Gospel Story Finder

The youth of the Charleston, Fairmont, and Huntington stakes in West Virginia wanted service to be a part of their youth conference. In preparation for the conference, local governments and organizations were contacted and asked in what areas the youth might be of service.
Faced with funding problems, the public library asked the youth to help with a pledge drive. The librarians had not had the manpower to stage the campaign themselves. The head librarian said, “We were excited when the Church came to us and said they would like to help. I’m impressed with the Church and with their willingness to help. If every church made these kinds of efforts for the things they believed in, it would be exciting to see what would happen in the world.”
In addition, the youth helped with heavy yard work and cleaning for several widows in town. They also painted and cleaned the Head Start building. The youth presented a musical program at a local nursing home and spent time talking individually with the residents.
The youth also helped clean up along the roadways leading into town; cleaned, raked, and helped prepare a new soccer field; and painted park restrooms and a gazebo.
The group participated in a Book of Mormon marking project as well. They underlined specific scriptures in 120 copies of the Book of Mormon to be used by the missionaries in the Charleston West Virginia Mission.
At the testimony meeting at the conclusion of the youth conference, those involved left feeling better about themselves because they had helped someone else.

The stranger had a bushy beard as red as his hair. It was Christmas Eve when he knocked on the door, asking for food. We had not been outside all day. For weeks it had snowed almost every day, soft fluffy feathers that were fun to play in. Now the snow was up to the top of the fence and piled in high drifts, and the wind howled and sang around the corners of the house and under the eaves. Papa said it was a blizzard.
Mama had spent the day making the special food we had only at Christmas, and for days before that, she’d baked bread of all kinds, Christmas bread frosted with white icing, filled bird-shaped rolls, and cookies by the dozen. We had no gaily trimmed tree or other holiday decorations at our house, nor presents waiting to be opened. But the spirit of Christmas was in the air.
Besides Mama and Papa, there were four of us children. We were on our best behavior at this time of year. There was no arguing about toys or books or crayons—who could be grumpy or cross at Christmastime? All that day we watched Mama at the stove, our mouths watering as she fixed Christmas dinner. Christmas Eve was our big feast; there would be no cooking on Christmas Day. That was OK—the cupboard was filled with good things to eat already made.
Best of all was the candy. Instead of only one or two pieces, we could have almost as much as we wanted. There were hard candy that you could suck on for a long time, sweet raspberry-filled candy, candy canes, and homemade chocolate-covered nuts and raisins. In the evening we cracked nuts while sitting by the glowing red heater as the wind howled and slapped snow against the windows.
Grandma and Grandpa were across the ocean in Poland, so there was just the family at Christmas. When the knock sounded on the door as Mama was putting the food on the table, it was a big surprise. Who could be out in such weather on Christmas Eve?
The redheaded stranger stood at the door, and we hid behind Mama’s skirts. He had tattered clothes, and his hands and face were red with cold. Papa asked him to come in quickly and shut the door so as not to let in the cold. The stranger’s coat was covered with snow, and bits of snow clung to his beard.
