Gospel Story Finder

When Hilary Lemon of Utah, USA, returned home from her mission, she had a few months before she would start school again. Looking for ways to productively use her time, she began to help with online FamilySearch indexing. She started indexing in English but soon realized there were indexing opportunities in other languages—including Portuguese, the language she had learned on her mission.
“Since I served my mission in Portugal, I was interested in the indexing projects listed for Brazil and Portugal. My interest spiked when I saw a project from Setúbal, Portugal, one of the areas where I served,” says Hilary.
Hilary is one volunteer who is helping meet FamilySearch’s ever-growing need to index records in non-English languages. Like the other 127,000 active volunteers, Hilary is extracting the names and events of those who have passed on so that members can find the information they are seeking and complete their ancestors’ ordinance work in the temple.
The Portuguese documents Sister Hilary Lemon indexed were baptismal records from over two centuries ago. The pages were faded and the elaborate handwriting was hard to read, but she persevered through the project as she thought of the names on the page as people waiting for their work to be performed in the temple.
“More than once as I indexed, I felt a sweet, firm impression that one day a Portuguese Latter-day Saint would open up that baptismal record that I had indexed and find his or her ancestor,” says Hilary. “Now that a temple is planned for Lisbon, Portugal, I know that there will come a day when the members there will find their ancestors because of the work that’s being done through FamilySearch indexing.”
With the help of volunteers like Sister Lemon, more records will be preserved and the way will be opened for those who have gone before to partake of the full blessings of the gospel.

On the first day of kindergarten, Benjamin giggled while drinking his milk during snack time and ended up with milk all over his shirt. When the other children laughed at him, he didn’t feel like giggling anymore.
He broke his yellow crayon while he was drawing a picture of the sun.
He made a dragon out of modeling clay, and everybody thought it was a pig.
On the second day of kindergarten, Benjamin accidentally let Hamlet, the class hamster, out of its cage.
His blue paint spilled and made a messy puddle on the floor.
When he threw the big red ball to Susie, it hit her in the face and made her cry.
After school, Benjamin sat at the kitchen table, eating lunch. “I’m not going back to school,” he announced. “I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
“You do know a lot of things,” said Mommy, looking up from the letter she was writing to Aunt Agnes.
Benjamin looked at her paper. “Those are funny-looking letters.” He pointed to the curly writing on the page.
“They are different from the ones you make,” agreed Mommy.
“Hmmm,” Benjamin said.
Later that afternoon, when his sister, Karen, came home from school, Benjamin told her, “I’m not going back to school. I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
“Then you won’t get to do the exciting things I’m doing in the second grade,” she told him. “We’re taking a trip to the zoo in October.”
“What’s October?” asked Benjamin. “A kind of school bus?”
Karen gave him her big-sister-who-knows-practically-everything look. “For your information, October is one of the months of the year.”
“Does it come after Saturday?”
Karen just laughed.
Benjamin looked thoughtful.
When Daddy came home, Benjamin met him at the door. “I’m not going back to school,” he said. “I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
Daddy grinned. “Is that so?”
Benjamin followed Daddy out to the garage, where Daddy wrote down some measurements for a set of shelves he was going to build.
“What are those numbers on top of each other?” Benjamin asked, pointing at Daddy’s notes.
“Those two-story numbers are called fractions, Benjamin,” Daddy answered. “They’re pretty important numbers.”
Benjamin scratched his head.
That night in bed, he stared at the dark ceiling.
He wondered about Mommy’s curling letters. What did they mean, anyway?
He wondered how many months there were in a year. Did they all have funny names like October?
And he wondered a lot about Daddy’s two-story numbers.
The next morning, Benjamin made an announcement to everyone. “I already know a lot of the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three. But I’ve decided to go back to school and learn about curly letters and October and two-story numbers.”
Mommy smiled. “Those are pretty important.”
“I’ll probably need to go at least until second grade,” he went on. “Maybe even longer.”
“I expect you will,” Daddy agreed. He looked at his watch. “It’s time to go. All aboard for school!”
“All aboard for school!” Benjamin repeated cheerfully, following Daddy and Karen to the car.

