Gospel Story Finder

As an introduction to a third choice, I now relate a personal experience about others who set a path for me to follow. I attended graduate school at Indiana University. My first day in an economics class was with a well-known professor who had the reputation of being tough, demanding, and, for a number of other reasons, was somewhat feared. As this was the first day in his class, he asked each of us to stand and introduce ourselves, giving our name and the university we graduated from. When it was my turn, I gave my name and said I had just graduated from Brigham Young University.

The professor stopped the introductions and said something like this, "It is wonderful to have another great student from Brigham Young University in this class." Now, he did not say this about the very capable students from Indiana, Minnesota, Harvard, or other respected universities. He then asked, "Do you know 'so and so' from BYU?" I knew him. He went on, "Do you know 'so and so' from BYU?" I knew him. Then he named others, some of whom I knew and others I did not. Then he said they had all been outstanding students and great examples.

As I savored the undeserved limelight for those few moments, I was grateful for a string of LDS students who had preceded me at Indiana University. I was grateful for the impressions and influence these students had made on the life of this professor and probably others. I was determined not to mar the reputation of myself or those who had left such a legacy of example. This legacy was a motivation to me throughout my schooling at Indiana and my professional life. These accolades came because of a value system reflected in the lives of the students, a value system based upon the principles and doctrines of the gospel, a value system included and taught in the curriculum of BYU. At Indiana, I was grateful for the footprints that had been left and the candles that had been lit. You also can leave footprints and light candles.

After surveying the many travelers in the closest coach section of the train and finding no empty seats, I decided to sit in the quiet solace of the luggage car. The solitude would give me a chance to reflect and prepare for my new assignment as a missionary in Amsterdam, Netherlands. Since leaving Sint–Niklaas, Belgium, I’d made several train transfers with armloads of luggage, and I was relieved this train would be taking me all the way to my destination. With a little more than four months left as a missionary, I anticipated this would be my last transfer.
My stomach growled as the train thudded along. I had left Belgium early and without breakfast. There were vendors on the train platforms selling snacks, but after crossing the border, I realized I had forgotten to change my money and carried only Belgian francs.
Lost in thought, I hardly noticed as the train lurched to a stop between stations until the luggage car door screeched open. I looked up to see a Muslim woman enter, followed by her three young children. Her scarf covered her hair, and her black dress reached the ground, covering everything but her hands. She found the orange vinyl seat closest to me, flipped it down, and sat. Her children followed her lead and sat facing me. My secret hope that they would leave me to my pondering vanished. They were here to stay, so I smiled politely.
“Are you going to Amsterdam?” she asked.
I told her I was and learned they were going there as well to see her sister. Neither of us had been to Amsterdam before, and we were both curious about what we might find there.
Then she read my name tag aloud slowly: “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Yes, I have heard of Him,” she told me, referring to Christ, “but we worship Allah and follow the teachings of Muhammad.”
“Yes, I know,” I answered, nodding. “I mean, I can tell.”
She smiled knowingly, turned to her children and then back to me. “Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m fine,” I answered as my stomach growled. She gave me a disappointed look, and I saw the faces of her children fall.
“My children are hungry,” she replied as she pulled bread, cheese, and juice from her bag. “And it is rude in our culture to eat without sharing with others,” she explained. “So you must eat with us. Otherwise, we do not eat. If you do not eat, we do not eat. And my children are hungry.”
The children looked at me with pleading eyes.
Then their mother laughed and added, “Why do you think we sit in here? We cannot share with so many,” she nodded toward the crowded coach section, “but with one, it is easy to share.”
I laughed too, her point well taken. I spent the rest of the train ride accepting gifts of chewy chunks of Turkish bread and red, wax-covered pieces of Gouda cheese from her children. We sipped apple juice from cardboard cartons with Arabic writing and spoke both English and Dutch as we conversed. The children wanted to know if I wanted more bread, more juice, more cheese, more crackers, or more cookies.
When we parted on the platform we felt like old friends, wishing each other luck and hoping we would see each other again. We waved good-bye, and they disappeared into the crowd. As I watched them go, I was reminded of Matthew 25:35: “For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in.”
I felt enriched because of our brief encounter. Our differences of religion, culture, and race were overshadowed at the moment by our common destination, a common meal, and her common courtesy.

