Gospel Story Finder

I grew up in the Church and had always planned on serving a mission. Yet as the time for me to serve approached, I longed to have a powerful conversion experience of my own such as I heard other people talk about when they described joining the Church.
I knew that leaving on a mission would require sacrifices. I had a good job that paid well, and I wondered if I would be able to find one as good upon my return. I worried about interrupting my education and leaving family and friends. But I knew deep down that serving a mission was right, so I continued to prepare.
As part of that preparation, I went with the elders in my area to their teaching appointments. One evening the missionaries and I were teaching a man about the Word of Wisdom, but he would not accept the principle. When we left his home, I could tell that the elders were discouraged, and I felt sad too.
I wasn’t sure why I should be sad though, because I didn’t really know this man. I kept thinking about it, and I realized that I had these feelings because I had felt the Spirit during the lesson. I was saddened that this man had rejected something that had brought me so much joy.
With that thought I realized I was truly converted. I knew the gospel was true, and I couldn’t wait to share it. I was soon called to serve in the Italy Rome Mission.
I was blessed abundantly for the sacrifices I had made in preparing for my mission. I taught the gospel to many wonderful people, I made lifelong friends, and I learned English. The blessings continued after my return home. I was hired at the same job I had before my mission and even received a promotion.
Perhaps the greatest blessing, however, was an increased testimony of the gospel. My mission was a period of unparalleled spiritual growth, for which I will always be grateful.

“We had a General Authority, Joseph Anderson, who lived longer than any other General Authority in the Church. He lived to be 102 years of age. He served as private secretary to President Heber J. Grant for many years. President Grant had a stroke and became very seriously ill, and Joseph Anderson went up to see him at night, and the President said to Joseph, ‘Joseph, have I ever been unkind to you?’ And Joseph said, ‘No, President Grant, you have never been unkind to me.’ And the President, with tears rolling down his face, said, ‘Joseph, I am grateful if I have never been unkind to you.’ He died the next day. But what a marvelous thing that a man who had worked with him for so very many years could say that the man who directed his efforts had never been unkind to him.”9

I was far from home attending an international conference for my job. Hundreds of people attended, but I was the only one from my state and region.
One evening a dinner was hosted for all the attendees. As we entered the dining hall, each of us received four tickets to use at the bar to order free alcoholic beverages. It occurred to me how easy it would be for someone far from home to be tempted by such an opportunity, thinking that no one would ever know. It was a fleeting thought, and I handed the tickets back to the person at the door.
During dinner I sat with seven strangers. I drank water as we ate, talked, laughed, and exchanged information that would help us in our employment.
As we entered the dining hall, each of us received four tickets to use at the bar to order free alcoholic beverages.
The next morning at breakfast I greeted a gentleman who had been seated at my table. I was excited to notice by his name tag that he was from my hometown—a town I had not lived in for 35 years. After high school I had left home for college, married, and moved away.
As we discussed places and community events we both knew, he asked me if I still had family there. I replied that I did not but that I had many good friends there and that we kept in touch. He asked who they were, and I began to name some of them.
After the first few names he stopped me and said, “Wait, are you a Mormon? All the people you have named are Mormons.”
When I acknowledged that I was a Latter-day Saint, he told me what fine citizens those friends were and how they had served the community and been good examples to all. For several minutes he shared his admiration for the Church and my friends, telling me how they had been advocates for good in the community.
As we parted, I could not help but think what might have happened had I chosen to use those drink tickets. I had been taught to choose the right by those very people we spoke of. I would have been uncomfortable and ashamed to admit that I was a member of the Church had I used the tickets.
How grateful I am for the example of those worthy, active, serving friends—35 years later and 2,000 miles (3,220 km) away from the home of my youth.

The Young Women of the mountain Home First Ward, Mountain Home Idaho Stake, made a quilt featuring the Young Women motto in the center. The corner blocks were class symbols, and the remaining blocks represented the Young Women values. Each girl selected a value and then a design to represent that value on her block. The girls embroidered or cross-stitched their designs. They learned to quilt as the blocks were assembled. The finished quilt was presented to the outgoing ward Young Women presidency.

As a teenager, I had a rebellious streak a mile wide, and I acted in ways that were contrary to how I was raised. I began drinking alcohol when I was 13, and by my senior year of high school, I drank every weekend.
I attended church on occasion to reduce confrontations with my parents, but I would sleep through sacrament meeting and then head to the beach before Sunday School. To say my parents were unhappy with my behavior would be an understatement. To their credit, they respected my agency while continuing to encourage me to live the gospel. Still, I had no intention of staying active in the Church, and I certainly didn’t see a mission in my future.
After high school, I attended a community college and continued my rebellious ways. But late one night, I remember lying on my couch wondering about my future. What type of girl would I marry? If I turned my back on the Lord, would I ever find my way back? As important as these decisions were, I wasn’t motivated to change.
A short time later, I attended a friend’s backyard party with alcohol and a blazing bonfire. After joking around with my buddies for a while, I stepped away for a moment and closed my eyes.
When I opened my eyes again, I had a moment of clarity. I watched my friends acting foolishly and no longer saw myself belonging to that group. I left and decided to stop drinking and going to parties. That meant I would need to change my group of friends, which was not easy. But I did it.
Those decisions have blessed my life. I eventually served a mission and have fulfilled many callings. Most importantly, I married a wonderful woman in the temple. This has led to the choicest blessings of my life.
I recently read about the conversion of Alma and the sons of Mosiah (see Mosiah 27) and how they experienced a mighty change of heart (see Alma 5:12–14), brought about in part by the faithful prayers of Alma’s father. Then I thought of my parents and realized, over 30 years later, that my sobering experience at that party was a direct result of their prayers.

I have always subscribed to the Liahona, but when I was less active I didn’t read it very often. One day I was cleaning a closet and came across some very old copies. As I looked through them, one story caught my attention. It was about a sister who had been less active for several years and had no intention of going back to church. But an inspired bishop issued her a calling, and she gave up her bad habits and returned. This story had a profound effect on me—it was the first step in my return to activity. Now, years later, the Liahona is a powerful tool in our home. The counsel, guidance, and testimonies in the magazine help us every day.
Moema Lima Salles Broedel, Brazil

Should we feel the assignment too arduous or time-consuming, let me share with you the experience of a faithful home teacher and his companion in what was then East Germany.

Brother Johann Denndorfer had been converted to the Church in Germany, and following World War II, he found himself virtually a prisoner in his own land—the land of Hungary in the city of Debrecen. How he wanted to visit the temple! How he desired to receive his spiritual blessings! Request after request to journey to the temple in Switzerland had been denied, and he almost despaired. Then his home teacher visited. Brother Walter Krause went from the northeastern portion of Germany all the way to Hungary. He had said to his home teaching companion, “Would you like to go home teaching with me this week?”

