Gospel Story Finder

When I was a child, my dad worked far away and always came home when it was pitch dark. I would stay awake until he came home. But one day he was very late, and I couldn’t reach him on the phone. I was very scared. I remembered that my parents had taught me to pray always and to ask for help whenever I was scared, so I knelt down and prayed that my father would return home safely. To my surprise, as I ended my prayer, I heard my dad’s bike outside. I was so grateful to my Heavenly Father for watching over my father.

It’s so isolated that some of the locals call it “Planet Barrow.” But for now, the Gaylin Fuller family calls Barrow home. According to them, this may be the end of a continent, but it is not the end of the world. It’s the top of the world.
Like many others in the 1980s, they were forced off their Idaho farm by high operating costs. Gaylin needed work. He had been a university librarian before but had to reestablish his credentials. And the best opportunities at the time happened to be in Alaska.
So here they are in a town of about 3,000 inhabitants huddled on the far northwest coast. From the air, the surrounding land looks flat and soggy, as though it had just barely crawled from the Arctic Ocean and could sink back at any moment. The Alaska of travel posters, with its rugged mountains, immense forests, and misty fjords, is many miles to the south and might as well be on another planet.
Frankly, the kids really weren’t sure what to expect. When they moved Ronald, who is now 14, says, “I didn’t know if we’d be living in an igloo or what.”
Their snug home in Barrow is certainly no igloo, though it’s probably a good thing that the five older Fuller boys are either married, away at school, or serving missions. It’s hard to imagine fitting that many more people in this house. The six Fuller children living at home—Lyle (18), Clark (16), Ron (14), Linnae (12), Stanley (10), and Owen (7)—fill the house quite nicely.
The Fullers’ first home in Alaska was located in tiny Akiachuk, a village some 400 miles west of Anchorage—a place with fewer than 500 people and accessible only by air or snowmobile.
The isolation was tough. In Idaho, the Fullers had been able to get in the car and go to town to attend church, shop, visit friends, go to a movie—whatever. But in Akiachuk, church was at home, shopping was by mail, and movies were on TV. And friends? Well …
If the geographic isolation was tough, the social isolation was even worse. As outsiders, the Fuller children had to prove themselves. In the meantime, family was more important than ever. “We really had to be each other’s friends,” Brother Fuller recalls.
Fortunately, the Fuller boys are good athletes—and relatively tall. At least the Fullers were able to fit in on the court. A major sign that the ice had been broken (pardon the pun) came when Mark Fuller (now serving a mission in Italy) was invited to travel with a village team to play basketball in another village.
They traveled on snowmobiles in the dark, 20 to 30 miles across open countryside, in temperatures of 20 to 30 degrees below zero. Then they played hot, fierce basketball until 11:00 P.M., and returned home the same way they came.
By the time their two years in Akiachuk were up, the Fullers could say they had friends there. But then the opportunity came to move 700 miles north to Barrow.
Barrow is the big city compared to Akiachuk, with a large, modern high school and jet service by two airlines. But winter temperatures can dip to 40–60 below zero. In a place like this, learning to survive in the physical environment is critical, and the Fullers have learned those lessons well.
But they’ve also learned equally important lessons of spiritual survival and the blessings of family. For example, when they lived in Akiachuk, the stake presidency authorized the Fullers to conduct meetings in their own home.
At first that may sound great. But think about holding sacrament meeting in the same living room that contains your TV and VCR and video games, in the same home where you sometimes argue and quarrel. The spirit of your meetings would all be up to you.
Besides, who would give the talks in sacrament meeting? Who would teach Sunday School, Primary, and priesthood meeting? That’s right, your family.
How did the Fullers handle it? For one thing, they made it a point to dress in their Sunday clothes for their meetings, even if it was just at home. And they accepted their responsibility to teach each other. Lyle has taught both Stanley and Linnae in Primary. “I enjoyed it, and so did they,” he reports. Clark’s experience was similar. “I thought it was kind of fun teaching Owen and Stanley. And when Mark taught me, I thought that was great.”
Now that they are in Barrow, they have a small branch of the Church that meets in the local youth center. Each Sunday they clear away the pool tables and other recreation equipment before they can set up a few chairs, a sacrament table, and a portable podium. And while there are perhaps a half dozen other members who help, it is still often Fullers teaching Fullers.
How important is example in this family? Seated at the control panel of the small radio station where he works as a part-time deejay, Lyle talks about life in a big family with lots of boys: “I grew up with five older brothers. Their example has made it easy to make the right choices. Also, it’s put pressure on me to live up to the things they’ve accomplished.”
Now Lyle is the oldest at home. It’s an unspoken duty that he feels deeply: “I was kind of scared when my brother just older than me was ready to leave home, because I knew being the oldest brother was kind of a big responsibility.”
Every night at bedtime, Clark, the next oldest at home, challenges Lyle to a rough-and-tumble wrestling match. Then it’s Dad who has to break things up. Third-in-line Ron isn’t quite ready to take on Clark yet because, “He’s still a head taller and 30 pounds heavier.” But then he glances sideways at Clark in the next room. He can’t help raising his voice, throwing out a teasing challenge: “But I could still take him. You hear that, Clark?”
The teasing and banter continue until it’s time for daily scripture reading and evening prayer. Together, the family has read all of the standard works aloud, seriously, taking time to discuss the meaning of what they are reading. There’s a peaceful spirit here in this cozy home.
Outside, it’s dark and overcast, with snow flurries. The calendar says it’s still early September, but this far north the first snowfall took place weeks ago. The days are growing noticeably shorter: from Thanksgiving through the end of January the sun won’t even appear above the horizon.
Those long weeks of darkness can cause people to become depressed and sluggish. Doctors have discovered that it can be avoided if people are exposed to the right kind of bright light for a period of time each day. As Ron Fuller puts it, “I just spend some time soaking up light every day.”
You can’t escape the analogy. Here is a family that has learned to turn to the Light, no matter where they are. Sometimes the world inappropriately uses the word godforsaken to describe places like this. But the Fullers feel anything but forsaken. And that’s what really puts them on top of the world.

