Gospel Story Finder

Twelve-year-old Louisa Bishop gently rocked her baby sister, Emma, in the old, hand-carved rocker. Their mother lay in bed, her face almost as pale as the white pillows. A deadly illness called diphtheria had struck the children of the family, killing three of Louisa’s five siblings. Exhausted from overwork and grief, Louisa’s mother also became sick. Just when it seemed that happiness would never shine on their world again, little Emma had been born. Louisa, now recovered, lovingly cared for her baby sister so their mother could rest and get well. Emma adored her big sister in return.

As the years passed, Emma and Louisa became closer and closer friends. By the time Emma was 11 years old, Louisa had married, and her husband had left to serve a mission in England. Emma was delighted to go to Louisa’s cabin each day to help out.

One day Emma paused in her sweeping and watched quietly as Louisa emptied the butter out of her sparkling glass butter dish and into a jar. “I hope she isn’t doing what I’m afraid she’s doing,” Emma thought.

Louisa stepped to the washbasin and poured in some clean water from the pitcher. Then she carefully washed the butter dish and laid it on a dish towel to dry. Turning to Emma, she handed her the jar of butter. “Now, Emma dear, I need you to take this to the bishop and pay my tithing.”

Emma folded her arms and shook her head. “I won’t do it!” she exclaimed. “You need that butter more than the bishop does.”

Louisa’s mouth drew into a stern line, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Emma,” she softly scolded, “tithing is a law that must be kept. If I am willing to do a big thing like letting my husband serve a mission so far away, then surely I can do a small thing like giving up some butter.”

Emma wasn’t convinced. “But it’s a big thing when you have so little.”

“Don’t worry,” Louisa told her with a smile. “I have faith that the Lord will provide.”

Emma looked closely and saw that her sister’s eyes were glistening with tears. Louisa truly believed what she was saying! Emma took the jar of butter and walked out the door without another word, though she still had doubts.

When she returned to Louisa’s cabin, Emma stopped in the doorway and stared, her mouth wide open. The butter dish was back on the table, and inside was a pound of butter! Emma’s eyes asked the question her lips could not—where had the butter come from?

Louisa smiled. “I told you the Lord would provide,” she said. She took a clean dish from the cupboard and placed the butter in it. Then she stepped again to the washbasin and filled the bowl with clean water. She washed out the beautiful glass butter dish and lid. But instead of setting them on a dish towel to drip dry, she dried them and handed both to Emma.

“I want you to have these,” she said. “And whenever you look at them, I want you to remember that the Lord will always take care of us if we keep His commandments. Remember that, Emma. Tithing comes first.” Emma’s eyes misted with tears as she accepted the butter dish.

All her life Emma remembered the lesson she had learned. Each year as her family gathered on her birthday, she told the story again. After Emma’s death, the butter dish was passed down through the family. And everyone who saw the dish heard the story of how Emma learned to always pay her tithing.

When my wife, Kathy, and I were in Africa a few weeks ago, we visited Mbuji-Mayi, Democratic Republic of the Congo. Because the chapel was not large enough for the 2,000 members, we met out of doors under large plastic coverings supported by bamboo poles. As the meeting began, we could see dozens of children watching us, clinging to the bars on the outside of the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the property. Kathy quietly whispered, “Neil, do you think that you might want to invite the children to come in?” I approached District President Kalonji at the podium and asked him if he would welcome the children outside the fence to come join us inside.

To my surprise, with President Kalonji’s invitation, the children not only came but came running—more than 50, perhaps 100—some with tattered clothes and bare feet but all with beautiful smiles and excited faces.

I was deeply moved by this experience and saw it as symbolic of our need to reach out to the youth who feel alone, left behind, or outside the fence. Let us think about them, welcome them, embrace them, and do everything we can to strengthen their love for the Savior. Jesus said, “Whoso shall receive one such … child in my name receiveth me.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

At times we learn obedience through trial and error. When our son Justin was fourteen he wanted a horse. He and his father found ads in the newspaper for wild mustangs that had been rounded up from the plains of Nevada. Not being professional horseman, we knew a little about the character of these wild horses and that they were beautiful and fiercely independent. It was decided that Justin and his father would go to the auction and buy a mustang for one hundred dollars. I will never forget when they pulled up with the mustang in the horse trailer. It sounded like a bomb had exploded inside the trailer.