In 1955 I became an officer in the United States Air Force. My bishop at home gave me a blessing just before I left for my first station, which was in Albuquerque, New Mexico.
In his blessing he said that my time in the air force would be missionary service. I arrived in church on my first Sunday at the Albuquerque First Branch. A man walked up to me, introduced himself as the district president, and told me that he was going to call me to serve as a district missionary.
I told him that I would be there for training for only a few weeks and then I would be assigned somewhere else in the world. He said, “I don’t know about that, but we are to call you to serve.” In the middle of my military training, by what appeared to be chance, I was chosen from hundreds of officers being trained to take the place in headquarters of an officer who had died suddenly.
So, for the two years I was there, I worked in my office. On most evenings and every weekend, I taught the gospel of Jesus Christ to people the members brought to us.
My companions and I averaged more than 40 hours a month in our missionary service without once having to knock on doors to find someone to teach. The members filled our plates so full that we often taught two families in an evening. I saw for myself the power and the blessing in the repeated call of prophets for every member to be a missionary.
On the last Sunday before I left Albuquerque, the first stake was organized in that city. There is now a sacred temple there, a house of the Lord, in a city where we once met in a single chapel with Saints who brought friends to us to be taught and to feel the witness of the Spirit. Those friends felt a welcoming home in the Lord’s true Church.

I remember how the shrill scream of a siren gave me goose bumps whenever an ambulance went rushing by. Oh, how I wanted to be at the wheel of that machine, rushing to the aid of sick and injured people! As I grew older, my dream became a reality. I took first-aid classes, human science classes, and, finally, an emergency medical technician training course.
I was just out of high school when I got my first job as an ambulance attendant for a private ambulance, and I progressed rapidly in my knowledge of emergency treatments. I learned many things about life that most people never learn until much older. I was also exposed to many trials and temptations that I’d never faced before.
I worked in a non-Mormon atmosphere. It was the type of atmosphere that my Church leaders always had warned me about, but at the time, I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about it. My work began conflicting with my church attendance. I started asking myself questions and often wondered about my future. I could see myself progressing into higher fields of medicine, and it seemed that nothing stood in my way. Then, on my 19th birthday, I made my way to California and applied to a hospital paramedic program. I was accepted and could enter in the fall semester. I knew then that was exactly what I wanted to do.
Suddenly it dawned on me—what about a mission? Oh, sure, I had always told my friends and family that I would go. I had even told my employer I was planning on a mission. But all of that seemed unimportant now. All I could see was personal satisfaction, and I didn’t care what kind of spiritual development I’d surely miss. The voice of the prophet still echoed in my mind, “Every young man is to fulfill a mission.” But the thought always came back, “In two years’ time, look how far you could be as a paramedic!”
I didn’t know what to do. I knew deep down in my heart that a mission was the right thing, but I was swayed by selfishness. The decision to go or not to go was constantly on my mind. I thought about it from the time I got up in the morning until the time I went to bed at night. Because we worked 24-hour shifts, I had lots of time to think.
One night right after I had gone to bed, I was awakened by the ring of the telephone. The highway patrol was calling for an ambulance to respond to an accident on the freeway, and soon I was at the scene. A small car had run into the back of a semitrailer loaded with wooden fence posts. The badly mangled car had two occupants—a young couple who had recently been married. The husband, who was driving, had been killed instantly. His wife was critically injured. We worked desperately to save the slowly fading life of that beautiful 19-year-old woman. I thought to myself, How could something so terrible happen to this fine couple and totally destroy their future plans and happiness?
We rushed her to the hospital, where a team of highly trained doctors and nurses were waiting. Soon a helicopter arrived to transport her to a hospital in Salt Lake City, where she could receive special treatment for a severe head injury.
After I calmed down from the shock of the accident, I talked to the highway patrolman who would be responsible for notifying the next of kin. I’ll never forget the solemn look on his face and the glaze of tears in his eyes as he drove away. I thought to myself, What a horrible assignment! What if it were my parents being notified? Then another thought came to my mind: What will be the look on my face when I give an accounting to the Savior of the time I spent here in mortality?
The night air was chilled with a late frost. As I gazed up into the night, I noticed how clear and calm the sky looked. Tears ran freely down my cheeks, and I found myself pleading with the Lord for that young woman’s life. At that moment, when my heart actually seemed to swell painfully with love and compassion, I finally began to understand. Doctors and nurses and paramedics were wonderful, but they could treat only the body. They couldn’t heal the deeper wounds, the ones that would keep us from going home to our Father. Only one Physician could do that, and I was denying myself the chance to be his helper. I made a decision. I would do all I could to further the work of the Master Healer. I would serve a mission.
The days came and went. Finally, one month after the accident, I learned my prayers had been answered. The young woman was released from the hospital, completely recovered. How I thanked our Eternal Father for that answer! Now it was time to keep my commitment to serve a mission.
As I prayed and prepared myself, the Spirit confirmed that I was to serve my Heavenly Father as a missionary. I’ll never forget the calm, sweet feeling that came as our stake patriarch pronounced a patriarchal blessing upon me. And I’ll never forget that same feeling as I opened the letter from a prophet of God calling me to serve in the Pennsylvania Harrisburg Mission. Even as I served in Pennsylvania, as a representative of Jesus Christ, I had that special, calm feeling, knowing that I had made the right choice.
Before I left for the mission field, I thought there was no feeling in the world like knowing someone was walking again because of your help. But I was wrong. There is no greater feeling in the world than knowing you helped someone in their search for true joy and happiness found only in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Dustin Matsumori, a Stanford freshman from Murray, Utah, faced a dilemma similar to Elsa’s. He knew he was going to go to college, but where? And why? So Dustin started doing what any good student would do—his homework. He considered cost, class sizes, majors offered, and the student population at each school on his list.
“I came to visit Stanford with my parents and was really impressed with the beautiful campus and the great weather,” says Dustin. “Then the tour guide started giving us the stats about Supreme Court justices and Nobel laureates and other impressive people who have graduated from Stanford.”
Dustin was excited by the prospect of being able to go to a school that had such an awesome reputation. But he wasn’t ready to sign on the dotted line just yet. Something was still missing.
“When I was getting information about Stanford, I found out that the Latter-day Saint Student Association [LDSSA] hosted a seminar each Friday at lunchtime. When I walked into that room with the other LDS students, I felt right at home. It was then that I knew I could go away from home and have wonderful educational experiences and still strengthen my testimony.”

