Gospel Story Finder

I recently read a letter from a missionary, Sister Wilde, who had been serving in the Houston Texas East Mission for less than six months when Hurricane Harvey hit. In addition to their usual missionary work, she and her companion and other missionaries worked for days tearing out damaged walls, floors, and sopping-wet carpets—sometimes working from 9:00 in the morning until 7:30 at night.

Though her work is very challenging, Sister Wilde described her experience as “one of the most incredible things I have ever done in my life.” She said, “What a blessing it is to be a part of God’s work. . . . I cannot begin to express the way that my mission has changed me. . . . The Lord can do amazing things with us when we give ourselves over to Him” (Brooklyn Wilde, email to family and friends, 4 September 2017).

Somehow I knew that Melissa’s surprise would be chocolate chip cookies. We took them down to Mrs. Palmer’s because she invited us for dinner. She’s our landlady and lives on the main floor, under our apartment. She’s not a member of the Church, even though missionaries have lived in her apartment for many years. She invited Will to come to dinner, too, and we waited and waited, but he never showed up. It was very disappointing, and we felt sorry for Mrs. Palmer because we waited so long that the dinner was cold before we started eating. But Mrs. Palmer felt sorry for us, too, so she let us show her the video that we were going to show to Will. Then the three of us ate all Melissa’s cookies. They were delicious! Please give Melissa a big thank-you hug for me.

Illustration by Jim Madsen
At the beginning of my mission, I served in a small city in South Korea. One rainy day we had not had a lot of success but wanted to keep working until it was time to go home. My companion and I decided that we would knock on a few more doors.
At one door a woman answered, and my companion started talking to her. As a new missionary, I had a hard time understanding, but after a few minutes she began speaking to us in English. We found out that she was from Chicago, Illinois, USA, and had moved here with her family. Her husband was a preacher for a church that did not have friendly feelings toward our beliefs.
The woman was nice but eager to disprove the Book of Mormon and convince us that our church was incorrect. I stood there with my companion as he tried to answer her difficult questions. My companion tried to testify to her that the Book of Mormon is true and that it could help her, but she insisted on believing that he was incorrect.
After about 30 minutes of discussion at the door, she asked my companion, “Where will we go after this life?” I could tell she was eager to refute my companion’s teachings, as she had before. My companion testified of the plan of salvation and that we can live with our families forever in the celestial kingdom. Before he could continue, she stopped him and asked him to repeat what he had just said about families being together. He again replied with the same response. I felt the Spirit so strongly, and I could see in her eyes that something had touched her deeply too. After that short but powerful testimony, she stopped arguing with us, took a Book of Mormon, and asked us to come back to talk with her and her husband about the Book of Mormon.
I remember walking home with my companion that evening, amazed by the effect of my companion’s testimony. I understood then that a testimony accompanied by the Spirit is the most powerful teaching tool we have. I’ll never forget my companion and his testimony that night. After that experience I decided that, even with my limited ability to speak Korean, I would try to bear my testimony no matter what. As I did, I began to feel the Spirit more and more. I learned that the best communication happens when you teach by the Spirit.

James Peter Fugal was an honest man! He herded sheep much of his life in the rolling hills of Idaho. On one bitterly cold winter night, he was herding sheep for another man when a blizzard set in. The sheep bunched together, as sheep do, in the corner of a fenced area, and many died.
Though the death of the sheep was no fault of his, James Fugal felt responsible and spent the next several years working and saving to repay the owner for his lost sheep.
I thought of James Fugal, the humble sheepherder, and how wonderful it was that these children were being taught the same values that made him a man of such noble character.

One night, my family was playing a game about geography. My sister and I were playing against our two brothers. There was an outline of the United States on the game board. The person whose turn it was had to name the state my dad pointed to. If that person couldn’t answer the question, his or her partner could help. There was a U.S. map on the wall, but we weren’t supposed to look at it during our turn. Once while my sister was trying to remember her state, I glanced at the map and saw the name of the state next to hers.
Soon Dad pointed at the state that I had seen, and I named it. I felt bad. I knew that I shouldn’t have looked. After we named all the states we could, my dad added up the points. We got eleven points, and my dad was about to write it down, but I said, “No, ten points! I looked at the map.”
My dad said, “Wow, thanks for being honest.”
We still lost the game, but I was happy that I told the truth.

