Gospel Story Finder

I love dinosaurs! I have lots of dinosaur books, toys, and pictures. There is a boy in my ward who doesn’t come to church with his family. He loves dinosaurs too, so I decided to share some of my dino books and pictures with him. But then I started feeling sad about giving away some of my things. My mom told me to think about it. When I thought about it, the Holy Ghost told me to share my dinosaur pictures and books. I gave them to my friend, and he felt happy. I felt happy too!

And their help doesn’t go unappreciated. “I’m a widow, and usually I’ve bought my wood,” says Nedra Baughman, who received some wood last year. She was surprised one day to find a truck and some of the youth from the ward in front of her home. “There they were, two unloading the wood, some splitting it and others stacking it,” she says. “I was overwhelmed. It makes you feel humble and very grateful.”

Hyrum peered over the bookrack and checked to see that his mother was still in the next aisle.
When he saw her standing there, he continued to look at the books on display. The crowded Brisbane airport in Queensland, Australia, buzzed all around him like a beehive next to a flowering gum tree.
Suddenly, he heard announced over the intercom, “Passengers for flight QF555 to Sydney, please proceed to Gate 12.”
Hyrum ran into the next aisle, but his mom wasn’t there. He searched the bookstore, but she was gone! Hyrum began to panic and his heart started to beat faster.
He made his way to the crowded corridor, looking up and down for his mom. She was still nowhere in sight.
“Maybe she’s waiting at the gate,” Hyrum thought. He ran as fast as he could, scanning the passengers’ faces as he weaved through them. When he reached Gate 12, he looked over the rows of seats, but his mom wasn’t there either. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his reflection in the big glass window. Lost and alone, Hyrum began to cry.
As he sobbed, Hyrum suddenly felt a warm impression come over him. He imagined his mother kneeling beside him. He saw the gentleness of her smile and felt the softness of her hand. He remembered what she had told him earlier that morning: “Remember, Hyrum, if we get separated for any reason, I am only a prayer away.”
Hyrum immediately stopped crying. He closed his eyes. “Heavenly Father,” he prayed silently, “please help me find my mom.”
As he opened his eyes he heard someone say, “Excuse me, young man, are you OK?”
Hyrum looked around and saw a flight attendant looking at him.
“Are you OK?” she asked again.
“I’ve lost my mom,” he replied.
“Don’t worry,” she told him. “We’ll find her.”
An announcement was made over the intercom, and soon Hyrum saw his mom hurrying toward them. He thought she might be angry, but she just hugged him tightly. Then they boarded the plane, and soon they were flying high above the clouds.
As he gazed out the window, Hyrum thought about what had happened. He knew that the Holy Ghost helped him remember what his mom had told him. He could still feel the warmth in his heart as he prayed to Heavenly Father, and he was grateful to know that help was only a prayer away.

One group of young people from a college ward and a stake institute class determined to spend a Super Saturday serving those in need. They started in the morning with baptisms for the dead, and those who were endowed did an endowment session. There were 113 who turned out, and they spent the rest of the day making hygiene kits for Humanitarian Services. They produced 3,500 kits. Each kit contained two unbreakable combs, two toothbrushes, one tube of toothpaste, a bar of soap, one bottle of shampoo, one travel sewing kit, and one hand towel. These kits are sent out to orphanages, women’s shelters, and homeless shelters. They are also used for emergency relief efforts. After this activity the consensus of this youth group was that with every future activity they needed to include a service project.