A picture forms on my monitor involving a father aboard an airplane on a short business trip. He has with him his five-year-old son and is almost wishing his son were not there because it is a very rough trip. There are downdrafts and updrafts and head winds alternating with tail winds, and some passengers are feeling a bit queasy. Apprehensively, the father glances at his son and finds him grinning from ear to ear. “Dad,” he says, “do they do this just to make it fun for the kids?”
Good parents and family and leaders and friends do go to great lengths to make it fun for the kids, but the fun they are thinking of is wholesome fun; it hurts no one, and it lifts the spirit and is good to remember tomorrow and through a lifetime and forever. It never detracts from the real, long-term joy we came into this world to experience.

For me the message of reconciliation sank deep when my beloved teacher, Manuel Tun, told the parable of the prodigal son in his own words in the Maya language of Yucatán. Allow me to retell it, with adaptations, as he gave it to me.
A father had two sons. I’ll call the younger son Johnny. Johnny’s father was rich. He had hired hands who worked in his fields. Johnny and his brother and father worked hard alongside the hirelings.
To each son the father gave a gold ring to symbolize fidelity to God and to family. Working and talking with his father and brother, Johnny felt contented. His eyes shone, and there was a peaceful expression on his face. He was twelve years old. He was responsible. He was obedient. He was polite and respectful.
Three years passed. He was fifteen now and had new friends. But these boys didn’t like to work. They only liked to play. They teased him: “Johnny, your father takes advantage of you.” And Johnny began to believe them. Often he played all night with them, and in the morning he was too tired to get up and work. He thought: “Why should I work? Why should my father exploit me? I have my own life.”
Quarrels erupted between him and his brother, and unkind feelings developed between Johnny and his father. Now Johnny no longer prayed. He no longer read the word of God. He didn’t like to spend time with his family. At home he felt bored. He didn’t want to work with his father and brother, or even talk with them. He only wanted to play with his friends. He didn’t notice that the warm feeling that was in his heart had disappeared, together with the light that formerly shone in his eyes.
One day his friends said to him: “Your father is rich. Why should you work? Let your father’s hirelings do the work. Go to your father and demand your inheritance. Then you can leave home and be your own boss.”
And Johnny thought: “That’s right! I’ll leave, and I’ll never come back. With my inheritance I can live like a king. I don’t need my family. I’ll live with friends.”
The decision made, Johnny went to his father and said:
“I want my inheritance now! Here’s your ring, your ‘symbol of family unity.’ It has no meaning for me anymore. I’m leaving, and I don’t plan to come back.”
“Your inheritance? You want it now? Johnny, have you thought this over thoroughly?”
“I won’t discuss it, Dad. Just give me my money now!”
Johnny took his inheritance money and left. He made his way to a far city, feeling immensely rich and totally free. Where he went we don’t know, but we can imagine that he went to a place where he was sure no one would recognize him. In the city he found friends, and with them he squandered his inheritance, leading a debauched life. One day he woke up to find that the money that he figured would last forever was all spent. And soon he found that his friends were no friends at all. There was no one who cared for him. He was alone and frightened.