‘Alofanga (‘Alo) Moli’s life has been refined as a result of the gospel. As a young boy on Vava‘u, he was unable to attend school regularly because of severe headaches and nosebleeds. Though not a member of the Church, he fell in love with ‘Ana, who was. ‘Alo was baptized in December 1957 and a short time later was called to serve as a labor missionary, helping to construct meetinghouses. But health problems still plagued him. One day as he lay stricken, he was given a priesthood blessing and promised that if he served the Lord, these ailments would never return. This blessing has been fulfilled.

‘Alo’s knowledge and understanding increased as he magnified his Church callings. In 1960 he and ‘Ana married, and in 1962 they served a two-year mission together. Brother Moli was called as branch president in each place they served.

After their mission the Molis and their two baby daughters moved to the island of ‘Eua to farm with ‘Ana’s brother. ‘Alo served as counselor to the district president. “Our mission prepared us for the callings we received,” he says. “Later I served as branch president for 11 years. The rest of our 14 children were born here.”

This gospel training carried over into his personal life. “After Hurricane Isaac hit in 1982, our crops were ruined and I needed work,” says Brother Moli. “An unexpected opportunity came for me to manage a general store for three years. My experience as branch president helped me know what to do. No one believed I could do it because I had not gone to school, but the Holy Ghost had taught me.”

Now ‘Alo serves as a temple sealer, ‘Ana as a temple worker. “Though I have only been a farmer on a tiny Pacific island,” says ‘Alo, “I stand as a witness of the truthfulness of the gospel and the reality of Jesus Christ.”

After the completion of his mission, “life was not easy,” says Prince.
“We were still struggling as a family to put meals on the table, but that did not affect my faith in Jesus Christ.”
A former mission friend suggested that he try to move to America to study.
But in order to do that, he needed to secure a study visa. “When I went to apply for my visa the first time it was rejected because I did not have strong enough family ties to prove I would come back to Kenya after my schooling,” he says. “I was determined. I felt this was my opportunity to excel in life and somehow improve life for my family. So, I tried a second time. Again, my application was rejected.”
Undeterred, Prince decided to give it one more go.
On the way to the embassy to submit a third application, he stopped in at his older brother’s office, who had agreed to provide a bank statement to bolster his case.
His older brother asked someone to prepare a drink for Prince, and after a few minutes he was presented with a cup of tea.
“I told my brother, who was not a member, ‘you know I do not take tea.’
“He apologized and laughed and asked the lady to prepare drinking chocolate for me. I responded, ‘Do not worry, just give me the documents and I will rush to the embassy.’
“But,” says Prince, “he insisted.”
Prince waited while the hot chocolate was prepared, drank it, got the document, and left.
He was walking past the Kenya Cinema—only a few meters away from the American embassy—when he heard a blast.
That blast was the sound of gunshots.
“If I had left only three minutes earlier, I would have been caught in the middle of the August 1998 terrorist attack on the US embassy,” says Prince.
“Those extra three minutes waiting for the hot chocolate to be prepared saved my life.”
More than 200 people died in terrorist attacks in East Africa that day, “but I feel I was protected personally because I lived the Word of Wisdom,” says Prince.
“I can testify that if I had thought that drinking tea was a small commandment, I am not sure I would be alive today.”
Prince saw the very real promises contained in section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants come into play: “And I, the Lord, give unto them a promise, that the destroying angels shall pass by them . . . and not slay them” (verse 21).
In the end, Prince never went to America. He discovered that “the Lord had great plans for me here in Kenya,” he says.