Caleb waved goodbye to Mom. He and his brother and sister were going to spend a whole week at his aunt’s house. It wasn’t too far from where Caleb’s family lived in the Philippines, but it still felt like an adventure. They were going to have so much fun!
They all got in the car. Dad drove them to their aunt’s house. Caleb ran to give his aunt and his cousin a big hug.
“I missed you!” he said.
His aunt smiled. “I’ve missed you too! Come on, I made some treats for you.”
For two days, Caleb played with his siblings and cousin all day long. They played video games. They drew pictures. They ran outside. But on the third day, Caleb didn’t feel well. His body felt weak and achy.
“You must be tired from playing so much,” his aunt said. She gave him a glass of water. Caleb went to bed early.
When he woke up, he felt even worse. He could hardly move! A rash had spread all over his legs. His aunt was worried. She called Mom.
Soon Mom and Dad picked Caleb up and took him to the hospital. The doctor did some tests. He told them that Caleb had a sickness called dengue fever. It sounded scary.
“It’s good that you brought him in,” the doctor said. “He needs to stay here for a while so we can watch him.”
A nurse took them to a room with three other sick children. Mom helped Caleb get into his bed. She hugged him tightly and said a prayer. Then Mom and Dad left.
Caleb was scared. He began to sing a Primary song to help him feel better.
“Heavenly Father, are you really there?” he sang. “And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?”
The other children listened. “What was that song?” a boy asked.
“I learned it in Primary,” Caleb said. “It makes me feel brave. It reminds me that Heavenly Father is always there for me.”
“Will you please sing it again?” a girl asked. “It’s beautiful.”
As Caleb sang the song again, his fears went away.
“What’s Primary?” asked the other girl. Caleb told them all about church and Primary. He shared his testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
Caleb sang Primary songs to the other kids every day until he went home. He also shared scripture stories. It made him feel better, and he knew it helped them too. He was glad he could share the gospel, even in the hospital.
This story took place in the Philippines.

Daniel loved to visit Grandma. He liked to help Grandma. She asked Daniel if he would set the table. Daniel put the plates on the table. Then Daniel put forks and spoons and knives on the table. “You forgot something,” Grandma said. “I forgot the glasses,” Daniel said. Daniel put the glasses on the table. “You forgot something,” Grandma said again. “I forgot the napkins,” Daniel said. He put the napkins on the table. “You forgot something else,” Grandma said. Daniel looked at the table. He had remembered plates, forks, spoons, knives, glasses, and napkins. “What did I forget?” Daniel asked. Grandma smiled. “You forgot to turn the chairs around for family prayer.” Daniel smiled too. He turned the chairs around so his family could kneel around the table for prayer. “How could I forget?” Daniel asked. “I love family prayer at Grandma’s house.”