His companion said, “When will we leave?”

“Tomorrow,” replied Brother Krause.

“When will we come back?” asked the companion.

“Oh, in about a week—if we get back then!”

And away they went to visit Brother Denndorfer. He had not had home teachers since before the war. Now, when he saw the servants of the Lord, he was overwhelmed. He did not shake hands with them; rather, he went to his bedroom and took from a secret hiding place his tithing that he had saved from the day he became a member of the Church and returned to Hungary. He presented the tithing to his home teachers and said: “Now I am current with the Lord. Now I feel worthy to shake the hands of servants of the Lord!”

Brother Krause asked him about his desire to attend the temple in Switzerland. Brother Denndorfer said: “It’s no use. I have tried and tried. The government has even confiscated my Church books, my greatest treasure.”

Brother Krause, a patriarch, provided Brother Denndorfer with a patriarchal blessing. At the conclusion of the blessing, he said to Brother Denndorfer, “Approach the government again about going to Switzerland.” And Brother Denndorfer submitted the request once again to the authorities. This time approval came, and with joy Brother Denndorfer went to the Swiss Temple and stayed a month. He received his own endowment, his deceased wife was sealed to him, and he was able to accomplish the work for hundreds of his ancestors. He returned to his home renewed in body and in spirit.

And what about the home teachers who undertook this historic and inspired visit to their brother, Johann Denndorfer?

Knowing personally each member of this human drama, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised to learn that on the way from Debrecen, Hungary, to their home in East Germany, they sang aloud: “Dangers may gather—why should we fear? Jesus, our Leader, ever is near. He will protect us, comfort, and cheer. We’re joyfully, joyfully marching to our home.”

When Mom went to girls camp, and Dad had to be out of town for a few days, I jumped at the chance to stay with Grandma and Grandpa. They’re real special.
The first morning there, I got up early and galloped downstairs. Grandpa was already in the kitchen, setting boxes of cold cereal on the table.
“Mmmm, my favorite!” I said, picking up a box of the kind I liked.
“My favorite is hot oatmeal,” Grandpa said. “But we don’t have it often, now that Grandma’s volunteer work at the hospital is in the mornings.”
Grandpa was getting milk from the refrigerator when Grandma came downstairs. “I was just telling Joey how good your oatmeal is,” Grandpa said.
“Anybody can make oatmeal—even Joey,” Grandma said.
“I don’t like hot oatmeal!” I said real quick, hoping they weren’t going to ask me to make it.
“Oh, come on—let’s try it,” Grandpa said.
Grandma had to go back upstairs for something, so I got a pan for Grandpa. He put a little water in it, then dumped in a lot of oatmeal.
“Shouldn’t you measure it?” I asked.
“Grandma never measures,” he answered.
I stirred while Grandpa watched. He hummed a tune, real happy-like.
The bubbling oatmeal got thicker and lumpier. “Are you sure you didn’t put too much oatmeal in?” I asked Grandpa.
“You set the table, Joey,” he said. “I’ll see to the oatmeal. Boy, are you going to love this!”
I didn’t think I would like it, much less love it, but I put bowls and spoons on the table and sat down to wait.
“How’s that?” Grandpa asked, spooning thick globs of oatmeal from the pan into my bowl, then filling his.
I looked at the thick stuff in my bowl. I stirred and stirred, trying to get the lumps out. No luck. I reached for the milk.
When I started to put the milk back, my sleeve caught on my bowl. Kerplunk! The bowl hit the floor and wobbled across Grandma’s freshly waxed floor, spattering oatmeal as it rolled.
Grandma came back downstairs just then. “Oh, no!” She chased the bowl, trying to catch it before it hit the wall and broke. She stepped into a patch of slippery oatmeal and sat down smack-dab in the mess.
I got to her before Grandpa did. When I tried to help her up, my foot slipped into a slick patch and I went down too.
“I didn’t mean to do it!” I yammered over and over. I was worried that Grandma might be hurt.
Then I saw Grandma’s face. Her glasses were hanging from one ear. She was laughing so hard that tears ran down her face and she couldn’t talk.
Grandpa rushed to help. His feet hit a glob of oatmeal, and he came sailing across the floor.
We sat in the middle of the oatmeal and laughed so hard that we were too weak to get up. Finally we got ourselves together enough to clean up the kitchen. Then we ate cold cereal.
The next morning, Grandma made oatmeal. It was smooth and warm. I can’t say that I was crazy about it, but with a little cinnamon and brown sugar on it, it wasn’t bad. By the time Mom and Dad came home, I had learned to like it. And I had learned how to make it—without lumps!
Sometimes I make it at home. It’s funny how the taste for good stuff grows on you.
Grandpa says it’s like life. “You have upsets along the way, but if you keep your sense of humor and keep trying, the lumps smooth out. And it keeps getting better!”

It was Memorial Day evening. Jason Booker, 13, told his mother he was going for a walk. He headed up the hill to the creek where the night before his father and some other men had built a rock wall to contain the high runoff. Jason was just going to see how it was holding up.
“I was in the circle in front of Sims’s house when I heard a rumbling and cracking noise. I looked up the hill and saw the trees falling over, and rock and mud was coming down. I ran down the street and told my parents. Some friends who were visiting us left. We got the younger kids out of bed and into the car. I walked back up the hill with my dad. We got to the edge of the circle, and the mud was completely surrounding the Sims house up to the eaves. It started to move, and we just got out of there.
“We drove out of the area. The officials wouldn’t let us back into our house that night because more mud slides were coming down. On Tuesday they let us back in to get some clothes and necessities. Our house was still okay on Tuesday, but when we woke up Wednesday morning, we saw our house on the national news. We didn’t even know the mud had hit it until then.”
Jason’s house wasn’t destroyed, but the basement was filled to the ceiling with mud and the house was surrounded by several feet of mud. With the help of ward members and volunteers, the Bookers are restoring their home.

Going to prom was something I’d dreamed about since I was a little girl. Now my dream was about to be a reality.

Several of my friends and I went dress shopping together. I was the only member of the Church among my friends, and I soon realized it would be impossible to find a modest dress that fit my standards. There was no doubt that having sleeves would make me stand out from all the other young women at the dance. Plus, where I lived, there were not many modest dresses for sale. I didn’t know what to do.

Luckily, my cousin had a beautiful, modest ball gown I was able to borrow. I was nervous about what others would think, but I had confidence in knowing I was doing the right thing.

I stood out at prom that year because I was the only young woman with sleeves on my dress. It didn’t matter what others thought; I was beautiful in the eyes of the Lord. That night I had a blast, and wearing that dress made me feel like royalty. And I was! I was confident in knowing I was a daughter of a King, and I was making Him proud.