The tall yellow weeds in the big field behind Grandpa and Grandma’s place look pretty. When the wind blows they’re like a yellow sea that rolls and whispers. I like to lie in them, especially when it’s windy. Especially with my dad. He said that when the weeds are all rustling, it’s like they’re telling a story. He listened to those stories and passed them on to me. He called them his tall-as-a-yellow-weed tales.
Sometimes we played hide-and-seek in the field. I liked that, too. Dad closed his eyes while I hid. Then he had 10 minutes to find me and tag me. If I won, he took me to the soda fountain in Hadley and bought me a milk shake. I usually won. I think he let me sometimes. He knew how much I like chocolate shakes.
I miss those times. I still like Grandma and Grandpa’s place, but the yellow field isn’t the same. It looks the same, but without Dad, it’s just … different. It’s just a field.
Mom and I live with Grandma and Grandpa now. At least for a while. Until Mom can make enough money at her new job, or until Dad gets better. Dad has a drinking problem. It got pretty bad, and he wouldn’t get help. We prayed and prayed for him, but Mom said Heavenly Father can’t help us if we don’t try to help ourselves. I know she’s right, because once I asked Him to help me on a school test that I hadn’t studied for. I failed it anyway. Mom said that if we do all we can do for ourselves, then ask Heavenly Father for help, He will then assist us.
One day my friend Barry said that if his dad were like mine, he wouldn’t love him anymore. Because if my dad cared about us, he wouldn’t keep drinking.
I couldn’t sleep too well that night. My mom came into my room and asked what was wrong. When I told her, she explained some things that helped me to feel better.
The next day when Barry and I were looking for arrowheads in Baker’s Canyon up behind the yellow field, I told him I still loved my dad. When he asked me why, I said, “Remember when your brother didn’t tie up the chain that was hanging way down from the siren on his bike?”
“Yes,” Barry said, “and I told him it could cause an accident if it got caught in the spokes, but did he listen to me? No!”
Last month Barry borrowed that bike. He was flying down a hill when, sure enough, the chain got caught in the spokes of his front wheel. All of a sudden the bike stopped, but Barry kept going, right over the handlebars. He banged himself up pretty badly. In fact, his arm was still in a cast.
“Do you still love your brother?” I asked.
“Of course I do.”
“Why?”
“Well, because … because he’s my brother. He didn’t want me to get hurt. He was just being careless.”
“I’m sure your brother feels bad about it,” I said. “My dad feels awful, too, after he sobers up.”
Barry and I sat down on a rock to drink from our canteens. Grandma’s cold lemonade tastes so good that it makes getting thirsty fun. Dad always said, “On a hot day your grandma’s lemonade takes all the discomfort out of being alive!” And he was right.
I looked at Barry seriously, trying to get the deep down inside of him to listen. I had written down some of what Mom said the night before so I wouldn’t forget. Now I read it to Barry: “‘God loves all of us, even when He doesn’t love all of our actions. It’s called charity—the pure love of Christ, and we need to try to love like Jesus does.’”
Barry nodded his head and smiled. I could tell that he knew my mom was right. Her words made me feel good inside, too. About my dad. About a lot of things. It was as good a feeling as Grandma’s lemonade going down on a hot summer day.
Mom and I kept praying for Dad. He stopped drinking, and he’s in a special program that’s helping him. He’ll be coming home in a few weeks. He says he wants to play hide-and-seek with me in the tall yellow weeds. And he wants me to win, because he misses those chocolate milk shakes as much as I do!

I was blessed with a marvelous friend through the years of my youth. His example saved me in many precarious moments. Just ten years ago an untimely and tragic airplane accident snuffed out this dynamic and productive life. A short time ago I was thrilled by the visit of his handsome young returned-missionary son, who had traveled many miles to ask me to write a chapter for the biography of his father. What a joy that task was—to tell his family, among other things, that my greatest wish for them was that they find friends possessing the qualities their father had possessed and that they strive to be that kind of a friend to those with whom they associated.

“After a good show you just feel like getting out and hugging the whole audience,” said one of the Brigham Young University Sounds, and that’s exactly what they did after each performance.
It was all part of a six-week tour in which the 36 BYU students sang and danced their way across the United States, Canada, Romania, and Bulgaria. “Shower the people you love with love” was the theme of their variety show that ended consistently with a standing ovation. And wherever they went they were deluged with hugs, kisses, tears, flowers, and requests for autographs.
The tour was a hodgepodge of rushing in and out of television studios and concert halls, sleeping through long bus rides, meeting Church members throughout the USA and Canada, and making friends with the Romanians and Bulgarians. It was also filled with people reaching out to others, like the group of Romanian high school students singing “Oh, Suzanna” in broken English to make the Sounds feel welcome, or the nonmember in Massachusetts giving a large gift of money to the group to show her appreciation for the “uplifting, clean entertainment” she’d seen.
But most important, it was an opportunity to spread the joy of the gospel through song, dance, and music. In fact, the Sounds unofficially call themselves the “performing missionaries.” They even held missionary training sessions before they left on tour to discuss how they could best answer the questions they might be asked.
They carried an excitement about the gospel with them wherever they went, an unbounded enthusiasm for sharing what was precious to them. It was a new experience for some, an experience well-practiced for the returned missionaries. It was also the driving force that kept them determined to please audiences throughout the tour.
“I’ve lived in Provo all my life, so it was really exciting to share my enthusiasm for the gospel and watch nonmembers catch the light,” said Kathy Kocherhans, a singer with the group.
“After the show, people would come up to talk to us, touched by its message. It was a common thing that happened every night. In the mission field I was lucky to teach in a month as many people as I taught in a week on tour,” said Steve Shaw, a dancer with the Sounds.
“I talked to a 17-year-old nonmember about the Church, gave her a Book of Mormon, and bore my testimony. It was the most exciting experience of my life,” said Tim Andersen, a trumpet player with the group.
“I was a bit nervous at first to approach people, but once I found a comfortable way to lead the conversation around to the Church by discussing family home evening or BYU, I found it to be one of the most rewarding things I’d ever done. It’s fulfilling to know that I might be a small link that could introduce someone to a new and better life,” said Michelle Milne, a singer and BYU’s homecoming queen for 1976–77.
“Even after two years experience in the mission field, this tour has been the most unique missionary experience I’ve ever had,” said Rob Hightower, business manager for the group.
“Talking to people about the gospel is sometimes a hard thing to do. But as it says in Moroni, ‘Perfect love casteth out all fear’ (Moro. 8:16), and once you surpass the line of holding back, giving of yourself and talking about the gospel go hand in hand. The key for me is to forget myself and be more interested in the other person than I am in myself,” said Jerry Hatch, a dancer with the Sounds.
“I placed five copies of the Book of Mormon one night with young men at the naval base who had been moved by our show to the point that they wanted the joy we felt. I loved to talk with people after the show and explain why we generate that warm glow during the show,” said Mike Farnes, a singer.
Then there were the fruits of their labors, not only in sharing the gospel and seeing people decide to be baptized, but also just in touching people’s lives.
A misty-eyed official in Turnavo, Bulgaria, asked the Sounds to assemble after their show. He told them, “You have brought the sun to us. We have seen America through your music and smiles. There is no distance between our countries today.”
One young girl pressed a card into the hand of one of the singers. It read, “You are remembered—we love you.” An older man drew another aside and told him, “I feel impressed to tell you that I know you’re my brother, and I love you.”
And there was the 23-year-old truck driver in Bulgaria who transported the sound equipment across the country wherever the Sounds went. Even though he spoke no English, at the end of his ten-day tour with the Sounds, he wept to see his friends leave. They wept too.
One of the highlights of the tour was at the Great Lakes Naval Base in Illinois where two officer trainees had seen the Sounds perform, talked with the missionaries, and announced at the preshow warm-up two nights later that they were to be baptized that week.
“You taste a little bit of the truth and want more and more,” said Bill Harvey, one of the officer trainees. “I have to join the Church to satisfy that thirst. I just hope that the Lord will be able to use my life so I can be a missionary and teach other people. That’s what I really want to do now.”
At a fireside given by the Sounds in Hamburg, New York, two investigators decided to join the Church. After a show in Ontario, Canada, another investigator decided to be baptized. And one family in New York hunted down Jerry Allman, who had toured there the year before, to tell him that a family had been baptized as the result of his placing a Book of Mormon with them the year before when they’d come to the performance.
The tour did have its disasters—an epidemic of sore throats, a spill down the Hill Cumorah by the pianist, the flu, a broken hand, and a run-in with a bus requiring stitches for one of the singers. But through it all, the Sounds maintained their determination to perform well and open their hearts to people.
“After a performance it’s hard to explain your feelings,” said singer and band member Denise Hatch. “It’s almost something you have to experience. You feel completely warm inside and happy, and you can’t stop smiling because you feel like you’ve really given something worthwhile, because you’ve given of yourself. It makes all the hours and hours of practice and frustration and tears that go along with the performing worth every second of it.”
Editor’s Note: The BYU Sounds are now known as one of two BYU Young Ambassadors groups.

