Gospel Story Finder

As I stand here before you at this moment, I cannot help but think back to the day when I, as an investigator of the Church, was confronted with the missionaries’ challenge to prepare for my baptism. This step seemed to be too big for me to take, but because I already had a testimony burning within me of the truthfulness of this work, I knew that withstanding baptism would take away my right to speak to my Father in Heaven again in prayer.
So I accepted the challenge for baptism, with a fearful heart, but I told the missionaries that I would do it only on two conditions: First, that I would never be called to any Church position, and second, that I would never have to give a talk. Without the loving influence and the power and security of the Holy Ghost, which I received by the laying on of hands after baptism to help me, I could not have done anything in my various Church assignments by myself.
We, as members, have the privilege to bear witness of the restoration of the Church of Jesus Christ through a divinely authorized man, Joseph Smith, in these latter days. As I bore this witness to a man just recently while I was serving as mission president in Germany, I saw that he felt very uneasy about my statement, and he, like so many others, responded with a question: “Don’t we all believe in the same God?” This question hurt me. It always hurts me when I see how many people are so indifferent and show such a lack of awareness in this most vital question in man’s life: Can I find thee, my Father in Heaven?
Yes, one could say that regardless of when, where, and in what circumstances we are raised, we all long for our Heavenly Father and desire after him, because we knew him before we came to this earth. But do we, on this earth, all believe in the same God? No—absolutely not! Men have created, in their use of free agency, all kinds of different interpretations of our Father in Heaven and the purpose of our lives.
In our mortal existence there is no place for an uncertain, indifferent awareness of our responsibility and obligation to decide whom we should follow. Either we must attain a knowledge of our Creator and God, who loves us, who wants to bring peace, dignity, light, and happiness into our lives, or by and by we will forget our divine origin and remain in the foggy mists of the deceiver—the adversary, who cannot stand the fact that we, as living souls, did not accept his plan in our premortal lives.
He is fighting, with all of his knowledge, to lead men astray as they exercise their free agency, that he might make them his slaves. We are witnesses that the fear, hatred, despair, loneliness, and ugliness that people experience in their lives are the fruits of the influence of the adversary. It is obvious that his long-range, ungodly strategy to destroy our ability to truly love and have faith is aimed at these latter days before the second coming of the Savior, when a decision is required of every man.
If we do not decide to search out and accept the truth in the only way authorized by God, with all our might, mind, and strength, even when it means changing our lives completely, we will have built our house on sand. The half-truths of men, often mingled with scripture, are sometimes strong enough to fulfill the expectations of the people for a season or for a generation, but they can neither bring them along the path of exaltation and eternal life nor bring satisfying answers to the demanding problems of mankind in these days.
Receiving and accepting Jesus Christ and his plan of salvation in its fulness and its truth means leaving the world and its earthly desires behind and building Zion around ourselves. When Christ walked the earth to prepare the way for his disciples, standing in purity and bearing testimony of the truth, he was a light in the darkness, and the darkness knew him not (see John 1:5). The darkness organized itself to destroy him. Christ knew that this would happen, not only to him but also to all his true disciples. He said, in speaking to his followers, in Matthew 10:22, “And ye shall be hated of all men for my name’s sake.”
When we really follow Christ in his true restored church, it will be manifested in our lives. The fruit will follow. The Holy Ghost will lead us to make uncomfortable decisions, to develop true love and faith by learning to sacrifice and to discipline ourselves. Our abilities will grow and will bring satisfaction and joy and happiness. Through the instrument of an ongoing communication with our Heavenly Father—a constant prayer in our hearts for direction in the many little decisions in our lives—we feel the softness of the yoke of Christ, as he said in Matthew 11:28, 30:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. …
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
We will be led to live our lives his way and not the world’s way.
The men of the world feel secure with the question “Don’t we all believe in the same God?” The answer to the question is “No.” The deceiver has initiated all kinds of philosophies and religions to lead people astray, to make them feel happy and safe in their man-made rationalizing and wickedness. He wants them to forget that someday we all have to stand in the judgment of Christ and report our deeds and words. The Savior said in Matthew 12:36, “But I say unto you, That every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the day of judgment.”
We are living in the glorious days of fulfillment eagerly awaited by the prophets of old—Enoch, Isaiah, Daniel, Paul, and many others. In our day the works of the deceiver of all the ages are being revealed by Christ through a living prophet. The disciples of Christ—the Saints of the latter days under the leadership of a living prophet, even Spencer W. Kimball—are taking the offensive to show the world the fruits of righteous living in the gospel of Jesus Christ. We testify with the angels that these are the days of warning for the people of the nations of the world, and that the time is near when it will be too late. We testify with the words of Amulek, a Book of Mormon prophet, recorded in Alma 34:32–33 and 35:
“For behold, this life is the time for men … to perform their labors.
“And now, as I have said unto you before, as ye have had so many witnesses, therefore, I beseech of you that ye do not procrastinate the day of your repentance until the end; …
“For behold, if ye have procrastinated the day of your repentance even until death, behold, ye have become subjected to the spirit of the devil, and he doth seal you his; therefore, the Spirit of the Lord hath withdrawn from you, and hath no place in you, and the devil hath all power over you; and this is the final state of the wicked.”
The saving priesthood powers from above operate only through the principle of the righteousness of men. These powers are working through the innocent and the pure in heart as prophesied since the days of old. Thirty thousand missionaries are sent out to teach with this power, searching for those who are seeking the eternal principles of truth that they have been waiting for during their whole lifetime. Hundreds of thousands of priesthood holders and women witness daily—through their righteous lives, their example, and their testimonies—that they have been sealed by the Holy Ghost with the knowledge that these things are true, that the kingdom of God is in the process of establishment in these days to prepare for the second coming of the Savior.
With great excitement, the disciples of Christ in these last days are learning to accept the word given to the Prophet Joseph Smith in Doctrine & Covenants 58:64:
“For, verily, the sound must go forth from this place into all the world, and unto the uttermost parts of the earth—the gospel must be preached unto every creature, with signs following them that believe.”
This work in these latter days is bringing to pass the prophecy of the prophet Enoch, the seventh from Adam, recorded in the Pearl of Great Price, Moses 7:62:
“And righteousness will I send down out of heaven; and truth will I send forth out of the earth, to bear testimony of mine Only Begotten; his resurrection from the dead; yea, and also the resurrection of all men; and righteousness and truth will I cause to sweep the earth as with a flood, to gather out mine elect from the four quarters of the earth, unto a place which I shall prepare, an Holy City, that my people may gird up their loins, and be looking forth for the time of my coming; for there shall be my tabernacle, and it shall be called Zion, a New Jerusalem.”
My dear brothers and sisters, I bear you my testimony that this is the day of the establishment of the kingdom of Christ on this earth—that nobody will be able to escape the decision to accept God as he really is and not as he has been made to appear according to man-made philosophies. I know that this is the work of the living God, working through a living prophet, Spencer W. Kimball. I say this in humility in the name of our Savior, Jesus Christ, amen.