Dad continued to work until he was eighty and then developed leukemia. He received a blessing that he would live as long as life seemed sweet. Dad lived joyfully for one more year, enjoyed each tulip and crocus of spring. He listened with interest as I told him about the things I was learning in my classes at college. I love to discuss literature and astronomy with him, for they were two of his favorite subjects. But most of all, I enjoyed telling him what I had studied in religion classes. As a bishop, dad had set a goal to study the scriptures daily; for thirty-eight consecutive years he had read the Book of Mormon at least twice a year and the other standard works at least once each year.
When my father entered the hospital for the second time, the doctors said he had several months to live—so I was surprised when he announced during one of my visits that he was “going home.” He died in his sleep a week later. Before he died he recorded his testimony:
“I have found that the Lord has always returned to me anything that I have given him. It has not always been a financial return, but I have found that no one ever gives more to the Lord than the Lord gives to them. One can never do anything for him except he returns so much to you that you always feel indebted to him.”

I learned another lesson from my mother. As a girl she had diphtheria and nearly died. Later she had spinal meningitis. Her father died young, and so my mother and her brothers helped support their mother.
All her life, she felt the effects of the trials of illness. In her last 10 years of life, she required multiple operations. But through it all, she proved faithful to the Lord, even when bedridden. The only picture on her bedroom wall was of the Savior. Her last words to me on her deathbed were these: “Hal, you sound as if you are getting a cold. You ought to take care of yourself.”
At her funeral the last speaker was Elder Spencer W. Kimball. After saying something of her trials and her faithfulness, he said essentially this: “Some of you may wonder why Mildred had to suffer so much and so long. I will tell you why. It was because the Lord wanted to polish her a little more.”

The gray October sky threatened snow at any moment. We shivered as we posed for a few photographs outside the gold-domed chapel at the top of the hill in Logan, Utah. Moments before, we had been married in a brief civil ceremony in our branch president’s office. I remember nothing of what was said except the final words: “as long as you both shall live.” We were in love, and the fact that we had not been married in the temple seemed unimportant.
I had joined the Church five years earlier and had received several lessons concerning the importance of temple marriage. But at age 20, eternity seemed such a long way off. Besides, I came from a family in which divorce seemed the norm, and in the back of my mind I kind of assumed that our marriage would only last a few years anyway, so why even think about an eternal commitment? I also felt temple marriage was for the “elite” of the Church, not for someone like me who was still stumbling about with a youthful testimony.
My in-laws were devastated, and the rebellious side of me made that an even greater reason for not being married in the temple. I did not want to be another statistic, just so these people could say all of their children had been married in the temple.
Three days after our wedding, I was back at work part-time and trying to finish a nursing degree. My husband was back in the grind of being a full-time student.
We became members of a student ward, filled with couples who had been married in the temple. I was shocked! Here were many young women, not much different than myself, who had made the choice to be married in the temple. And they were no more “elite” than I was. I felt myself longing to go to the temple as they had.
My greatest jolt about the nearness of eternity came five months after our marriage when I discovered that we were expecting our first child. I felt nauseated, thrilled, humbled, and terrified all at the same time. As the months passed, a deep love for that little person inside of me began to grow and fill my very being. As this love grew, so did the reality that I wanted this child to be ours for all eternity. Thoughts of this little one being born prematurely and dying overwhelmed me at times, because I knew she would not be born in the covenant.
My love for my husband was also blossoming beyond anything I had ever imagined. As he left for classes each day, I feared that something would happen to him, and our marriage would be over. The words “as long as you both shall live” began to haunt me. Eternity was creeping ever closer, and I wanted our happiness to last forever.
I feared divorce now, instead of feeling it was an inevitable part of life. Would this man still love me enough after the ups and downs of that first year of married life to want to be married to me for all eternity?
Our ward would often schedule temple trips, and as I stood on the sidelines, I felt very alone. I did not want to be married in the temple just to be part of the crowd, but I was learning that unless I made the covenants that are part of the temple ceremony, I would be on the outside looking in for the rest of eternity. All of my thoughts became centered around what I would have to do to be worthy of entering the temple.
Our first year of marriage flew by. It was a year of painful maturing, emotionally and spiritually, and of learning to be worthy to go to the temple. But finally, one year and two days after our civil marriage, my wonderful husband and I knelt across the altar from each other in the Ogden Temple, surrounded by smiling friends and family members. We gazed on our “eternal” reflection in the mirrors, tears cascading down our cheeks.
Four weeks later, our first beautiful baby was born in the covenant. Never had we seen such a living miracle, and she was ours for eternity.
Over 16 years have passed since that day in the Ogden Temple. The doubts and fears of our first year have been replaced by the peace of knowing ours is a forever family. I shudder to think of the chance we took, and of what these past 16 years would have been like if we had not been sealed in the temple. Many of the couples who begin as we did never do go to the temple.
I cherish being able to return often to the temple. Within its walls I am reminded that I now possess all I need to be truly happy—forever.