Oh, so much of the time we look outside ourselves to find happiness; outside the Lord. We think, I'll never forget when we were first married and I said, "oh someday I'll build you a house honey, and we'll be happy and have a new house." And for the first nine years of marriage we moved ten times. We didn't have much. We did have a lot and finally, October, 1965 we got into our new little house. It was a pretty good sized house. I got in the house and looked at my house and asked my wife, "are you happy?" I had waited nine years to be happy. When we could have a house, all of the sudden I realized the house did not bring me happiness. What a dummy! Wasted nine years waiting for that sense of happiness. Now I was happy during that time. But I had been ascue. I had looked at the wrong target. I had not valued that which mattered most. I was a good boy. Shucks, I was a bishop, they're fairly active. But I didn't see clearly! Don't ever let your vision be clouded by things of the world: of positions, of stations, of possessions, to titles, or honors, or fame, or fortune, or money. It is external and it will not last. Oh, have I realized since then: happiness is within. Happiness is within! Happiness is within.

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 and selling them.
We were excited. There were about 350 lambs, and all we had to do was feed them. However, none of the lambs had mothers. To feed one or two baby lambs is easy, but to feed 350 of them was a real job. We made some long, V-shaped troughs out of boards, then got a tin washtub, ground up some grain, put it into the tub, and added milk to make a thin mash.
When we herded the lambs to the troughs, they just stood there looking at us. We tried pushing their noses down into the milky mash, and 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 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 willows by the creek. It was 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: ‘Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep.’” (John 21:15–16.)
Many years later, while pondering Moses 1:39—“For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of [all mankind]”—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 many years Sister Bednar and I hosted faithful men and women as devotional speakers at Brigham Young University–Idaho. Many of these speakers were emeritus or released members of the Seventy who had served as temple presidents following their service as General Authorities. As we talked with these stalwart leaders, I always asked this question: “What have you learned as a temple president that you wish you had better understood when you were a General Authority?”
As I listened to their answers, I discovered a consistent theme that I would summarize as follows: “I have come to understand better the protection available through our temple covenants and what it means to make an acceptable offering of temple worship. There is a difference between church-attending, tithe-paying members who occasionally rush into the temple to go through a session and those members who faithfully and consistently worship in the temple.”
The similarity of their answers impressed me greatly. Each response to my question focused upon the protecting power of the ordinances and covenants available in the house of the Lord. Their answers precisely paralleled the promises contained in the dedicatory prayer offered upon the Kirtland Temple in 1836:
“We ask thee, Holy Father, to establish the people that shall worship, and honorably hold a name and standing in this thy house, to all generations and for eternity;
“That no weapon formed against them shall prosper; that he who diggeth a pit for them shall fall into the same himself;
“That no combination of wickedness shall have power to rise up and prevail over thy people upon whom thy name shall be put in this house;
“And if any people shall rise against this people, that thine anger be kindled against them;
“And if they shall smite this people thou wilt smite them; thou wilt fight for thy people as thou didst in the day of battle, that they may be delivered from the hands of all their enemies” (D&C 109:24–28).
Please consider these verses in light of the current raging of the adversary and what we have discussed about our willingness to take upon us the name of Jesus Christ and the blessing of protection promised to those who honorably hold a name and standing in the holy temple. Significantly, these covenant blessings are to all generations and for all eternity. I invite you to study repeatedly and ponder prayerfully the implications of these scriptures in your life and for your family.
We should not be surprised by Satan’s efforts to thwart or discredit temple worship and work. The devil despises the purity in and the power of the Lord’s house. And the protection available to each of us in and through temple ordinances and covenants stands as a great obstacle to the evil designs of Lucifer.
The exodus from Nauvoo in September of 1846 caused unimaginable hardship for the faithful Latter-day Saints. Many sought shelter in camps along the Mississippi River. When word reached Brigham Young at Winter Quarters about the condition of these refugees, he immediately sent a letter across the river to Council Point encouraging the brethren to help—reminding them of the covenant made in the Nauvoo Temple. He counseled: “Now is the time for labor. Let the fire of the covenant which you made in the House of the Lord, burn in your hearts, like flame unquenchable” (in Journal History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Sept. 28, 1846, 5). Within days, wagons were rolling eastward to rescue the struggling Saints.
What was it that gave those early Saints such strength? It was the fire of the temple covenant that burned in their hearts. It was their commitment to worship and honorably hold a name and standing in the house of the Lord.
We do now and will yet face great challenges to the work of the Lord. But like the pioneers who found the place which God for them prepared, so we will fresh courage take, knowing our God will never us forsake (see “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” Hymns, no. 30). Today temples dot the earth as sacred places of ordinances and covenants, of edification, and of refuge from the storm.
The Lord declared, “I must gather together my people, … that the wheat may be secured in the garners to possess eternal life, and be crowned with celestial glory” (D&C 101:65).
Within the sound of my voice are many young women, young men, and children. I plead with you to be worthy, to be steadfast, and to look forward with great anticipation to the day you will receive the ordinances and blessings of the temple.
Within the sound of my voice are individuals who should have but have not yet received the ordinances of the house of the Lord. Whatever the reason, however long the delay, I invite you to begin making the spiritual preparations so you can receive the blessings available only in the holy temple. Please cast away the things in your life that stand in the way. Please seek after the things that are of eternal consequence.
Within the sound of my voice are individuals who have received the ordinances of the temple and for various reasons have not returned to the house of the Lord in quite some time. Please repent, prepare, and do whatever needs to be done so you can again worship in the temple and more fully remember and honor your sacred covenants.
Within the sound of my voice are many individuals who hold current temple recommends and strive worthily to use them. I commend you for your faithfulness and devotion.
I bear solemn witness that the fire of the covenant will burn in the heart of every faithful member of this Church who shall worship and honorably hold a name and standing in the Lord’s holy house. Jesus the Christ is our Redeemer and Savior. He lives, and He directs the affairs of His Church through revelation to His anointed servants. Of these things I bear witness in the sacred name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

