion of many Lamanites. I shook my head. All I was doing was giving Mr. Santos a hand, not preaching the gospel. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Ammon and Aaron.
Mr. Santos had me clean out and straighten some cupboards, then put the books on the racks in the reading center in order. He had received an order of new social studies workbooks, and he asked me to stamp the school’s name on the inside cover of each. Then boards needed to be wiped down and the art materials organized.
Mr. Santos was in the room only part of the time. When he returned, I was getting ready to leave. “Are you giving up on it?” he asked with a smile.
“I’m finished.”
“Finished?” He seemed surprised. “You’ve done everything?”
I nodded.
“You’re some worker, Aaron Anderson. I can go home before dark, thanks to you. I have a couple of boxes to carry out to the car; then I’m out of here.”
“I’ll give you a hand. I’m heading out that way.”
Mr. Santos grinned. “You’re going to spoil me, Aaron.”
We both grabbed a box, Mr. Santos locked the door, and we started down the hall. “Are you a fisherman, Aaron?” he asked me.
“Sure, I like to fish,” I answered, smiling. “Dad loves to fish, too, but we don’t get to go very often.”
“I have the same problem.” Mr. Santos thought a moment. “You know, Aaron, we ought to make the time. I know a great place to fish not far from here. You, your dad, and I ought to pick a day and just go. What do you think?”
“Sounds great! You name the time, and I’ll tell Dad that we just have to.”
“That sounds like a solid yes.” Mr. Santos opened the trunk, and we set the boxes inside. He thought a moment, then asked, “How about this Sunday? We can get up early and make a day of it.”
I looked away, suddenly feeling sick. Here I had a chance to go fishing with Dad and Mr. Santos, but I knew I could never do it on a Sunday. Would Mr. Santos ever ask me again? Strangely, I thought about when King Lamoni offered to give one of his daughters to Ammon for a wife.
Mr. Santos saw me duck my head and look away. “Sunday isn’t a good day?”
“I’d love to go with you, Mr. Santos. Honest. But Dad and I don’t fish on Sundays.”
A knowing smile touched his lips. “I bet you’re a Latter-day Saint, aren’t you?” His question sounded like a compliment! “You’re just like Andy Frazier!” He glanced across the parking lot with a far-off look in his eyes. “Andy and I were in the Marines together. The first time I met him was a Sunday morning. We talked and hit it right off. I asked him if he wanted to drive into town and catch a movie. He turned me down. He said that he was headed for church. That’s when I found out that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Mr. Santos turned back to me. “We became good friends. He didn’t drink anything stronger than orange soda. He didn’t cuss. He didn’t smoke.” Mr. Santos smiled at me. “But there were a lot of things he did do. Nobody worked harder than Andy Frazier. And he could shoot!” Mr. Santos wagged his head. “Nobody in the whole battalion could shoot like him. I don’t think there was a better member of the entire Marine Corp. At first some of the guys kidded him about his religion, but he didn’t let it get to him.
“One day we were on parade, marching around the parade field. When we marched, we sang out different cadences. Some of them are pretty funny. Some of them are …” He paused and shook his head. “Well, some of them have some pretty bad words in them. They aren’t the approved cadences, but at times we used them. Well, Andy had complained to the sergeant a number of times, but he just said that Andy needed to toughen up a bit.
“One day we were using a cadence that was downright dirty. Andy broke ranks and headed right to the major, who was off to the side of the field. When I saw him go, I thought, Andy, you’re one dead duck. You’re going to get booted right out of the Marines.”
Mr. Santos smiled at the memory. “He didn’t get thrown out. He saluted the Major and told him that he was a Marine and proud of it but that he had been taught not to use filthy language and didn’t expect to have to use it or listen to it to be a good Marine.” Mr. Santos smiled again. “The major told the sergeant that from then on Andy was to choose the marching cadence. Now that took courage! I’ll never forget Andy Frazier. I think you’re like him.”
I thought of the Book of Mormon in my backpack that I hadn’t wanted anybody to see. “Maybe you’d like to know … well, … what made Andy the way he was,” I ventured. I pulled out the Book of Mormon. “Would you like to have this?”
Mr. Santos took the book. He brushed his hand across the cover. “I think I have one,” he said softly. “Andy gave it to me.”
“Did you ever read it?”
“I promised Andy that I’d read it, but I haven’t yet.” He handed back my Book of Mormon. “Thanks, Aaron, but I think I’ll look for Andy’s.”
As I headed home, I felt great. Even though Mr. Santos hadn’t accepted my Book of Mormon, I was glad that Mom had stuck it into my backpack.
The next day when the last bell rang, Mr. Santos called out to me. “Aaron, would you mind staying after school for a few minutes?”
“Do you need more help?” I asked as the last of the other students left the room.
“Not exactly. At least not the kind of help you gave me yesterday.” Mr. Santos opened one of the drawers, reached in, and pulled out a Book of Mormon. “I found Andy’s book. My wife and I read the first four chapters last night.”
“You did?” I gasped. “Did you understand it?”
He nodded slowly. “I think so. But if I get to something I don’t understand, do you think you can help me?”
“Sure. And if I can’t, I can find someone who can.” I grinned, thinking of Aaron and Ammon, suddenly glad that I had been named after them.