I was reminded of this lesson again a few years ago when Debi and I were at the University of Utah hospital. She had just embarked on her first of seven surgeries for those next fifteen months and I was in the waiting room, pacing the floor and wondering, "Why is this happening?" I questioned, "Why me? Or Why us?" as I stood there looking out the window gazing across parking lots and Salt Lake City traffic, where everyone was hurrying on their way someplace. I thought, "Nobody even cares that we are here or that life for us is changing." I was scared and I was angry and really I was having my own little pity party. I was all-alone and I had forgotten that this story was not all about me [or us].

I sat in an uncomfortable chair alone and away from everyone else, silently praying and then writing some of my thoughts in my journal. But, I felt so alone. I felt terrible as I pondered Debi's pain and our frustration--this didn't fit with our plans. After a long hour of self-pity, I walked to the window again avoiding contact with anyone that might interrupt my self-centered thoughts.

I was only there at the window for a few minutes before I noticed an ambulance coming into the parking lot with lights and sirens on; simultaneously a helicopter was landing on the emergency helipad. I could tell something traumatic had happened and doctors and nurses were hurrying into and out of the emergency room area on the other side of the hospital. Suddenly my attention turned to the several cars following the ambulance into the parking lot and people hurrying to get inside the hospital with their loved ones. My thoughts went heavenward as I offered a simple, silent prayer for these people who I didn't even know who were facing some unknown emergency. While praying I also thanked Heavenly Father for our wonderful family and for our temple marriage. I thanked him for our wonderful children that He had entrusted to Debi and me.

As my mind shifted back to the waiting room where I was actually standing, and away from my own worries about Debi and myself and our situation, I became aware that there were several families there in the waiting room, and all of them had looks of worry and loneliness and fear. Everyone there seemed to be worried and they were either praying to God or talking amongst themselves trying to reassure each other in one way or another that their family members would be okay.

Then, it happened, I realized how self-absorbed I had been. I remembered the truth: it's not all about me. "Awake, my soul."[13] Nephi's words rang in my mind. Wow,it was an ah ha moment and I was being taught by the spirit. I had been so focused on my own feelings I had completely ignored or been unaware of those immediately around me who were in need.

I turned to the lady closest to me and asked who she was waiting for and why they were in surgery. Her story unfolded over the next forty-five minutes, and I had the wonderful opportunity to share my belief in God, priesthood power, the plan of happiness and the importance of families. That day turned out to be a wonderful experience getting to know all but one group there in the waiting room.

I learned that day that we all have the opportunity to struggle, and the more we learn about other people's lives the more we appreciate the personal trials that we have to face. That day I realized how much the Lord loves all of His children. I even had the privilege of using the priesthood for blessing one of the men in the waiting room. It was a choice experience to feel our Heavenly Father's love for His children as testimonies were shared and love was expressed.

That day proved to be the beginning of many trips to the hospital where I loved meeting people and sharing my love for my Heavenly Father. I had learned there in the waiting room for sure we can find many who need a lift. They are all there worried about their own families and friends. But if we can remember that truly the story is not about us but about how we lift others, wow, the world opens up for all of us just like it did that day for me. And we don't have to go to the waiting room to find them--we can find them in our own apartments, wards, and neighborhoods every single day.