I took in a deep breath and saw my son's life flash before my eyes. However with a great deal of study, reading, and tremendous patience, slowly but surely, our son was able to get in the corral with the horse. With more time he was able to approach the horse, put a bridle in its mouth and get a saddle on its back. It was several months before anyone could get on its back. Our whole family spent many a day at the corral to watch the training of the mustang.

Our youngest son who was about eight at the time was particularly fascinated with the horse, but had received strict instructions to stay away from the mustang. Justin, the son training the horse, had also been given strict instructions to keep his little brother out of the coral and away from the horse.

A sequence of events happened so that eventually our older son put his little brother on the back of the mustang. The horse not being quite ready to carry a eight year old rider bucked him off throwing Jared to the ground where he hit his head on a rock. Justin's immediate instructions to Jared was, "Don't tell mom or else."

At this moment I was heading for the corral. As I walked up to Jared and Justin each had that smirky, guilt-looking smile upon their faces. Using a mother's intuition, I knew something was very wrong. As I looked sidewise at our eight year old, I could see something dripping from the back of Jared's head. I walked a little closer as Justin put his hands on Jared's shoulders and turned him slightly so I could not see his head. Panic overtook me as I walked around the back of Jared and saw the gash on the back of his head dripping fresh blood. And so both sons learned obedience through error. And for me, I learned patience through my children.

Encouraging education.“We’re seeing a great miracle,” says Elder Costa. “Many people are poor when they join the Church. But the prophet tells them to see that their children get an education, and they make great sacrifices to do so. Their children are the first in their families to attend the university. Many get good employment—and they aren’t poor anymore.” One example is Luis Prieto, who grew up in a humble home in Bogotá. He was baptized in 1972, along with his parents and siblings. His parents made many sacrifices for their children to get an education. Now Luis is a successful attorney.

For months, I had heard about a week-long conference for young men held annually in my state. This conference had been promoted in my hometown as an opportunity to learn about government, meet people from across the state, and bolster my resume. However, upon arriving at the conference, I found that the young men surrounding me were much different than the ones I knew at home. They did not share my beliefs. It was difficult to see and hear my beliefs and values questioned by everyone around me.
Part of this conference included a simulated government setting where we could introduce mock bills and debate them. During the conference, a young man introduced a bill related to a moral issue that went against my beliefs. I felt prompted to stand and express my beliefs in relation to this issue, and to argue against passing the bill. Outnumbered by others who seemed to support this piece of legislation, I have never felt more completely alone. Before I stood to speak, I offered a silent prayer: “Please, Heavenly Father, help me to speak the words Thou would have me say. Help me to be guided by Thy Spirit.” I was a single voice amid a sea of opposing opinions, and speaking out was one of the most difficult experiences of my life—but I did it. I told the other young men that I believed that the issue was morally wrong. I encouraged them to reconsider their opinions, and to vote against passing the bill.
As I sat down, one young man, a member of the Church from a town near mine, nodded in my direction. To my dismay, however, the bill passed when put to the vote. I felt sad and as if I had somehow failed. At the end of the session, though, a couple of young men came up to me, including the one who had nodded at me, and thanked me for speaking up. I felt a warmth in my heart because I knew I had done the right thing. I couldn’t control the choices the other young men made, but I could make my own and encourage them to do what I knew was right.
That week only became harder, but I was borne up by the feelings I had after I bore my testimony in that room. I hope I influenced someone for the better that week, but even if I didn’t, I learned that when things become difficult, I can rely on the Lord. I learned that I can stand up for what is right, even if I have to stand alone.

The Lord not only knows who we are, He knows where we are, and He leads us to do good. One day a mother I know felt impressed to call her daughter. (This kind of thing happens to mothers all the time.) It was the middle of the day, and Mom was at work, which made the call out of the ordinary. To her surprise, her son-in-law answered the phone—he’s not usually home on a workday either. As he handed his wife the phone, he said, “It’s your mother with her usual inspiration.”