Daniel dressed quickly in his Sunday clothes. He knew how to button his shirt all by himself. He pulled his sweater carefully over his shirt and straightened the collar on the outside, just like Mom had shown him. He couldn’t tie his Sunday shoes all by himself, but he could get started. Mom would be coming into the living room with the video camera in just a minute to videotape Daniel on his first day of Primary.
Looking into the mirror, Daniel liked the clean, neat little boy who looked back at him. The only thing missing was a necktie. He wished he had one just like Dad’s. Then he would be really grown up.
Daniel knew that Mom had to take care of his little brother before she could come and videotape him. He felt very big getting dressed by himself. Now he could help Mom on Sundays even more, just like a grown-up man. Men in the Church were called “brethren.” Or if you were talking about just one all by himself, he was a “brother.” Now that Daniel was going to be in Primary, he felt like one of the brethren.
“OK,” Mom said, coming in with the video camera. “Why don’t you sing ‘Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam’?” (Children’s Songbook, pages 60–61.)
Daniel frowned. “I don’t want to sing that.”
“But you’re a Sunbeam now,” Mom told him. “And all the children sing.”
“The big kids, too?” Daniel asked.
“Of course.”
Daniel sang “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam” as loudly as he could. He showed Mom how he was going to sit during Primary with his arms folded reverently. He walked back and forth in front of the camera to show how he would walk to his Sunbeam class. He felt very good and big inside.
“Well,” Mom said, turning the camera off, “it looks like you’re ready for Sunbeam class.”
Daniel beamed.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Daniel Dee Roper,” Mom told him.
Daniel looked crushed. “Mom, I’m not Mr. Daniel Dee Roper!” he cried out.
Mom was surprised. “Well, if you’re not Mr. Daniel Dee Roper, who are you?”
Daniel put his hands on his hips in exasperation. “I’m Brother Daniel Dee Roper!”
Mom nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “From now on we’ll call you Brother Dan.”