Shortly after the money was all spent, there came a famine, and Johnny began to suffer from hunger. I can just see him standing on a street corner. A cold wind is blowing, and he is clutching a tattered blanket about him. He is hungry, but more than that, he is ashamed. People look on him with pity for the misery he has brought on himself, and children mock him for his wretchedness.
I note the painful expression on his face as he shouts out: “You make fun of me, but my father is richer than you all. Don’t you know who I am?” But no one pays any attention. No one helps.
Now he had lost everything. He had no home, no family, no dignity. He had thrown away everything. In his desperation he thought of sending a letter to his father, asking for money. He still thought money could solve his problems. He did not yet see that the void in his heart could only be filled by reconciliation with his father.
One day a neighbor traveling abroad saw him in this sad state. “So, Johnny, this is where you are. I see you’re in dire straits. Listen, lad, before setting out, I told your father I was coming here. He said: ‘Please, if you happen to see my Johnny, tell him I still love him and want him to come home.’”
“What? Does my father speak of me?”
“Does he speak of you? Every day he speaks of you. Johnny, his heart aches for you.”
“Tell my father I’m okay. I’ll manage.”
But Johnny couldn’t manage. He begged a citizen: “Sir, help me, I am hungry. Give me something to eat.” The man looked on him with pity and gave him work. He sent him into his fields to feed swine.
Emaciated and weak, Johnny ate pig fodder and swill. Soon sick, and with no one there to attend to his desperate need, he cried out in agony: “Oh, God, what have I done? Help me, God. Help me return to my father. I’ll say to him: ‘Father, I am no longer worthy to be called thy son. Make me only as one of thy hired servants.’”
Now Johnny got up and set out for home. I can imagine him walking along dusty roads, climbing hills, descending into valleys, passing through fields and wilderness. He is aching within. Sweat mixed with tears streams down his face, but his every step is quickened by hope.
Nearing his father’s lands, he wondered, “What if Father’s heart has turned against me?” (Oh, but how little he knew of his father’s heart!) How he longed to see his father’s fields. He remembered the happy days of his childhood, pleasant hours spent at play with his brother, times that he was working, playing, singing, and chatting with his dad and mom.
Now Johnny came within sight of his father’s house. His father was standing on a hill from where he could look down on the road. Every day he had stood there, hoping to see if by chance his lost son might be coming up the road. And that day, as always, he was there hoping and praying. Suddenly he saw the figure of a young man approaching. His heart jumped. The boy’s clothes weren’t recognizeable. They were tattered and dirty. The boy was limping. His hair was long and disheveled. But the father recognized his son, and his heart filled with compassion. Johnny had come home! He ran joyously to meet his son and threw himself on his neck and kissed him. “Johnny, my son, you’ve come back!”
But the son said to his father, “Father, I have sinned against God.”
“Yes, Johnny, I know.”
“I have sinned before you, Father.”
“Yes, my son, I know.”
“Oh, I am ashamed, Father. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.”
“Johnny, my son, my son. How terribly you must have suffered.”
The father called to his servants: “Bring clean clothes and dress my son. Put shoes on his feet. Put this ring back on his finger. Come, let us celebrate. For this my son was lost but now is found. This my son was dead but has returned to life.”