They had just been to the doctor. She came on the phone, close to tears, and said, “The ultrasound shows the cord is double-wrapped around the baby’s neck. The doctor says we have no choice but to do a C-section and soon.” Then came the real cause for the distress: “And he says I can’t lift anything heavier than the new baby for four weeks!” She needed reassurance before going into the surgery that the Lord knew her need and loved her—and that there would be help tending the three little ones at home, who were scarcely more than babies themselves. When mothers—and fathers—pray for the Lord to bless and strengthen their families, He often shows them the way.

Sister Gayle Clegg of the Primary general presidency and her husband lived for a number of years in Brazil. Recently she had a Primary assignment in Japan. As she came into the chapel on Sunday, she noticed among the Japanese Saints a Brazilian family. “They just looked Brazilian,” she said. She only had a minute to greet them and found the mother and children very enthusiastic but noticed that the father was rather quiet. “I’ll have a chance to talk with them after the meeting,” she thought as she was quickly ushered to the stand. She delivered her message in English, which was translated into Japanese, and then she felt impressed to bear her testimony in Portuguese as well. She hesitated as there were no translators for Portuguese, and 98 percent of the people would not understand what she said.

After the meeting the Brazilian father came up to her and said, “Sister, the customs are so different here, and I have been lonely. It is difficult to come to church and not understand anything. Sometimes I wonder if I would be better off just reading my scriptures at home. I told my wife, ‘I’ll give it one more chance,’ and I came today for what I thought would be the last time. When you bore your testimony in Portuguese, the Spirit touched my heart, and I knew that this was where I belonged. God knows I am here, and He will help me.” And he joined the others in putting away the chairs.

Was it a coincidence that the only Portuguese-speaking member of the Primary presidency was sent to Japan instead of to Portugal? Or was it because the Lord knew someone there needed what only she could give—and she had the courage to follow a prompting of the Spirit? One of the great blessings of having a calling in the Church is that the Lord, through His Spirit, will inspire us to help those we are called to serve.

Each of us who pays a full tithe can testify that the blessings of the Lord come to us personally and meet our individual needs. The Lord has promised that if we pay our tithing, He will open the windows of heaven and pour us out a blessing so great that we will scarcely have room enough to receive it.

Many years ago John Orth worked in a foundry in Australia, and in a terrible accident, hot molten lead splashed onto his face and body. He was administered to, and some of the vision was restored to his right eye, but he was completely blind in his left. Because he couldn’t see well, he lost his job. He tried to get employment with his wife’s family, but their business failed due to the depression. He was forced to go door-to-door seeking odd jobs and handouts to pay for food and rent.

One year he did not pay any tithing and went to talk to the branch president. The branch president understood the situation but asked John to make it a matter of prayer and fasting so that he could find a way to pay his tithing. John and his wife, Alice, fasted and prayed and determined that the only thing of value they owned was her engagement ring—a beautiful ring bought in happier times. After much anguish they decided to take the ring to a pawnbroker and learned it was worth enough to pay their tithing and some other outstanding bills. That Sunday he went in to the branch president and paid his tithing. As he left the office, he happened to meet the mission president, who noticed his damaged eyes.

Brother Orth’s son, now serving as a bishop in Adelaide, later wrote: “We believe that [the mission president] was an eye doctor, for he was commonly called President Dr. Rees. He spoke to Dad and was able to examine him and offer suggestions to help his eyesight. Dad followed his advice, … and in due course sight was restored—15 percent sight to his left eye and 95 percent sight to his right eye—and with the help of glasses he could see again.” With his vision restored, John was never unemployed again; redeemed the ring, which is now a family heirloom; and paid a full tithing for the rest of his life. The Lord knew John Orth, and He knew who could help him.

My husband and I learned an important lesson while we were in the mission field about the blessing of being able to hear and the concern when you can’t hear.
Because Heber’s station in the Navy was right next to two huge artillery guns that were fired frequently—and not having ear protection in those days—his hearing began to deteriorate. This deterioration has accelerated over the years. Today—without the benefit of hearing aids with a large amplifier over each ear—he is almost totally deaf. My niece asked me how I whisper sweet things to him at the end of the day when he has removed his hearing aids. I tell her I shout, “I love you,” and he can read my lips. I believe there are many times our Father in Heaven might be shouting to us along our journey as well, saying “I love you,” but because of all the road noise, the loud music and the distractions to our mind, the message can’t get through.
During our mission we had an unusual experience while on our way to a zone conference. While traveling in an unfamiliar heavily-wooded area, both of the batteries in Heber’s hearing aids died at the same time. That had never happened before. I could speak to him but he could not hear me. He could speak to me but there was no two-way conversation. Can you imagine what an anxious feeling of isolation that was? What if we could never talk to each other or hear each other and be in communication with each other again. Tears filled my eyes as I prayed. Fortunately, as we drove in silence through the wooded area, we spotted a small convenience store. There we were able to get new batteries, and open up our line of communication again.