“You hide your horses in this grove of trees by the tracks. The train will be coming up the grade out of the canyon. Mike, you flag it down. The rest of you board the train. I’ll be up in front here and shoot anything that moves. All right, let’s go!”
That wasn’t Butch Cassidy talking. That was me, and that day I shot horses, people, trains, a guy carrying a canoe, and a bird watchers club by mistake. I shot them with a super-8 movie camera as part of one of the greatest, most colossal spectacles ever to hit the silver screen—at least we thought so: “The Great Train Robbery” (we titled it) produced by the Edgemont Fourth Ward Aaronic Priesthood MIA and featuring a cast of dozens (including some we hadn’t planned on).
If you’re looking for a different activity for your Aaronic Priesthood MIA, maybe a movie spectacular is the answer. A movie is a large undertaking, but it’s fun, and you may excite some previously unexcited kids. We did. Don’t worry too much about the technical aspects of movie making. Enthusiasm covers a multitude of blunders, and humility covers the rest. There is almost always a willing expert in the ward or neighborhood or down at the camera shop.
We started out like this:
“Let’s make a movie,” said the members of the bishops youth committee.
“Great idea,” said the ever-enthusiastic drama specialist. “Uh … which end of the camera do you point?”
Fortunately today’s automatic camera equipment is designed with a medium I.Q. in mind. You don’t have to be Stanley Kramer to come out with something on the film. Speaking of equipment, snoop around the ward a little. Especially after Christmas. You can probably unearth both a camera and cameraman. If worse comes to absolute worst, you can usually rent equipment from a camera store.
You will probably want your colossal extravaganza to run more than three minutes (that’s the length of a roll of film), so you’ll need a film editing machine and some adhesive splicing tabs to stick the films together—also available at the camera store. Anybody who finds film editing exciting has lived a very uneventful life. Also, the handy-dandy splicing tapes require the finger dexterity of a professional pickpocket. But it has to be done, so stick with it (pun intended). It is satisfying when you’ve finished. Film and development are the biggest costs, of course. We spent $105.00 for a 25-minute epic. Writing the script isn’t hard; just remember to put in plenty of action, plenty of people, plenty of outdoors. Look around for any unusual settings for action scenes. Is there a park with an old airplane, or an outdoor museum? Are there stores, houses, or barns with unusual exteriors? If nothing else, is there an open space where you can stage an indian raid or a medieval jousting tournament?
We decided on a train robbery because we had the elements close at hand. The Heber Creeper is an old-time steam engine that carries sightseers between Heber, Utah, and lower Provo Canyon. The owners were happy to participate in the robbery and even showed us the best spot to pull off the job.
Our ward had enough riding enthusiasts to get the outlaw band more or less mounted. We had purebred stallions, ancient hay burners, a Shetland pony, and one reluctant donkey. He was the only member of the cast who didn’t think it was a good idea. We first noticed this lack of enthusiasm when we had to drag him stiff-legged down the road behind my Volkswagen to load him on a truck. If you’ve got 53 horsepower on one end of the rope and one donkey power on the other, you’ve got a toss-up contest that could go either way. But we finally won.
We loaded him and the rest of the horses and outlaws and headed for the hills.
The train route winds through Provo Canyon, then hugs the hillside around Deer Creek reservoir, and cuts through the fields and pastures of Heber Valley. We set up near a grove of trees and waited.
“Here she comes!” shouted the lookout.
I hollered, “Lights! Action! Roll ’em!” (Whatever that means.)
Lights and roll ’em we didn’t get, but action we did. One blast of the engine whistle and every horse sponsored his own Kentucky Derby in his own direction. Only the donkey was left. He was too ornery to be scared. He just stood stiff-legged by the tracks and sang two-part harmony with the train as it thundered by.
The Creeper was a white puff of smoke in the distance by the time we rounded up the last of the horses, so we dubbed in the train scene later. Speaking of dubbing in, try as much as possible to shoot the scenes in order. Rehearse them while looking through the camera; then try to get it right the first take. It will save film costs and editing time later.
Our script called for a brawl scene climaxed by a pie in the face. For this scene we got the bishop’s permission, because he got the pie in the face. Blueberry cream. It was a beautiful scene and performed with excellent taste, the bishop said.
Close-ups and reaction-to-the-action shots help pace the action. And also try to frame your characters as large as practical in the shot unless it’s a deliberate long shot or scenery shot. Mount your camera on a tripod whenever possible. Even though your cameraman lives the Word of Wisdom, he’s got shaky hands.
You can get synchronized sound with some super-8 movie cameras, but this was more trouble and expense than we wanted. We used a silent screen format with printed titles to show the dialogue and credits. You can type these and photograph them with a close-up attachment on the movie camera. Here, especially, use the tripod, We recorded a rinky-tink piano background (put thumbtacks in the piano hammers to get the “tink”). We play the tape whenever we show the movie.
Showing the movie is, of course, the climax, particularly the premiere showing. We staged a variety show titled “Salute to the Silver Screen.” The whole ward was invited (and came), and the kids did songs, dances, and skits based on great movies of the past. (Unfortunately most of the great movies are in the past.) Then we honored the cast and showed the movie. “The Great Train Robbery” will never get an Oscar, but it was a “ward winning” movie.

Nauvoo, once so vibrant and progressive, literally, almost from one month to the next, became a ghost town. In the late summer of August in 1846, Col. Thomas L. Kane, a special friend to the Church, acquired a small boat on the Iowa side and rowed across the Mississippi River to the main landing wharf at Nauvoo and visited what he called the deserted city.

In a speech Col. Kane delivered to the Pennsylvania Historical Society in 1850, he shared some of his experience on that visit. Picture in your imaginations the scene he observed:

No one met me there. I looked and saw no one. I could hear no one move;...the quiet everywhere was such that I heard the flies buzz, ... I walked through solitary streets...I went about unchecked. I went into empty workshops,...The spinner's wheel was idle; the carpenter had gone from his workbench and shavings,... The blacksmith's shop was cold; but his coal heap and ladling pool, and crooked water horn were all there, as if he had just gone off for a holiday... No one called out to me from any opened window, or dog sprang forward to bark an alarm. . . . The doors were unfastened; and when at last I timidly entered them, I found dead ashes white upon the hearths, and [felt as though I] had to tread a-tiptoe, as if walking down the aisle of a country church,...
[For me as a farmer, this next part is especially gripping:]
Fields upon fields of heavy-headed yellow grain lay rotting ungathered upon the ground. No one was at hand to take in their rich harvest. As far as the eye could reach, they stretched awayCthey sleeping too in the hazy air of autumn.[11]