Let me share with you visits to two stake conferences where I evidenced the miracle which can take place when we take to heart the words of the pioneer hymn “Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel.”
One visit was to the Millcreek stake in Salt Lake City some years ago. Just over 100 brethren who were prospective elders had been ordained elders during the preceding year. I asked President James Clegg the secret of his success. He was too modest to take the credit. His counselor revealed that President Clegg, recognizing the challenge, had undertaken to personally call and arrange a private appointment between him and each prospective elder. During the appointment, President Clegg would mention the temple of the Lord, the saving ordinances and covenants emphasized there, and would conclude with this question: “Wouldn’t you desire to take your sweet wife and your children to the house of the Lord, that you might be a forever family throughout all eternity?” An acknowledgment followed, the reactivation process was pursued, and the goal was obtained.
The other visit was to the North Carbon stake in Price, Utah, also many years ago. I noted during my visit that they had rescued 86 men from the prospective elders in one year and had taken them and their wives to the Manti Temple. I said to Cecil Broadbent, the president, “How did you do it, President?”
He said, “I didn’t. My counselor, President Judd, did.”
President Judd was a large, ruddy-faced Welsh coal miner. I said to him, “President Judd, will you tell me how you were able to rescue 86 brethren in one year?”
I sat anticipating his answer, and he said, “No!”
I was stunned. I’d never had anyone say no so directly in my life. I asked, “Why not?”
He said, “Then you’ll tell the other stake presidents you visit, and we won’t lead the Church in reactivation.” He was smiling, though, so I knew it was half in jest. He said, “I’ll make a deal with you, Brother Monson. I’ll tell you how we rescued 86 men in one year if you’ll get me two tickets to general conference.”
I said, “You’re on!” And so he told me. What he didn’t tell me is that he intended to collect interest every conference for the next 10 years. He came faithfully every six months for his two tickets.
In both the Millcreek and the North Carbon stakes, as well as in others which have been successful in this phase of the work, four principles have prevailed:
The reactivation opportunity was handled at the ward level.
The bishop of the ward was involved.
Qualified and inspired teachers were provided.
Attention was given to each individual.
In building a bridge to the investigator, the new convert, or the less-active member, when we do our part the Lord does His. I testify concerning this truth.
When I served as a bishop, I noted one Sunday morning that one of our priests was missing from priesthood meeting. I left the quorum in the care of the adviser and visited Richard’s home. His mother said he was working at the West Temple Garage.
I drove to the garage in search of Richard and looked everywhere, but I could not find him. Suddenly I had the inspiration to gaze down into the old-fashioned grease pit situated at the side of the station. From the darkness I could see two shining eyes. Then I heard Richard say, “You found me, Bishop! I’ll come up.” After that he rarely missed a priesthood meeting.
The family moved to a nearby stake. Time passed, and I received a phone call informing me that Richard had been called to serve a mission in Mexico, and I was invited by the family to speak at his farewell testimonial. At the meeting, when Richard responded, he mentioned that the turning point in his determination to fill a mission came one Sunday morning—not in the chapel, but as he gazed up from the depths of a dark grease pit and found his quorum president’s outstretched hand.
Through the years, Richard has stayed in touch with me, telling of his testimony, his family, and his faithful service in the Church, including his calling as a bishop.
My beloved brethren, let us, with faith unwavering and with love unstinting, be bridge builders to the hearts of those with whom we labor. As in the movie Field of Dreams, if we build it, they will come. Of this truth I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When the McCanns first saw it set amongst acres of pine trees on idyllic Kangaroo Island, they knew they had to secure the holiday home. Evonne and David Sandelin McCann envisioned retreats here with their five children and youth camps for their stake in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In the years since, all their dreams became reality. The McCanns generously opened their home to friends and the Church’s youth groups, who have wonderful memories of staying there—experiencing dusk surrounded by kangaroos, wallabies, possums, and spotting koalas snuggled in the boughs of the eucalyptus trees.
Then tragedy struck. On the 31st of December 2019, fires engulfed two thirds of Kangaroo Island, taking lives, and destroying homes, including the McCanns’.
David and Evonne were devastated. In a matter of minutes, their sanctuary—a refuge for family and friends—burned to the ground.
It was now a twisted pile of rubble. Their water tank completely melted, and saddest of all, they lost their grandmother’s baby grand piano, which all the McCann children had learned to play on.
As the family came to grips with their loss, David prayed to Heavenly Father: “Where to from here? What is the purpose behind this? Whatever you want us to do we will do.”
Miraculously, their shearing shed was still standing! It housed their tractor, which David would need to clear the site. To their great relief, the neighbouring property—where David’s parents live—was somehow also spared, even though it had been surrounded by fire.
Another little miracle occurred two months earlier, when Evonne received a strong impression that they needed to insure their property. This troubled David, as none of the 15 providers he had contacted would insure them. He prayed, “Heavenly Father, if we are meant to insure the house, please help me find an insurer.” The very next company he called agreed to insure the property for a portion of its value.
After the fires, a great outpouring of love for residents of Kangaroo Island came in. People sent tools, clothing and bedding, and members of the McCann’s Gulfview Heights Ward helped the family replenish their one-year supply of food.
Kangaroo Island began a journey of recovery, which included a heartbreaking clean-up of debris and efforts to rescue wildlife. But then, the land burst into bloom.
A sea of yellow daisies blanketed the McCann property, along with red poppies and other flowers which they hadn’t seen there before. It seemed to signal a new beginning, and the McCanns decided that—although they still couldn’t afford to—they would rebuild.
The blessings continued. David learned of a man who was giving away the entire second floor of his house—the framework, windows, doors, and cables—to anyone who would remove it and build a new floor for him. With a happy band of helpful brethren, David went to work and, after a week, secured the building materials for his own home.
He sourced additional materials on auction for a fraction of their retail prices and there was plenty of sand and ironstone on the land to make concrete for his foundations.
A generous architect on Kangaroo Island gave his time freely to design new homes for the McCanns and others who had lost theirs in the fire. Then, with the expert help of a retired builder, Brother John Ween, plus three of his builder friends, the family began to rebuild.
They worked tirelessly through three weeks of their summer holiday, recruited extended family to help during Easter, and now their house is at lock up stage.
On reflection, Evonne says, “Everything happens for a reason. We don’t see it when we are going through the hard times.”
“Trust God even when you don’t see why,” David adds. “It’s helped me understand the grief in a different way, and to have empathy for others . . . how bad things happen, and if we are faithful, good will always come from it.”
It won’t be long before their family and friends will once again experience the tranquility of their home on Kangaroo Island.