Visit the home of James Christensen and you will find that his walls are full of windows onto some other world. Go to a gallery where his paintings hang and you will find more windows. The worlds beyond those windows hold dragons and dwarves, wise fools and magic fish, homemade spaceships and angels.
Brother Christensen is a professor of art at Brigham Young University and enjoys a national reputation as a fantasy artist. His work has appeared in Time/Life Books’ series The Enchanted World, as well as on many book covers and in magazines. He has served as president of the National Academy of Fantastic Art. His paintings are exhibited in galleries throughout the United States.
First of all because it’s fun, and I love doing it. Also because I agree with Lloyd Alexander, the popular fantasy author, who feels that fantasy is an essential ingredient in a balanced intellectual and emotional diet. He warns of “spiritual malnutrition” if we limit ourselves to a strict diet of reality. He adds that fantasy, unfortunately, has come to be seen as dessert, whereas in a well-balanced life, it is one of the four basic food groups. Without it, we are in danger of believing that the world is so totally ordered and “figured out” that there aren’t any miracles left around the corner.
Madeline L’engle, another respected author, suggests that as we grow up we are taught to surrender our sense of wonder. When we were little we could see angels. We could walk on water. We knew that anything was possible, and yet we’re taught to repress that faith and openness, that willingness to accept things as possible, in order to become adults and deal with the “real” world.
Fantasy is one place where we can nurture our sense of wonder, where we can keep our intuition of the wonderful possibilities life affords.
As children, it was acceptable for us to use fantasy and play to experiment with various solutions to the problems of reality. We explored the possibilities in imaginary worlds where the right and wrong of things were easily identifiable, and the consequences of wrong choices—selfishness, ignorance, jealousy—could be examined, and felt, but tempered in the end by benign magical rules that allowed us to mend our ways and live happily ever after. Our fantasies were also a place for us to renew ourselves, to refresh our souls and give us strength to deal with the real world.
I believe that we still need that oasis of wonder at least as much as we did when we were children.
Not at all. It can be the means of expressing some very profound truths. Fantasy may not correspond to the surface reality of our day-to-day lives, but it often catches a glimpse of a better, deeper reality. As C. S. Lewis proved in the Chronicles of Narnia, it can sometimes capture the most profound truths of all.
Yes, by exercising it. Imagination muscles have to be developed the same as physical muscles. I believe very strongly that just as wagon wheels once carved ruts by traveling over the same road too many times, we make ruts in our minds and then lose the ability to leave them. Life gets to be a pattern, and it’s too easy to follow the old trails. There are familiar answers for everything, so we stay in those ruts, and we don’t ever strike out across the field to find out what’s behind those trees or beyond that mountain. We don’t even need to steer as long as we stay in the rut.
Children make new paths naturally and unself-consciously because their minds are so open. They don’t compare their thoughts to great people’s thoughts or say, “Is this idea as good as so-and-so’s?” or “Is this meaningful?”
As we get older, especially about the time we reach junior high school, we become more self-conscious, and peer pressure takes over. We jump into the rut so that nobody who’s in there already can point across the field at us and say, “What is that idiot doing?” So we stifle ourselves, and ultimately too many of us lose our ability to imagine. That’s a terrible loss because imagination is an intrinsic part of what makes us human.
The next thing to realize is that creativity is not making something from nothing. Creativity is taking information that we already have and putting it together in a new way. Our brain can be compared to a card catalog in a library. When we’re born we’ve got millions of blank cards. In mortality we fill in the cards. And every card is a single perception. Creativity is simply taking the cards and putting them together in a new order or new combination. In order to be creative we need to associate ideas freely and be willing to try unlikely combinations in the hope that something might come of it.
But first, we must have cards in our catalogs. If somebody only knows 50 words, his ability to write a great novel is seriously impaired. The more knowledge you have of as many things as possible, the more cards there are in your card catalog, the more worthwhile combinations you can make. Read books; look at pictures; study science and language and history. The more you know, the more creative you can be.
The source can be anything. I’ve always read voraciously. Lately, I’ve been listening to books on tape while I paint. Last year I listened to 50 books on tape—all kinds of things. I’m feeding my card catalog.
Many have. When I first read the Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis I said, “This person has imagination, whimsy, delight, wonder, exploration, and yet there’s the Savior right at the center of the book. There are metaphors for selfishness, for selflessness, for sacrifice and atonement. There is the gospel put in a nongospel context. And he’s not writing just for a religious audience. He’s accepted out there in the real world.” I found the same thing with J. R. R. Tolkien. This happened while I was in college. The fact that their fantasy was considered as a viable kind of expression gave me the courage to say, “Why don’t I try to do the same sort of thing visually and see what happens?”
Another great influence is the Book of Mormon. I know that it is real and true, but it is also a great epic adventure. There are ancestral swords and directional devices that work and don’t work according to our feelings and attitudes. There are natural disasters and divine interventions and quests and wars and miracles.
The best of my overtly religious painting may be the best things that I paint, but they’re very hard for me to paint because I don’t want to simply illustrate. I have no interest in doing things that are sentimental and one-dimensional. I want my paintings to have layers of meaning within them.
The other reason it’s difficult is that I have very tender feelings on the subject of religion. I have very deep feelings about the gospel and the Savior. What if I put those feelings on canvas and my ability doesn’t reach the level of my belief? Or what if it’s not read correctly by people? What if they say, “That’s not a very good painting?” They’re saying I don’t have a very good belief. It’s too personal to put on the block. It would be like bearing your testimony to somebody and having them say, “So?”
Both. I believe very much that art is for people. It is a communication medium. A painting is not complete until others have seen it and responded to it. My paintings are meant to excite the imagination and invite the viewer to become a participant in the creative process. And so while much of contemporary art repels and confronts the viewer, I try to entice him with detail, fantasy, and a lot of fun things that will make him want to stop and look. And then hopefully he keeps going down through the layers of the onion, and finds out that the more time and thought he’s willing to put in, the more is revealed. Some people just like to look at the designs and the doodahs and the costumes, and other people will pick their way down through it and get meaning. And the fantasy allows that to happen very easily because I’m not constrained by gravity or location or costume or anything real.
Once involved, the viewer not only discovers, but actually helps shape and create the meaning of a piece, making connections and discovering echoes of shared experience. If his interpretation goes beyond my original intention, I’m delighted. Not only has my work been the catalyst for a creative experience, but the painting itself is enlarged. I like the idea that art is a “trigger,” a point of departure for the viewer. I want to give him enough stimulation, enough “raw material” that he can take off on his own fantasy. I want to activate his imagination.
I think the most important thing is to believe in yourself, and then pay the price. It does not come easily. You have to work for it and not lose your vision, because nobody makes it right off. It’s only through dedication and persistence that you eventually prevail.
I also think it’s essential that our spiritual side be developed along with our craftsmanship. Fifteen years ago I had a conversation with Elder Boyd K. Packer. He said, “As an artist what is your concern?” and I said, “My problem is that I watch the non-LDS artists paint 50 paintings a year and I paint 25 because I have made a commitment that I will seek first the kingdom of heaven. I will be active in the Church, and so I’ll be Young Men president and take my kids around to collect fast offerings and go to Mutual and go home teaching and all those things that eat up one’s time, while other artists can paint twice as much as I do. And because the more you paint the better you get, they just keep on outdistancing me.”
He said, “Why do you fail to recognize that with the help of the Spirit, which is what you’re spending all that time being active in the Church attempting to obtain, you can accomplish more in 10 paintings than another painter can in 30 or 40? It’s not the quantity of paintings, but the quality of the spirit within you that will move you to do good work.” And his words just went right to my heart.
Of course, just being spiritual isn’t enough by itself either. It’s by growing in both areas, making our skills and our spirit grow side by side, that wonderful works of art in music or literature or painting or whatever medium will be created. I try to tell my students at BYU not to compartmentalize. We cannot separate our spiritual development from our artistic development. We must work at both.
I don’t think being a member of the Church inhibits anybody from getting out there and succeeding in the world. I’m pleased when somebody comes up to me—as they did recently when I was at a show in California—and says, “I don’t understand your work. I’m delighted by it, but I have a feeling that you’re keeping a secret, that there’s something going on that I don’t know about. You know something that I don’t—something good.” It pleased me to think that somehow a little of that showed through. Essentially the gospel is what makes the difference. People find it refreshing to meet somebody positive.
I think that every serious artist reaches a point in his career when the question is no longer, “Can I paint this thing? Do I have the skill and mastery of technique to accomplish this idea?” After years of study and experience one develops the ability to paint anything. Then the more difficult and frightening question arises: “Do I have anything to say? Am I just a highly skilled technician or do I have something significant within me to share?” I think that you have to believe that you do in order to keep working. Whether you really contribute anything will not be resolved until after checkout time.