House Build C:
In this family are Roberto (father), Micaela (mother), Gloria (daughter, 13), Esther (daughter, 10), and Abraham (son, 8). Roberto works as a cook six days a week. Micaela raises her children and makes foam flowers to sell to stores and schools.
Two years ago, Roberto started going back to church with his family. He felt God’s love and felt the need to serve and love others, so each Friday he would bring hundreds of burritos and flavored water to migrant groups from Central America. He feels that God always blesses him for his service and that his new home is one such blessing. But he was even more excited about the incredible gratitude, love, and unity he felt among the youth.

The earliest instance of which I have recollection of spiritual feelings was when I was about five years of age, a very small boy. I was crying from the pain of an earache. There were no wonder drugs at the time. … My mother prepared a bag of table salt and put it on the stove to warm. My father softly put his hands upon my head and gave me a blessing, rebuking the pain and the illness by authority of the holy priesthood and in the name of Jesus Christ. He then took me tenderly in his arms and placed the bag of warm salt at my ear. The pain subsided and left. I fell asleep in my father’s secure embrace. As I was falling asleep, the words of his administration floated through my mind. That is the earliest remembrance I have of the exercise of the authority of the priesthood in the name of the Lord. …

“President Lee once told of a woman in New York who approached him concerning her nonmember husband. Her spouse wanted her to attend parties that were far below Church standards. President Lee advised her that whereas a woman should follow her husband, she need not follow him to hell. The husband, upon hearing this from his wife, was, like your parents, extremely resentful.

“Let your parents know how much you love them and appreciate their offer but also that the Lord has said that sacrament meeting is the most important meeting we have to attend. Being the only member or active member of a family is sometimes a lonely ordeal. But if we seek to do the Lord’s will over the conflicting desires of loved ones who don’t or won’t understand, he will bless us. He certainly blessed the lady from New York. A few months after she had revealed the advice of the prophet, her ‘resentful’ husband was baptized.”

Not long after I was ordained a deacon, my bishop, Leon Walker, asked me into his office to give me an assignment. He handed me a bright key, the key to the chapel, and charged me with responsibility to help look after the building. I considered myself one of the most fortunate boys in the world to have an assignment from my priesthood president. I thought this would not be a difficult task. My home was just a one-minute bicycle ride away from the building. But I soon learned what I suppose all bishops know, and that is that everybody in the ward seems to have a key to the building. As soon as I had the building locked up on an evening, someone came along behind me and opened a door. As soon as I had opened a Primary classroom, some diligent soul was there behind me to lock it up again. I could hardly stay on top of that job.
But I began to learn then, as I have come to understand since, that any call, any service in our Lord’s cause sanctifies us. Whether it is performed in the glare of the public eye or in a quiet corner known only to God is of no consequence. What matters is that we do serve, for by serving we keep our covenants with Deity, and in those covenants is the promise of salvation.

The principle is illustrated in an experience that some members of our family had when we were in a very large city. Because of differences in work and school schedules, we had to book separate flights from two different airlines. Some of the family left from one airport, but my son and I were scheduled to leave from an airport south of town, nearly two hours away. There were challenges ahead: motoring on the opposite side of the road from that to which we were accustomed, congested highways, road repairs, as well as a limited time to catch the plane. We felt a dependence on the Lord as we began our journey. With road map in hand, I tried to navigate (which is not my forte), and my son tried his hand at the wheel of a rented car. I earnestly hoped that the people who had made the maps had designed them to match the road signs. We were not in a position to make a mistake or backtrack, or our destination would not be realized.
How like life, I thought: If we rely on the Lord, follow the map, and watch the road signs, without making a lot of unnecessary detours, we can navigate through mortality and reach our destination safely, in the Lord’s due time. Decisions determine destiny.