Years ago I was counseling a young couple who were struggling in their marriage. The husband was addicted to pornography; it had a serious adverse affect upon their relationship. Finally he committed to give it up. One day, however, the wife came home from work and felt an evil spirit in their home. She noticed her husband's briefcase by the dining room table. She opened it up and there she saw the pornography she so abhorred. Then she said, "I know that pornography was the cause of the evil spirit in our home." If this evil plagues you then see your Bishop and overcome it so you can replace its captive hold with the sweet and liberating whisperings of the spirit.

It is reported that on one occasion when Sir Isaac Newton was thinking seriously concerning the nature of light, he cut a hole in a window blind and a ray of light entered his room. He held a triangular piece of glass in the range of the light, and there were reflected in great beauty all the colors of the rainbow. And for the first time man learned that all of the glorious colors of the universe are locked up in a ray of white light.

The back windows of our home overlook a small flower garden and the woods which border Little Cottonwood Creek. The north side of the garden is the gable end of another part of the house. Except for a large window in the middle, this wall is thickly covered with English ivy.

Every year this ivy has been the nesting place for house finches. They are small birds dressed as drably as sparrows except in the springtime, when the male puts on a bright red cap and neckerchief as his costume for the serenading that he will do during the nesting season. The male house finch is one of the best soloists in the bird world. The nests in the vines are safe from the foxes and raccoons and cats that are about at night.

One day there was a great commotion in the ivy. Desperate cries of distress brought eight or 10 finches from the surrounding woods to join in this cry of alarm. I soon saw the source of the commotion. A snake slid partway down out of the ivy and hung in front of the window just long enough for me to jerk it out of the ivy and slam it against the ground. The middle part of the snake’s body had two bulges—clear evidence convicting the snake of having taken two fledglings from the nest.