Recently in the newspaper I read this account, which shows the grief and anxiety of one mother, who had undoubtedly spent many unhappy hours watching, waiting, and praying for her wandering boy.
“Police said the mother of a 16-year-old youth who was accused of raping a woman thanked officers after a policeman shot and killed her armed son.
“The youth … was killed when he pointed a .38-caliber pistol at the officer’s face Thursday, police said.
“His mother … told officers after the shooting, ‘I’m glad you all got him. I won’t have to worry about him no more.’” (Deseret News, July 26, 1974.)
Yes, there are things worse than death.

On 29 September 1988, President Ezra Taft Benson—“with tenderness and love and great understanding that I will never forget”—extended to Elder Richard G. Scott a call to become a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. Elder Scott was sustained two days later, on October 1.
“Sister Scott and I have prayed a great deal since the call came,” he says. “I know the call is from the Lord. I know that there is a great difference between what I am and what I am expected to be. That recognition is very humbling. No one would undertake to serve in this assignment without the assurance of the support and direction of a loving God. The real power comes from the Lord.”

“Gracie,” Mom whispered. “Wake up. It’s time for family prayer.”
Grace groaned and pulled the covers over her head. She was so warm and cozy in her bed. She heard her sister Charlotte get up and go into the living room. Grace stayed in bed, hoping her family would forget about her and just say the prayer. Dad had to leave for work early every morning, so everyone got up then to say good-bye and have a prayer.
“Grace, time to get up,” Mom called. Grace sighed and dragged herself out of bed. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she mumbled to herself, “What’s the point? We pray for the same things every day.”
“Hello, sleepyhead,” Dad said with a smile. Grace scowled at him. She knelt on the floor next to Charlotte and bowed her head.
“Help us to be like Jesus and to love one another. Please help us have a good day and bless us with health and safety. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Charlotte said. “Amen,” chorused the family.
“Good-bye, everyone,” Dad said, “I love you.” Dad spied Grace, who was still scowling, and asked, “Where’s my good-bye smile?” Grace couldn’t help but smile as Dad reached out to tickle her, but she still felt grumpy.
Grace felt tired all morning at school. She was sure it was because she had to get up so early for family prayer. “If only I could sleep half an hour longer, I’m sure I wouldn’t feel so sleepy,” she thought.
Later that afternoon at home, Grace was eating a snack while Charlotte watched cartoons. Suddenly they heard pounding on the front door. Grace stood up and walked toward the door, but before she could open it, a man burst through it, yelling, “Fire! Fire! Hurry and get out! Your house is on fire!” Hearing the noise, Mom came rushing from the kitchen, a frightened look on her face. She grabbed the girls and rushed them out the front door. The man pointed to the flames coming from their roof. Smoke billowed into the sky as the flames climbed higher and higher. Mom led the girls to the neighbors’ porch across the street. “Stay here while I go call 911,” she said before running into the neighbors’ house. After Mom disappeared, Charlotte began to cry. “I want my mommy.” Grace hugged her, saying, “It’s OK, Mommy just went inside to call the fire department.”
By the time Mom came back, they could already hear sirens blaring. A big red fire truck roared up the street, screeching to a halt in front of their house. The firefighters leaped from the fire engine and began spraying Grace’s house with a big hose. Once the blaze died down, they went inside to check the house for any lingering flames. Mom hugged the girls as they watched the firefighters work.
Dad’s car pulled into the neighbors’ driveway. He jumped out.
“What happened?” Dad cried.
Shaking her head, Mom said, “I was starting dinner in the kitchen when a man came in and shouted that our house was on fire. He was working on the electrical lines and saw the smoke. I had no idea what was going on. …” She paused. “He saved our lives.”
Grace said in a trembling voice, “It was lucky that he was working up on the power poles and saw the smoke, or we might have been inside when the fire got worse.” Grace didn’t want to think of what might have happened.
Dad hugged everyone and said with tears in his eyes, “Let’s kneel right now and thank Heavenly Father for His protection.”
“What about the house, Dad?” Grace cried.
Dad said quietly, “I don’t care about the house. I’m just grateful you are all safe.”
Grace had never felt so much love and happiness as she knelt with her family. Then she remembered their family prayer that morning for health and safety. Shame washed over her as she recalled how she had acted.
“I’m sorry, Heavenly Father,” she prayed silently. The warm feeling returned to her heart. She knew that Heavenly Father had protected her and her family, and she was grateful that He had heard and answered her family’s prayer.