Training to be a helicopter pilot isn’t an opportunity that most people get. But when Pierre O., 24, decided to enlist in the French Army, he got just that. Now in his second year of the four-year training, Pierre is doing his best to live as an example of the believers, despite his environment.
Stationed about an hour and a half outside of Bordeaux, in southwestern France, Pierre is far from his friends, family, and hometown of Rennes. The nearest meetinghouse is an hour away, meaning that he doesn’t get to interact much with members during the week. “It’s not easy to be a member of the Church in the army,” Pierre says, “because there are a lot of temptations and it’s really just two opposite worlds. You’re judged a lot in the army not based on what you do but on who you are.” Pierre wants those around him to see that he doesn’t drink alcohol, smoke, view pornography, or party—commonplace activities in the army—because of who he is: a member of the Church. While he struggles to earn the respect of those around him, prayer and scripture study help keep his testimony strong. “I try to not go to sleep without having read my scriptures first,” he explains, “and I try to pray whenever I can.”
“Reading the scriptures and praying helped me a lot during all of my schooling to know that God exists, that He is there—without really understanding the rest of the gospel,” Pierre explains. “I just knew that God was there, and so that helped me to stay on the right path.”
That foundation of scripture study sustained Pierre throughout all his schooling and even now through his army training. Before enlisting, Pierre served a mission in Montreal, Quebec, Canada, where his testimony and understanding of the gospel were solidified.
“The scriptures are one of the most tangible ways Heavenly Father answers us,” he says.
Through his daily prayer and scripture study, Pierre is able not only to receive inspiration but also to be an example to those in his army unit. While he and his classmates may not have much in common besides their national pride, Pierre knows that by following the teachings of the scriptures, he will be someone they can respect because of and not in spite of his beliefs.