Besides the wallabies and kangaroos, other marsupials living near the Scout camp included the potoroo, ring-tailed possums, echidnas, and wombats. The famous Tasmanian devils have never been sighted on Maria Island.
This information alone allowed the boys to sleep easier at night, although many still felt sleeping was the biggest problem at the camp.
“The nights were really bad. The possums were out in force raiding tents and rubbish bins all night. In the whole camp the worst thing was trying to get to sleep. There was one rock that seemed to follow me all night, and between that and the wind and the cold I didn’t sleep much,” said Stephen Szekely, of Launceston.
“The possums through the night gave me the willies because we had to keep bashing them out of our food box and a possum got in our tent and climbed up our tent pole. We broke our torch (flashlight) trying to get him out of there. Then the emus got in our tent and dunged all over Heath’s, Andrew’s, and my sleeping gear. But the kangaroos were great; they weren’t pests like the emus,” said Geoffrey Jones, a nonmember from Glen Huon.

One summer my father said that he had a big job for me and my brother, Clay, to do. Pointing to a nearby field with a bunch of lambs in it, Dad said that he’d share any money that we made from raising them and selling them in the fall.
We were excited. There were about 350 lambs, and all we had to do was feed them. However, none of the lambs had mothers. They had all been lost in a violent storm. To feed one or two baby lambs is easy, but to feed 350 of them was a real job. There was plenty of grass, but the lambs needed milk. So we made some long, V-shaped troughs out of boards. Next, we got a tin washtub, ground up some grain, and put it into the tub. Then we added milk to make a thin mash.
We herded the lambs to the troughs and, pointing to the food, said, “Eat!” They just stood there looking at us. We tried pushing their noses down into the milky mash, hoping that they’d get a taste and want more. We tried wriggling our fingers in the mixture to get them to suck our fingers. Some of them would drink, but most of them ran away.
Many of the lambs were starving to death. The only way that we could be sure they were eating was to pick them up two at a time, hold them in our arms like babies, and feed them.
At night the coyotes would sit up on the hill and howl. The next morning we’d see the results of their night’s work, and we’d bury two or three more lambs.
Clay and I soon forgot about becoming rich. All we wanted to do was save our lambs. It really wasn’t too bad until I made a pet of one of the lambs and gave it a name. It was always under my feet, and it knew my voice. I loved that lamb. One morning it didn’t come when I called it. Later that day I found it under the willow trees by the creek. It wad dead. With tears streaming down my face, I picked up my lamb and went to find my father. Looking up at Dad, I said, “Isn’t there someone who can help us feed our lambs?”
After a long moment he said, “Jayne, a long time ago, Someone Else said almost those same words. He said, ‘Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep.’” (John 21:15–16.) Dad put his arm around me and let me cry for a long time, then went with me to bury my lamb.
Many years later, while pondering Moses 1:39, I came to understand Dad’s words. The scripture reads: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of [all mankind].” As I thought about the mission of the Savior, I remembered the summer of the lambs, and I sensed how the Savior must feel with so many lambs to feed, so many souls to save. And I knew in my heart that He needed my help.

For most of my life, I considered myself an atheist. I wasn’t sure what I wanted out of life or what the point of it was, but I was happy enough.
But when I started going to college, I hit some bumps in the road. I wasn’t making the best decisions. I felt lost. A few years later, I reconnected with a few friends who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I’d grown up with them and had always enjoyed their company, but I’d never felt like their way of living was for me.
When we caught each other up on our lives, all I saw was joy in their countenances. They had both gotten married and had kids, they had careers that were taking off, and most of all, they seemed to radiate goodness.
When I compared my life to theirs, I realized that my trajectory was way off. I was heading down a path I didn’t want to go down. I wanted life to have meaning, and I didn’t want to chase things that wouldn’t bring me happiness in the long run.
For the first time, I felt like something was missing in my life.
And I was pretty sure these friends had the missing piece.
As I started hanging out with these friends again, I realized that they weren’t finding joy and success just because they were members of the Church. But my friends’ sense of purpose in life and motivation to continue progressing was amazing. They were so loving and driven and had this endless energy. I didn’t understand what was making them live like this.
Eventually, though, I realized their zest for life came from following the basic principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ. So I started asking questions, and my friends encouraged me to learn more.
As I learned about the gospel, it was strange at first. I didn’t have any spiritual beliefs to build on, but the truths of the gospel just started to click for me. I felt like life finally had purpose.
President Russell M. Nelson recently said: “My decision to follow Jesus Christ is the most important decision I have ever made. … That choice has made all the difference! That decision has made so many other decisions easier. That decision has given me purpose and direction. It has also helped me weather the storms of life.”
I’ve felt the same as I’ve chosen to follow Jesus Christ and get baptized.
Since joining the Church, my circumstances haven’t changed a ton. I still have a lot to figure out, but my overall feelings about life are completely different than they used to be.
Learning about the Savior, knowing my divine identity, and realizing we aren’t alone on this journey has helped me feel that same sense of peace and drive that my friends always have.
I have so much trust in our Heavenly Father, and I hold on to the idea that no matter what happens, He has my back. As I keep my covenants and strive to better align with my divine identity, I know He will be with me every step of the way. And if He is with me, I have nothing to fear.
President Nelson also testified: “Entering into a covenant relationship with God binds us to Him in a way that makes everything about life easier. Please do not misunderstand me: I did not say that making covenants makes life easy. In fact, expect opposition, because the adversary does not want you to discover the power of Jesus Christ. But yoking yourself with the Savior means you have access to His strength and redeeming power.”
I think that’s what living the gospel is all about. The gospel doesn’t make life easy, but it helps us create the earthly and eternal life God wants for us.
Despite unanswered questions, fear about the future, and setbacks, I see how the gospel gives us the guidelines we need to live the best life we can.