A patriarch received a call one afternoon from a concerned mother of a young daughter who was physically challenged from birth. This dear mother asked if her daughter could possibly receive a patriarchal blessing. The patriarch informed her that if her daughter could obtain a recommend from the bishop, he was sure the Lord had a blessing for her. A short time later the patriarch was informed that the bishop had given this sweet young girl a recommend to receive a patriarchal blessing.

An appointment was made. The blessing was given and gratefully received. Her lineage was given. She received a blessing suited to her needs and unique situation. Lives, focus, and attitudes were changed. She was told that through her cheerful acceptance of the efforts and sacrifices of those who loved and cared for her, she would be blessing their lives, and to accept their offerings graciously and willingly.

Last Spring when the Concert Choir was in "boot camp", meeting four hours daily in final preparations for our international tour, it was hot and tiring and stressful. Then a choir pixie started writing short positive and complimentary notes anonymously to individuals. I received a couple my self. "They would say, "Thanks for your cheerful attitude and for working so hard in choir. I admire you. Love the choir pixie." These were spread throughout the choir. We never found out who wrote them, but it really had a positive effect on all of us. We began to treat every one in choir as if he or she were the one. I noticed that attitudes softened and people were easier and more positive with each other. Thank you, choir pixie, whoever you were.

Recently I had an experience that made me reflect on that understanding again. My companion and I had been working nonstop the entire day. We had just finished teaching a new investigator and started making our way back home. Along the way, a group of kids came over to talk to us. They gathered around my companion as he began doing some tricks for them while I stood back and watched. Then I noticed a young boy not watching but staring at me. He walked up to me and looked at my name tag. He took his pointer finger and dragged it along each word. He mumbled until he got to one part: “Jesus Christ!” His jaw dropped and he slowly looked up at me.
I can’t describe how I felt at that moment. I looked into the eyes of this young boy and thought to myself, “Was I representing Jesus Christ well?” I felt I had been. How grateful I am that I could stand there and say I had been doing my best to show others the light of Christ.
This experience has stuck with me throughout my mission, and every day I try my hardest to remember who I represent. I know that as members of the Church, we must strive in our everyday lives to represent Jesus Christ. I think King Benjamin said it best in Mosiah 5:8: “There is no other name given whereby salvation cometh; therefore, I would that ye should take upon you the name of Christ.”

When I was serving as a young bishop with only limited experience in Church leadership and lacking much in the way of practical experience as well, I was approached by an elderly couple in my ward. They were old enough to be my grandparents. For years they had successfully farmed a piece of ground. They had been blessed in many ways and had reared a fine family. None of the children had showed an inclination to follow in their father’s footsteps as a farmer. Increasing age and declining health had brought the couple to a point of decision as to what should be done with their farm. They were reluctant to have it pass from their hands after so many years of labor and careful improvement. The children could not agree on a plan of action. Some wished to keep the farm in the family and lease it for an income to be shared among the family members; others didn’t care what decision was made.

One Sunday afternoon the couple appeared at my office in the ward chapel and asked to consult with me. They explained their dilemma and their reluctance to make a decision that might divide the family and jeopardize their own welfare for the remaining years of their lives. “We have come to you, bishop,” the old gentleman said, “to ask you to find out for us what the Lord wants us to do.”

I was humbled by the sincere trust that the couple were willing to place with me, but I sensed that the decision they were attempting to lay upon me and upon the Lord was not ours to make. I counseled them in the best way I could, tried to help them weight the alternatives, and then recommended that they prayerfully reach a decision themselves and ask their family to sustain them. They left my office in great disappointment, making it quite clear to me that they felt I was not fulfilling my responsibility as a bishop.