The choppy waters of the North Sea gently rocked the Speedwell anchored at Delfshaven, Holland. Crowding the ship’s deck were the passengers, along with their families and friends who had come to say good-bye.
Roger gathered his little sister Ellen into his arms. “Be happy that you are going to America,” he said. Ellen wrapped her arms around his neck, and her tears wet his cheek. Releasing herself, she ran to her parents, Kathrine and Edward Howard.
“Oh, Papa! Mama!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want to go away and leave my sister and brother behind.”
“Don’t worry, little sister,” Sarah said, comforting her. “Roger and I will come to America before long. Just wait and see. And remember, Ellen, although you’re almost the littlest Pilgrim on board, you must be brave, because you’re going to a brave new world.”
“Sarah, why are Pilgrims so poor?” Ellen asked. “If we were rich enough, our whole family could go to America. Then I wouldn’t feel so awful.”
“Come on, Ellen, dry your tears. I’ll tell you what—let’s play one more game of pretend before you go. Let’s pretend that I have lots of bags of gold,” suggested Sarah.
Ellen liked to play pretend with Sarah. “What are you going to do with lots of bags of gold?” she asked.
“I’m going to buy a whole fleet of ships. I’ll tell all the Pilgrims to get aboard, and I’ll take them across the ocean where they can never be persecuted again.” Sarah’s smile broadened. “Better still, let’s pretend that I’m a genie. I’ll wrap a magic web around King James, and I’ll say, ‘Aye, Your Majesty, you’re going to be banished to a faraway island where you can never rant and rave and thunder at people or throw them into prison or hang them or clap them into the stocks again. Never again will you tell people how to worship, for they will belong to any church they like.’ And then I’ll sit and watch while he flies into a rage. His beard will bristle, and his face will turn red. Then he’ll spin off into the air to an island of peacocks and apes.”
As Ellen giggled, Sarah hugged her and said, “See, it’s better to laugh than to cry.”

One night in family home evening, Papa handed Carol Ann a small card with a picture of Jesus and some words on it. “This is your very own scripture,” he explained. “It’s a verse in the Bible, and it says: ‘We love him, because he first loved us.’ Think and pray about the scripture, and try to ‘liken’ it to yourself, as Nephi told us to do when we read in the Book of Mormon this morning.”
On Tuesday, Carol Ann asked Mama to read her the scripture again and again. By lunchtime she had memorized it.
That afternoon, she sat on the front porch in the sun with a kitten on her lap. She gently stroked its fur, and it licked her fingers with a little pink tongue and purred happily.
The kitten loves me, thought Carol Ann. I loved the kitten first, and then the kitten loved me.
On Wednesday, Carol Ann picked up things in Patty’s room. Later Patty gave her a grateful hug.
On Thursday, she dusted all the model cars in Brent’s room, and Brent gave her a happy smile and said, “Thanks.”
On Saturday, Papa washed the car. Carol Ann dried the hubcaps with a soft cloth until they shone. “You are a good helper,” Papa said. “I see that you have been thinking about your scripture all week. You really love people, and they love you back.”
Carol Ann was happy when she went to bed that night. She looked again at the card with the picture of Jesus. She knew that He loved her and that she loved Him.

Let me share with you a passage from one of the journals found in Special Collections. It is from the journal of an 18-year-old woman. I have read this passage to many different classes who have come to Special Collections over the years. This young woman’s name was Emmeline B. Wells. She was born in 1828, and she died in 1921. Her life is an example of faith and devotion. In her later years she served as the general president of the Relief Society of the Church. How do we know of her faith? Because she kept a journal almost all of her long life. These journals are found in Special Collections. One day they all will be found on the Internet and accessed through the library Web site, as you see here. The passage is dated 27 February 1846.