I asked, "Alex, do you have any idea how much impact you and your book have had on the people of the world?"

He answered, "I think so."

I said, "I haven't been involved in Family History Administration too many years, but it seems to me there is an invisible hand guiding this work, bringing people like you and scientific developments and special events together toward a pre-determined course."

He slammed his fist on his knee and said, "That's right! I felt the guiding hand of the Lord."

How appropriate that one year after the broadcast of Roots, in June 1978, the historic revelation was announced that all the children of God could enjoy the full blessings of the Priesthood.

One other incredible example of the "invisible hand" operating upon the hearts and minds of people: We cultivated relationships with the USSR for about 30 years in an effort to microfilm vital records. In 1989 one of the employees of the Family History Department, Kahlile Mehr, was in conversation with Dr. Patricia Grimsted of Harvard University, recognized as the top scholar on Russian Archival records. Brother Mehr expressed strong interest in the church being able to microfilm public and church records in the Soviet Union. She told Kahlile that in her opinion this church would never have access to Russian archival records. The Lord thought differently.

As President of the Genealogical Society of Utah, accompanied by Sister Clarke and our European acquisition Manager, Lynn Carson, we traveled to Moscow, Russia in April 1992. Sitting around a table in the offices of the former Central Committee of the Communist Party located at the Kremlin, I signed a contract with Dr. Rudolph Pikhoia, Chairman of the Committee of Archival Affairs for the Republic of Russia. This contract authorized the Genealogical Society of Utah to microfilm vital records in 200 regional archives throughout Russia. What in 1989 was said to be impossible was now reality. "Is anything too hard for the Lord?"

A true story from the USA.
Water swirled around Scott’s legs as he stepped into the baptismal font. His older brother Sandy was already standing in the water. He smiled and took Scott’s hand.
Scott smiled back and looked up at the people watching. There was Dad. He looked so happy! And there was Mom. She waved at him. She was also wearing white baptismal clothes. Scott’s other brother Gerrie was going to baptize her.
When Mom had told Scott she would get baptized on the same day as him, he had been so excited. Mom hadn’t grown up going to church like Scott had. She had started going to church after she met Dad.
Scott always knew Mom loved Jesus Christ, and she came to church with them almost every week. The missionaries had come to their house a lot too. But it had taken years before Mom felt ready to be baptized. He was so happy they could share this special day together!
It was Mom who had taught him about baptism and confirmation when he turned eight.
“You’ll make a very important promise to Heavenly Father to always follow Him and Jesus Christ,” she had said. “In return, you’ll always have the Holy Ghost with you.”
And now it was time to be baptized! Scott plugged his nose when Sandy dipped him all the way under the water. When Scott came back up, he blinked water from his eyes and grinned. He felt so clean! There was a warm feeling in his heart as he stepped out of the font.
After he changed into dry clothes, Scott sat down and watched Gerrie baptize Mom. She looked so happy as she went into the water and came back out. She looked right at Scott and gave him a big smile.
The next day at church, they were both confirmed as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Scott closed his eyes as Dad and other priesthood holders put their hands on his head. They blessed him with the gift of the Holy Ghost. Then he listened reverently as Mom was confirmed. He felt warm, happy, and safe. Scott knew he was feeling the Holy Ghost.
Afterward they sat back down to listen to the speakers. Then Scott heard a sniffle. He looked over in surprise to see a tear slide down Mom’s cheek.
Scott frowned. “Are you OK, Mom?” he whispered. “Why are you sad?”
Mom wiped her cheek and smiled. “I’m not sad,” she whispered back. She put an arm around Scott and squeezed. “Sometimes people cry when they’re happy. And I’m so happy right now.”
Scott squeezed back. “Me too.”
Illustrations by Raquel Martin