Mark helped his sister, Mattie, across the dirt and rubble in the street. The snow that had been white and sparkling earlier that morning on their way to school was now gray with the city’s soot.
As they walked home, Mark thought about his first day of school after the Christmas holiday. The teacher and children had taken down all the Christmas decorations, and the classroom had a clean new look that matched the clean new morning snow.
Maybe, Mark thought, when we get home, Mattie and I can work together and clean our house too.
He was about to tell Mattie his idea when almost at the same moment they saw a green tree limb sticking out of a pile of dirty snow.
They bent down to pick it up, but the limb was crusted over with ice. Twisting and turning together, they were finally able to loosen the ice and snow and pull out a Christmas tree that had been thrown away. Pieces of tinsel and ribbon clung to the brittle green needles, and here and there were small bits of bright paper.
“Do you think we could take it home?” Mattie asked.
“Sure!” answered Mark. “No one else would want it. And now we can have a Christmas tree—even if it is after Christmas!”
Together they dragged the tree to the corner of the street. They struggled up the three flights of stairs of the apartment building and into their living room.
Mark quickly cleared a space by the window and set the tree carefully on a small piece of rug. Then they both sat down in front of the tree and looked at it.
Father lay on the couch as usual. He lifted the paper he was reading to watch them. Mother came from the kitchen and stood in the doorway silently. Neither of them said anything.
Each afternoon Mattie and Mark hurried home from school to see their tree. Mattie cut her favorite bright red ribbon and tied small bows on the tree. Mark went through his box of treasures and found a few things that almost looked like Christmas ornaments. Both of them watched for bits of tinfoil and pieces of bright yarn or string to make their tree more beautiful.
In the long evenings as they sat before the tree, they softly sang carols they had learned in school. Neither Father nor Mother seemed to pay much attention. The children felt as if they were living in a different world, so they were surprised when one night Father started humming the songs with them.
That same night Mother came to the kitchen door and said, “Don’t make so much of that tree. After all, it was the Child who made Christmas, not just a tree.”
“Tell us about the Baby,” Mark and Mattie pleaded.
Mother took the old Bible from the round table, dusted it, and read to them. Night after night they asked for the story. And over and over again Mother read about the small Child in the manger and Mary and Joseph who were so careful and protecting.
“That star was something too,” Father said one night.
“Tell us again about the star,” Mark asked, and no one seemed to think it strange when Father began talking about the star that led the wisemen.
Once when Mother put the book back, she dusted and straightened the round table and swept the floor around the tree. The next night when she read, Mother had on a pretty pink apron.
When the snow began to melt, Mark and Mattie found many shiny bits for the tree, until its branches were filled with color and sparkle. Even though many of the needles on the tree had fallen off, the children noticed that Mother still kept the floor swept clean.
In honor of the tree, they thought.
Mark and Mattie just laughed when the children of the neighborhood called them scavengers. Nothing was too good for their tree!
They were so happy with this bit of beauty in their lives that at first they didn’t even notice their father no longer lay on the couch most of the time.
Then one warm afternoon in March, they came home to noise and confusion. Many people were gathered around their apartment. They heard an officer say to their mother, “I’ve been told that there is still a Christmas tree in your house. I’m afraid it’s dry as tinder and a real fire hazard. The tree must go!”
“But it’s so pretty,” said Mattie.
“Please, can’t we keep it?” Mark pleaded.
The officer sent the curious crowd away. Father came running in, looking excited. The officer closed the door to the apartment and sat down in front of the tree with Mark, Mattie, Father, and Mother.
“Why did you keep it so long after Christmas?” he asked.
Mark explained how they hadn’t had a real Christmas. But when he and Mattie found the tree and brought it home and decorated it, Christmas came at last. Mother told them the story of Christ’s birth, and Father sang songs with them.
Mattie looked as if she was about to cry.
“And now it will all be over,” Mark said, and there was an odd little catch in his voice.
“No,” said Mother quietly. “It’s just the beginning. The tree has been a miracle for us. Because of it, we have changed our ways. Now we can have beauty and happiness in our home without the tree.”
“And next Christmas,” said Father, “we’ll have a tree of our own. I got a job today.”
“You have more than a tree now,” said the officer. “And just so you can keep all you have, we’ll remove the fire hazard.”
After the tree was gone, Mark and Mattie looked at Father and Mother. There was something different about them.
Then they smiled at each other, for suddenly they understood that after all they didn’t really need the Christmas tree to be happy!