In the early years of our marriage, my wife and I traveled as often as possible from our small northern Arizona community to the temple in Mesa. These temple trips always uplifted us spiritually and provided a needed diversion—an opportunity to forget about the difficulties of living on my meager income in our tiny, cramped home with three children.
Occasionally after attending temple sessions, we entertained ourselves by going on what we jokingly called “coveting expeditions,” driving around in wealthy neighborhoods, fascinated by the large, beautiful homes. We imagined what it would be like to live in that kind of luxury, knowing we would never be able to afford such extravagance.
Although they began as enjoyable fantasies, these trips sometimes left us with a vague feeling of frustration and restlessness. At the time, we didn’t think we were coveting, since we were not so consumed with desire for one of these homes that we would steal or commit a major sin to get it. Yet we discovered that we were vulnerable to the spirit of covetousness. Although what we were doing was really quite harmless, what we were feeling was rather uncomfortable. The words of the Lord from Mount Sinai came to mind: “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife, nor his manservant, nor his maidservant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that is thy neighbour’s” (Ex. 20:17; emphasis added).
Obviously, covetousness can be more than looking greedily upon the material possessions of others and desiring to have them for ourselves. It also may be an excessive desire for things that will satisfy our egos: physical attractiveness, power and influence, even the reputation for wisdom and goodness. It may also be too firm an attachment to things that are already ours. The Lord commanded Martin Harris, “Thou shalt not covet thine own property.” Instead, he was to “impart it freely” to further the work of the Lord, who had blessed him with it (D&C 19:26).
It may be that this commandment has even greater relevance in today’s materialistic world than it did in Moses’ day or even in the early years of the Restoration. In our modern society, which urges people to satisfy their every desire, obedience to the 10th commandment affords us spiritual and temporal protection from the effects of a host of other evils. For example, when we faithfully abstain from covetousness, we will not fall into the traps of adultery or theft, for we will be free of the unrighteous desires that precede those sins. Thus, the commandment “Thou shalt not covet” is intrinsically related to many other commandments.
The Lord’s condemnation of covetousness is perhaps most closely related to the commandment “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Ex. 20:3). In coveting, we are judging something to be more important and dear to us than God or obedience to his counsel. In this sense, covetousness is a form of idolatry (see Col. 3:5). It may not involve pagan worship or graven images in the religious sense, but it certainly includes having our “hearts … set so much upon the things of this world” and “the honors of men” (D&C 121:35) that we are in danger of forgetting about eternal, celestial objectives. Unrighteous covetousness creates divided loyalties that prevent complete consecration and total devotion to God and his kingdom.
With his eternal perspective, the Savior taught:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:
“But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matt. 6:19–20).
He added, “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other” (Matt. 6:24). When we wish to be among the Savior’s own, yet cling covetously to the things of the world, we let those worldly things become our masters and we soon become blinded to their impact on our lives.
As with all of God’s commandments, “Thou shalt not covet” is evidence of the Lord’s love and mercy and his desire to protect us from the painful consequences of sin. Even though it may seem comparatively innocent at first and free from the obvious dangers associated with other types of wickedness, coveting can become a monumental problem. President Ezra Taft Benson said materialism—one version of covetousness—is “one of the real plagues of our generation” (“To the Single Adult Brethren of the Church,” Ensign, May 1988, 53).
This plague distracts us from that which alone brings fulfillment and peace—obtaining and keeping in our lives the influence of the Holy Ghost. “Obsession with riches … cankers and destroys,” President Gordon B. Hinckley declared (“Thou Shalt Not Covet,” Tambuli, February 1991, 6). Often the cankering of the soul and the destruction of our spiritual powers that stem from materialism, greed, jealousy, and envy are so slow that we may not even recognize them in ourselves until other, more serious problems appear.
Furthermore, obtaining whatever worldly thing we covet never brings an end to our desires. The spirit of coveting always drives us to want more. Covetousness, envy, jealousy, and greed always escalate into a vicious spiral, as we seek greater and greater gratification but find less and less contentment.
My wife and I learned a valuable lesson about this several years ago when we had the opportunity to build a new home. During the months of planning and building, an interesting phenomenon occurred. Even though we were blessed to have a nicer home with more comforts than we had ever had before, rather than being content, we began looking for ways to acquire more. We had to have new furniture for the room in which we entertained guests so we could put the old furniture in a room they would not visit as often. But our old TV didn’t go well with the new furniture, so we had to have a new TV. Our “needs” began to escalate.