The various activities of the day left the girls tired, but not too worn out to express their feelings during a testimony meeting. They read their favorite scriptures to each other, spoke again of their love for nature, for the gospel, and for the Lord, and talked about the lessons they had learned on their trip: lessons of perseverance, sacrifice, relaxation, and sharing the load.
“It’s unbelievable the feeling you get on top of a mountain,” said Sandy Kay, 17. “If you have an open mind and a humble heart, it can really help straighten out your priorities and help you see the reason why we’re here.”

Mark Madsen led the Stanford basketball team to the NCAA Final Four last year. He is a tenacious and aggressive player, and it would be easy to assume that basketball is the only thing that matters to such an impressive athlete. But Mark, who served a mission in Spain, says that it’s church, not sports, that gives him the anchor he needs in his life.
“Going to church at the student ward is a huge relief for me, especially after a road trip with the team,” says Mark. “After a few days in a strange city playing against tough guys, it’s nice to come and sing the opening hymn and be with my ward family. I love Sundays.”

Tina and her family went back to Orem, Utah, to see the little house where she lived as a child. “When we moved into that little house, the yard was run-down and full of weeds. We had to clear all the weeds and the rocks before we could plant lawn. It was the nicest lawn, and everyone came to play there. When we went back, we found it had all gone to weeds again. I was so sad. I remember how hard I worked.”

Missionaries came and taught my family when I was six, and it was like we moved from the telestial kingdom to the terrestrial kingdom and the whole world was brighter. My family was different, and I felt it. I will always be grateful to a member who told my mother, “I know two young men that can come and share a message with your family, and I think it will help you.” If you reach out to others, there will be people that feel the same way about you.

When I walked in the door one evening, Jessie, my six-year-old daughter, was sitting on a stool in our kitchen. Her countenance worried me. I asked her what had happened.
“Daddy, is it true that I’m a child of the devil?” she asked with deep concern.
Her question hit me like a bucket of cold water. Jessie said her friend’s three-month-old sister had already been baptized. Jessie was surprised and asked her friend why her little sister had been baptized at such a young age. Her friend replied that all babies had to be baptized.
“You haven’t been baptized?” her friend then asked. When Jessie said no, her friend insisted that she was a child of the devil.
“Daddy, baptize me!” Jessie implored. “I don’t want to be a child of the devil!”
I realized that this challenge needed to be resolved immediately. I explained the importance of baptism and how children need no baptism until they are eight years old (see Moroni 8:11–23). Because she was only six years old, I told Jessie she would have to wait a little longer before her baptism. I assured her that she was a child of God and that He loved her. Her question led us to Moroni 10:4–5, where Moroni tells us how we can determine “the truth of all things.”
After reading these verses, I asked if she wanted to pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him if the things we had talked about were true. She said yes.
We knelt together, and Jessie bowed her head and prayed, “Heavenly Father, I want to know if the things my daddy has told me are true. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
I realized I had led my daughter to say one of the most important prayers of her life. I began pleading in my heart as I had never done before, asking Heavenly Father to answer her prayer.
After a few minutes, she said, “I didn’t hear anything.” I took her in my arms and said, “Heavenly Father gave us the Comforter, who answers us with …” I put my hand on my heart. She interrupted me and said, “With a warm feeling in my chest! I feel it, Daddy!”
I hugged her tightly and thanked Heavenly Father for answering her prayer. I also felt a burning in my bosom. I told Jessie that what she had felt was an answer to her prayer and that now she knew she was a daughter of God and that she should be baptized when she was eight. She told me she would wait.
Many years have passed since that experience, but it still reminds me that Heavenly Father keeps His promises.