One day the missionaries gave her a special challenge.
“Will you try to pray during the week?” asked Elder Parker.
Up until now, Kelly had only prayed with the missionaries. But she wanted to try it on her own. She knew Heavenly Father was always listening, and He wanted to hear from her.
“I’ll do it,” she promised.
The next day at school was a special one. Kelly was going to sing in a competition! She had learned a beautiful new Chinese song. Learning all the notes and tones had been hard work! She had practiced and practiced and practiced.
Now that it was time to perform, Kelly was nervous. She pulled out the picture of Jesus she had put in the pocket of her school uniform that morning. She decided to say a prayer, like the missionaries had shown her. “Heavenly Father, please help me let go of my nervousness,” she prayed. “In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Then Kelly stepped out onto the stage. She stared at the audience and the judges. She thought about the picture of Jesus in her pocket and felt a little bit better. She took a deep breath and started to sing.
She sang all the words just like she had practiced. As she sang the last note and took a bow, Kelly knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer and helped her.
With a smile, Kelly walked off the stage. She couldn’t wait to tell the missionaries about what happened! She knew she wanted to keep praying every day.

One young married couple applied for PEF loans. During the application process, they took the short training course designed to help them choose a career and budget their money. Upon reflection and upon working out their budget, they decided what unessential expenditures they could reduce or eliminate, such as eating in fast-food establishments. They were startled to discover that by exercising frugality they would not need the loans. They could pay for their own schooling.