A very wise bishop called several young people into his office and said to them, “I would like you to help me in an experiment. I would like to prove the impact and influence of one member on the spirit of the family. For one month I would like each one of you to be the peacemaker in your home. Now don’t say anything about this to your family, but be thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Be an example. Where there is quarreling or bickering among members of your family, do whatever you can to overcome these faults by creating an atmosphere of love, harmony, and happiness.

The bishop continued, “When you are irritated, and irritations arise in most every family, control yourself and help the others to control themselves. I would like to see every home in our ward be as President McKay counseled, ‘a warm nest or a bit of heaven on earth.’ At the end of the month I would like you to meet with me again and report.”

It was a challenge for these young people, and they met the challenge in a wonderful way. When they reported back to the bishop, remarks such as these were made:
One young fellow said, “I had no idea I would have so much influence in my home. It’s really been different this last month. I’ve been wondering if much of the turmoil and strife we used to have was caused by me and my attitudes.”
A young lady said, “I guess we were just the normal family, with our selfishness causing little daily conflicts, but as I have worked with my brothers and sisters, a lot of this has been eliminated and there has been a much sweeter spirit in our home. I believe you really have to work at it to have the spirit of peace in your home.”
Another young lady reported, “Yes, there has been a much sweeter, cooperative, and unselfish spirit in our home since I began this experiment, but the biggest difference of all has been in me. I’ve tried hard to be a good example and a peacemaker, and I feel better about myself than I have ever felt. A wonderful feeling of peace has come over me.”

Many years ago, Bishop Marvin O. Ashton (1883–1946), who served as a counselor in the Presiding Bishopric, gave an illustration I’d like to share with you. Picture with me, if you will, a farmer driving a large open-bed truck filled with sugar beets en route to the sugar refinery. As the farmer drives along a bumpy dirt road, some of the sugar beets bounce from the truck and are strewn along the roadside. When he realizes he has lost some of the beets, he instructs his helpers, “There’s just as much sugar in those which have slipped off. Let’s go back and get them!”
In my application of this illustration, the sugar beets represent the members of this Church for whom we who are called as leaders have responsibility; and those that have fallen out of the truck represent men and women, youth and children who, for whatever reason, have fallen from the path of activity. Paraphrasing the farmer’s comments concerning the sugar beets, I say of these souls, precious to our Father and our Master: “There’s just as much value in those who have slipped off. Let’s go back and get them!”
Right now, today, some of them are caught in the current of popular opinion. Others are torn by the tide of turbulent times. Yet others are drawn down and drowned in the whirlpool of sin.
This need not be. We have the doctrines of truth. We have the programs. We have the people. We have the power. Our mission is more than meetings. Our service is to save souls.
The Lord emphasized the worth of each man or woman, youth or child when He declared:
“The worth of souls is great in the sight of God. …
“And if it so be that you should labor all your days in crying repentance unto this people, and bring, save it be one soul unto me, how great will be your joy with him in the kingdom of my Father!
“And now, if your joy will be great with one soul that you have brought unto me into the kingdom of my Father, how great will be your joy if you should bring many souls unto me!” (D&C 18:10, 15–16).
Remember that you are entitled to our Father’s blessings in this work. He did not call you to your privileged post to walk alone, without guidance, trusting to luck. On the contrary, He knows your skill, He realizes your devotion, and He will convert your supposed inadequacies to recognized strengths. He has promised: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).
Primary leaders, do you know the children you are serving? Young Women leaders, do you know your young women? Aaronic Priesthood leaders, do you know the young men? Relief Society and Melchizedek Priesthood leaders, do you know the women and men over whom you have been called to preside? Do you understand their problems and their perplexities, their yearnings, ambitions, and hopes? Do you know how far they have traveled, the troubles they have experienced, the burdens they have carried, the sorrows they have borne?
I encourage you to reach out to those you serve and to love them. When you really love those you serve, they will not find themselves in that dreaded “Never, Never Land”—never the object of concern, never the recipient of needed aid. It may not be your privilege to open gates of cities or doors of palaces, but true happiness and lasting joy will come to you and to each one you serve as you take a hand and reach a heart.
Should you become discouraged in your efforts, remember that sometimes the Lord’s timetable does not coincide with ours. When I was a bishop many years ago, one of the leaders of the young women, Jessie Cox, came to me and said, “Bishop, I am a failure!” When I asked why she felt this way, she said, “I haven’t been able to get any of my Mutual girls married in the temple, as a good teacher would have. I’ve tried my very best, but my best apparently wasn’t good enough.”
I tried to console Jessie by telling her that I, as her bishop, knew that she had done all she could. And as I followed those girls through the years, I found that each one was eventually sealed in the temple. If the lesson is engraved on the heart, it is not lost.
I have learned as I have watched faithful servants like Jessie Cox that each leader can be a true shepherd, serving under the direction of our great and Good Shepherd, privileged to lead and cherish and care for those who know and love His voice (see John 10:2–4).
May I share an additional experience I had as a bishop. I noted one Sunday morning that Richard, one of our priests who seldom attended, was again missing from priesthood meeting. I left the quorum in the care of the adviser and visited Richard’s home. His mother said he was working at a local garage servicing automobiles. I drove to the garage in search of Richard and looked everywhere but could not find him. Suddenly, I had the inspiration to gaze down into the old-fashioned grease pit situated at the side of the building. From the darkness I could see two shining eyes. I heard Richard say, “You found me, Bishop! I’ll come up.” As Richard and I visited, I told him how much we missed him and needed him. I elicited a commitment from him to attend his meetings.
His activity improved dramatically. He and his family eventually moved away, but two years later I received an invitation to speak in Richard’s ward before he left on a mission. In his remarks that day, Richard said that the turning point in his life was when his bishop found him hiding in a grease pit and helped him to return to activity.
My dear brothers and sisters, ours is the responsibility, even the solemn duty, to reach out to all of those whose lives we have been called to touch. Our duty is to guide them to the celestial kingdom of God. May we ever remember that the mantle of leadership is not the cloak of comfort but rather the robe of responsibility. May we reach out to rescue those who need our help and our love.
As we succeed, as we bring a woman or man, a girl or boy back into activity, we will be answering a wife’s or sister’s or mother’s fervent prayer, helping fulfill a husband’s or brother’s or father’s greatest desire. We will be honoring a loving Father’s direction and following an obedient Son’s example (see John 12:26; D&C 59:5). And our names will forever be honored by those whom we reach.
With all my heart I pray that our Heavenly Father will ever guide us as we strive to serve and to save His children.