In October 1835 he was called to the bedside of his sister-in-law, Mary Bailey Smith, who was confined in childbirth “in a very dangerous situation.” After sending his brother, Don Carlos, for the doctor, Joseph “went out into the field and bowed before the Lord and called upon him in mighty prayer in her behalf.” Whereupon, “the word of the Lord came unto me saying, ‘my servant Frederick [the doctor] shall come and shall have wisdom given him to deal prudently, and my handmaiden shall be delivered of a living child and be spared.’” The doctor did arrive and within a short time the child was safely delivered. “And thus what God had manifested to me was fulfilled every whit.”28

I remember I learned a lesson one evening in a little country ward in Idaho while I was traveling for the University of Idaho. I traveled that wonderful state for eight years. I’ve been to every town and hamlet in the state. It was not uncommon for me to be away for two weeks. Then I’d go home, and as a stake officer, I would take a bath, change clothes, and be gone again to a Stake meeting. My wife used to say, “Well, when you’re not away traveling, you’re away to meetings.” Once when this happened, one of my little girls came to the door, waved, and said, “Come visit us again, Daddy.”
I used to miss my family, and this particular time I was in Pocatello, Idaho, on Sunday. I got thinking about my family, so far away, and I thought, “Well, I’ll just run down to Whitney and see if I can attend sacrament service and renew my acquaintance with some of the wonderful people there.” So I drove down and arrived just as the meeting was about ready to start and the bishop was going into the church.
He invited me in with him. He had the custom of going up on the stand and sitting there ten minutes before the meeting started so he could see the people come in. He’d have his counselors down at the door. And as I sat there, I watched these groups come in. There were family groups with father, mother, children, and I knew practically all of them. I knew all of the parents and could identify the children by association.
Well, the meeting got started, and the counselor was conducting. He called on me to say a few words. And while sitting there, I’d been thinking, “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you could be home every Sunday and go to church with your family? Just think what a joy it would be.” Well, as he introduced me, he said, “Brothers and sisters, wouldn’t it be wonderful if we all had a job like Brother Benson? He’s traveling this great state of Idaho all the time. He’s always on a trip.” I thought, “Yes, how true to life. Other blessings look better than our own.”
I hope we can be happy where we are, be grateful for our blessings—now—here, accept the challenge that is ours and make the most of it, and don’t be envious of others.
God help us to be grateful. Someone has said that an ungrateful man is like a hog under a tree eating apples and never looking up to see where they come from. Do we look up to see where our blessings are coming from?
God help us to be grateful for our blessings and never to be guilty of the sin of ingratitude.
“And he who receiveth all things with thankfulness shall be made glorious; and the things of this earth shall be added unto him, even an hundred fold, yea more.” (D&C 78:19.)

Several years ago, Wayne Lewis, of Washington, USA, published his life story. He gave copies to all of his children and grandchildren. “This was not done for the benefit of anyone but my family, to encourage them to write about their life experiences,” he says. Not long afterward, Wayne suffered one stroke, then another. “After the strokes, my counselor discovered that writing stories about my life was actually helping diminish the stresses brought on by brain injury, so I have continued writing about my life.” Now 88 years old, Wayne adds, “I would encourage everyone to write their life story. Act now, and use any format you think will be read by those you love.”