We finally came to our senses and realized we had succumbed to temptations we had thought would never afflict us. First, we allowed Satan to help us rationalize our desire for worldly gain so that it appeared justifiable, even noble; and second, we sacrificed our happiness and peace of mind in an attempt to acquire the things of the world. We found that when “all we’ve ever wanted” is fundamentally the temporal trappings of this world, we always want more than we have.
Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin cautioned:
“Satan knows our weaknesses. He puts attractive snares on our paths at just those moments when we are most vulnerable. … Sin may result from activities that begin innocently or that are perfectly legitimate in moderation, but in excess, they can cause us to veer from the straight and narrow path to our destruction. …
“[One] temptation [that may] detour us is placing improper emphasis on the obtaining of material possessions. For example, we may build a beautiful, spacious home that is far larger than we need. We may spend far too much to decorate, furnish, and landscape it. And even if we are blessed enough to afford such luxury, we may be misdirecting resources that could be better used to build the kingdom of God or to feed and clothe our needy brothers and sisters” (“The Straight and Narrow Way,” Ensign, November 1990, 65; emphasis added).
In addition to protecting us from sin, obedience to the 10th commandment can offer us blessings that come from increasing our charity, making our service more productive, and developing greater compassion. These traits—all opposites of covetousness—can blossom in our lives when we do as the Lord has commanded in this dispensation: “See that ye love one another; cease to be covetous; learn to impart one to another as the gospel requires” (D&C 88:123; emphasis added).
This command to lay aside our covetous desires for worldly things directs us onto the path of true discipleship. A heart filled with covetousness has no room for the all-consuming love of God required for exaltation.
An episode in the life of the Master demonstrates this principle. When a young man asked the Savior what he might do to inherit eternal life, Jesus responded by briefly reviewing all the commandments. The young man replied that he had kept those from his youth.
“Then Jesus beholding him loved him, and said unto him, One thing thou lackest: go thy way, sell whatsoever thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, take up the cross, and follow me.
“And he was sad at that saying, and went away grieved: for he had great possessions” (Mark 10:21–22).
This rich young man, despite his obedience to the other commandments, was so attached to his temporal assets that they blocked his path to discipleship. It was not his riches that precluded him from the blessings and rewards of following the Savior but the honor and stature with which he regarded the things of the world. Jesus commented to his disciples, “How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the kingdom of God!” (Mark 10:24). His disciples asked, “Who then can be saved?” (Mark 10:26). Jesus then declared that for people who trust in riches, salvation is impossible, but it is not impossible for those who trust in God and leave all for his sake; for such people, all things are possible (see Joseph Smith Translation, Mark 10:26).
The scriptures speak of a righteous striving that can be as intense as any unrighteous desire to obtain the things we covet. This righteous effort occurs when we in wisdom and balance diligently seek that which leads to eternal life. “Do not spend money for that which is of no worth, nor your labor for that which cannot satisfy,” the Book of Mormon prophet Jacob admonished. “Come unto the Holy One of Israel, and feast upon that which perisheth not, neither can be corrupted, and let your soul delight in fatness” (2 Ne. 9:51; see also Isa. 55:1–3).
After covetousness is rooted out of our lives, we can replace the old longings for earthly goods and passions with dedicated strivings for the treasures of heaven. Jacob characterized this as seeking first the kingdom of God. He also taught the best use of the worldly riches so many people seek:
“Think of your brethren like unto yourselves, and be familiar with all and free with your substance, that they may be rich like unto you.
“But before ye seek for riches, seek ye for the kingdom of God.
“And after ye have obtained a hope in Christ ye shall obtain riches, if ye seek them; and ye will seek them for the intent to do good—to clothe the naked, and to feed the hungry, and to liberate the captive, and administer relief to the sick and the afflicted” (Jacob 2:17–19).
There is a great need today to supplement God’s ancient command from Sinai—“Thou shalt not covet”—with the commandment given to Latter-day Saints: “Keep my commandments, and seek to bring forth and establish the cause of Zion;
“Seek not for riches but for wisdom, and behold, the mysteries of God shall be unfolded unto you, and then shall ye be made rich. Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich” (D&C 6:6–7).
Purging from our hearts the covetousness of the world and replacing worldly desires with a strong, fully motivating love of God (see Deut. 6:5) can prepare us to receive the blessings promised by the Lord when he gave the Ten Commandments to Moses:
“Now therefore, if ye will obey my voice indeed, and keep my covenant, then ye shall be a peculiar treasure unto me above all people: for all the earth is mine:
“And ye shall be unto me a kingdom of priests, and an holy nation” (Ex. 19:5–6).