As a young woman, I participated in Personal Progress. There were activities to do, projects to create, and goals to achieve.
For one project, I decided to read the words for all the songs in the hymnbook, look up the scriptures referenced for each song, and learn to play them on the piano.
I thought it was a practical project that would help me in the future, so I went to work reading, studying, and practicing the hymns.
Fast-forward a few years.
I served a mission in Argentina, and one of my challenges was speaking a different language. At first it was very hard to put words together fast enough to be able to share my thoughts with anyone. However, I learned that I could find a hymn that said just what I wanted to say faster than I could translate my thoughts. I would find the hymn I wanted to share, and even though the words were in another language, the tune and the message were the same. I sang my testimony to many people and was able to share gospel truths this way until I became fluent in the Spanish language. I had the Lord to thank for the inspiration behind my Personal Progress project.
Because I know the words of the hymns, God has been able to send very specific messages to me many times. If I didn’t know the words, I wouldn’t have been able to receive the messages of hope, encouragement, and love that were there. I may have been able to feel the Spirit and be uplifted by the music, but without knowing the words, I would have missed the full message.
This was an unforeseen blessing of my practical Personal Progress project. Heavenly Father has been able to send profound and timely messages to my heart through the hymns.

Recently I have been thinking about two significant callings I received as a priesthood holder in the Church.
The first of these callings came when I was a deacon. I attended with my family the branch of the Church in Frankfurt, Germany. We were blessed with many wonderful people in our little branch. One was our branch president, Brother Landschulz. I admired him a great deal, even though he always seemed to be rather serious, very official, and most of the time dressed in a dark suit. I remember as a young man joking with my friends how old-fashioned our branch president appeared.
It makes me laugh to think about this now because it is very possible that the youth of the Church today view me in a very similar way.
One Sunday, President Landschulz asked if he could speak with me. My first thought was, “What did I do wrong?” My mind raced over the many things I might have done that could have inspired this branch-president-to-deacon talk.
President Landschulz invited me into a small classroom—our chapel did not have an office for the branch president—and there he extended a call to me to serve as deacons quorum president.
“This is an important position,” he said, and then he took his time and described why. He explained what he and the Lord expected of me and how I could receive help.
I don’t remember much of what he said, but I do remember well how I felt. A sacred, divine Spirit filled my heart as he spoke. I could feel that this was the Savior’s Church. And I felt that the calling he had extended was inspired by the Holy Ghost. I remember walking out of that tiny classroom feeling quite a bit taller than before.
It has been nearly 60 years since that day, and I still treasure these feelings of trust and love.
As I was thinking back on this experience, I tried to remember just how many deacons there were in our branch at the time. To my best recollection, I believe there were two. However, this may be a huge exaggeration.
But it really didn’t matter whether there was one deacon or a dozen. I felt honored, and I wanted to serve to the best of my ability and not disappoint either my branch president or the Lord.
I realize now that the branch president could have merely gone through the motions when he called me to this position. He could have simply told me in the hallway or during our priesthood meeting that I was the new deacons quorum president.
Instead, he spent time with me and helped me understand not only the what of my assignment and new responsibility but, much more important, the why.
That is something I will never forget.

In February 1846, Elder Pratt left the branches in Anaa and Tubuai, bound for the United States. He promised to return with additional missionaries. Four and a half years later, on October 21, 1850, 21 travel-weary Latter-day Saints—seven men, five women, and nine children—arrived on the shores of Tubuai.11 Elder Pratt, called to lead a contingent of missionaries back to the islands, had returned in advance of the rest of the group but was detained by colonial officials in Tahiti who were suspicious of the missionaries. Louisa Barnes Pratt, Elder Pratt’s wife, and their four daughters, however, were with the company. Louisa immediately asked to be introduced to her husband’s “old friends” Telii and Nabota. An older man guided her and the other missionaries to Telii and Nabota’s home, where, despite having been sick for several days, Telii had prepared a feast of pork, fish, po’e (a local dish made from taro root), and fruit. The rest of the evening was spent celebrating their arrival by singing himene late into the night. “The music was delightful,” Louisa said. “Their voices are loud and clear.”12