It was easy to see that he was hungry. Papa told him that we were just getting ready to sit down to eat dinner and that he was welcome to join us. Mama pushed the chairs closer together to make room for him. The stranger’s eyes were watery, like he was crying.
Papa said the blessing, and Mama passed the bowls of soup. We were extra quiet during dinner. Only Papa and the stranger talked, but not very much. The redheaded stranger was busy eating and hardly looked up from his plate.
As I watched him, I wondered why he was out in a blizzard. Didn’t he have a family or a warm house? He didn’t live here, I knew. We lived in a very small town, and everybody knew everyone else, and this fellow was a stranger, for sure.
Papa said we were having a depression. We didn’t understand much about it except that many people had no food and no job. Men wandered from town to town, looking for work, and many passed by our house. We lived between the railroad tracks and the highway, and in the summer we saw them walking by on the road. Some came asking for food, and Mama always gave them something, even if it was only a piece of bread and jelly. She made the best bread in the world, and the jam was from the chokecherries we picked in the summer. They were bitter to eat, but Mama made jelly from the berries, and on pancakes it was better than syrup.
Although he scared me with his red hair and beard, I felt sorry for the stranger. So did we all. Just looking at him made me want to cry. Mama always said we mustn’t stare at people, and I tried not to. It was hard to do.
Our Christmas Eve dinner was splendid, the best food I could think of. After the soup came the boiled wheat—red Durham, grown on the prairie farms around us. It was my favorite part of the dinner, but we could have only one small bowlful. Papa said it would grow inside us if we ate too much. I was pretty sure he was teasing, but I didn’t ask for more, just in case.
Then we had fish—a whole one Mama had baked with stuffing inside. It took a long time to eat because we had to be very careful not to swallow any bones. Next we had stuffed cabbage rolls and small boiled dumplings filled with mashed potatoes. And we had pickles and beets, which had been preserved right from Mama’s garden. For dessert there was Christmas bread as sweet and light as cake.
After dinner, while the redheaded stranger talked with Papa by the stove, we children helped Mama clear the table. I asked Mama where the stranger would go. I knew that he couldn’t stay here overnight. We had a very small house, and when we slept, every corner of it was full. Mama looked at me sadly and said she didn’t know.
I finished helping with the dishes and was going over to sit close to Papa, when the redheaded stranger got up to leave. Papa gave him a pair of mittens for his hands. The stranger said, “Thank you. God bless you. God bless all of you.” I think his eyes showed even more than his words how he felt. Then he left.
I was glad to see that the storm had let up. Only a few snowflakes continued to gently fall. I tried to see where he went, but the windows were covered with frost and I couldn’t. “Where will he go?” I asked Papa.
“He has a cousin who lives on a farm on the far side of the next town. He hopes his cousin will let him stay and work on the farm until times are better.” I hoped so too.
The next day, Christmas Day, was Sunday. The storm was over, and the sun was shining so bright that it hurt your eyes. The snow sparkled like diamonds and crunched under our feet as we walked to church. Looking at the Baby Jesus in the manger in the foyer, I whispered, “Happy Birthday, Jesus.” Then I prayed, “Heavenly Father, thank Thee for a wonderful dinner last night. Please help the redheaded stranger find his cousin and have a good home there. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