As my mother told me when I complained of how hard something was, “Oh, Hal, of course it’s hard. It’s supposed to be. Life is a test.”
She could say that calmly, even with a smile, because she knew two things. Regardless of the struggle, what would matter most would be to arrive at home to be with her Heavenly Father. And she knew she could do it through faith in her Savior.
She felt that He was close to her. In the days she knew she was about to die, she talked with me about the Savior as she lay in her bedroom. There was a door to another room near her bed. She smiled and looked at the door when she spoke calmly of seeing Him soon. I still remember looking at the door and imagining the room behind it.
She is now in the spirit world. She was able to keep her eyes on the prize she wanted despite years of physical and personal trial.
Looking back, I now see how that gift of charity—the pure love of Christ—strengthened, guided, sustained, and changed my mother in the struggle on her way home.

While talking to a friend going through a difficult time, I asked how he was surviving financially. In tears, he replied that his bishop was helping him using fast-offering funds. He added, “I don’t know where my family and I would be if it wasn’t for the Church.” I replied, “The Church is the members. They are the ones who willingly and joyfully give fast offerings to help those of us in need. You are receiving the fruits of their faith and determination to follow Jesus Christ.”

Shadows wrapped the room in darkness as I lay awake listening to my husband breathe, trying to determine whether he was sleeping. It had been only two days since our 12-year-old daughter had passed away from a sudden traumatic accident. I closed my eyes again, but sleep evaded me. My heart yearned for my daughter. All the knowledge of the plan of salvation couldn’t ease the ache of missing her.
As dawn neared, I felt a sudden, intense longing. The sun would be rising soon, and in my mind I saw the sky bathed in soft pink light. Our daughter loved the color pink. A pink sunrise would be just the thing I needed to feel close to her again.
“Let’s go watch the sunrise,” I whispered to my drowsy husband.
We stood in the driveway, faced east, and waited … and waited. Though the sky lightened, the sun did not push through the low-lying clouds.
I leaned my head on my husband’s shoulder and sighed, trying to pretend it didn’t matter. But I wanted more. I needed more. Surely Heavenly Father could have granted me this desire after taking our sweet girl home to Him.
As my husband turned to go inside, looking behind us toward the west, he said, “Look!”
I turned. Behind us the clouds were bathed in a delicate blush, golden light surrounding them. My breath caught, and tears crept to my eyes. It was more beautiful than I could have imagined. It felt like a hug from our daughter. I knew Heavenly Father was aware of my aching heart and was sending a promise of hope for the future—a gentle reminder of eternal families and all the beautiful moments yet to come.
I have thought often on that beautiful moment and the new perspective it gave me. Who looks for a sunrise in the west? And yet that is where my miracle was waiting. How many blessings and miracles do I miss because they come from unexpected places? How many times do I focus on what I think should be and miss the glory of what is?
We had prayed relentlessly for a miracle that was denied, but as I looked around with my new perspective, I saw the miracle of the four lives bettered through our daughter’s organ donations, the miracle of family love and ward unity, and the miracle of service. I have felt deep sorrow, but I have also felt powerful hope fill my soul with each blushing sunrise, each rosy sunset, and each pink flower that crosses my path.
Now as the sun rises, I look east and then turn to look west. I smile with the realization that there are always miracles and blessings to be found—and that the sun will always rise on our sorrows if we let it.