Mrs Whitney, Sarah Ann and myself crossed the river to go to the encampment of the saints. Br. Lot and his wife took Mrs. W. And myself in their carriage. We crossed the river a part of the way on foot, and then went on to the encampment about 7 miles beyond; we reached the destined place about sunset when we came in view it looked like pictures I have seen of the ancients pitching their tents and journeying from place to place with their cattle and their goods. We repaired immediately to Br. H.C. Kimball’s tent, took supper and slept for the first time on the ground. There was a snow storm without yet all was peace and harmony within.

My eyes well up with tears when I read this passage. A refined young woman is forced to leave her comfortable home, cross the frozen river, and sleep for the first time in her life on the ground. If my emotions are tender when I read this, how do you think her own descendants feel when they read her diaries? So, how do we remember the past? We study our history, and we specifically study the lives of our own ancestors. In short, we become involved in family history.

In 1976 I was the elders quorum president in my campus ward, and he was the high council advisor. He was already successful in his plastics business. I even remember him slipping me a personal check for $1,000 with these simple instructions: “Use this to help those who are in need in your quorum.” They were never to know where the money came from.
After a year of working with him in that ecclesiastical setting, I was surprised one day when he asked me to come to his office. There I was in plush, professional business surroundings—me, the son of a truck driver—when Jon invited me to join his company working in marketing and sales. I was honored. Sister Rasband and I had been praying for meaningful employment after graduation. Like many of you, I had a young family, and we were living on meager funds.
Jon explained that he was not interested in my academic credentials—which were not stellar—but that he had seen my strengths of leadership and character that were a good fit for his business. Those traits he observed were a strong work ethic and an ability to juggle the pressures of family, education, work, and Church service. I learned that they were his best traits.
I immediately responded that his offer was an answer to prayer and that I would love to join his company after graduation in the spring. My college degree was so important to me, my wife, and my parents.
He smiled and then said, “I need you now.” Next week, he explained, he would be in Troy, Ohio, at one of his packaging plants to negotiate with a major customer. If I wanted the job, I needed to be with him as the new account manager. That was it. The job was next week in Troy, Ohio, or no job at all.
That night, after seeking counsel from loved ones and friends, Sister Rasband and I prayed earnestly for direction. My dear wife, Melanie, was inspired with our answer. “Isn’t this what people go to college for, to find an opportunity like this one?” she asked.
We agreed that it was. The Spirit confirmed our decision, and we took the job in Ohio.
I left the campus of the University of Utah just two semesters short of receiving my degree. Eleven years later I was surprised and humbled again when Jon Huntsman appointed me president of his global corporation, with thousands of employees and billions in revenues—and still without that college degree! I am not recommending any of you skip that last, important step in your education.

“How do you know when the Holy Ghost is talking to you?” Carver looked up from his scriptures.
Dad smiled and put down his Come, Follow Me book. “The Holy Ghost can talk to you in lots of ways. Sometimes it’s a feeling, or an idea that pops into your head.”
Carver frowned. “But how do you know it’s the Holy Ghost?”
“Maybe we can say a prayer to help us find the answer,” Mom said.
One of Carver’s sisters said the prayer. Then they headed off to school. Carver thought about his question all day.
When he got home, the house smelled delicious. “Bread!” Carver shouted.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “I made some bread for us to share with others.”
Carver looked at his sisters. Eva scrunched up her nose. Jane raised her eyebrows. “You mean we don’t get to eat it?” Jane asked.
“We wanted to practice listening to the Holy Ghost,” Dad said. “So Mom came up with an idea.”
They would each pray to ask Heavenly Father who might need to feel loved today. Then they would give that person some bread.
Carver knelt by his bed. He wanted to hear the Holy Ghost, but what did the Holy Ghost sound like? He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Heavenly Father, who needs bread today?”
Carver tried to listen for the Holy Ghost, but he didn’t hear anything. Then he remembered passing Sister Smith’s house on the way home from school. She always waved at him. Maybe she liked bread. Perfect!
Mom handed out cards to write notes for the people they were going to visit. Carver wrote, “Dear Sister Smith, I said a prayer to see which person I should give this bread to. I waited for a prompting, and POP! you came into my head. Love, Carver.”
When Mom drove up to Sister Smith’s house, Carver grabbed his loaf and walked to the front door. He felt nervous. What if Sister Smith didn’t like bread? What if visiting her was just his brain’s idea and not the Holy Ghost?
Then Carver remembered something else Mom had said. She said that if it’s a good or kind idea, you don’t need to worry about whether it’s just your own thought. Nice things are always good to do! Carver took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
Sister Smith opened the door. “Hello, Carver! What brings you here?”
Carver handed her his loaf. He looked at his shoes, then back at Sister Smith. “Do you like homemade bread?”
“It’s my favorite!” She smiled. “Thank you very much.”
Carver smiled too. “You’re welcome!” Then more words popped into his head. He followed the prompting right away. “Heavenly Father knows it’s your favorite. He loves you a lot!”
Sister Smith’s eyes started to look shiny. “I’m glad He can count on you to hear Him.”
Carver felt as light as a balloon. He waved to Sister Smith and walked back to the car. Now he knew that giving Sister Smith the bread was a prompting from the Holy Ghost. He was excited to listen to the Holy Ghost again!