“Millicent’s escaped!” “The elephant is loose!” The cries filled the circus grounds.
Freddie peered anxiously out of the red and gold trailer where he lived. He saw Randolph, the roustabout, running past. A thick coil of rope hung over his shoulder. “Millicent pulled her stake out of the ground!” the tall young man explained as he stopped to talk to Freddie. “Our customers are going to be unhappy if they can’t see the sideshow, and she’s blocking the entrance. I’m going to tie this rope around her and try to lead her back to the field where she belongs.”
“That won’t work,” Freddie said, earnestly, “but I know how to make Millicent move.”
Randolph chuckled. “You? Why, you’re the smallest boy in the circus. How can you move an elephant?” And he hurried on.
Freddie just smiled and scampered off toward the sideshow. Before long he came upon Chester, the oldest and wisest clown in the circus. He was wearing knobby shoes and was pushing a big black cannon ahead of him. At his side trotted Phil, his fluffy pink poodle.
“Millicent’s loose!” shouted Chester. “I’m on my way to fire my cannon. When she hears the explosion, she’ll move out of the way! Come along and watch.”
“I don’t think that’ll work,” said Freddie, walking alongside the clown. “But I know how to make Millicent move.”
Chester stopped. “You? You can’t make that pesky pachyderm move an inch. You can’t even make Phil roll over, so how do you intend to make an elephant move?” Chester asked as he hurried away without waiting for a reply.
Freddie just smiled.
Shortly, Freddie came upon a great crowd of circus performers—jugglers, fire-eaters, and lovely bareback riders. They were all talking about the elephant that wouldn’t move.
Alonzo, the lion tamer, boasted, “I’m going to wave my chair and crack my whip in front of Millicent. That’ll make that stubborn elephant move!”
“I don’t think it’ll work,” said Freddie solemnly. “But I know how to make Millicent move.”
“You?” The lion tamer snorted. “You know nothing about handling wild animals. How could you move that blissful behemoth!”
Freddie simply smiled again.
“Everybody stand back, please,” said Mr. Bertelli, the circus owner.
Freddie watched Randolph loop his thick rope around the great elephant. She towered above them, and her legs were thick as tree trunks.
Randolph pulled and pulled. His muscles bulged, and glistening perspiration streamed down his face. The fire-eater and the juggler joined the roustabout and, with stern faces, tugged on the rope. Still, the elephant refused to move.
“That’s the most immovable mastodon I’ve ever encountered,” Randolph declared disgustedly. “I think Millicent has taken root.” He gathered up his rope and walked away.
Freddie approached Mr. Bertelli. “Please, sir, I can make Millicent move,” he said.
“Stay out of the way, Freddie,” Mr. Bertelli replied, but not unkindly. “This is a job for men.”
Next, Chester touched a flame to the touchhole of his cannon. Freddie put his fingers in his ears and shut his eyes tightly. There was a moment of silence and then a loud BOOOOOOM! The sawdust-filled circus grounds shook with the sound. Freddie opened his eyes. Millicent heard that sound twice a day while Chester was performing. Cool as custard, she stood where she was.
“She must be going deaf,” Chester said disgustedly. The clown flop-flopped away, sadly wheeling his cannon.
Freddie tugged at Mr. Bertelli’s sleeve. “I can make Millicent move,” he insisted.
“If Randolph and Chester couldn’t do it, how could you?” asked the circus owner, patting Freddie on the shoulder.
It was Alonzo’s turn to try. The lion tamer twisted the ends of his long moustache and waggled his chair under Millicent’s trunk. His long black whip snapped an earsplitting KER-WHACK! Millicent blinked her little round eyes. She softly wrapped her trunk around the chair, set it to one side, and picked up Alonzo. The lion tamer helplessly waved his legs in the air. Abruptly, Millicent dropped him into the chair and, with a great snort, mussed his carefully combed hair.
“That stupid elephant! She doesn’t have any respect for me. Me! The finest lion tamer in the world!” Alonzo stalked off.
After that it was plain to see nobody else had an idea how to make Millicent move. A crowd was beginning to line up at the entrance. If Millicent didn’t get out of the way, no one could get by to see the sideshow!
Freddie strode confidently up to the peanut vendor. “One bag, please,” he said.
The boy took his sack of peanuts and approached the towering elephant. Freddie placed a peanut on the ground in front of Millicent. The elephant slowly lowered her long gray trunk and picked it up. She curled it gently into her mouth and stared at Freddie.
Freddie dropped another peanut a few feet away. The elephant took one large step and picked it up. The circus folk cheered! Millicent was moving!
Freddie backed his way toward the grassy field, dropping peanuts as he went. The big elephant followed, eating every peanut in her path!
Before long, Millicent had followed the trail of peanuts and had joined the other elephants in the meadow. She was back where she belonged!
“Hooray for Freddie!” proclaimed Chester. “He really did know how to make Millicent move!”
And from that day on, Freddie’s circus friends asked him questions about all sorts of things. When Freddie said he knew the answer, they all believed him.