Not in the 50 years that we have lived in our home had we seen anything like that before. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience—or so we thought.

A few days later there was another commotion, this time in the vines covering our dog run—we heard the same cries of panic and saw the same gathering of the neighborhood finches. Now we knew what the predator was. A grandson climbed onto the run and pulled out another snake that was still holding on tightly to the mother bird it had caught on the nest and killed.

I said to myself, “What is going on? Is Eden being invaded again?”

We do not destroy the snakes every time we see them, for they help to control insects and rodents. But we had learned a lesson this time.

For years I had thought the vines were perfectly safe for the birds, but the lesson was much too obvious—too clearly obvious. I reflected upon Adam and Eve and the serpent in the Garden of Eden as recorded in the book of Genesis.

Now if this story of birds and serpents is an unpleasant way to begin a sermon and makes us uncomfortable, it was meant to do just that. I have read the plainspoken words of the prophets. Some of their teachings are not always comfortable to read. But while this example is unpleasant to talk about, I hope that the principle will be more plainly understood.

Gose and Arouma decided to serve a senior mission for the Church of Jesus Christ after President Russell M. Nelson visited Australia and spoke about missionary service. They were called to serve in 2020 as welfare and self-reliance missionaries in the Australia Sydney Mission.
Although COVID affected the world during that time, they were able to continue their mission in Sydney. They learned to teach via video calls and taught English Connect as a pilot program.

Ian Bagley’s family had been taking pictures on a lookout point at the Grand Canyon’s North Rim for just five minutes when they heard screaming. A two year-old girl, while looking over the railing, had fallen 35 feet to a ledge below. Her parents desperately searched for a way to save their daughter, while onlookers stood stunned. Not understanding the pleadings of her parents and family to stay still, her effort to climb back up resulted in her slipping further down until she was five feet from the next drop off—this one a terrifying 200 feet.

Ian describes the feeling as “pure shock,” but he is no ordinary 19-year-old. Having been trained in emergency response through an EMT program at a community college, Ian knew how to handle the situation.

He says, “Immediately, it all came at me, and I just knew what I had to do. I set down my camera and went up the trail a little ways where it wasn’t as steep, climbed over the rail, scrambled down a bunch of rocks and through brush, and found her.” Holding her in his arms for an hour, Ian waited until emergency teams could drop down with ropes. Ian’s mother, waiting at the top, remembers seeing the little girl and her son as they ascended with the help of rescuers. “I could see blond hair and a tiny face among all of the emergency equipment, and she held her hand out and it was wrapped around Ian’s two fingers.”

Before going, Ian, from the Fort Collins Colorado Stake, didn’t know why he decided to go with his family to the Grand Canyon, but afterwards he was sure he was there for a reason. He says, “I didn’t have a reason, I just felt like I should go. I was there, and I was able to save someone’s life.”

Ian felt lucky that he was there to help, but even more, he was grateful that multiple experiences had prepared him to do so. Training in the EMT program, for example, taught him to stay calm and manage risks. He says the program involves not only rigorous course work, but training that put him in emergency situations with fire trucks and ambulances. And then, after all the studying and training, he had to pass both a statewide and national test with written and practical sections.

Participating in the Boy Scouts for seven years, including two summers as a Boy Scout camp counselor, also provided Ian with valuable knowledge. He says that the motto “Be prepared” helped him realize that at every moment, he needs to be ready to offer help.

But Ian cites a more important preparation: “Knowing that there is a plan, and Heavenly Father put me there for a specific purpose. We hadn’t been there longer than five minutes, and it started happening. That really convinced me that I was supposed to be there.”

By using his skills before his full-time service, Ian is acting as a missionary now. His mother says that “even before he is called on his mission, he’s had a chance to be a missionary.” Local newspapers and news stations covering the event mention a two-year mission for the Church. In addition to all the inquiries in the community about his future mission, Ian received a letter from a state government official thanking him for his service and wishing him well on his mission.

While Ian walked away from the incident with a plaque and a medal from the National Park Service, worth even more is his testimony of the gospel. “I know there is a plan for everyone and there is a purpose for all things. Our Savior saves us in so many more ways than I could ever save someone else.”