“FIRE! FIRE!”
This warning cry brought fear to the hearts of all those who heard it in the little community of Farmington, Utah, for the only way they had to fight fires was to form a line and pass buckets of water from the nearby creek to the burning building. As a result, almost any building that caught fire was destroyed, and few of the contents inside were ever saved.
Aurelia Spencer Rogers, who lived in Farmington most of her life, heard the cries of alarm, and ran toward the house from which smoke was billowing up into the hot August air. The home belonged to friends with whom she was staying, after she had rented her own house that summer of 1902 and moved into Salt Lake City, twenty miles to the south. However, she returned often to Farmington to take care of business there and to put up fruit for the winter.
Aurelia joined in the bucket brigade that quickly formed. Characteristically, she thought of the loss her friends would suffer before she thought of her own clothes and personal articles that were inside. Suddenly, she had a sick feeling. Her Primary record books were in an upstairs bedroom where she had been working on them at a table near a window! Silently she prayed that by some miracle they would be saved, but it seemed to her that everything in the building was going up in smoke.
“I mourned exceedingly,” Aurelia said later. “I would not have minded losing my clothes if the records could only have been saved.”
Aurelia helped her friends move into a vacant house to set up housekeeping again. She was heartsick as she returned to Salt Lake, for she thought that nothing in the fire-swept home had been saved. Still haunted by the loss of the Primary record books, she returned to Farmington the next week to try to gather what information she could about the organization of the Primary so she could begin to write another history.
News of the miracle for which she had prayed awaited her when she called on her bishop. This is how she described it:
“Bishop Moroni Secrist felt prompted to climb onto the porch [during the fire] and go through the window to my room, thinking he might save some of the property; but when he went inside, the smoke was so dense he was nearly suffocated and had to be helped out by others . … As he neared the window he reached out his hand and felt the cover on the table and drew it toward him, gathering up the corners with the books … and passed them to those on the outside. Thus the records were saved through the providence of God.”
These records told the story of the first Primary ever held and how it came to be. They were used as the basis for Aurelia Spencer Rogers’ Life Sketches that she later wrote for children and dedicated to them with these words:
“Our children are our jewels; we have counted well the cost;
May their angels ever guard them, and not one child be lost.”

On February 13 th , the day following his presiding duties at the ground breaking, President David O. McKay, then, of course, the president of the Church, spoke at the Oahu Stake Tabernacle in Honolulu. The meeting was a seminal event in my young life. My mother dressed my older brother and me in our matching two-color, beige and brown suits. We lived adjacent to the tabernacle and I recall walking over the little bridge which crosses the drainage canal bordering the Church property, entering the large and majestic chapel, and sitting about 12 rows from the stand. With apologies to whoever else may have participated, I remember nothing from the meeting except the talk of President McKay; I do not even know on what subject he spoke. What is vivid in my memory, even to this day, is the appearance of the Prophet with his wavy white hair, and his light beige suit, accented with a thick red carnation lei. But most especially, I remember what I felt that day. It is my first recollection of feeling the Spirit of God.

At the conclusion of the meeting we sang a hymn, one still in our Church hymn book, but one we do not sing as often today. Who's on the Lord's side? Who? Now is the time to show. We ask it fearlessly: Who's on the Lord's side? Who? (Hymns, #260) With what I had spiritually experienced and the piercing question of this hymn which seemed so personal to me, I nearly leapt to my feet, waved my hand in acclamation, and shouted "I am!" Thus, perhaps it might be said that this university and I were " born " on the same weekend. I only wish I had matured as gracefully as it has.

Sister Oaks’s teachings were extraordinarily effective. Elder Oaks illustrated their impact on him with a personal story:

As a 12-year-old deacon, I was pleased to accompany the bishop to deliver Christmas baskets to the widows of our ward in Vernal, Utah. The backseat of his car was filled with baskets of grapefruit and oranges. . . . He waited in the car while I took a basket to each door and said, “The bishop asked me to give you this Christmas basket from the ward.”

When we had delivered all the baskets but one, the bishop drove me home. There he handed me the last ­basket and said, “This is for your mother.” Before I could reply, he drove away. . . .