It was a bitterly cold February night—so cold the Mississippi River had turned to solid ice, a blue and white highway. With the river frozen, there were no river barges, no ferryboats, no boats of any kind. Thick ice made it possible to walk out on the river, perhaps to walk all the way to the far bank.
The city of Nauvoo, resting quietly on the banks of the Mississippi, was dark—but four people were still moving about, shivering on shore, about to test the ice. Would it be strong enough to support them? Was it possible to drive a team of horses pulling a wagon across?
Kayla Walker followed in her father’s footsteps as he approached the river. Their friend, Tim McCormick, also moved out onto the ice. Even though she was excited to make the crossing, Kayla was a little scared. Their guide, Jerry McLeod, had already warned them that if they felt the ice begin to crack beneath their feet to spread out their arms to catch themselves from falling in completely. “He told us to try to stay above the ice,” Kayla says. “If you fall below, the current will carry you under the ice. That was sort of scary.”
Kayla stepped out on the ice. Exactly 150 years ago that month, the first pioneers to leave Nauvoo crossed the ice of the Mississippi, leaving behind their beloved and beautiful city with the white temple shining on the hill. Kayla, her father, and a friend had received the necessary authorization to be on the ice and reenact the pioneers’ departure.
“I was wearing three pairs of pants, a turtleneck shirt, and a sweater. Then I had on a big coat, a hat, a scarf, and gloves. I had on two pairs of socks and a pair of hiking boots, and I was still cold,” Kayla recalls. “It was –30° Celsius. That’s why the ice was so thick. It was frozen 45 centimeters down. I could see cracks in it, but all you could see was more ice because it was so thick.
“It was dark. It was slippery, but we kept a steady pace. There was snow on top of the ice, so we did have some traction. We hit some slick spots where it was hard for me to keep up. I just didn’t want to stop. I wanted to get across. It took us 18 1/2 minutes.
“Brother McLeod’s wife met us on the other side in her van and drove us back home. I was very glad to get in that van with the heater on high and hot chocolate waiting. It was neat to think about my ancestors making the same crossing. Only they did it with long dresses and their children and some people who were sick. They did that, with no questions asked, because they believed in the Church. What strong testimonies they had! I think I would have gone hesitantly. I would have been asking, ‘Why can’t I just wait?’ Just doing what they did so long ago was a big testimony builder.”

Many years ago a couple of fellow airline captains and I decided to fulfill a boyhood dream of restoring an antique airplane. Together we purchased a worn-down 1938 Piper Cub and started the work of returning it to its original form. The project was a labor of love. It had special meaning for me because I had learned to fly in a similar airplane when I was a young man.
This airplane was first built only 35 years after the Wright brothers made their famous first flight. Just thinking of that makes me feel very old.
The engine did not have an electric starter; as you were priming the engine from the cockpit, someone else on the ground would grab hold of the propeller and hurl it with might until the engine would run on its own. Each engine start was a moment of excitement and bravery.
Once the plane was airborne, it became clear the Piper Cub was not built for speed. As a matter of fact, when there was a strong headwind, it seemed as though we were not moving at all. I remember flying together with my teenage son, Guido, above the autobahn in Germany, and sure enough, the cars below passed us comfortably!
But, oh, how I loved this little plane! It was the perfect way to experience the wonder and beauty of flight. You could hear, feel, smell, taste, and see what flying was all about. The Wright brothers expressed it this way: “There is [nothing] equal to that which aviators enjoy while being carried through the air on great white wings.”1

Covenant keepers strive to be obedient “at all times … and in all places”18 because of their love of God and His promised blessings. One evening, while walking with my husband, we passed by an outdoor wedding reception in progress. We didn’t know these people, yet there was an immediate impression of virtue. Their choices of music and dress were lovely. The radiant bride’s gown was unquestionably modest, as were her bridal attendants’ dresses. This family chose not to mix the ways of the world with the sanctity of that day.