Some time ago three young boys were discussing their fathers. One spoke out, “My dad is bigger than your dad,” to which another replied, “Well, my dad is smarter than your dad.” The third boy countered, “My dad is a doctor.” Then, turning to one boy, he taunted in derision, “And your dad is only a teacher.”
When the boy heard the taunts: “My dad is bigger than yours,” “My dad is smarter than yours,” “My dad is a doctor,” well could he have replied, “Your dad may be bigger than mine; your dad may be smarter than mine; your dad may be a pilot, an engineer, or a doctor; but my dad is a teacher.”

Every year my family gets lots of peaches from my aunt’s tree. Whenever we get them my mom has all four kids help peel them, cut them in half, and put them into jars. None of us likes to help can the peaches, but we help anyway. We would want to do other things, like go to a friend’s house or watch TV. Last fall when my mom asked me if I would help with the peaches, I decided to help but with a good attitude this time. As we were canning, I noticed that we all were talking and laughing and having a good time. That was the most fun time I had canning peaches, and it took less time than I thought.
Katie W., age 12, Utah

Even though I had been to church only a few times, my home teacher faithfully visited me. One night he called and asked if I would share some thoughts about eternal families in the next Gospel Principles class.
“Yes, I’d love to,” I said.
I didn’t think much of it until the next morning. That’s when I realized I had agreed to talk about eternal families to a group of people who probably already knew all about it. I didn’t have a clue what I could say to them.
Over the years, I had made choices that separated me from the gospel. How was I supposed to share my thoughts about something I wasn’t sure I even believed? I felt confused. Then the words to the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301) came to my mind. I had not heard those words in years, but I knew them by heart. Then it struck me: I needed to ask God if I actually was His child.
At that time, I was rearranging the furniture in my bedroom, so with my bed askew in the middle of the room, I kneeled next to it and waited for the words to come. What could I possibly say to God? I wasn’t sure He even existed. In that moment, my heart’s deepest desire brought these simple words to my lips: “God, are You really there? And if You are there, am I Your child?”
The answer came immediately. It was as if He had been waiting for me to ask. I felt God say, “Yes, Camille, I am here, and you are my child.”
When I opened my eyes, I was still in my disheveled bedroom. Everything around me was in disarray, but I felt like my life had been put in perfect order. I knew that I was a child of God, and that was all that mattered.
In class on Sunday, I simply told my story of how I came to know that I am a child of God. “If I am His child,” I said, “then so is everyone else.”
It took another three and a half years for me to make all the positive changes I needed to make, but my life has never been the same. Since that day, I have never doubted who I am. I know that Heavenly Father is always there. He loves me because I am His child.

My third counsel relates to some of the goals you should consider. At approximately the same time that Elder Perry was in Japan with the marines, President Boyd K. Packer, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, served in Japan with the air force at the end of World War II.
In 2004, I accompanied President Packer and others to Japan. He had an opportunity to retrace some of his steps and reflect on some of the experiences and decisions he made at that time. With his permission, I share some of his thoughts and feelings.
President Packer described experiences that occurred on an island off the coast of Okinawa. He considers this as his mount in the wilderness. His personal preparation and meeting with other members had deepened his belief in gospel teachings. What he yet lacked was confirmation—sure knowledge of that which he had already come to feel was true.
President Packer’s biographer captures what happened: “Counter to the peace of confirmation he sought, he came face to face with the hell of war against the innocent. Seeking solitude and time to think, he climbed, one day, to a rise above the ocean. There he found the gutted remains of a peasant cottage, its neglected sweet potato field nearby. And lying amid the dying plants he saw the corpses of a slaughtered mother and her two children. The sight filled him with a deep sadness mingled with the feelings of love for his own family and for all families.”6
He subsequently went inside a makeshift bunker, where he contemplated, pondered, and prayed. President Packer, in looking back on this event, described what I would call a confirming spiritual experience. He felt inspired as to what he should do with his life. He, of course, had no idea that he would be called to the high and holy calling he now holds. His vision was that he wanted to be a teacher, emphasizing the teachings of the Savior. He made up his mind that he would live a righteous life.
It came to him in a rather profound way that he would have to find a righteous wife and that together they would raise a large family. This young soldier recognized that his career choice would provide modest compensation and that his sweet companion would need to share the same priorities and be willing to live without some material things. Sister Donna Packer was, and is, for President Packer, the perfect companion. They never had enough excess money, but they did not feel deprived in any way. They raised 10 children, and they sacrificed. They now have 60 grandchildren and more than 80 great-grandchildren.

When I was only four years old, I had pneumonia. Although I don’t remember much about that illness, two things are as vivid to me now as they were when they happened all those years ago.
I remember my mother holding me close, bundled up in a blanket, as we drove to the hospital on a very cold, snowy day. I remember the warmth and love that I felt from her.
And I remember my father giving me a priesthood blessing. I don’t remember the words, but I remember the feeling of strength and of assurance that all would be well. That’s where my testimony really started.
I had no idea how sick I was, but later my parents told me how very worried and concerned they had been, for I almost died. After spending two weeks under an oxygen tent in the hospital, however, I got better.
That illness helped me develop a strong faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ. I learned to have faith that there is a loving Father in Heaven Who cares about us, and faith that through the strength and belief of others, such as our parents, we can come through those kinds of scary times.