Another friend of mine, whom I will call Frank, reached out to me in my role with the Alzheimer’s Association a few years ago while he was serving as a bishop. He was concerned about several members of his ward who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease and suspected that others had some form of undiagnosed dementia. Frank was anxious to meet the needs of these ward members and support other members serving as caregivers. Unaware of any resources, he turned to me out of desperation with a plea for help.
We arranged for a presentation to his ward’s empty-nester home evening group. Normally about 25 people attended this monthly activity. After it was announced that the presentation would be about Alzheimer’s disease, more than 100 people attended. Many were concerned about getting Alzheimer’s disease but weren’t sure what it is or how they might be able to reduce their risk.
During this meeting, I shared a wide variety of tools available through the Alzheimer’s Association and from other community sources.
As I shared these resources with Frank’s ward council, other members, and caregivers, he observed increased support for and engagement with those members affected by Alzheimer’s and other dementias in his ward and stronger support for caregivers. Increased knowledge can make all the difference!

Nellie Middleton, a fifty-five-year-old Latter-day Saint, lived in Cheltenham with her six-year-old daughter, Jennifer. To prepare her home against air strikes, she had used her modest wage as a dressmaker to furnish an area in her basement as a shelter, complete with food, water, oil lamps, and a small iron bed for Jennifer. Following instructions from the government, Nellie had also covered her windows with netting to catch flying shards of glass in the event of an attack.1
Now, all over Cheltenham, bombs were whistling through the air and crashing to the ground with a thunderous roar. The terrifying noise grew ever closer to Nellie’s home until a tremendous explosion on a nearby street rattled her walls, shattering the windows and filling the netting with razor-sharp glass.
In the morning, the city streets were filled with rubble. The bombs had killed twenty-three people and left more than six hundred homeless.2
Nellie and other Cheltenham Saints did their best to endure after the attack. When British Mission president Hugh B. Brown and other North American missionaries left the country nearly a year earlier, the small branch and others like it struggled to fill callings and run Church programs. Then the local men went away to war, leaving no priesthood holders to bless the sacrament or formally administer branch business. Before long, the branch was forced to disband.
An older man named Arthur Fletcher, who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, lived about twenty miles away, and he rode his rusty bicycle to visit the Cheltenham Saints whenever he could. But most of the time it was Nellie, the former Relief Society president in the Cheltenham Branch, who took responsibility for the spiritual and temporal welfare of the Saints in her area. With the branch closed, the Church members could no longer meet in the rented hall they used on Sundays, so Nellie’s living room became the place where the Relief Society prayed, sang, and studied.3
On a quiet November night in 1943, Nellie Middleton heard her doorbell ring. It was dark outside, but she knew enough not to have the lights on when she opened the door. Nearly three years had passed since German bombs had first fallen near her home, and Nellie continued to darken her windows at night to keep herself and her daughter safe from air raids.
With her lights out, Nellie opened the door. A young man was standing on her front step, his face in shadow. He extended his hand and quietly introduced himself as Brother Ray Hermansen. His accent was undeniably American.4
A lump came to Nellie’s throat. After their branch disbanded, she and other women in Cheltenham had longed to take the sacrament more regularly. The United States had recently sent troops to England to prepare for an Allied offensive against Nazi Germany. Once it had occurred to Nellie that some of the American soldiers stationed in her town might be Latter-day Saints who could bless the sacrament, she had asked her stepsister, Margaret, to paint a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and place it in town. Below the picture was a message: “If any soldier is interested in the above, he will find a warm welcome at 13 Saint Paul’s Road.”5
Had this American seen her poster? Did he have authority to bless the sacrament? Nellie shook his hand and welcomed him inside.
Ray was a twenty-year-old Latter-day Saint soldier from Utah and a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood. Although he was stationed ten miles away, he had heard about the Salt Lake Temple painting from another Church member and obtained leave to visit the address. He had walked to Nellie’s home on foot, which was why he had arrived after dark. When Nellie told him about her desire to take the sacrament, he asked her when he could come to administer the ordinance to her.
On November 21, Nellie, her daughter, and three other women welcomed Ray to their Sunday meeting. Nellie opened the meeting with prayer before the group sang “How Great the Wisdom and the Love.” Ray then blessed and passed the sacrament, and all four women bore testimony of the gospel.
Soon other Latter-day Saint soldiers heard about the meetings at Saint Paul’s Road. Some Sundays, Nellie’s living room was so full that people had to sit on the staircase.6