Now, may I say a word to the marvelous youth of our Church. Thank you for your righteous examples to your friends, teachers, leaders, and families. I recognize that many of you are the only member of the Church in your family. You may even attend church alone. I commend you for your commitment and righteous example. Be patient and continue to live righteously. There are many who can help you. President Thomas S. Monson said, “Even an exemplary family … can use all the supportive help they can get from good men [and women] who genuinely care.”19
Look around in your ward and stake for leaders and friends who are examples of the believers and learn from them.
When I was a young woman, I identified examples of the believers. In addition to my parents, one was my aunt Carma Cutler. I vividly remember her speaking at a stake standards night when I was 16. She taught of the importance of being chaste and worthy of a temple marriage. I was deeply touched by her testimony. I had observed her virtuous life since I was a very young girl, and I knew it was consistent with her teachings. I wanted to follow her example.
Young men and young women, you can start today by being an example of the believers in faith and in purity. Strengthen your faith and testimony daily through scripture study and prayer. Keep your baptismal covenant, which will keep you pure and worthy of the guidance of the Holy Ghost. You can start today to be that example for others to follow.
And you never know—you might be the example my little Ruby will need someday. For now, Ruby has a wonderful start on the path to eternal life. Her parents are setting patterns of righteousness in her home, starting each day with a resolve to be examples of the believers. Hopefully, using her agency, Ruby will choose to follow.
I am grateful for the plan of happiness, and I testify it is the only way that Ruby—and each of us—can be pure again and live forever in the presence of our Father in Heaven. May we each start today. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

During my last semester of college, I felt that I should start looking for a job in my field of study, which was education. I planned to work part-time as an elementary school teacher. By then, my children had already grown up.
To prepare to enter the workforce, I enrolled in one of the Church’s self-reliance courses to help me find a job. When I arrived for my first class, I was the only student there. The teacher was a gentleman with an American accent eager to serve others. During our lessons, he explained principles of the gospel that would help me develop faith in the Lord and act in faith.
It took me two hours to travel to the Church’s self-reliance center in São Paulo, but I showed up for class on time every week. I took the course seriously because it was important to me.
At the end of the course, however, I couldn’t find a teaching job. Nevertheless, I told my instructor that I was confident the Lord would bless me and that it wouldn’t take me long to find work. I studied for the tests I needed to take in order to compete for a schoolteacher position, and I started attending a self-reliance course on how to start a business.
Immediately after I took the tests, I hurried to my stake self-reliance class. I told everyone there how prepared I had felt for the tests—thanks to my studies and my self-reliance courses.
Finally, I got the job I wanted. I felt immense happiness, and I was grateful to be able to pay tithing and offerings to the Lord. During my second self-reliance course, the Spirit prompted me to take EnglishConnect 2 and begin postgraduate work.
I felt greatly blessed by this guidance from the Lord in making such important decisions in my life. I know He keeps His promises and that if we keep His commandments, He will bless us temporally and spiritually with the things we need to prosper (see Mosiah 2:41).

When we put the Lord first in our home, it becomes a place where our spirits can be renewed and strengthened. Sister Margaret Murdock of Salt Lake City was asked to teach a Relief Society lesson about the scriptures. As she prepared her lesson, she began to realize that she had never studied the scriptures enough to make them part of her everyday thinking. As a single mother of five with a responsible job, she knew she needed more guidance.

Now Sister Murdock studies the scriptures for a half hour each morning and also at night. And for the first time, she is finding that the Lord’s words come to mind when she has problems at work or with her children. “Now I see the people I deal with at work as children of our Heavenly Father, whether they are religious or not,” says Sister Murdock. One of her co-workers is rude and hard to work with. “He’s a child of God, too,” says sister Murdock. “He just doesn’t know it yet.” Because she is taking the time for the Lord at home, Sister Murdock is feeling greater peace—whatever difficulties may arise.