I finally finished reading First Nephi when I was fourteen years old. Perhaps I did it partly so that I could say in Sunday School class “yes, I’ve read the Book of Mormon.” But beyond that, I felt within me that this was an important book that would have a significant impact on my life. My parents and others spoke of how they loved the book. I wanted to feel the same way and sensed that I’d feel that way sooner through my own reading than through listening to others.
For several “readings” I got a new copy each time, and was probably as interested in marking passages in red as I was in just reading. I loved opening it when someone was looking—in a couple of copies the passages that weren’t red stood out. Gradually, I found my pride in marking being replaced by a love for what was in this sacred book. I felt I knew some of the people, and I enjoyed going back again and again to be with them and to learn from them.

I will never forget walking the grounds at Winter Quarters, Nebraska, USA, where pioneers had lived years before. The ground felt sacred, almost as if I were visiting an outdoor temple.
My eyes filled with tears, blurring my vision. I saw a statue but could not make out the figures. When I wiped away my tears, I saw a man and a woman whose faces were full of grief. As I looked closer, I saw the figure of an infant lying in a grave at their feet.
This sight filled me with so many emotions: sadness, anger, gratitude, and joy. I wanted to take away the pain those Saints felt, but I was grateful at the same time for what they had sacrificed for the gospel.
My experience at Winter Quarters helped me realize that Heavenly Father gives the gospel to His children and allows them the agency to do with it as they will. The parents of that baby could have chosen to take an easier course. Following the prophet and living the gospel required these pioneers to press forward even when it meant burying their child. But they chose to take the gospel into their lives and accepted their challenges. I learned that the Saints’ dedication to the gospel and their determination to press forward were driven by faith and hope—hope for a bright future and faith that the Lord knew them and could ease their pain.

One of our daughters, after giving birth to a baby, became seriously ill. We prayed for her, administered to her, and supported her as best we could. We hoped she would receive a blessing of healing, but days turned into months, and months turned into years. At one point I told her that this affliction might be something she would have to struggle with the rest of her life.
One morning I remember pulling out a small card and threading it through my typewriter. Among the words that I typed for her were these: “The simple secret is this: put your trust in the Lord, do your best, then leave the rest to Him.”
She did put her trust in God. But her affliction did not disappear. For years she suffered, but in due course, the Lord blessed her, and eventually she returned to health.
Knowing this daughter, I believe that even if she had never found relief, yet she would have trusted in her Heavenly Father and “[left] the rest to Him.”