Erin stood on Temple Square in Salt Lake City looking at life-sized statues of the nativity scene and waiting for the music and story to begin. Christmas lights twinkled all around her. But it didn’t feel like Christmastime.
“Are you all right?” Mom asked her.
Erin nodded, but she wasn’t so sure.
Only a few days ago, a boy from Erin’s class at school had died in a car accident. She had seen a lot of people crying at the funeral, and she had cried a lot herself. She hadn’t known the boy that well, but Erin knew his family loved him as much as her family loved her. She felt scared to know that something like that could happen to someone her age.
Now she didn’t feel excited for Christmas. She felt worried all the time—scared to get in a car, scared to be apart from her parents, scared to leave her house in case something bad happened to her while she was away. All the Christmas lights on Temple Square couldn’t erase the worried feeling inside her. How could she be happy in a world where she wasn’t always safe?
“It’s about to start,” Dad said. He pointed to the nativity scene.
The loudspeakers crackled to life, and a voice began speaking. Music played, and spotlights shone down on statues of shepherds, Wise Men, Mary, and Joseph. Erin listened to the familiar story. The baby Jesus was born and laid in a manger. Angels sang. Shepherds worshipped. Wise Men rejoiced.
Erin looked at the faces of her parents and the crowd gathered around the nativity scene. They all seemed happy. But why was everyone so happy about the baby Jesus if His birth didn’t stop bad things from happening? Erin didn’t like the question circling through her head. All she wanted was to stop feeling afraid.
The story ended, and a recording of the prophet’s voice came over the loudspeaker. He bore his testimony and read a scripture from the Bible: “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22).
Erin’s heart beat faster. She said the words again in her mind, trying to remember them. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
The scripture said that everyone would die—young people, old people—everyone. Erin knew that, of course, but she hadn’t thought about it much before. She thought she was too young to think about such things. But she wasn’t too young to have a testimony of the truth: because of Jesus Christ, everyone would live again. That’s why the shepherds and Wise Men rejoiced. They understood what Jesus had come to earth to do.
Erin looked from the little stable to a window in the visitors’ center behind the nativity scene. Inside the building a light shone on a large statue of Jesus stretching out His scarred hands. Erin thought about the little baby in the manger and how He grew into someone who had all power. And yet He chose to sacrifice His life for her. He had been born so she could live again. No matter what happened, Erin could feel safe in Jesus’s love.
Peace washed over her. She couldn’t quite explain how, but her worry disappeared. When she looked at the statue of Jesus Christ, shining brighter than twinkling Christmas lights, she barely noticed the dark night sky. She was too busy feeling the warmth of hope flickering inside her.

As a teenage boy, I struggled a lot with my identity. I wondered why I was on this earth and who I was supposed to become. When I was about 13, the principal of my school gave every student a copy of the New Testament with English and Japanese side-by-side. “It isn’t for religious purposes,” he said. “It is a very good translation, so use it to study English.” When I opened it up though, it gave scripture references for when you feel lonely, need answers to your questions, or are struggling. I could relate to all of those situations!
I read about Jesus Christ. “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). “Take up [your] cross, and follow me” (Matthew 16:24). The words resonated with me even though I didn’t fully understand them. I wondered who Jesus Christ is and what it means to have Him as a Savior.
I wondered if I was the only one feeling such a connection to what was supposed to be a textbook.
A few years later I met some missionaries for the first time. My parents had warned me about the young Christians who were going around preaching. As I was walking home, a tall American missionary with a kind smile stopped me. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid he would talk about his church. If he had, I might have run the other way! All he asked was how to find the post office. I told him and then walked home.
As I walked away, I felt something. If I see the mission­aries again, I thought, I will talk to them.
Not long after that, I ran into a different set of missionaries. I was shocked that God would hear and answer the prayers of a boy like me, until I read about Joseph Smith. I had read in the New Testament to pray always, but God appearing to a man? It felt both radical and right. Rather than run away, I set up an appointment to have them teach me.
A month into meeting with the missionaries, they invited me to be baptized. I didn’t want to turn them down, but I was hesitant to leave the tradition of my parents and everyone around me. There were two paths before me, and I knew there was only one way to know which one to take—I had to pray like Joseph Smith. I asked Heavenly Father, in the name of Jesus Christ, if the things the missionaries had been teaching me were true.
That was my turning point. From then on, I knew for myself that the restored gospel is true. No one could take that knowledge away from me. I knew which path to follow, and nothing could change that.
I had many questions when I was younger. I learned that I am a child of God, He loves me, He has a plan for me, and He wants to answer my prayers. This knowledge changed my entire perspective on life. I learned that who I am and what I do is significant.
Before I learned that I was a child of God, I wanted to blend in with everyone. I was afraid of standing out. But after I learned that I am a child of God, I realized I can stand out; I can be different.
Praying and realizing that I am a son of God gave me the courage to explain my feelings to my parents, but they didn’t quite understand. They thought I was rebellious and too immature to make the decision to be baptized. They were embarrassed that their son was following this strange religion rather than their traditions. I knew who I was and what I wanted, but I also wanted to honor my parents and hoped they would honor my religion.
I explained my situation to the sister missionaries. They had an idea—they could come talk to my parents so that they would feel better about this religion. I told them I was afraid my parents wouldn’t want to talk to them. Then one of the sisters suggested that we fast together.
When I didn’t eat breakfast, my mom was worried. “Why didn’t you eat?” she asked. I explained that I was fasting, and that made her even more concerned.
“First you are going to this no-man’s land of religion, and now you are not eating. I’m worried. I’m shocked! I’m going to call those missionaries.”
She did call the sisters, and somehow they got themselves invited to our house for dinner!
We had a great time. The missionaries taught my parents the hymn “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301), and we sang it together. My father loved that. After dinner with the sisters, neither of my parents was worried about me going to church. And I felt I was able to honor them by living the gospel because it really encompassed everything they had taught me. I thought if I loved them long enough and treated them kind enough, eventually they would understand. It took 35 years after my baptism, but my mother was baptized and went through the temple just a few years ago!
Knowing that I’m a child of God has impacted many of my life decisions. I also know that as we follow the Spirit and do what Heavenly Father asks of us, even when it seems hard, He will bless us. That is always the best choice.