A visitor once asked me, “What is there to see while I am in Salt Lake City?” Instinctively I suggested a tour of Temple Square, a drive to the nearby canyons, a visit to the Bingham copper mine, and perhaps a swim in the Great Salt Lake. A fear of being misunderstood kept me from expressing the thought, “Have you considered spending an hour or two at one of our cemeteries?” I never did reveal to him that wherever I travel I try to pay a visit to the town cemetery. It is a time of contemplation, of reflection on the meaning of life and the inevitability of death.
In the small cemetery in the town of Santa Clara, Utah, I remember the preponderance of Swiss names which adorn the weathered tombstones. Many of those persons left home and family in verdant Switzerland and, in response to the call “Come to Zion,” settled the communities where they now “rest in peace.” They endured spring floods, summer droughts, scant harvests, and backbreaking labors. They left a legacy of sacrifice.
The largest cemeteries, and in many respects those which evoke the most tender emotions, are honored as the resting places of men who died in the cauldron of conflict known as war while wearing the uniform of their country. One reflects on shattered dreams, unfulfilled hopes, grief-filled hearts, and lives cut short by the sharp scythe of war.
Acres of neat white crosses in the cities of France and Belgium accentuate the terrible toll of World War I. Verdun, France, is in reality a gigantic cemetery. Each spring as farmers till the earth, they uncover a helmet here, a gun barrel there—grim reminders of the millions of men who literally soaked the soil with the blood of their lives.
A tour of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and other battlefields of the American Civil War marks that conflict where brother fought against brother. Some families lost farms, others possessions. One family lost all. Let me share with you that memorable letter which President Abraham Lincoln wrote to Mrs. Lydia Bixby:
“Dear Madam:
“I have been shown in the files of the War Department a statement of the Adjutant General of Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of the republic they died to save. I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom.
“Yours very sincerely and respectfully,“Abraham Lincoln.”
A walk through Punchbowl Cemetery in Honolulu or the Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific at Manila reminds one that not all who died in World War II are buried in quiet fields of green. Many slipped beneath the waves of the oceans on which they sailed and on which they died.
Among the thousands of servicemen killed in the attack on Pearl Harbor was a sailor by the name of William Ball, from Fredericksburg, Iowa. What distinguished him from so many others who died on that day in 1941 was not any special act of heroism, but the tragic chain of events his death set in motion at home.
When William’s boyhood buddies, the five Sullivan brothers from the nearby town of Waterloo, received word of his death, they marched out together to enlist in the navy. The Sullivans, who wished to avenge their friend, insisted that they remain together, and the navy granted their wish. On November 14, 1942, the cruiser on which the brothers served, the USS Juneau, was hit and sunk in a battle off Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands.
Almost two months went by before Mrs. Thomas Sullivan received the news, which arrived not by the usual telegram but by special envoy: all five of her sons were reported missing in action in the South Pacific and presumed dead. Their bodies were never recovered.
One sentence only, spoken by one person only, provides a fitting epitaph: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”
Frequently the profound influence one life has on the lives of others is never spoken and occasionally little known. Such was the experience of a teacher of girls, even 12-year-olds in the Beehive class of Mutual. She had no children of her own, though she and her husband dearly longed for children. Her love was expressed through the devotion to her special girls as she taught them eternal truths and lessons of life. Then came illness, followed by death. She was but 27.
Each year on Memorial Day, her girls made a pilgrimage of prayer to the graveside of their teacher. First there were seven, then four, then two, and eventually just one, who continued the annual visit, always placing on the grave a bouquet of irises—a symbol of heartfelt gratitude. That last girl later became a teacher of girls. Little wonder she is so successful. She mirrors the reflection of the teacher from whom came her inspiration. The life that teacher lived, the lessons that teacher taught, are not buried beneath the headstone which marks her grave but live on in the personalities she helped to shape and the lives she so selflessly enriched. One is reminded of another master teacher, even the Lord. Once, with His finger, He wrote in the sand a message. The winds of time erased forever the words He wrote but not the life He lived.
“All that we can know about those we have loved and lost,” wrote Thornton Wilder, “is that they would wish us to remember them with a more intensified realization of their reality. … The highest tribute to the dead is not grief but gratitude.”
Some years ago, in beautiful Heber Valley just east of Salt Lake City, a loving mother and devoted father returned to that personal haven called home to discover that their three eldest sons lay dead. The night was bitter cold, and the fierce wind swept the falling snow, which covered the chimney, trapping deadly carbon monoxide fumes throughout the house.
The joint funeral service for the Keller boys was one of the most touching experiences of my life. The residents of the community had placed aside their daily tasks, children were excused from school, and all thronged to the chapel to express their deep feelings of condolence. So long as time and memory endure, I shall remember the scene of three shiny caskets, followed by grief-stricken parents and grandparents making their way to the front of the building.
The first speaker was the wrestling coach of the local high school. He paid tribute to Louis, the oldest boy. With an emotion-filled voice and choking back the tears, he told how Louis was not necessarily the most gifted wrestler on the team but added, “No one tried harder. What he lacked in athletic skill he made up with a determined heart.”
Then a youth leader spoke of Travis. He told how Travis had excelled in Scouting, in Aaronic Priesthood work, and was such a sterling example to his friends.
Finally, a distinguished appearing and obviously competent elementary school teacher told of Jason, the youngest of the three. She described him as quiet, even shy. Then, without embarrassment, she told how Jason had, in the scrawled penmanship of a boy, sent to her the sweetest and most welcome letter she had ever received. Its message was brief—just three words: “I love you.” She could barely complete her talk, so deep-felt were her emotions.
Through the tears and the sorrow of that special day, I observed eternal lessons that had been taught by those boys whose lives were honored and whose mortal missions concluded.
A coach expressed the determination to look beyond athletic prowess and into the heart of each boy. A youth leader made a solemn vow that every boy and girl would have the benefit which the program of the Church provided. An elementary school teacher looked at the small children, classmates of Jason. She said nothing, but her eyes revealed the determination of her soul. The message was unmistakably clear: “I will love each child. Each boy, each girl will be guided in the search for truth, in the development of talent, and be introduced to the wonderful world of service.”
And the audience could never again be the same. All will strive toward that perfection spoken of by the Master. Our inspiration? The lives of the boys who now rest from care and sorrow, and the fortitude of parents who trust in the Lord with all their hearts, who lean not to their own understanding, and who in all their ways acknowledge Him, knowing that He will direct their paths.
Let me share with you a portion of a letter sent to me by the noble mother of these three sons. It was written soon after their passing.
“We do have days and nights that right now seem so overwhelming. The change in our home life has been so drastic. With almost half our family gone now, the cooking, washing, and even shopping are different. We miss the noise and clutter, the teasing and playing together. Such are gone. Sunday is so quiet. We miss seeing the sacrament blessed and passed by our sons. Sunday was truly our family together day. We ponder the thought: no missions, no weddings, no grandchildren. We would not ask for their return, but we could not say we would ever have willingly given them up. We have returned to our Church duties and our family responsibilities. Our desire is to so live that the Keller family will be a forever family.”
To the Kellers, the Sullivans, and indeed to all who have loved and lost, let me share with you the conviction of my soul, the testimony of my heart, and the actual experiences of my life.
We know each one lived in the spirit world with Heavenly Father. We understand we have come to earth to learn, to live, to progress in our eternal journey toward perfection. Some remain on earth but for a moment, while others live long upon the land. The measure is not how long we live but rather how well we live. Then come death and the beginning of a new chapter of life. Where does that chapter lead?
Many years ago I stood by the bedside of a young man, the father of two children, as he hovered between life and the great beyond. He took my hand in his, looked into my eyes, and pleadingly asked, “Bishop, I know I am about to die. Tell me what happens to my spirit when I die.”
I prayed for heavenly guidance before attempting to respond. My attention was directed to the Book of Mormon, which rested on the table beside his bed. I held the book in my hand, and it providentially opened to the 40th chapter of Alma. I began to read aloud:
“Now my son, here is somewhat more I would say unto thee; for I perceive that thy mind is worried concerning the resurrection of the dead. …
“Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—Behold, it has been made known unto me by an angel, that the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life.
“And then shall it come to pass, that the spirits of those who are righteous are received into a state of happiness, which is called paradise, a state of rest, a state of peace, where they shall rest from all their troubles and from all care, and sorrow.”
My young friend closed his eyes, expressed a sincere thank-you, and silently slipped away to that paradise about which we had spoken.
Then comes that glorious day of resurrection, when spirit and body will be reunited, never again to be separated. “I am the resurrection, and the life,” said the Christ to the grieving Martha. “He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live:
“And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
“Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
“In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. … That where I am, there ye may be also.”
This transcendent promise became a reality when Mary and the other Mary approached the garden tomb—that cemetery which had but one occupant. Let Luke, the physician, describe their experience:
“Now upon the first day of the week, very early in the morning, they came unto the sepulchre. …
“And they found the stone rolled away. …
“… They entered in, and found not the body of the Lord Jesus.
“… As they were much perplexed thereabout, behold, two men stood by them in shining garments:
“And … said unto them, Why seek ye the living among the dead?”
“He is not here: for he is risen.”
This is the clarion call of Christendom. The reality of the Resurrection provides to one and all the peace that surpasses understanding. It comforts those whose loved ones lie in Flanders fields or who perished in the depths of the sea or rest in tiny Santa Clara or peaceful Heber Valley. It is a universal truth.
As the least of His disciples, I declare my personal witness that death has been conquered, victory over the tomb has been won. May the words made sacred by Him who fulfilled them become actual knowledge to all. Remember them. Cherish them. Honor them. He is risen.