In October 1976, directors of the Church Educational System offered Inosi a job as coordinator of the seminary program in Fiji. He hesitated to accept the position until Joseph Sokia, director of the Church Educational System in Fiji, told him, “If you accept the seminary job, you will have the chance to change the lives of our young people.”
That touched Inosi. He remembered that his district president had asked him once in an interview whether he would be willing to work full-time for the Church if he was needed. Inosi had said he would. Now was the time to keep that commitment.
Leaving government employment after twelve years was hard; Inosi lost his pension, his government benefits, and his opportunities for overseas travel. “But I knew I needed to go,” he says. Some of Inosi’s extended family and some people of his village were frustrated with his decision. They were proud of Inosi’s government position and told him he was making a mistake. But Maryann supported him, telling him, “Wherever you take us, we will follow.”
When Inosi resigned from his job, he asked to be paid for the leave that was due to him rather than taking the days off. Because her husband would have to travel frequently in his new assignment, Maryann also resigned from her job and asked to be paid for the leave that she had earned. When the couple added that money to what they had already saved, they found it was enough to take them and their daughters to the temple.
“When we got on the plane,” Brother Naga says, “I had 102 New Zealand dollars in my pocket. That was all our money. We didn’t know how we were going to pay our living expenses for the two weeks we would be in New Zealand.”
But Church members met the Nagas at the airport, arranged for lodging in a member’s home, and provided food and transportation.
“After we came back from the temple, the Lord blessed us,” Brother Naga says. “Not only were we able to buy furniture, we were able to extend our house.”
On 12 June 1983, Elder Howard W. Hunter created the Suva Fiji Stake and called Inosi as its first president. “I didn’t know what to say, because I think there were men who were more capable of fulfilling the calling,” he remembers. “But I am grateful to have been able to serve my brothers and sisters on this island. It has been a great privilege and opportunity.”
Shortly afterward, President Naga was interviewed to be associate area director of the Church Educational System. When he declined because he did not feel he had the proper education or qualifications to serve well in that position, his supervisor, Robert Perrington, disagreed. “I’ve been sitting up all night thinking about this,” he said. “At four o’clock this morning your name came clearly to me.”
President Naga went home to consult his wife. After the couple prayed for some time, Maryann said, “You go back and tell Brother Perrington that if the Brethren want you to do it, you will do it.”
President Naga has been blessed as he carries out his responsibilities. “When the Lord calls you to a position,” he says, “he provides a way for you to fulfill it.”
Now, nine years later, Inosi Naga oversees the Church Educational System in Fiji, New Caledonia, Vanuatu, and Tuvalu. He was recently released as stake president, and now serves as the Church’s Fiji Public Affairs director. Maryann is ward Primary president, and the six Naga children—Ana, twenty-two; Emily, twenty; Keresi, eighteen; Vilimaina, fifteen; Leua, thirteen; and Inosi, nine—are growing up knowing the strength that the gospel can bring to a family.
In the few short years since Inosi Naga received that book from the missionaries, his life and those of his family have been changed eternally. The elders were right—the book was golden.

One day during my senior year in high school, a strong feeling came over me that my grandfather wanted to see me. So after school I got a notebook from my locker and walked over to Uncle Jacob Cline’s house, where grandpa had been staying since grandma’s death.
When I arrived, grandpa was sitting up in bed. “Come in, Ray,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
He wanted to tell me the history of his family, and I was to write the information down. I knew then why I had brought my notebook along with me. Over the next hour, he told me the history of his family four-generations back—names, dates, places, and stories. When he finished, he laid his hand on my shoulder and said very quietly: “Ray, I give unto you a charge to preserve this information, for someday you will need it. And when that day arrives, you will hear my voice and know now is the time, and this is the reason.”
I felt a shiver go down my spine and a warm feeling in my chest as my eyes remained riveted to the penetrating eyes of grandpa. I promised I would, even though I had no idea why I was writing down or preserving the information. Grandpa died two weeks later.

A few months ago we took our grandchildren on an escorted tour of the Church printing facilities. There, all of us saw the missionary edition of the Book of Mormon coming off the delivery line—printed, bound, and trimmed, ready for reading. I said to a young grandson, “The operator says that you can remove one copy of the Book of Mormon to be your very own. You select the copy, and it will then be yours.”

Removing one finished copy of the book, he clutched it to his breast and said with sincerity, “I love the Book of Mormon. This is my book.”

I really don’t remember other events of that day, but none of us who was there will ever forget the honest expression from the heart of a child.

“A daughter made this comment: “Dad is a practical joker. I recall a story he relates about the time he and three other boys arrived at school early one morning. (Those were the days when everyone sat around one big stove in the room to keep warm.)
“The teacher was quite superstitious so the boys decided to play a little joke. They climbed up into the attic before school started. When all the others were assembled around the stove, one of the boys in the attic called down through the stovepipe in a ghostly voice, ‘I am the ghost of thy father come to haunt this room indefinitely.’ Well, needless to say, everyone ran from the room and the scene was one of total chaos.
“Later when the boys came down from the attic covered with dust and dirt, they were taken to the principal. He asked them some questions but couldn’t help laughing at their prank and their appearance.”