One extremely hot afternoon I was crossing the green agricultural lands of the Pampas in Argentina. The sun was scorching the highway to the point that the heat waves became visible. Nevertheless, I was confident and comfortable because I had just purchased a brand-new car, fresh from the factory, with a big motor and plenty of power to conquer the elements and allow me to travel briskly in air-conditioned comfort.
Suddenly, I noticed that the temperature in my new car had begun to climb and the big motor began to show signs of strain. When the temperature gauge got to the danger point, I pulled the car over to the side of the road in the hope that with my very limited knowledge of mechanics I could discover what was wrong with the car. I must admit I was rather disgusted to think that something could stop my big new car. It wasn’t long after I had lifted the hood that I discovered, to my amazement, that a myriad of colorful little butterflies had collected on the radiator, choked off the cooling process, and stopped the car. I was then struck with the realization of how a few hundred little butterflies, in their collective strength, could master the immense horsepower of the motor. No, it wasn’t an eagle, a hawk, or anything else more or less justifiable, but just a couple hundred little butterflies.
This incident made me think about what often happens in our own lives. I thought about the tremendous potential that exists in each one of us, potential that can direct us to eternal life.
The Prophet Joseph Smith said:
“Here, then, is eternal life—to know the only wise and true God; and you have got to learn how to be Gods yourselves, and to be kings and priests to God, the same as all Gods have done before you, namely, by going from one small degree to another, and from a small capacity to a great one; from grace to grace, from exaltation to exaltation, until you attain to the resurrection of the dead, and are able to dwell in everlasting burnings, and to sit in glory, as do those who sit enthroned in everlasting power. …
“… [You] shall be heirs of God and joint heirs with Jesus Christ. What is it? To inherit the same power, the same glory and the same exaltation, until you arrive at the station of a God, and ascend the throne of eternal power, the same as those who have gone before.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, sel. Joseph Fielding Smith, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1938, pp. 346–47.)
How many times do we allow little “butterflies” to reduce, restrain, or restrict our immense potential from guiding us to exaltation?
Proportionately they are relatively few, those who are detained in their journey by the so-called grave or serious sins, like those we might find in the newspaper headlines. Generally, it is not the mighty eagle that defeats us, but the tiny little “butterflies.”
To better illustrate this concept, I would like to mention some of those “road hazards” that become obstacles in our marvelous journey to the celestial kingdom.
Have we thought about the tremendous spiritual deterioration that results from not keeping the Sabbath day holy? This commandment involves much more than just resting from our labors. Keeping the Sabbath day holy inherently builds spiritual character and prepares us for what is to come. By observing this commandment, we will have power over evil; we will be more capable of keeping the commandments of the Lord and maintaining ourselves unspotted from the sins of the world. (See D&C 59:9.)
More specifically, speaking about the Sabbath day, have we thought about the spiritual malnourishment that results from not attending our sacrament meetings, or attending them with a wrong attitude? The sacred covenant made by the members of the Church at baptism should be the prevailing thought and feeling in our hearts and minds as we partake of the sacrament. If we can achieve this, we will always have the Spirit of the Lord with us.
No member of the Church can ignore or simply put aside the weekly renewal of this covenant and pretend to maintain the Spirit. If we really understand the purpose of our sacrament meetings, we will attend them not just to hear someone speak, which is of course important, but to renew the sacred covenants made with our Father in Heaven in the name of his son, Jesus Christ. Those who make a habit of not attending this weekly service, and fail to repent, put in great danger their spiritual stability and welfare.
Have we ever stopped to think what it means to our salvation when we neglect prayer, or don’t develop daily from our prayers repeatedly gratifying experiences? We are continually referring to the “power of prayer,”. but are we always willing to pay the price so that the promise we find in 3 Nephi 18:18–20 may be fulfilled?
“Behold, verily, verily, I say unto you, ye must watch and pray always lest ye enter into temptation; for Satan desireth to have you, that he may sift you as wheat.
“Therefore ye must always pray unto the Father in my name;
“And whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is right, believing that ye shall receive, behold it shall be given unto you.”
Another example: do we realize that every time that we sustain the leaders of the Church we are duty bound to support them? The raised hand becomes a symbol of the covenant we make to support them. Each time we criticize or condemn them, we become literally covenant breakers. President Joseph F. Smith made the following comment about this problem:
“The moment a man says he will not submit to the legally constituted authority of the Church, whether it be the teachers, the bishopric, the high council, his quorum, or the First Presidency, and in his heart confirms it and carries it out, that moment he cuts himself off from the privileges and blessings of the Priesthood and Church, and severs himself from the people of God, for he ignores the authority that the Lord has instituted in his Church.” (Gospel Doctrine, 5th ed., Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1939, p. 45.)
I have had innumerable experiences listening to the reasons people have for not paying their tithing, most of which are just cases of a simple lack of faith.
I remember once in 1957, while I was acting as a new president of a branch in Argentina, I decided to interview the members with respect to the importance of paying tithing. I found myself talking with one good brother of the branch whose name was Jose, who had difficulty paying his tithing. I asked him bluntly, “Brother Jose, why don’t you pay your tithing?” I’m sure Jose didn’t expect me to be so direct.
After a moment of silence he responded: “As you know, President, I have two children. The wage of a laborer is very low. This month I have to buy my children shoes to go to school; and, mathematically, I just don’t have enough money.”
In an instant response, I said, “Jose, I promise you that if you pay your tithing faithfully, your children will have their shoes to go to school, and you will be able to pay for all the needs of your home. I don’t know how he will do it, but the Lord always keeps his promises. Besides that,” I added, “If you still find that you don’t have enough money, I will give you back what you paid in tithing from my own pocket.”
On the way home, I wondered if what I had done was the right thing. Here I was, recently married, just getting started in my career, and faced with my own economic problems. I began to worry about my own shoes, let alone those of Jose’s family! Even though when I got home my dear wife wholeheartedly supported me and reassured me that everything would be all right, I must say that that night nobody prayed harder for Brother Jose’s economic welfare than I did.
One month later, I once again sat down with Jose. Though the tears in his eyes almost made it impossible for him to speak, he said: “President, it is incredible. I paid my tithing; I was able to meet all of my obligations, and I even purchased the new shoes for my children, all without an increase in my wage. I know that the Lord keeps his promises!”
Jose remains to this day a faithful tithe payer.
Up until now, I have mentioned only a few of the problems arising from the little “butterflies” that we find in our eternal pathway. Of course, there are many more. We could mention, for example, the lack of self-control that leads many people to break the Word of Wisdom; the various excuses for not complying with the program of personal and family preparedness; the lack of encouragement and the apathy with regard to our genealogical responsibilities; the failure to return often to the temples of the Lord to do the necessary work for our kindred dead; in some cases the lack of interest, in other cases the fear, that precludes many from participating in missionary work. These are only examples of a list that goes on and on.
It is highly probable that we will never lose our status as members of the Church simply for not adhering to one or more of the aforementioned commandments. Nevertheless, whether individually or collectively, these little “butterflies” affect our spiritual development and, fundamentally, the real capability of each individual.
“For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves. And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward.” (D&C 58:28.)
The Lord hasn’t sent us to the world to fail. We have been invested with all of the talents and abilities necessary for the journey to arrive, to be once again in His presence. Our greatest challenge is to use faithfully and decidedly all that He has given us to reach our exaltation. If such is our accomplishment—if we “live by every word that proceedeth forth from the mouth of God” (D&C 84:44)—at the end of our journey we will once again be part of a glorious experience such as we had at the start, when “all the sons of God shouted for joy.” (Job 38:7.)
I know that the Lord has made this possible and that he blesses us and will continue to bless us as we progress to our glorious destination. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The March day felt almost like summer as Raybell walked down the quiet country road. Her parents had gone to dinner the night before and had brought her two fortune cookies that she carried in a paper bag. She wanted to give one to her best friend, Linda.
Raybell looked out over the fields that were just beginning to turn green and thought how very quiet and empty her little farming town was. The sun felt warm on her head and shoulders, and a meadowlark broke the lonely silence with its call from the telephone lines.
Raybell hurried up the long walkway to Linda’s house and knocked on the door. She waited and then knocked again. The house was silent. Maybe Linda’s family had gone into town. Raybell sat on the steps and waited for about ten minutes, though it seemed longer. Finally she got up and wandered across the road to the church, a white building with pine trees in front. She sat down on the church steps where she had a view of Linda’s house. She could also see Judy’s house across the field, and she began to think about what had happened after Primary one day last month.
Now Raybell sat on the steps in the warm sunshine and remembered the feelings of that day. Judy hadn’t spoken to her in the last month, but she had never been very friendly. Raybell looked across the field at Judy’s run-down house, surrounded by old, broken-down cars.
Raybell looked again at Judy’s old house. She looked at the paper sack sitting on the steps with the two fortune cookies in it. She picked it up and climbed through the fence into the damp, plowed field.
As Raybell approached the house, she saw Judy sitting on her rickety front steps wearing an old army shirt and baggy pants. She watched Raybell with a hostile expression, and Raybell wished she hadn’t come. She tried to smile.
“My mom and dad went out to eat last night—”
“So?” Judy said.
“Well, they brought these fortune cookies, and I thought we could open them and read our fortunes.” Judy’s expression was puzzled but not angry. “Judy, I’m really sorry about putting snow in your boots.” She stood there not knowing what else to say.
“What do I care if my boots are wet? It doesn’t bother me,” Judy said.
“Well, I’m sorry anyway. I’d hate it if my boots were all wet inside. I guess I’m not as tough as you.”
Judy shrugged her shoulders. “So are you going to give me one of those fortune cookies or not?”
“Oh, sure.” Raybell sat down on the steps and handed a cookie to Judy. They broke the cookies in half and read the slips of paper. “What does yours say?” Raybell asked.
Judy sat up very straight. “It says I will be rich and famous one day. How about yours?”
“‘You are a good leader and should consider politics or business,’” Raybell read. They both laughed.
Judy took a bite of her cookie. “I prefer chocolate cookies, but they’re not bad.”
“Me too,” Raybell said. They both laughed again. Raybell munched her cookie and thought that the spring sunshine felt even warmer here on Judy’s steps.