Let me give you a modern example. When I was in graduate school at Washington State University, at the end of winter semester I had just moved into a new apartment with my previous roommate, Amy. Ellen, our new roommate, was going home for the summer because she had a great internship lined up. Ellen's home was Juneau, Alaska. So just as I was moving in, she was taking off for the summer. Ellen had packed up everything she owned in her little pickup, planning to store her stuff at her sister's house, across the state, 6 hours away, in Olympia, Washington. The next day, she was supposed to catch her flight from Seattle to Juneau so she could start her internship the following day. She was on a tight schedule. Of course, disaster struck. In the middle of nowhere, Ellen's pickup broke down. This is in the 1990s--before everyone had cell phones. Ellen found someone nice who drove her to the closest town and she was at a service station, waiting for the tow-truck driver. In despair, Ellen called us. My roommate Amy answered the phone. The next thing I knew, Amy was grabbing her coat and keys. She was going to get Ellen. Now, I don't remember what Amy had planned for that weekend, but it certainly wasn't a 700-mile 12-hour round trip across Washington State 350 miles there and 350 miles back. I felt ashamed. My first thought hadn't been to go get Ellen. But, I rationalized that Amy and Ellen were practically family. Ellen had been roommates with Amy's two older sisters and had even spent holidays with their family. So then I didn't feel quite so bad.

As an example of the blessings that come through the learning process at BYU-Idaho, I would like to share two examples. The first is the blessings that have come to my own family through study at BYU-Idaho. The second is a family friend studying from a distance but witnessing similar blessings.

We are a pretty average family. Neither of my parents completed college as young adults. My dad didn't feel he belonged, and my mom was so homesick she couldn't make it any longer here at Ricks College. Yet they paved the way for their future posterity through years of tireless effort. From their examples of diligence, five of my brothers graduated from BYU-Idaho; one brother's educational journey isn't over yet. We were each first-generation college students. Besides the five brothers, my wife and four of my sisters-in-law also graduated from BYU-Idaho.

Here we have developed as disciples of Jesus Christ while preparing to meet a need in the world. As we diligently seek to live lives of discipleship, service has taken different forms, including employment in various fields of healthcare, management, education, and tourism. We also developed the capacity to serve in callings within our wards and stakes. Fundamental to our schooling at BYU-Idaho, we learned the greatest work we do is within the walls of our home. Education has enhanced our discipleship. We now strive to replicate the pattern taught to us at BYU-Idaho by preparing and teaching our children to be disciples of Jesus Christ

Illustration by Shauna Mooney Kawasaki
I worked days, and my wife, Elen, worked nights. We hardly saw each other. We weren’t holding home evening or family prayer. We went to sacrament meeting, but we lacked commitment to the gospel.
We began to feel emptiness that came from focusing on the things of the world instead of the things of the Lord. We felt that Heavenly Father wanted more from us.
So we went to the Santiago Chile Temple for guidance on how we could improve. We both received the prompting that we needed to move with our little daughters from Santiago to the northern coastal area of Coquimbo.
We had never been there before, and we knew nothing about the area. But we quit our jobs, sold everything, and said goodbye to family, friends, and my university studies.
In Coquimbo, we didn’t know anyone, and we didn’t have any money. I found a job, but it barely paid the rent. We asked, “Why are we here?”
Elen wondered if there was something she could do to help pay the bills. One day she sewed a new cover for one of our old chairs. “I’m going to put it up for sale and see if someone buys it,” she said. Someone did buy it. Encouraged, Elen learned more about reupholstering furniture. She started advertising and began receiving work.
In 2016, I was called as bishop of our new ward. With my job, my resumed university studies, and my calling, once again I hardly saw my family.
“This isn’t working,” Elen said. “Why don’t you work with me? I’ll teach you how. You’ll be home, and you’ll also have more flexibility for your calling.”
I worried about quitting my job, but Elen suggested that we pray to Heavenly Father and say: “Here’s our business. We’re going to do it together. Please illuminate for us how we can make it work while Gregorio serves as bishop.”
Heavenly Father answered. Now, after years of hardly seeing each other, we’re adjusting to always being together. Sometimes Elen jokingly says, “Don’t you have some bishopric interviews to do? Come back in four hours!”
Here in Coquimbo, we have learned to have faith and live the gospel as a family, and we have been blessed. We moved to a city we did not know to serve people we had not met, and we have seen miracles we did not expect.