In 1993, after I had served as president of the Mexico Tuxtla Gutiérrez Mission, we traveled as a family to see my parents, who lived in northern Mexico. During the trip we talked about the joy of serving the Lord and seeing the change in people who had accepted the gospel during the three years we were in the mission. We were commenting about those people who were baptized, confirmed, and had received the priesthood and the ones we knew had entered the temple and were sealed as families for eternity.
My youngest son asked a question that made me reflect: “Dad, are you sealed to your parents?” I told him that because my father had been less active for many years, he and my mother were not sealed in the temple. To help him become active, I thought up a plan. It involved my children, and I explained to them how we would do it: Every Sunday my father would get up early to take my mother and sister to church, only to return home, wait for the services to end, then go back to pick them up. So I assigned my children to go with him and say, “Grandpa, would you do us a favor?” I knew his answer would be, “Whatever you want, my children.” Then they would ask him if he would go with them to church and stay with them so he could listen to their testimonies. It was the first Sunday of the month. I also knew my father would give any excuse not to go, so I planned to enter the room to help my children convince him.
The time soon came for executing the plan. My daughter, Susana, approached my father and asked him about the favor. Sure enough, my father told her he would do anything he could for them. Then came the invitation to go to church, and just as we had predicted, he used this excuse: “I can’t because I haven’t even showered.” That’s when my wife and I, who were hiding behind the door, shouted, “We’ll wait for you!”
When we realized he was not making a decision, my wife and I entered the room and, together with our children, began to insist, “Shower! Shower!” Then what we expected happened. My father came with us, he stayed for the services, listened to the testimonies of my children, his heart was softened, and from that Sunday on he never missed church. Months later, at the age of 78, he and my mother were sealed, and we, his children, were sealed to them.

In most cases, how you express your feelings will greatly influence how they are received. Once when President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) was in the hospital, “he was being wheeled down the hall and into the operating room by a young orderly. The young man accidentally smashed his finger between the metal door frame and the metal frame of the bed on which lay the already-sedated prophet. When this mishap occurred, the young man, in pain, … took in vain the name of the Savior. The prophet stirred, opened his eyes, and gently rebuked the orderly, saying, ‘Young man, don’t say that; He’s my best friend!’” (Robert E. Wells, “Be a Friend, a Servant, a Son of the Savior,” Ensign, November 1982, 69). How could anyone feel offended by such a rebuke?

May I share with you one of my holy places? Once, I was feeling overwhelmed, fearful, and completely alone. Silently, I prayed: “Heavenly Father, I do not know how to do this. Please, please, help me!” Soon, an individual unexpectedly came forward, placed a hand on my shoulder, and offered sincere, encouraging words. In that moment, I felt peace. I felt acknowledged. Everything had changed. The words of President Spencer W. Kimball came to mind: “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs.” For me, that moment, that place, had become holy.

Finally, let me tell you about a woman I have never met but whom I love dearly because she was true to her covenants. My great-great-grandmother Charlotte Gailey Clark was one of the last 295 people to receive their covenants in the Nauvoo Temple prior to the beginning of the great exodus west. The temple had been closed since the Saints were being forced to leave, but all those who were worthy had not yet had an opportunity to receive their endowments. My great-great-grandmother and her husband would be leading their family west, and she wanted her covenants with her before she set out on that journey. I have thought about her so often these past few months. I someday want to say to her, “Grandma, thank you for keeping your covenants. I am so blessed to be your granddaughter. Your faithfulness has blessed me and my family—and will continue to bless all of us throughout the generations.” And sisters, our children and grandchildren will one day be able to say the same to us, and of us. One day they will thank us for keeping this “bag” of covenants with us and using them to bless the lives of our families.

Recently I listened to a lovely young lady just leaving her teens as she spoke in a stake conference, her first address ever. She had never known a true family of her own. She had experienced many temporary homes, made many mistakes, had much heartache and hopelessness. Then an older Church couple found her, and loved her, and taught her. Her prepared talk was witty and interesting, but when she laid it down and bore witness through tears, it became magic:

“No one ever helped me to understand that I was worth anything,” she said, “that I was special in any way. And then the missionaries taught me about Jesus Christ and his love and the God who sent him. They taught me that Jesus died for me—for me. I am valuable! I am valuable! He died for me.”