The big shiny coin sparkled in the sunlight. Alvin twisted the coin this way and that, just to see the way the sun shone off it. A real silver dollar!

Alvin had worked almost the whole day at his neighbor’s farm to earn that coin. His overalls were dirty, and he was hot and sweaty. But it was worth it. He couldn’t wait to show Mother his coin. He was going to add it to his box of important stuff.

The creaky screen door slammed shut behind him as he ran inside. He found Mother sitting in the rocking chair, folding a pile of clothes from the clothesline.

“Look what Mr. Jackson gave me for working for him today.” He held up the big coin for her to see. “A whole silver dollar!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Alvin! You must have worked hard.”

“I sure did!” said Alvin. “I’m going to keep this dollar forever.” He rubbed the coin with his shirt to get off any smudges.

“Well,” said Mother, “make sure to pay your tithing on what you earned.” She added another shirt to the stack. “That might mean you have to get smaller coins in exchange for your dollar.”

Alvin looked down at his beautiful coin. He didn’t want a bunch of little coins instead of his first silver dollar. “But … I just want to keep it!” Tears pricked his eyes, and he ran out of the kitchen and down the porch steps.

He stomped through the high grass. “I don’t have to pay tithing,” he muttered to himself. He picked up a stick and swung it back and forth across the tall, dry weeds.

Suddenly Alvin stopped in his tracks. He knew tithing was important. He wanted to give tithing. But how? He didn’t have any other coins. All he had was his one silver dollar. How could he pay the 10 cents for his tithing?

Alvin sighed. He would just have to give up his coin. It was the right thing to do.

Alvin kept walking. Soon he heard talking and singing coming from near the bank of the river. He put up his hand to block his eyes from the setting sun. A family was camped by the river. He had met them before. Sometimes they traded things with his mother.

He looked closer. The dad and grandpa had their fishing poles out. Then Alvin had an idea. He took his stick and started digging in the wet dirt along the riverbank. He dug up 11 worms and walked toward the camp by the river.

The men smiled and waved at Alvin.

“Hi,” said Alvin. “Do you need any more worms?”

“We sure do,” said the grandpa. He pulled his empty fishing hook out of the water. “We just ran out.”

Alvin held out the 11 squirming worms. “Would you like some?”

“How much?” asked the dad. He reached in his pocket to get some coins.

“Just a penny each,” said Alvin.

“Well, that’s a bargain.” The man counted out 11 pennies. “You stopped by just in time for us to catch our dinner.”

“Thank you!” said Alvin as he collected his pennies. “Good luck with the fish!”

Alvin hurried back home and showed Mother his coins. “Now I have enough money to pay tithing for my silver dollar and for the money I earned from selling the worms!”

Alvin was grateful he got to keep his coin. But he was also proud of himself for deciding to pay his tithing, no matter what.

My first couple of months working at the grocery store were the toughest. As a courtesy clerk, I bagged and carried out groceries, cleaned toilets, swept the floors, emptied the garbage cans, and stocked the shelves. It wasn’t easy getting into the rhythm and learning where everything was, but I managed.
One day during those first two months, I was bagging groceries when I noticed a pornographic magazine cover in the magazine rack across from the checkout stand. At first I just tried to avoid it by working at other checkout stands. Eventually I realized that plan wouldn’t work, because sooner or later I would have to work in that checkout stand. So when things slowed down a little, I got one of the store advertisements from the newspaper rack and stuffed it in front of the magazine.
I hoped that my trouble was over and that eventually they’d just throw out those magazines and put new ones in. But a week later I went in to work, and the advertisement I had placed in front of the magazine wasn’t there. Someone must have taken it down.
The store was swamped with customers. I didn’t know what to do. The requirements of my job were such that I had to stay and work in that checkout stand. I was looking away as best I could, but that picture was right there, constantly tempting me. I was afraid that I would give in and look. So I said a silent prayer in my heart.
Five minutes after I prayed, the supervisor of the whole store came down from his office and placed a plastic shield in front of that magazine.
When we do our best to avoid temptation and ask Heavenly Father for help, He will hear us. Prayers are heard and answered.

In March of 2020, my grandpa passed away. At his funeral, my dad shared some childhood stories. While growing up, it seemed like my dad was always getting himself into trouble—falling into a drainage ditch, trying to swim in a fast-moving river, getting kicked in the head by a horse. My dad joked that in each of these instances, death was trying to come between him and his dad. But in every story, his dad was there, and everything turned out OK. These stories made us laugh, but my dad used them to highlight an important truth.

“The last time death tried to separate us was today,” my dad said. “But because of the Atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, we can never truly be separated.”

As we continue to share stories about my grandpa and our family, we remember that we belong to something so much bigger than ourselves: an eternal family. That knowledge provides us with the strength and confidence to confront any challenge.

The knowledge that we belong to an eternal family provides us with the strength and confidence to confront any challenge.