Sabrina, age 18, remembers the sister missionaries coming to home evening when she was 10. “They taught me simply but firmly that God reveals truth through prayer,” she says. “They said I needed to kneel down and ask Heavenly Father in humility to give me a testimony. ‘Me kneel down?’ I thought to myself. A few days later, Mom wanted to go for a walk with my sisters and me. Even though the sun was shining and I wanted to go with them, something stopped me. I knew it was the perfect time to pray. I knelt down in the dining room. I pleaded with Heavenly Father to let me know if the Book of Mormon was true. I asked Him if the principles I was taught in church were true. Five minutes went by. After I ended my prayer I remained on my knees. Suddenly a ray of light illuminated my face. I could not understand this, because the house was dark. But there was a small window in the kitchen without a curtain, and the light was coming from there.

“I felt so happy. I realized my Father had answered my prayer in this way. Now I have a testimony of all these things, and I know they are true. I know prayer has tremendous power.”

After recovering from serious health challenges, Elder Robert D. Hales shared the following in general conference: “On a few occasions, I told the Lord that I had surely learned the lessons to be taught and that it wouldn’t be necessary for me to endure any more suffering. Such entreaties seemed to be of no avail, for it was made clear to me that this purifying process of testing was to be endured in the Lord’s time and in the Lord’s own way. … I … learned that I would not be left alone to meet these trials and tribulations but that guardian angels would attend me. There were some that were near angels in the form of doctors, nurses, and most of all my sweet companion, Mary. And on occasion, when the Lord so desired, I was to be comforted with visitations of heavenly hosts that brought comfort and eternal reassurances in my time of need.”

It took my husband two years of studying—and a little bit of arguing—to join the Church. He was finally baptized in 1980, and then he got the priesthood. He became a very calm person, so that his own family members couldn’t believe how he had changed. He was cautious with the priesthood that he held and also to make sure he was always doing the right thing before the Lord. Without the priesthood, he says he would have gone for the honors and the glories of men. But with the priesthood, he found that the most important things are your marriage, your home, your family, and serving others.