They told them they’d be bigger than the Beatles. They told them they’d make more money than Bill Gates. And in its brief but extraordinary run, the band Wet Cement did appear destined for fame.
Comprised of three LDS young men—lead singer, songwriter, and guitarist Tyler Putnam, drummer Ben Aplanalp, and bassist Coby Coonradt—Wet Cement started modestly in tiny Kamas, Utah.
“We made a really, really, really bad tape in Tyler’s garage,” said Ben, 17. The band managed to get the recording to Graham Russell, a founding member of the group Air Supply.
“We get a lot of tapes sent to us,” said Graham’s wife, Jodi. “But this tape was different. The group was very rough, but Graham and I liked them immediately. Their songs were fabulous.”
The Russells invited the boys to their home. “We were pretty scared,” said Ben. “But Graham said he liked what he heard on our tape, and he wanted to record our four songs. Over the next few months we kept writing songs, and he liked them so he said, ‘Why not record an entire album?’”
On the same day the band’s debut CD was released, Wet Cement appeared as the warm-up act for Air Supply in Salt Lake City’s Abravanel Hall. The group received a Beatles-esque reaction from a large crowd of shrieking fans.
“It was definitely fun,” said Coby, 18.
Added Tyler, “There were about 2,000 people, and they were really getting into our music. That’s pretty exciting for a garage band from Kamas.”
Shortly after the Abravanel Hall appearance, several music industry giants approached the Russells with offers to take on the hip, young group. Contract negotiations began with WorldWide Entertainment and Warner Brothers, planning began on a European tour, and the boys started wondering how they would spend their newfound fortune.
“I wanted a new car—a silver Beetle,” said Tyler.
“New drum equipment,” said Ben.
But then things started to feel wrong. Wet Cement was getting ready to shoot its first music video—based on the group’s catchy tune “The Abduction Song,” which details a fanciful encounter with extraterrestrials.
“I started getting uncomfortable,” said Ben. “I thought the aliens were going to be a little too sexy—not wearing enough alien clothing. The producers didn’t want to compromise; they said sex sells. So we said we didn’t want to do it.”
The Russells were understanding but asked the boys about their long-term commitment to music.
Said 19-year-old Tyler, “I love music, but I had been thinking about a mission for a long time, and it seemed they were asking me, ‘Are you going on a mission or not?’ I could see my life was at a crossroads, and my future would go one way or another based on what I did next.”
Tyler got down on his knees and asked the Lord for help. The answer came quickly.
“I felt there was someone out there that only I could touch,” he said. “Also, I didn’t want to be an example of a bad example—someone 19-year-olds could point to and say, ‘Look, he didn’t go on a mission and he turned out okay.’ People notice what you do big time.”
Tyler told the Russells he was trading in his guitar for a set of scriptures.
“I think they thought that once I saw the stars in my eyes I’d stay. I did see stars in my eyes. It was hard. Either way, I was going to give up something.
“They were so close. They could have gone all the way,” said Jodi, who managed the band during its short life. “They were very, very talented, and they had a great vibe. They were innocent and funny, and they liked each other. They really had everything.
“It’s taken some time, because we were so passionate about what they could have accomplished, but we do respect their decision.”
For Wet Cement, walking out of the spotlight was a difficult and financially challenging decision. Not only have they given up hopes of fame and fortune, but they have taken on a substantial debt. Said Coby, “The Russells spent a lot of money recording the CD, and they invested a lot of time in us. We decided we need to try to pay them back.” Now their company, Wet-Cement, is selling the group’s CD, and all proceeds are going to paying off the debt.
Still, Tyler doesn’t regret his decision. “Anything worthwhile takes effort. Being on stage, feeling that adrenaline is fun. But some things are more important.”
Tyler has since left for the mission field in the Philippines.
“I’m glad Tyler’s going on his mission,” said Coby. “It’ll be a positive thing.”
Ben agrees, “I plan on going. I’ve seen my brothers go, and their testimonies really grow.”
Again, Wet Cement is in perfect harmony.