“Callie, wake up!” Mama called.
Callie opened her eyes a little and looked out the window by her bed. She could barely see the outline of the windmill against the morning sky.
A smile lighted Callie’s face. “It’s quilting day!” Callie cried. She hopped out of bed and dressed quickly.
Callie always liked quilting day. Ladies from miles around came to her home. Callie’s friend, Mary Porter, would come with her mother too. Living on the Texas plains prevented Callie from seeing her friends very often after school let out for the summer. And today would be the most special quilting day of all!
Callie rushed to the kitchen. Mama and Papa and her brothers, Joseph and Tom, were already at the table, eating steaming bowls of mush.
“You’re looking mighty cheerful today, Callie,” said Papa.
“It’s quilting day. They’re going to do my quilt today!” exclaimed Callie.
Papa put down his spoon. “I plumb forgot! Was I supposed to put up the quilting frame in the front room, Eliza?” he said to Callie’s mother.
Callie’s heart felt like it skipped a beat. “You didn’t put up the frame?”
Mama smiled. “Now, Henry, don’t tease the child.”
Papa laughed, and so did Joseph and Tom.
“Don’t worry, Callie. The quilting frame is up and ready to go,” said Papa with a big grin.
Callie relaxed. Papa was always teasing.
After breakfast Papa and the boys went to work in the fields, and Callie helped her mother in the kitchen. When she was through, Callie went into the front room. Her Flower Garden quilt was stretched tightly on the frame, waiting to be quilted. Months ago Callie had helped Mama pick the many colored pieces from her scrap bag to go onto the pale yellow background. Mama had brought her scrap bag all the way from Missouri before Callie was born.
Callie ran her hands lightly over the beautiful flowers Mama had carefully pieced together. The Texas plains were too drab. Except for the blue sky, all Callie could see outside were continuous tans and browns. A colorful quilt would brighten the days.
Soon the ladies began arriving in their horse-drawn wagons. Mrs. Porter and Mary were the last to arrive. At first Callie felt shy. It had been so long since she had seen Mary that it was almost like meeting a stranger. Then Mary smiled, and it was as though they had seen each other only yesterday.
Mary had brought her beautiful china doll, Josephine, and a little basket full of doll clothes. “Mama made new clothes for Josephine,” she said.
The girls went outside and sat in the shade of the house. Callie marveled at the array of Josephine’s beautiful clothes. Callie brought out her own doll, love-worn old Sally, and the girls played dolls all morning. By afternoon it was warm even in the shade.
“Let’s go into the dugout,” said Callie. “It’s cool there.”
“Ugh! I hate dugouts. You’ve never had to live in one.”
“Yes, I have,” Callie told her. “In fact, I was born in this one.” She raised the wooden door to the underground room.
“We lived here until our house was built.”
“We lived in one, too,” said Mary. “And I remember how dull and dreary it was.”
“My mama felt that way, too,” Callie said. “But the most important thing at that time was to get the well dug and the windmill built. Everyone around here had to live in dugouts for a while.”
“Well, I’d rather stay up here and be hot than go down there and be cool,” said Mary.
Callie smiled. “OK. Let’s go inside. I want to see my quilt.”
In the front room the ladies were laughing and talking as their nimble fingers stitched the quilt layers together.
Callie and Mary went back outside and played until the ladies began to leave. Mrs. Porter and Mary climbed into their wagon. “You come and see us real soon!” called Mrs. Porter.
Callie and her mother went back inside. Mama laid the finished quilt in Callie’s arms.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” Callie cried, hugging the quilt close to her. She raced to her room and spread the Flower Garden quilt on her bed. The plain room instantly became bright and cheery. That night Callie slept soundly under the new quilt.
The next day things were back to normal around the ranch. That afternoon while Mama and Callie were working in the garden, they heard hooves. Callie stood up and shaded her eyes against the sun. “It’s Mr. Walker.”
Mr. Walker rode up to them. He tipped his hat. “Afternoon, Mrs. Logan. I’m riding around to tell everyone that the Porters’ house caught on fire last night. The family got out all right, but the house burned to the ground. They lost everything. We’ll be taking up a collection at the schoolhouse.”
“Mercy!” cried Mama. “I’ll gather up some things for them. You’re sure everyone is all right?”
“Yes, ma’am. But they’ll be back in their dugout for a while until they can raise another house.”
After Mr. Walker left, Mama gathered things to send to the Porters. “Your papa can take these to the schoolhouse tomorrow,” she said.
All Callie could think of was Mary and Josephine and Josephine’s new clothes. Oh, Mary had been so proud of those clothes, and she’d loved Josephine so much!
Callie had a hard time eating dinner that night. When she went to bed, she lay under her quilt and looked out the window at the stars and the windmill. The sound of the windmill usually soothed her to sleep, but it didn’t tonight. She thought about Mary living in the hated dugout where there were no stars and no windmills to see.
The next morning Callie woke up very early. She got out of bed, folded the precious flowered quilt, and took it into the kitchen. Papa was carrying things out to the wagon. Callie handed him the quilt. “This is for Mary.”
Papa put his big hand on her shoulder. “I’ll tell her,” he said softly.
Callie stood in the doorway and watched him drive away. Her stomach felt funny, and she had a lump in her throat. But she felt good too.
Mama put her arms around Callie’s shoulders. “Callie, I have a new quilt pattern called Texas Windmill. It’s the prettiest, swirliest, most colorful quilt I ever saw. How would you like to help me pick out the colors, and I’ll get started on it right away. I think it would look real pretty on your bed.”
Callie smiled. “I’d like that.”