Fifteen-year-old Andy Tuitupou’s feet left the court long enough to grab the rebound during basketball practice. Gliding through the air, Andy was confident—he was good-looking, popular, active in his teachers quorum in our Utah ward, and a member of the school basketball team. But when his feet touched the ground again, his life changed. His strong body crashed to the floor—never to walk again.
Surgeons pinned and cast Andy’s broken leg. Pain became his constant companion. Long days, determination, and patience seemed to bring only more suffering. Although Andy gave it his all, physical therapists weren’t able to help him learn to walk again.
In desperation Paul and Carolyn Tuitupou, Andy’s parents, took him to a hospital where skilled surgeons operated and found the source of Andy’s intense pain: bone cancer. Andy made the difficult decision to have the doctors amputate his leg. Whatever the price, he wanted to beat the cancer.
Several days after the amputation, Andy asked me—his bishop—if he could receive his patriarchal blessing. I wondered what a blessing would hold for a young man facing possible death. I rushed to my office to get a patriarchal blessing recommend. Then I jumped in my car and headed for Andy’s bedside, where I found him waiting patiently for his interview. I asked Andy where he was getting his obvious strength and peace. “From the things I learned in family home evening,” he answered without hesitation. Andy was worthy to receive a patriarchal blessing.
As I visited with him throughout the next few months, I saw him as a brother who loved his family, friends, the gospel, and life. Although his spiritual health was strong, his physical well-being seemed only to worsen. Chemotherapy treatments left him violently nauseated for four or five days each week.
All hopes of a cure were dashed when a tumor in Andy’s hip erupted. His lungs began failing as cancerous tumors started their deadly invasion. But Andy wasn’t content to watch life pass him by. With the help of a devoted Scout leader, Andy soon fulfilled the requirements for his Eagle Award.
During one of my routine visits with this young member of my ward, I felt prompted to set up a formal appointment for his annual priesthood interview on the next Sunday.
On Sunday I headed for the hospital and found Andy in agony with his eyes closed. Not wanting to disturb him, I quietly sat by his bedside. After several minutes of listening to Andy’s labored breathing, I heard him whisper, “Bishop, are you going to interview me?”
After a tender prayer, I began the interview.
“Andy, are you morally clean?”
“Yes.”
“Do you honor your priesthood?”
“Yes.”
Our interview was a spiritual feast. After I asked him all my questions, he had one for me: “Bishop, how many priesthood blessings can I have?”
“As many as you want,” I said.
A few days later, I awoke to a ringing telephone.
“Andy is pretty bad. Can you come over?” Carolyn Tuitupou asked.
When I reached my friend, he asked for a blessing and then said, “I want to go home.”
As his humbled bishop, I placed my hands on my young friend’s head and knew Andy was nearing the end of his mission on earth. I asked the Lord to please take Andy home if it was His will.
After the blessing, I held Andy’s hand and said to him, “It’s okay to go home, little brother; it’s okay to go home.”
Before he went home, though, he had a few things to finish. Andy’s pain subsided, and breathing became easier, enabling him to talk to each of his brothers and his sister privately. He expressed his love to each of them and challenged his brothers to serve missions.
When I talked to him again, I asked him what he wanted me to tell the youth in the ward.
“Tell them you don’t have to be ‘cool’ for your friends; real friends don’t care if you’re ‘cool,’” he said.
Andy called several special people on the phone to say good-bye. He called an aunt he was close to and wanted to challenge her to become active in the Church again. Afraid of offending her, he didn’t quite have the courage to do it.
I looked at Andy and knew I had one last calling for him.
“Andy, will you serve as a ward missionary?”
Andy smiled. “Yes.”
I once again placed my hands on his head. After I set him apart, I gave him his first assignment: “Andy, I want you to get on the phone and bear your testimony to your aunt.”
I left the room, and he went to work—an honorable missionary.
Throughout the day, friends and neighbors dropped by to see Andy. Because it is traditional in the Tongan culture to sing in front of the home of someone who is dying, a member of the ward organized a group to come later that evening and honor Andy by singing on the Tuitupous’ front lawn.
Midafternoon, Andy’s breathing became very labored. His father and I laid our hands on his head. Brother Tuitupou pleaded with Heavenly Father to allow his son to return home. Andy died in his mother’s arms.
Their front yard was soon full of ward members singing Andy’s favorite hymn, “Because I Have Been Given Much” (Hymns, number 219). Music surrounded the home, and the family wept as love filled their hearts.
Although the Tuitupou family said an early good-bye to their son and brother, they knew they had been given much: the chance to love and learn from Andy.

A few years ago, I was one of a few Church members in my grade. People thought I was weird because I was dedicated to living all of the standards of the Church. So one day I decided that I could compromise my standards a little bit. When I did, I noticed that I had more attention from others. But after just a few weeks, I felt guilty and turned to the Lord for repentance. He did help me, and I had to make a lot of sacrifices, but it was worth it! I truly got to see the blessings of living the gospel at school. I did lose friends and attention, but I gained respect and happiness.
Sutton K., 15, Texas, USA

On a cold, stormy day last October, a special baptism took place in the waters just off Prince Edward Island. The pictures on this page show some of the scenes just before and just after James Keeping’s father and mother became members of the Church.
James, who is nine, and his brother John, 17, were baptized into the Church several months earlier. It was a happy day for them when their parents decided that they, too, were ready for baptism. John was privileged to participate in the sacred ordinance while James looked on from the rocky beach nearby with members of the little branch.
After the group was welcomed, they sang a song, bowed their heads in prayer, and then listened while one of the members spoke of the importance of baptism and confirmation. The wind and rain whipped around the rocks and the gray ocean looked cold as the waves washed onto the shore, but every heart was warmed by the wonder of the occasion.
Following their baptism, friends reached out with warm blankets and smiles of welcome as Brother and Sister Keeping stepped out of the water. Two old lobster traps had been brushed off for them to sit on while being confirmed as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Afterward, everyone went to a member’s home for clam chowder, visiting, another song, and a prayer. The two new members were misty-eyed with appreciation. But no one was happier than James who said, “Now, our family really will belong together!”