For many years, I carried a quiet but persistent desire in my heart—to find more names to add to my family tree. As a Church leader, I often encouraged others to engage in family history and temple work, but in my own journey, I kept hitting barriers. I spoke to older relatives, made calls, asked questions, but it felt like every path led to a dead end. Some family members had passed on, others could not remember, and some simply were not willing to talk. It was discouraging, and at times I wondered if my family’s history would remain forever hidden.
Still, I kept praying.
One day, I received an unexpected phone call from my brother who lives in the United States. He told me he would be travelling to attend a village reunion—a gathering of people from our ancestral hometown, now living abroad. At the reunion he said, “You won’t believe who I found.” It was a distant relative we had been searching for over the years, someone who had moved away and lost contact with the rest of the family.
But that was not all. This family member had preserved something I never imagined—a detailed family organogram (family organization chart) with dozens of names and family connections, some going back generations. When my brother sent me the files and shared voice notes explaining the stories behind each name, I was overwhelmed. It felt like heaven had opened a door that had been shut for so long.
As I reviewed the names and saw the faces in old photos, I felt the spirit of Elijah very strongly. These were not just names—they were my ancestors, real people, children of God who had been waiting for their temple ordinances. I felt their presence, and I knew they were aware that the time had finally come. The Lord had remembered them.
I shared this miracle during a FamilySearch training recently. I told the participants, “We may feel like we are working in darkness sometimes, but when we move forward in faith, the Lord brings light. He prepares the way. He hears our prayers—even the quiet ones.”
Through this experience, I have come to know with even greater certainty that God knows every family. He is not limited by distance or time. If we persist, if we pray, and if we act, He will guide us to the people we need—and to those who need us.

After the destructive wildfires in California in 2017, I traveled with Elder Von G. Keetch of the Seventy to minister to those who had lost so much. We saw whole neighborhoods that had been destroyed in just minutes.
In that destruction, Elder Keetch discovered some lessons that he later told his family members he might someday use in a talk. Sadly, though, Elder Keetch passed away from cancer less than a year later. With the help and support of the Keetch family, I’d like to share one of the lessons Elder Keetch shared with them.
As Elder Keetch walked through what used to be a home, he saw some pottery among the ashes. The pottery was unharmed, not even blackened by the flames.
The unharmed pottery that Elder Von G. Keetch saw in a burned home became a metaphor for a lesson he wanted to teach his family about adversity.
Photograph courtesy of Keetch family
“While everything in that house had been burned or melted,” Elder Keetch’s daughter said, “that pottery held strong. Why? Because it had already been through the refiner’s fire. As it was created, it had already been exposed to temperatures and pressures so great that the fire had little effect on it. Adversity in this life is our refiner’s fire. It is what molds us, strengthens us, and causes us to withstand the fires of this mortal life.”
Elder Keetch also said that God “allows us to experience trials and difficulties because He knows we need the ‘hard things’ to help us become who we need to become. And yet He also will shoulder our burdens and carry us through the difficult times [see Mosiah 24].”
The Keetch family couldn’t have known that soon after his trip to California, Elder Keetch’s illness and death would place them in their own fiery furnace. During that trial, his daughter said, “Just like the pottery in California, I will withstand the flames. And I will be stronger because of them.”
For me, the image of pottery unharmed by extreme heat shows that we can withstand the fires of affliction. Through our faith in Christ and His Atonement, we will receive strength. Even during our most painful trials, He can bring us peace. (See Matthew 8:23–27; 11:28; Mark 4:35–41.)
I believe the Keetch family will not only remain strong but also increase in faith—and yes, even joy—as they look forward to a sweet reunion with their husband, father, and grandfather. When our faith is built “upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God” (Helaman 5:12), our burdens become lighter.

Despite Františka’s diligent efforts and prayers, years passed without the return of Latter-day Saint missionaries. Despite such isolation, so thoroughly did the gospel permeate the Brodil home that Františka’s daughter Frances insisted she was raised in the Church.

After a decade of praying for missionaries to reenter the land, Františka felt impressed to write to the First Presidency of the Church. (This was prior to present-day policies, which encourage members to contact local leaders.) “An unseen power seemed to be pushing me to do it,” she said. “It was my last try in this matter. I thought the Lord would surely do the rest.”3

To Františka’s great joy, her letter to President Heber J. Grant got immediate results. On 24 July 1929, in the presence of the Brodils, Elder John A. Widtsoe of the Quorum of the Twelve dedicated Czechoslovakia for the preaching of the gospel and opened the Czechoslovak Mission, with Arthur Gaeth as president.

Of that glorious event, Františka said, “Few people can realize the joy we experienced; we had been praying years for this day … We thank the Lord from the bottom of our hearts.”

In a small way, I experienced this spirit of sportsmanship while attending a BYU basketball game. My son and I were attending a game in the Marriott Center in 2009. The crowd was sparse with Christmas less than a week away. The opponent was Eastern Washington University. Nothing our opponent shot went in. Every shot was off the backboard, around the rim, or in and out. Every once in a while I glanced at the scoreboard. I saw 9–0, then 21–0; in fact, our BYU basketball team went ahead 33–0. I was beginning to find myself conflicted. I was thrilled we were winning, and yet my heart sank for these poor athletes from Eastern Washington. I began privately pleading for them to make a shot. They were about 800 miles from home, it was just before Christmas, they were in an opposing arena, and the ball wouldn’t drop through the hoop for them. Then suddenly they scored, and the Marriott Center erupted in spontaneous applause. I was never happier to be a Cougar as the fans began cheering Eastern Washington on. We didn’t stop cheering our team, but we were also cheering for our struggling opponent.