In 1994, President Howard W. Hunter invited all members of the Church to “establish the temple … as the great symbol of [our] membership.” Later that same year, construction on the Bountiful Utah Temple was completed. Like many, we were anxious to take our young family to the open house prior to the dedication. We labored diligently to prepare our children to enter the temple, praying earnestly that they would have a spiritual experience so that the temple would become a focal point in their lives.
As we reverently walked through the temple, I found myself admiring the magnificent architecture, the elegant finishes, the light shining through towering windows, and many of the inspiring paintings. Every aspect of this sacred building was truly exquisite.
Stepping into the celestial room, I suddenly realized that our youngest son, six-year-old Ben, was clinging to my leg. He appeared anxious—perhaps even a little troubled.
“What’s wrong, Son?” I whispered.
“Daddy,” he replied, “what’s happening here? I’ve never felt this way before.”
Recognizing that this was likely the first time our young son had felt the influence of the Holy Ghost in such a powerful way, I knelt down on the floor next to him. While other visitors stepped around us, Ben and I spent several minutes, side by side, learning about the Holy Ghost together. I was amazed at the ease with which we were able to discuss his sacred feelings. As we talked, it became clear that what was most inspiring to Ben was not what he saw but what he felt—not the physical beauty around us but the still, small voice of the Spirit of God within his heart. I shared with him what I had learned from my own experiences, even as his childlike wonder reawakened in me a deep sense of gratitude for this unspeakable gift from God—the gift of the Holy Ghost.
In teaching our six-year-old son, Ben, I thought it important to differentiate between what he was feeling, which was the influence of the Holy Ghost, and the gift of the Holy Ghost, which he would receive after baptism. Before baptism, all honest and sincere seekers of truth can feel the influence of the Holy Ghost from time to time. However, the opportunity to receive the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost and the fulness of all the associated blessings is available only to worthy, baptized members who receive the gift of the Holy Ghost by the laying on of hands through those holding the priesthood authority of God.
As I reflect back on my experience with Ben in the Bountiful Utah Temple, I have many sweet feelings and impressions. One clear recollection is that while I was absorbed in the grandeur of what I could see, a small child near my side was recognizing the powerful feelings in his heart. With a gentle reminder, I was invited not only to pause and kneel down but also to heed the Savior’s call to become as a little child—humble, meek, and ready to hear the still, small voice of His Spirit.

Missionaries in all areas of the world spend their time searching for “golden” contacts, but for two weeks last August missionaries in the Greece Athens Mission gave their time to help those who were in search of Olympic gold.
Of the 70,000 unpaid volunteers at the Athens Olympics, 76 of them were full-time missionaries, including 14 senior missionary couples, who spent hour after hour in the sun assisting with anything from rifle shooting to equestrian events, swimming to judo wrestling.
“[The volunteer supervisors] have been so impressed with our missionaries, which we knew they would be,” said mission president John B. Ludwig during the Olympics. “[The missionaries] are making so many friends.”
Having previously worked with many Church members at the Salt Lake Olympics, Lisa Wardle, volunteer coordinator for the Athens Organizing Committee, allowed the missionaries to be included on the list of volunteers. Since then she has received many comments about how there is “something different” about the missionary volunteers—“something in their countenances,” President Ludwig said.
“I knew that the missionaries would be watched over and administered to, spiritually and physically,” says President Ludwig. “I knew that others would feel of our presence even though the missionaries had taken off their ties and name tags.”
After receiving special permission from the Church, the missionaries and President Ludwig followed a long approval process to be able to help at the games. They filled out extensive forms more than 10 months before the Olympics began. They then had to pass security checks and prove they were legally allowed to be in the country.
Initially, the Olympic committee was hesitant about accepting missionaries as volunteers, afraid that they would proselyte. Lisa Wardle assured the committee that it would not be a problem. And after members of the Olympic committee met with the missionaries, they agreed they had never met a better group of young people and were excited to have them aboard, President Ludwig said.
In fact, once the missionaries started training, supervisors were asking if they could have more volunteers just like them. They were impressed with the variety of backgrounds and languages spoken by the group.
Members of the Olympic committee were not the only ones with concerns, however. “My first concern was safety. The other concern was the disruption to the missionary schedule,” President Ludwig said. Sometimes the missionaries had to be up by 5:00 a.m. and to their scheduled venues by 6:30. Other times they would start at 3:00 p.m. and not return home until 12:30 or 1:00 a.m.
To make sure all the missionaries were safe and sound, President Ludwig set up a “command center” in the mission home. All missionaries were required to call in and report every day.
“It has been hard to a degree because [the missionaries] have broken out of their normal schedule, but overall they have said it has been a beautiful experience seeing the Greek people in a different light,” President Ludwig said. “It has been a breath of fresh air to us in Athens.”
Some of the missionaries see the opportunity to volunteer at the games as an answer to prayer, because in the past there have been problems with the way the public perceived the missionaries. Now the missionaries are making friends and helping to change the image of Latter-day Saint missionaries in Greece. “When they see us now there will be a whole different attitude. Many will welcome us to talk to them,” President Ludwig believes.
The missionaries feel that even if they don’t get one new teaching appointment, they have done important work by showing that the Church is willing to love and help others.

My father was brought into the Church when he was courting my mother. He was ordained an elder and was active for a short period before he fell away from the Church.
He had no formal contact with the Church for about 50 years. He had moved many times. And then, when he was 82, living alone in southern California and failing in health, two men knocked on his door on a Sunday morning. They said, “We’re here to take you to priesthood meeting.”
He was so grateful that somebody would take the effort to befriend him. Those men took my father to church—something his three active sons never could accomplish, except on special occasions. They were good examples of how priesthood quorum members should seek out those in need. My family will be forever grateful to the men of that quorum.Elder Dale E. Miller of the Seventy.