When I was 15 years old, I decided to put the law of tithing to the test. I was working as a grocery bagger in Ponce, Puerto Rico. Every two hours I got a 15-minute break. During the break I would count how much I made in tips; then I would place my tithing money aside. After I started doing this systematically, I noticed that the amount of my tips increased! I don’t know that this was a result of divine intervention, but I knew that I was keeping a commandment and that when we keep commandments, sooner or later we receive blessings.
Of course, blessings don’t always come in quite the way we think they will. After I had been paying tithing for a while, I knew that what I was doing was sacred. It wasn’t just donating money to the Church. I was treating what the Lord had said with respect, and I was making sure my tithing was paid regularly and promptly. I was excited to do what I could to help build the kingdom of God.
Then one Sunday morning, I took longer than usual to wake up. My parents wanted to get to church early, so when I finally did get up, I was in a rush. I didn’t realize until we were at the meetinghouse that I had left my tithing money behind. “I’ll just pay it next week,” I thought. But I felt bad. I wanted Heavenly Father to know I was obedient.
After the meetings, we arrived home to find that our home had been burglarized. Jewelry, a video camera—pretty much everything that had value had been stolen. I rushed to my room and went through the drawer where I had left my tithing. It too was gone. Now I felt particularly bad. I felt that if I had remembered to bring my tithing to church, it would not be missing now.
Then I felt prompted to say something to my father: “Don’t worry. Everything is going to be OK. The person who robbed us took the Lord’s money, so he took something that is sacred.” I didn’t think the Lord would let that go unnoticed.
But I think the Lord wanted me to learn to be more careful with what belonged to Him. Soon the thief was apprehended, and everything was recovered—except my tithing money. To make things right, I took the same amount out of savings and took it to the bishop the very next Sunday. Ever since, I have always tried to pay my tithing in a timely manner. I know that tithing is a law from God, and that means I should take it seriously.

The airport had been packed for hours. The usually crowded holiday-travel conditions were exacerbated by weather-related delays and cancellations at other airports. The situation had sent hundreds of frustrated travelers scrambling from one gate to another, as they sought alternate ways to reach their destinations. At one gate, the line to talk to the agent stretched for more than 50 yards. One of the passengers in the line was a well-dressed and obviously impatient man. As he glanced at his watch with ever increasing frequency and tapped his foot at an ever increasing rate, it was obvious to all around him that he was not a person who was accustomed to waiting. Finally, the man could stand it no longer. He bolted from his place in line and stomped up to the gate. Pounding his hand on the desk, he bellowed: "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" An awkward silence instantly gripped the area.
The agent at the desk calmly picked up her telephone and, in a steady voice, said, "We may need a little additional help at Gate 19. There's a man down here who doesn't know who he is."

One day when I was walking home from a jog on the beach, I felt the heavy burden of my weaknesses and how they negatively impact my children. Although I try to repent of my sins as soon as I see them, I also see that my repentance does not mean that they are automatically healed from my errors in mothering.It was on that walk that I had an epiphany. I am like Sariah. My love for Heavenly Father and my children motivates me to seek God and repent. Heavenly Father sent me these children knowing full well that I am not perfect. He knew that I would bequeath many of my insecurities and pathologies to my own children. But our love for our children can motivate us to let go of our weaknesses, to turn to God for strength, and to add to the depth of our faith. Moroni tells us: "And if men [and women] come unto me I will show unto them their weakness, I give unto [them] weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all . . . that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them." (Ether 12:27).

When the Newport Beach California Temple was under construction, the youth of the Orange California Stake did a little constructing of their own at youth conference. With the conference focus on temples, the youth were given two hours and challenged to build models of 12 temples.

Two hours later, the floor of the cultural hall was covered with Styrofoam “snowflakes,” but the 175 amateur builders had created masterpieces that wowed local architects.

Huddling in groups of about 15 each, the youth began the project. With only Styrofoam, glue guns, and bits of black paper, grass, and flowers, they created amazingly detailed replicas of the Bern Switzerland, Bountiful Utah, Edmonton Alberta, Houston Texas, Laie Hawaii, Los Angeles California, Mount Timpanogos Utah, Nauvoo Illinois, Oakland California, St. George Utah, Salt Lake, and Washington D.C. Temples.

The youth found that as they built the temples and began to focus on the beauty and peace they symbolize, they became more unified and creative. “We understand more now what it will mean to have our own temple here in Orange County,” said one participant.