A few years ago, my older sister Tamara was admitted to the hospital for jaw surgery about a week before Christmas. Since Christmas has always been the time when all my family can come together, it was hard to see my sister away from us in the hospital during this season. My whole family was scared for her, so we all prayed that the operation would go according to plan and that the surgeon and the nurses could give her proper care and restore her to good health soon.
The surgery was successful, and she stayed in the hospital a few nights while she recuperated. She couldn’t eat solid food, couldn’t speak very easily, and had to take pain medication. It was hard to see her suffer, but we all knew that Heavenly Father was with Tamara and that she would be home for Christmas Eve. And she was! She came home the night of the 23rd, and my whole family was able to sit together around the fire on Christmas Eve like we do every year.
We all learned to be more grateful that we can have not only each other but also the Holy Ghost and the Lord with us whenever we need Them. That Christmas I learned that love and family are more important than presents and that being with each other and remembering the birth of Christ are what matter most.

Hong Kong China Temple
In 1991 the First Presidency asked the Asia Area Presidency to begin searching for a temple site in Hong Kong. If the Church were to build a temple in Hong Kong, it would have to be built before July 1, 1997, which was when the People’s Republic of China would resume government control.
President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) arrived in Hong Kong on July 25, 1992, to approve a site for the temple. After visiting six different locations, President Hinckley discussed his feelings with the local stake presidents and decided that none of the locations would work. At 6:45 a.m. President Hinckley called the Area Presidency and asked to meet in his hotel room at 8:00 a.m. After they arrived, President Hinckley “then shared, on a sheet of white paper, a detailed drawing. During the night, he had envisioned a building of about eight floors above ground, with the temple on the top floors and other functions housed on the lower floors. … This concept of multiple use, President Hinckley explained, would depart from tradition in that all other temples in the Church at that time were stand-alone buildings.”7
President Hinckley returned to Salt Lake City and presented the new design to the Temple Department. The architects saw an opportunity to expand the building and created a plan that would be nearly twice the size originally designed by President Hinckley. The plans were completed and sent to Hong Kong for approval, but after negotiations with the officials, the building plans were denied. Remembering the experience they had earlier with President Hinckley’s first design, the Area Presidency immediately recommended that the Church return to his drawing. This plan quickly received approval, and the Church began construction on the temple. The Hong Kong China Temple was dedicated on May 26, 1996, by President Hinckley.

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.

I had an appointment scheduled a few days later with a neurologist, but that January morning, my older sister, Kylie, felt prompted that my family should take me to the emergency room at a nearby hospital. Doctors quickly ordered a computed tomography (CT) scan and the first of several spinal taps to reduce cerebrospinal fluid pressure. The next day, I had two MRIs (magnetic resonance imaging). Then an ophthalmologist examined me.

“How many fingers can you see?” he asked, holding up several fingers right in from of my face. I couldn’t see anything.