By the time the sun began to sparkle on the Bear River and warm the cattle on the Wyoming ranch, Minerva Teichert had been up for some time. There was breakfast to cook for her husband Herman, the five children, and a few ranch workers. Every morning there were milk bottles for the dairy that would take several hours to clean and sterilize. In addition, there were chickens to feed, clothes to wash and mend, a garden to weed. By the time the household began to quiet down for the evening, she had cooked two more meals and finished a variety of other chores that life on a ranch in the 1930s demanded.
But still Minerva’s day was not complete. It never was until she had picked up her brush and her “palette”—a long piece of wood dabbed with oil paints—and spent a few precious moments at her canvas.
Minerva was “filled and thrilled,” she said, by the heroism of the pioneers, too enchanted by the strong beauty of the American Indian, too captivated by the glory of animals in unfettered motion, to take her subjects lightly. From childhood, the faith of the prophets had flowed in her veins. And all her life, her love for the beautiful and the heroic drove her to paint and give it expression on canvas. This she did with bold strokes, in a style uniquely hers.
Last year, for the one-hundredth anniversary of her birth, the Museum of Church History and Art featured a collection of Minerva Kohlhepp Teichert’s work. In past years, her paintings have appeared in Church magazines and manuals, but widespread recognition of Sister Teichert’s importance as an artist has been slow in coming. The show included a selection of her forty-plus-piece Book of Mormon mural series, murals chronicling the Latter-day Saint pioneer trek and the settling of the American West, portraits, still-life floral paintings, and work from her student days.
Minerva Kohlhepp was just four when her mother, a strong and creative woman, gave her a set of watercolors. From that moment, the child considered herself an artist. Everywhere she went, young Minerva carried a sketchpad and charcoal or pencil.
Born on 28 August 1888 in North Ogden, Utah, Minerva was the second of ten Kohlhepp children. Most of her early years were spent on her family’s Idaho homestead. The Kohlhepp family was poor financially, and with no school nearby, Minerva had little formal education as a small child. But each night her father gathered the children around to read the scriptures or classics of literature.
Minerva left home for the first time at age fourteen to work as a nursemaid for a wealthy Idaho family in San Francisco. There she saw museum art for the first time and attended classes at the Mark Hopkins Art School. But it was not until she had graduated from high school back home and taught school for several years that she was able to pursue any serious training in art.
By age nineteen, she had saved enough money to go to Chicago, Illinois, where she studied at the Chicago Art Institute under the great John Vanderpoel. Several times during her three-year course she had to go home to earn more money by working in the fields or in the classroom. But Minerva always returned to her studies. With characteristic confidence, Minerva once confronted Mr. Vanderpoel, asking why he criticized her work so harshly when so many classmates were doing much poorer work. She later recalled, “I shall never forget the disappointment on the man’s face when he answered in a choked voice, ‘Can it be possible you do not understand; those other students are not worth it, they will eventually leave school, but you—ah, there is no end’” (“Miss Kohlhepp’s Own Story,” Pocatello, Idaho, 1917).
By 1912, she had finished her course at the Art Institute and returned west to earn more money. During this period she was courted by two young men—calling off a wedding with one wealthy suitor when she learned that he didn’t want to be married in a Mormon church. The other young man, not a Church member either (she knew no Latter-day Saint young men), was Herman Teichert. Herman was a gentle cowboy whose favorite activity was chasing wild horses on the desert by moonlight. In April 1915, however, she left Herman behind, telling him to marry someone else, and went to the Art Students’ League in New York City.
At the time, the League was one of the most important art centers in the world. Minerva paid for the privilege of studying there in a variety of ways, including sketching cadavers for medical schools and performing rope tricks and Indian dances.
At this critical point in her life, Minerva had two experiences that took her out of the art world. The first experience crystallized her desire for life with a family—specifically, for life with Herman. In a testimony meeting she was listening to a sister speak on the joys of marriage and motherhood. “I thought of all the men I had met in my search for ‘the right one,’” wrote Minerva later. At that moment, she realized that “back on the Idaho desert, herding his cattle and branding his calves was a man more nearly meant for me than anyone else in the world” (unpublished autobiographical sketch, 1937, transcription from handwritten manuscript). Never one to doubt her own judgment, Minerva returned home to Idaho and married Herman.
The other experience helped her to strengthen her feeling that she had a mission as an artist and that she should place her art in the service of her faith. Minerva later recorded how Robert Henri, one of her renowned teachers, asked her, shortly before she left New York, whether any artist had ever told the “great Mormon story.”
“Not to my liking,’ I answered. ‘Good Heavens, girl, what an opportunity. You do it. You’re the one. That’s your birthright. You’ll do it well.’
“I felt that I had been commissioned” (unpublished manuscript, 1947).
Minerva Teichert spent the rest of her life, and her enormous vitality, answering these two callings—one to love and serve her family, the other to tell the story of her people and her faith through her art.
When Herman returned from serving in France during World War I, he and Minerva moved to the old Teichert family homestead in Idaho. Minerva loved this place, but they were eventually forced to leave by the construction of a new reservoir. They made their new home on a cattle ranch at Cokeville, Wyoming. Minerva painted scenes of the Idaho countryside around their old home in a frieze for the living room of their new home. For more than forty years, this room was both Minerva’s studio and the center of the Teichert household. She cooked meals on a wood-burning stove, occasionally adding a touch to a painting as she cooked. Every night while the family ate supper, she read to them—literature, history, and the scriptures.
In that same living room she developed a strong, original style as she painted hundreds of murals, portraits, and other works. The conditions were far from ideal for painting. The room was too small to spread out her larger murals. She sometimes had to fold the canvas, painting one section at a time. To see her murals in perspective, she would look through the small end of a pair of binoculars. Distractions were constant. But somehow Minerva persisted. “I must paint,” she once explained (unpublished manuscript, 1947).
Minerva’s spiritual life was guided by dreams and by an increasing ability to rely on the Lord. As a young mother, she turned down an opportunity to study in London, England, with her great teacher Robert Henri when she dreamed of a daughter who would soon be born to her. Laurie, the only Teichert daughter, was born with the next year or so. In the same way, Minerva saw future daughters-in-law in dreams before she met them. She trusted implicitly what she felt the Lord had told her and taught her children and grandchildren to rely on His guidance.
One of the highlights of her spiritual life was Herman’s baptism in 1933. He had supported her Church participation and paid tithing for years. Minerva and Herman were later sealed in the Logan Temple.
Minerva Teichert’s mission in art had two crowning points. One was the completion of the Book of Mormon mural series. She had felt that having the series published by the Church would be the ultimate fulfillment of her mission as an artist. When she could interest no one in publishing the paintings, she was devastated and eventually donated them to Brigham Young University.
But if the reception of the Book of Mormon murals was one of her life’s greatest disappointments, her commission to paint murals in the world room in the Manti Temple was one of its great satisfactions. In 1947, at the age of fifty-nine, Minerva Teichert and an assistant completed the murals in just a few months, a remarkable example of her almost unimaginable vitality.
By her death in 1976 at the age of eighty-seven, Minerva Kohlhepp Teichert had created perhaps as many as a thousand pieces of art. “Eternity seems very real to me,” she wrote in 1937. Then, expressing her eternal wish: “I want … to be able to paint after I leave here. Even though I should come back nine times I still would not have exhausted my supply of subjects and one life time is far too short but may be a schooling for the next.