Even with my career under way, however, the goal of marriage continued to occupy my mind. As a lifelong member of the Church, I had learned the importance of eternal marriage all through my teenage dating years. I had always fully expected to have a temple marriage.
However, I had spent four years at Brigham Young University, where thousands of young Saints find their eternal mates, without being blessed with any marriage opportunities. As an African American at a predominantly Caucasian university, I did not find many dating partners who were seriously interested in marriage.
In Maine, my challenge was different: the area simply had very few Latter-day Saint men. I began dating a young man named James, a less-active member of the Church. When I learned that he still had a testimony of Jesus Christ and the gospel, I felt hope that he might come back to church. I prayed often that the Lord would help him do so.
As I began to fall in love with James, my prayers grew more desperate. He started to attend church regularly, but after a year he was still having challenges with the Word of Wisdom. He asked me several times to marry him, but I was hesitant to make a commitment under the circumstances. Nevertheless, I came to feel that James was the right person for me.
I eventually realized that I couldn’t keep putting off my decision indefinitely. Knowing that I did love James and believing that the Lord approved of our union, I consented to a civil marriage, with the intention that we would strive for a temple sealing later. My decision was bittersweet: I loved James, but I found it hard to accept that ours would be a lifelong marriage rather than an eternal one.
Still, I held fast to my decision. As I went to bed the night before the wedding, I began to feel uneasy and ill. I had heard of brides who get last-minute jitters, and I thought that might be happening to me. To my dismay, I discovered that instead of easing as the night progressed, the tension grew worse toward morning. Scenes flashed through my mind of what my future life might be like without a temple marriage. I could see myself in church alone or possibly not at all. I feared that one of us might die before we made it to the temple.
Thoroughly distraught and confused, I sought counsel from my bishop just hours before the wedding. As I talked with him and received a priesthood blessing, the Spirit bore witness to me that I shouldn’t go forward with my plans. To James’s great heartache and my own, I called off the wedding. Through my hurt, however, I felt a calming influence and an inner peace.
Crying and praying often, I spent the following days humbly reflecting on the situation and pondering what to do next. Instead of putting the Lord first in my decision making, I realized that I had put my desire for marriage first. Instead of having the faith to believe that the Lord would help me achieve the righteous goal of an eternal marriage, I had given up and convinced myself that a civil union was the best I could do in my circumstances.
I decided to put the Lord first in my life. As I prayed for forgiveness for my lack of faith and misguided sense of direction, I felt a burden lift, and a new sense of power began to grow within me. I knew that the Lord would carry me through my difficult situation. I was able to say, “Thy will be done,” even if it meant that I would not marry James.
I didn’t realize it at first, but James was going through a similar experience. He too made a decision to put the Lord first in his life. It was wonderful to see him take on a new glow as he became worthy in the eyes of the Lord. Shortly afterwards, he obtained the Melchizedek Priesthood and asked me to marry him in the Washington Temple.
Today, James and I are active members of the Sanford Ward in Maine. I am overwhelmed at the blessings the Lord has given me. I’m so grateful that he has greater insight than I do and knew that a temple marriage was a realistic expectation for me.

In the mid-1980s, now with a young family in tow, I moved to Saipan in the Northern Mariana Islands. I continued to teach typing there, first at the local high school and then at the island’s only community college, where I got the exciting opportunity to set up their first ever computer lab. What a challenge! I eventually got the hang of computers and before long, all my students were learning to type on a computer keyboard.

Everybody’s doing it! And the nice thing about it is that nearly everybody can do it. I’m talking about cross-country skiing or ski touring.*
The basic technique is fairly simple, it comes fast, and the satisfactions are immense. If someone had suggested to me two years ago that I should trade a Saturday of Alpine skiing for something called ski touring, I’d have said, “Sorry, no way.” But then one late spring day, on our final run, I took the ill-fated little fall that turned into months in a cast and strict orders to stay off the slopes for a year. In desperation I bought a pair of those skinny little touring skis, found someone to show me the basics (it took about 30 minutes), and I was off and running. Remembering my early days of Alpine skiing (about the first ten years or so), I kept expecting some agony. But there wasn’t any. I could do it right off the bat. The only thing that has proved any problem at all has been deciding on where to stop for lunch—and how to stop, period. Straight striding and running is a snap, if you don’t mind working a little.