After his examination, he concluded that I had symptoms of both pseudotumor cerebri and optic neuritis. Neither condition on its own seemed fully responsible. He explained that with the severity of my vision loss, recovery could take over a year and that my vision might not fully return. He recommended a high dose of intravenous steroids and other medication.

After he left, I started crying. My mother reassured me, “If you can’t hold on to your faith right now, you can rely on ours.”

Shortly after my daughter, the first of our three children, was born, my wife and I purchased a piano. We hoped she would have musical talent like her grandfather—a fine composer and pianist. I particularly liked to imagine her playing the piano at church, accompanying the congregation. This would please our Father in Heaven, I thought. And the gift of music would bless our family.
Several years passed, with the piano serving no purpose other than decorating our living room. One day my father-in-law offered to teach me to read music. At some point in the future, he said, I might even be able to play a few simple pieces. I considered the very idea a joke—and not a very good one. I had never even considered that I might have musical talent. Nevertheless, he began to work with me. Unfortunately, I found the study of music unpleasant and even painful, and I quit studying about six months later. In time, I forgot what little I had learned.
In 1983 our daughter turned eight, and my wife and I felt she was old enough to begin music lessons. Unfortunately, she did not enjoy the lessons any more than I had. Since we had already paid for a month of lessons, I decided to take the remaining lessons myself. I was surprised to find that I enjoyed the lessons, and after they ended, I continued to practice on my own. My progress was slow, but by the time the Christmas season came around, I could almost play six different hymns.
When the bishop visited us during the Christmas holidays, I played “Away in a Manger” (Hymns, number 206) and asked him to sing along. We had to start over several times because I made so many mistakes, but eventually we finished the carol. The bishop encouraged me to keep practicing and to learn a sacrament hymn. I began to practice very faithfully, and to my surprise, I found that practicing was no longer drudgery. I had a goal for myself—to be able to play at church.
On one occasion while I was practicing I distinctly heard a voice singing the melody of the hymn I was playing. A wave of emotion swept over me, and I felt that my Father in Heaven was pleased with my efforts.
Several months passed, and I continued to practice devotedly. One Sunday I went to church early to practice. The room was quite dark and I couldn’t see well, but I sensed that someone was watching me. Soon the bishop stepped forward. He told me he had been listening, and he felt I was ready to play for Church meetings. I played the piano for the Madrid Second Ward that very day. A few days later, I was officially set apart as the ward pianist.
By this time practicing was exciting, and I was surprised at how quickly I was able to learn the hymns. I worked hard, but I realized that my efforts were being magnified by the Holy Ghost. My Heavenly Father had prepared me little by little for this calling and was now helping me fulfill it.
Today, playing the piano continues to be a great joy. I play for priesthood meetings in the Madrid Third Branch, where I am the branch president. My daughter also eventually resumed her music studies and has served as branch pianist. She is now married and lives in Madrid, Spain.
Often as I play I think of the Lord’s words: “My soul delighteth in the song of the heart; yea, the song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12). I am grateful that my Heavenly Father prepared me with a desire and blessed me with the ability to play the hymns of the Church. They are truly a prayer unto him.

An experience that I had on my mission shows how Heavenly Father watches over us. My companion and I had just taught and baptized a family in Leeds, England. Then we were transferred to Bradford, about a half-hour bus trip away. One day, my companion and I were getting ready to visit some missionaries in our district, but it seemed like we just could not get out the door. Each time we left, we realized that we had forgotten something.

After returning three times, we thought, Maybe there’s some reason we should stay here. We sat down, and within a few minutes, the phone rang. It was the mother of the family we had baptized in Leeds. She was very ill, and she needed us to come give her a blessing. We immediately left for the bus stop, where the bus was just about to leave. When we changed buses, we again caught our bus very quickly. When we arrived, the woman was so sick that she was shivering badly, and we couldn’t even understand her words. My companion and I gave her a blessing, and as I said the words, we both felt so much strength leave us that we had to sit down for almost ten minutes. During that time, she was able to stand, go to her kitchen, and prepare something for the three of us to drink. When we left half an hour later, she was completely healed and waved to us at the door. Not all priesthood blessings are answered so quickly and happily, but we were overjoyed for it to happen to this good sister.