Mom poked her head into David’s room. “I have a surprise.”
David looked up from his toy cars and smiled. “What is it?”
“We’re going to lunch with your cousins.”
“Yes! Can we get tacos?”
“That’s a great idea. But before we go, put your cars away.”
“I’ll do it later.”
Mom frowned. “You know the rules, David. You have to clean up before you go anywhere.”
He didn’t want to put his cars away. “Rules, rules, rules.” Suddenly he remembered something he had learned in his Sunbeam class. One of Heavenly Father’s rules was to obey your parents. He put his cars away.
At the restaurant, David stared at the huge taco on his plate. There were also rice, beans, and little green things. He picked up one of the green things.
“No, David!” his sister yelled. “Don’t eat that.”
“She’s right,” Mom said. “Don’t eat that. It’s a hot pepper.”
“More rules,” David thought. He popped the small green thing into his mouth and chomped down. Very spicy pepper juice filled his mouth. His mouth and throat felt on fire. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He coughed. “Water! My mouth … my mouth is burning.”
He grabbed his water and drank every last drop.
“Eat a corn chip,” Mom said. “It will help.”
He grabbed the chip and chewed. His mouth felt better, but his throat still hurt. The taco on his plate didn’t look good anymore. Tears still rolled down his cheeks. He looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes, too.
Sadness came over him. He should have listened. Mom loved him. She didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, just like Heavenly Father loved him and didn’t want anything bad to happen to him. That’s why Heavenly Father gave him a wonderful mother and the commandment to obey his parents. His mother’s rules and Heavenly Father’s rules would help him to be happy and safe.
He wiped away the tears. The taco started to look good to him again.

When our children were little, they used to watch a children’s television channel that featured a program called What Do You See? The screen would zoom in very closely on something, and the children had to guess what it was as the image gradually widened. Once the entire object was visible, you could easily tell that it was a cat, a plant, a piece of fruit, and so on.
I remember that on one occasion they were watching that program and it showed something very close up that looked very ugly to them, even repulsive; but as the image widened, they realized that it was a very appetizing pizza. Then they said to me, “Daddy, buy us one just like that!” After they understood what it was, something that at first had looked unpleasant to them ended up being something very attractive.

I will never forget the day decades ago when I was sitting in early-morning seminary in Michigan. My teacher was talking about the mission to the Zoramites in the Book of Mormon. All of a sudden, he jumped up on the table and began to read in a loud voice the Rameumptom prayer. That woke us all up! It has been many years, but that is seared in my memory. A group of teenagers were profoundly impacted by a teacher who was role-playing.

Our family had just experienced a devastating house fire, and all eight of us were living in a temporary three-bedroom mobile home in our front yard. Our family faced challenges and discord.
My husband was not active in the Church at the time. Our two teenage sons were making choices that would lead only to sorrow. Simultaneously, I was serving as Young Women president in our ward, and several of the young women were struggling with serious temptations. Some of their parents also faced struggles and therefore were not assisting their daughters at this critical time.
I knew these young women needed me to help them through their spiritual land mines. I knew my six sons needed me. I knew my good husband depended on my strength. Yet there seemed to be nothing but darkness around me, and I felt empty, weak, and incapable of leading these loved ones to safety.
Late one night as I rocked our infant son in the stillness of our temporary home, my thoughts turned to those who needed me to be strong. I felt the pervasive darkness that surrounded them. In my anguish I prayed with all my heart that Heavenly Father would show me the way to help them despite my inadequacies. He answered immediately and showed me the way.
I seemed to see myself in our ward’s large cultural hall, which had no windows. It was late at night, and there was not even a glimmer of light. Then I lit a tiny birthday candle. It seemed so insignificant, yet the power of that miniscule light was enough to displace the blackness.
That was my answer! The quantity of darkness surrounding us in the world simply does not matter. Light is eternal and is vastly more powerful than darkness (see 2 Corinthians 4:6; Mosiah 16:9; D&C 14:9). If we remain worthy of the constant companionship of the Holy Spirit, our souls can reflect sufficient light to displace any amount of darkness, and others will be drawn to that light within us.
This was all I needed to know. This simple insight has carried me through the past 25 years with the knowledge that with the Lord’s help and guidance, we can do—and be—all that He needs us to do and be in this world of darkness.

But Arthur’s Seat has been the site of some lesser-known important events. On May 3, 1840, Orson Pratt arrived in Scotland as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He organized the first Scottish branch of the Church in Paisley. Then, after laboring in several other cities, Elder Pratt made his way to Edinburgh, where he found it very difficult to get the people to listen to the message of the restored gospel.
Sometimes when things seemed difficult, he would climb to the top of Arthur’s Seat. There, looking out across the city of Edinburgh, he could see the high peaks of mountains on the horizon and the Firth of Forth stretching to join the North Sea. Below, the tracks of one of Scotland’s first railroad lines ran through one of the earliest railroad tunnels. The echo of rifle practice may have risen up to greet Elder Pratt from Hunter’s Bog, while the ruins of St. Anthony’s chapel silently blended into the background on a lower ridge where sheep grazed. Holyrood Palace, the royal residence, lay at the foot of the hill, and across the way Edinburgh Castle guarded the top of another hill. On top of Arthur’s Seat, Elder Pratt prayed that the people would be receptive to the gospel. He then went down into the city and preached for endless hours, trying to establish the gospel in this important city of Edinburgh.
In one of his prayers, Elder Pratt pleaded with the Lord to help him find two hundred converts. After working very hard for ten months, Elder Pratt left Edinburgh having seen more than two hundred people enter into the covenant of baptism.