I stood in front of our house, snowflakes falling on my face, holding the basket and wondering. We had been delivering baskets to widows, but I had never thought of my mother as a widow. . . . I wondered why anyone would think my mother was a widow.20

Elder Oaks remembered:

[My mother] never referred to herself as a widow, and it never occurred to me that she was. To me, as a boy growing up, she wasn’t a widow. She had a husband and we had a father. He was just away for a while.21

Elder Oaks said that his mother “always taught us that we had a father and she had a husband and that we would always be a family because of their temple marriage.”22

A related strength that can be corrupted to our downfall is a desire to excel in a Church calling. I remember a graduate student who used his Church service as a means of escape from the rigors of his studies. He went beyond what we call Church-service time and became almost a full-time Church-service worker. He consistently volunteered for every extra assignment, giving help that was greatly appreciated in the various organizations and activities of the Church. As a result of this inordinate allocation of time, he failed in his studies and then mistakenly blamed his failure on the excessive burden of Church service. His strength became his downfall.

Elder Choules served in the Marine Corps during World War II. “When I returned from the service,” he said, “the bishop talked to me the first Sunday I went to church about going on a mission. As I thought about going on a mission, I thought that when I returned I might be too old to start college. As I look back on the day that I told the bishop that I would go, the things that motivated me the most were my father’s teaching and the fact that I had always planned on going on a mission.”

They had left him! Derek stood in the driveway with his shiny black Sunday shoes in his hands. He had been digging the shoes out of the bottom of his closet when he heard the car’s engine starting. Bounding down the stairs, Derek only caught a glimpse of the family van as it turned the corner.
Derek was sure that his family hadn’t left him on purpose. Mom probably thought he was in the backseat of the van. A lonely, empty feeling filled Derek’s stomach. What was he supposed to do now?
Sitting down in the middle of the driveway, Derek pulled on his socks and shoes. If his family had forgotten him, he would just walk to church by himself. It was a warm day, and he was pretty sure he knew the way.
He started confidently down the street. He walked past the Garretts’ house, past the tree house in the willow where he played after kindergarten, and past the Petersons’ house. He was about to turn the corner when a sudden thought came to him: he needed to go back to the house.
Derek stopped mid-step. That was silly. Why should he go back? He stood silently on the deserted sidewalk, thinking about what to do next. He took another step down the street.
The thought came again, this time stronger. “Go back to the house!” He turned and ran as fast as his feet would carry him back to the house. He ran past the Petersons’, past the tree house, and past the Garretts’, his Sunday shoes pounding loudly on the sidewalk. He ran through the front door and slammed it shut behind him. Out of breath and filled with panic, he slumped down in the corner of the family room behind the couch and curled up tightly in a ball. He could hear his heart pounding loudly in his chest. He shut his eyes tightly and murmured a short prayer. “Please help my family to come find me soon!”
As soon as he had finished saying the words, he heard the front door open. “Derek?” someone called. Derek peeked over the couch. His older sister, Amanda, was standing in the doorway. “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed when she saw the top of his head. Derek ran to her, threw his arms around her legs and started to cry. Amanda knelt down to give him a hug.
“Oh, Bud,” she said softly. “It’s OK. You know we wouldn’t ever really forget you.”
Derek nodded through his tears. “I started to walk to church, but then I heard something telling me to go back to the house. Then I said a prayer, and you came back.”
“Good job!” Amanda said. “You must have been following the promptings of the Holy Ghost!” Derek was surprised. Was that who the thoughts had come from?
Amanda continued, “I’m glad you came back because it helped me to find you quickly. What if you had walked a different way than I came home, or if you had gotten lost? You made the right choice.”
Derek smiled at his big sister. A warm feeling started in his heart and filled him up inside. “Thank you, Amanda,” he said. “I’m glad that I listened to the Spirit.”

8 When you become 12 years of age, attend the temple to do baptisms for the dead whenever you can. We live in a blessed day when 124 temples dot the earth. Many of you can attend the temple as youth groups and as families. But even if you do not have a temple near you, you can enjoy the blessings of the temple by learning more about the temple and always being worthy to hold a temple recommend. When I was a mission president, our mission did not have a temple, so our missionaries were not able to attend the temple during their missions. At first I did not think to encourage them to keep a current temple recommend. Then in late 1994 President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95) counseled adult members of the Church to have a current temple recommend—even if they did not live near a temple. During the next interviews with our missionaries, I taught this principle and conducted a temple recommend interview for each of our missionaries. What a blessing that was for our mission and our missionaries!