Lorenzo Snow wrote of such an experience:

Some two or three weeks after I was baptized . . . I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of the work . . . , and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy, disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me. I had been accustomed, at the close of the day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forego my evening service, and, as a matter of formality, knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed retired place, but not feeling as I was wont to feel.

I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, as it was at that time imparted to my understanding. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. . . .

. . . That night, as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences, from that time to the present, bring them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being, and I trust will to the close of my earthly existence. [In Eliza R. Snow, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Company, 1884; reprint, 1975), 7–9; emphasis in original]

Andrei and Valentina Dudka of the Vynohradars’kyi Ward were introduced to the gospel by neighbors in 2003. After meeting for several weeks with missionaries, the couple decided to join the Church.
Although the Dudkas were excited to learn gospel truths such as the need for latter-day temples and the potential of having an eternal family, they gradually slipped into inactivity. “We just found reasons not to go to church,” Sister Dudka says. “We let things come up—like we were just too tired or there was a show on TV we wanted to watch.”
The Dudkas’ lack of activity adversely affected their happiness. “We started to see a real difference between Church life and worldly life after we left the Church,” Brother Dudka says. “We weren’t happy.”
After about four months of not attending church, Sister Dudka reached her breaking point. “A certain Sunday came, and I said, ‘If I don’t go today, I might not survive,’” she says. “I was like a person who had gone days without water. I needed that water.”
After returning to activity, Sister Dudka patiently prayed for and encouraged her husband to come back to church with her. About half a year after she returned to church, so did her husband.
“My wife’s prayers affected me,” Brother Dudka says. “I realized that as a Melchizedek Priesthood holder, I had the responsibility to be an active member. I recognized that without God, I could not do anything.”
After the Dudkas returned to the Church, their thoughts returned to the saving ordinances of the temple. The couple joined with other Ukrainian Latter-day Saints in rejoicing in the temple groundbreaking in 2007.
“After they started building the temple, we would often come by and just look at the work being done,” Brother Dudka says.
“I jumped so high when I saw them lay the first stone,” Sister Dudka adds.
When the angel Moroni figure was placed on top of the temple, there was a lot of hugging and tears among the Saints and particularly among the Dudkas.
“When they finally finished building the temple, there was such relief that we knew we were worthy to enter,” Brother Dudka says.
The Dudkas say being sealed in the temple has built in them a stronger eternal perspective on life. “You understand that your family is no longer just you and your husband—now the Lord is part of it too,” Sister Dudka says. “We now look at each other with eternal eyes.”

After having been set apart to serve in the Second Quorum of the Seventy, I, with my wife and one of our children, visited my father. We asked him to give me a blessing, something which I have always striven to do when I have received a new priesthood assignment. He laid his hands upon my head and gave me a short but grand blessing. He said, “Son, I bless you that the Holy Spirit may accompany you, your wife, and your children in everything you do.” What more could I wish for?

After some time, my family moved from Maryland to Utah, where we lived on a farm in North Logan. We had some horses, some cows, some pigs, some chickens, two dogs, a few cats, and we even had a pet pig. Though it became necessary to sell the cows, my father kept one milk cow.
Each morning before school, I helped my older brother, Lou, milk the family cow. One morning, my brother was sick and I had to milk the cow alone. I was just eight years old at the time. I took the bucket and stool and went into the field. This was the first time I had ever had to milk the cow by myself. I set up my stool and bucket and started to milk. She kicked the bucket and walked away.
I picked up the bucket and stool, walked over to her, and again started to milk. Again, she kicked the bucket and walked away. I had to milk the cow before I went to school, so I picked up my stool and bucket and walked over to her and started to milk. A third time, she kicked the bucket and walked away.
I needed help! I knelt down in the morning sunlight and began to pray. I explained to Heavenly Father, “I can’t do this by myself. Please, please help me!” Without any hesitation, I picked up the bucket and my stool and walked over to the cow and began to milk. She did not move. She stood still until I finished milking. I quickly carried the bucket to the house, gave it to my mother, and was able to run to school and arrive on time, knowing that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer.