Gospel Story Finder

When you first heard the phrase, “I’m going to cook your goose,” you probably thought, I don’t even have a goose! Of course, the expression actually means that you’re done for. “Cook your goose” has several different stories behind it. A common one tells of a besieged English town in the sixteenth century. The townspeople, tired of their attackers, hung a dead goose from the city wall to show that they still had plenty of food. The leader of the invading army, Eric the Mad of Sweden, became very angry, for the goose had long stood for silliness and stupidity. Feeling that the people were calling him dumb, Eric burned the town to the ground—he cooked their goose!

I was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood when World War II exploded upon the world. I was ordained an elder when we were all marched away to war.
I had dreams of following an older brother, Leon, who at that time was flying B-24 bombers in the Battle of Britain. I volunteered for air force pilot training.
I failed the written test by one point. Then the sergeant remembered that there were several two-point questions, and if I got half right on two of them, I could pass.
Part of the test was multiple choice. One question was “What is ethylene glycol used for?” If I had not worked in my dad’s service station, I would not have known that it is used for automobile antifreeze. And so I passed, barely.
I prayed about the physical. It turned out to be fairly routine.
You young men should not complain about schooling. Do not immerse yourself so much in the technical that you fail to learn things that are practical. Everything you can learn that is practical—in the house, in the kitchen cooking, in the yard—will be of benefit to you. Never complain about schooling. Study well, and attend always.
“The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth.”
“Whatever principle of intelligence we attain unto in this life, it will rise with us in the resurrection.”
We are to learn about “things that are above, and things that are beneath, things that are in the earth, and upon the earth, and in heaven.”
You can learn about fixing things and painting things and even sewing things and whatever else is practical. That is worth doing. If it is not of particular benefit to you, it will help you when you are serving other people.
I ended up in the Orient, flying the same kind of bombers that my brother flew in England. My mission, as it turned out, was in teaching the gospel in Japan as a serviceman.
Perhaps the hardest challenge of war is living with uncertainties, not knowing how it will end or if we can go ahead with our lives.
I was issued a small serviceman’s Book of Mormon that would fit into my pocket. I carried it everywhere; I read it; and it became part of me. Things that had been a question became certain to me.
The certainties of the gospel, the truth, once you understand it, will see you through these difficult times.
It was four years before we could return to our lives. But I had learned and had a sure testimony that God is our Father, that we are His children, and that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true.

Working on personal appearance was of great interest to the girls in the Orem Utah Stake. For several Saturday mornings, the girls met to learn about choosing and caring for a wardrobe, personal grooming, and poise. The workshops stressed the importance of letting their outward appearance reflect their inner beauty. Lorien Eastly and Jody Brinholt were unanimous in their selection of a favorite workshop session. They both enjoyed learning how to walk and how to handle themselves in potentially embarrassing situations. Jody said the workshops gave both her and her friends more confidence. “Now we just feel a lot better about ourselves. Our leaders taught us that when we look good we don’t have to be concerned with ourselves and we can pay attention to others.” Poise and beauty were added to the basket.

It was many years before I could conscientiously feel gratitude to my father for some of the lessons he taught me. I still remember the summer day when a group of us young people living in Spring Coulee had planned to meet our friends in Cardston for a picnic. My heart was set on it; it seemed most desirable. Just before it was time to leave, Father said, “Hugh, I want you to go bring in the cows from the east slope.” That was several miles away, and obviously I could not attend the party and obey my father. Although I was inwardly angry and resentful, I knew what I had to do. As I rode out toward the east slope I philosophically confided to my horse, “Sometimes the bitter cup is our portion when the sweeter cup may have been detrimental.” Similar lessons throughout my lifetime have served to emphasize that not only our earthly fathers but our Heavenly Father might reprove betimes with sharpness (see D&C 121:43) for our eternal welfare.

A tiny parade of electronic ants ran across the screen on Rylee’s tablet. Rylee smiled and started to count them quickly. Seven, eight, nine … This was one of her favorite math games!
“I thought you were coloring your bug book,” Mom said as she came in the room.
Rylee looked up. “Oh. Yes, I was. But I got bored, so I started playing games instead.”
“Have you been playing on the tablet this whole time?” Mom asked with a little smile.
Rylee checked the clock. It was a lot later than she’d thought! “Um, I guess so. But it’s helping me learn math.”
“Doing math is good for your brain,” Mom said. “But too much screen time isn’t good for your brain. Or for the rest of your body. Your body needs lots of other things.”
Rylee paused. “You mean, like good food?”
Mom nodded. “Yes! But that’s just a start. Why don’t we go on a walk? Maybe you can even see some real ants.”
“OK!” Rylee put on her shoes. Mom and Rylee’s little sister, Harper, were waiting for her by the door.
“Ready for an adventure?” Mom asked.
“Yeah!”
They walked to the park nearby. The sun was bright, and the leaves on the trees rustled in the wind. “Hey, look!” Rylee pointed to a line of ants marching across the sidewalk. “You were right, Mom.”
“How many do you see?” Mom asked.
Rylee tried to keep count, but there were too many. She ran ahead and picked up a speckled rock. “It’s like a ladybug. Look at all the spots!”
She slipped the rock into her pocket. “Let’s pretend to be scientists,” she told Harper. “We could show each other our discoveries!”
Together she and Harper found another cool rock, a pine cone, and an acorn. They saw some butterflies too.
“This is even more fun than my game!” Rylee said.
“Isn’t it nice to be outside?” Mom asked. “And do you know the best part? It’s really good for your brain.”
Rylee tilted her head. “But I thought you had to study stuff to make your brain stronger.”
“That’s one way. But other things help it grow too. Like kicking the soccer ball with our family. Or talking with friends. Or spending time outside, like now. We need to grow and develop in all sorts of ways, like Jesus did.”
The time zipped by as Rylee, Mom, and Harper explored the park. By the time they got home, Rylee’s pockets were full of treasures from their walk. She lined them up on the floor to count them. Seven, eight, nine …
She smiled. She was glad there were so many fun ways to grow and take good care of her body.

Fifty years ago the missionaries entered my father’s watchmaker shop to leave a watch to be repaired. As good missionaries do, they took advantage of the opportunity to speak with my father and mother about the gospel. My father accepted the missionaries, and my mother accepted the message and invitation to follow Christ. From that day to this, she has remained active in the Church. She said, “Yes, Lord, I will follow Thee!”

In 2013 we were living in Manhattan, New York, USA. We loved our ward. Because we were expecting our first child, we began looking for a larger apartment in the ward. We found one that seemed perfect, but it didn’t feel right.
That spring, Laura started to feel that maybe we should move to Brooklyn. Wil wasn’t so sure. We didn’t know anything about Brooklyn, and Wil wanted to be close to his investment-banking job so that, given his long work hours, he had a short commute. We decided to pray about it and listen for an answer during general conference.
As we watched the talks on a laptop computer in our studio apartment, Elder Stanley G. Ellis of the Seventy shared an experience he had as a member of a stake presidency. He said that families moving into his stake in Texas, USA, would often ask which ward was best. Only once in 16 years did a family ask which ward needed help.1
We were touched by his story. It answered our prayers. So, instead of staying in a ward we loved, that we felt comfortable in, and that had a great nursery and Primary, we took Elder Ellis’s advice to heart and prayed about where we should move.
At the time, we were serving as ordinance workers in the Manhattan New York Temple. One of the workers there knew New York City well. He suggested two wards where he thought we could help—both in Brooklyn.
The first ward was too far from Wil’s work. The second one was closer, and we felt we had found the right place when we visited the ward’s sacrament meeting. Many of the members were Haitian immigrants. Because Wil is from Gabon and speaks French, we thought the ward would be a great home for us.
A few weeks later we found an apartment and moved in. Wil was soon called to serve in various meaningful ways. Understanding the language took some time, but he felt blessed to quickly become proficient enough in Haitian Creole to help interpret for members during meetings and interviews. Laura was also blessed to serve in various capacities, and we became involved in missionary work.
We learned that when we serve the Lord and His children, He takes care of us. Our experiences in Brooklyn helped keep us grounded. They especially helped Wil care less about the fanfare of Wall Street and remember what matters most. In investment banking, almost everyone works on Sundays. Wil occasionally had to do catch-up work from home, but the Lord blessed us so that he never had to go into the office on Sundays.
When we moved to Brooklyn, we thought we were going to be one of only two families with young children in the ward. But the ward’s boundaries changed two weeks after we moved in, and several other young families also moved in.
Eventually, we intend to move to Gabon. We feel that our experiences in Brooklyn have helped prepare us to better serve the Church and people of Africa. We’re thankful we followed the prompting to move. The Lord blessed us—and continues to bless us—in ways we never could have imagined.

He told us about Edward Ashton, a grandfather several generations back. Edward grew up in England, where the missionaries taught his family the gospel. His father then wanted to move the family to America, so they sailed across the Atlantic to New Orleans. A few years later they moved to Iowa. When Edward grew to be an adult, he trekked to Utah as a member of the Willie and Martin handcart companies. Like the other pioneers in that group, he endured snowstorms and near-starvation on his way to the Salt Lake Valley, but he pressed on in spite of it. Once he got to Utah, he became a missionary himself.

A true story from France.
Adeline finished drawing the last check box on her paper. Next to it, she wrote, Say prayers morning and night.
“What’s this?” Maman asked.
“I’m making a checklist for tomorrow,” Adeline said. “I’m going to have a perfect day!”
Maman raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
Adeline nodded. “In Primary we learned about being perfected in Christ. I’m going to be extra good so I can have perfect days.”
“I’m happy you want to make good choices,” Maman said. “But you know, there was only one person on the earth who was perfect—Jesus Christ.”
Adeline sighed. “I know. But I really want to try! I think I can do it.”
When morning came, Adeline was ready. She made her bed and said her morning prayer.
At breakfast, she helped feed her little sister, Sylvia. When Sylvia spilled her peaches all over her chair, Adeline took a deep breath. She counted to four and helped clean up.
At school, Adeline looked for people who needed help. Lucas had a sprained ankle, so she carried his lunch tray for him.
While leaving school, Adeline smiled her biggest grin at the lady who held the school gate open. The lady usually looked grumpy. But today she smiled back!
After school, Adeline gave Sylvia her favorite stuffed animal to play with. And before going to bed, she said a prayer. She checked off the items on her list and snuggled into her blankets. She felt very proud and very tired. She was ready for another perfect day tomorrow!
When Adeline woke up the next day, all her dolls were scattered around the floor. Sylvia was holding one and sucking on it. She must have pulled them all out!
“Sylvia!” Adeline yelled. “I told you not to touch my dolls!” She grabbed the doll Sylvia was holding. Sylvia cried and ran away.
Adeline glanced at her checklist on the door. Her heart sank.
Maman came in just as Adeline felt a tear on her cheek.
“What’s happened?” Maman asked.
“I forgot to say my prayer. I didn’t make my bed.” Adeline’s voice wobbled. “And I was mean to Sylvia. My perfect day is officially over!”
Maman gave Adeline a hug. “It’s very hard to be perfect all the time. Actually, it’s impossible.”
Adeline frowned. “But then how can I be perfect in Christ?”
“That’s just it! We can’t be perfected without Jesus Christ,” Maman said. “He gave His life for us because Heavenly Father knew we would make mistakes and would need help. Jesus takes our imperfect attempts and makes them better.”
Adeline thought about it. “So I can’t have perfect days every day?” she asked.
Maman shook her head. “No. You’ll have hard days. But you’ll have good days too.” Maman tucked Adeline’s hair behind her ear. “You trying your best is what matters. Even if a day starts out with a wrong choice, we can always say a prayer to repent and try again. With Jesus Christ’s help, you are enough.”
Adeline felt warm inside.
“Now, for your list.” Maman pointed to the list. “How about we just focus on one thing?”
Adeline looked at her list. She tore off part of the paper and taped what was left back on the door. The one item still there said, Say prayers morning and night.
Adeline smiled. “My day may not have started perfect, but I can still say a prayer now. And with Jesus Christ’s help, it will be enough!”

Andrea tells about a girl at school who asked about her weekend. She was amazed that Andrea and her sister, Heidi, did some shopping together and went to a movie. The girl asked, “Don’t you ever fight?”
Andrea answered, “No, not really. If we do, we get over it in two seconds.”
Andrea explained, “When people say that Mormons are really family oriented, we really are. That’s what makes us strong. To be a better sister, do stuff together.”

I recall a simple incident that occurred in our family years ago. My husband and I were away from home, and our oldest son was babysitting the other children. We received a call from a concerned neighbor alerting us that a firetruck was at our house. We raced home and found that our 10-year-old son had been playing in the backyard next to a six-acre field of tall, dry grass. He was trying to see if he could start a fire with sparks.

Obviously, he did! By the time we arrived, the small fire had been extinguished by the fire department, the firemen had lectured our son, and the neighbors were beginning to disperse. Our son was embarrassed, frightened, tearful, and knew he was surely in trouble.

We all went into the house. Our son was so afraid that, even though the situation was serious, all we could do was wrap our arms around this sweet boy and reassure him of our love and our relief that he wasn’t hurt.

In November 1997 I was called to serve in the Chile Concepción Mission and would soon be able to realize my desire to attend the temple and receive more light and knowledge. But then doubts began to trouble me. As weak and imperfect as I was, was I really worthy to enter? Would the Lord really welcome me with open arms after all the times I had offended Him?
I shared my doubts with my stake president, and he helped me understand that if my life was in order and I was really trying to do all the things I had been taught, I was worthy to enter the house of the Lord. Feeling better, I left for the missionary training center in Santiago, Chile. A few hours before it was time to go to the temple, however, my doubts returned.
The beauty and peace inside the temple were so great that the longer I was there, the more I wondered if I deserved to be there. Afterward in the celestial room, everyone but me seemed happy and radiant. As I touched the door handle to leave, however, a strange sensation came over me, and I felt that I should stay. I also felt as if someone were behind me, putting a hand on my left shoulder to turn me around. Slowly I turned.
On the wall I saw a large painting of Jesus Christ at His Second Coming with His arms opened wide. I could not move. Then I clearly heard the following words inside my mind: “You are welcome in my house.”
A warm feeling coursed through my whole body, and tears began to spill from my eyes. The only thing I could think of was “Thank You.”
For some minutes I cried without stopping. My heart was overflowing with gratitude to my Savior. I still felt weak and imperfect, but I knew that He loved me and would strengthen me.
Many years have passed since that experience, but every time I go to the temple, the joy of that day returns, as do these comforting words: “You are welcome in my house.”

If you are Vaga Babayan, 16, of the Severozamoskvoretsky Branch, you’ll rejoice in the hope of the future.
Two years ago, Vaga and his family, frightened by continual earthquakes in Armenia, moved to Moscow. His father found employment in a bakery run by relatives. Although Vaga studies hard all day, he also helps with the family business.
“One day my father and my sister met the missionaries. Dad invited them to our house. My mother had been searching for the truth and was excited to learn. They kept teaching us. Every time they came over, I felt a warmth in my soul. Three months later, my mother, my sister, and I were baptized.” His father, in Vaga’s words, is “still working” toward baptism.
“There are a lot of great things in Moscow,” Vaga says. “But the greatest of all is that I became acquainted with the Church here. The growth of the Church in Russia is creating a new history in our own lives.”
The power to change. That’s also a great gift, a gift even those with 850 years of experience might appreciate.

One day I bought a song I’d heard on the radio. After it downloaded, I realized it was an explicit version. I was so disappointed because I’d wanted to listen to the radio’s clean version. I deleted the song from my library, sad that I’d wasted my money on a bad song.
I decided to email the people at the music store, saying that I was unable to listen to the song I bought because it was against my standards. Surprisingly, the next day I got an email with an apology and a free song credit.
I didn’t end up buying that song at all, because I realized I didn’t even feel good about the clean version. It helped me realize that I need to focus on the music I listen to and that I can correct my mistakes, even something as simple as buying the wrong song. I also realized how much the prophet’s guidance really does help.

My family and I moved to Layton, Utah, from Georgia during my senior year in high school. As a black teenager, I hated the thought of moving. I liked it in Georgia where I fit in quite well with my peers. The idea of attending a different school in a very white community didn’t appeal to me, even though I was a member of the Church. When I arrived in Utah, adjusting to life there took a great deal of time, and I only managed to make a few friends.
One night I was paired up with a guy my friend and her boyfriend set up with me. I would have enjoyed the night more if my date hadn’t said his parents would freak if they knew he was out with a black girl. His words hurt, but I hid it well. I’ve hid a lot of my feelings.
After graduation, I began to hang around three girls who weren’t LDS. As our friendship grew, I started smoking. I felt like life had no meaning, so I didn’t care that what I was doing was wrong. I couldn’t understand why I was on the earth, and figured I was probably better off dead. After a while, we went our separate ways and I vowed I would never smoke again. But many of my other feelings didn’t change.
I knew I wanted to marry in the temple and raise a family but wondered if I would get the chance. It was rather annoying when people I knew would become engaged, leaving me to question if I would ever get a date in this lifetime.
I wanted to blame the way I felt on something, so I blamed it on the color of my skin. It was stupid of me, I know. But I figured it was the only reason I didn’t have many friends.
By the time I was 20, I wanted to change. I decided to fix my appearance. I lost a little weight and bought new clothes and glasses. I found it helped me feel better about myself. But the actual change started when I began attending the single-adult ward and decided to go to college. This gave me the confidence that I could do things I had been too shy or scared to do before.
One day in sacrament meeting, my bishop spoke about the importance of attending church, the importance of paying tithing, reading scriptures, and praying. I felt the Spirit so strongly that I had no doubt the Church was true. It was at this time I decided to read the Book of Mormon.
For a month, I read my scriptures every night. Afterward, I would pray. I continued to pay my tithing and attend church, and I received a calling in the ward. My life couldn’t have been happier.
One day I looked in the mirror and stared at my reflection. “I’m pretty,” I said to the image before me. Tears welled up in my eyes that suddenly seemed to be looking at things differently. I saw myself, but it was as if I were looking at the face of a stranger. The fact I saw myself differently filled me with a happiness I can’t describe.
Without warning, the color of my skin no longer mattered to me. I’m Jennifer, a child of God. If God can love me, then I can learn to love myself, I thought. I now understand why they say you have to love yourself before you can show love to others. Today I can say I’m proud to be black. Four years ago I couldn’t even say it, much less mean it.
My promise now is to live the gospel and put my trust in God. After all, he’s given me the thing I needed most—a sense of my own worth.

Jean and I were once your age. We started college and had the same questions you do: What classes to take, What to major in, Who to date and eventually marry, What about a mission, a job, etc. While your path will be unique to you, the truths we have learned along the way can help you see the most important things.

When I was a student in college the Korean War was still going on and young men were being drafted into the military, so there was a real question of whether I could go on a mission or not. Fortunately the war wound down and I was able to go. As a freshman, I met Jean Sabin from California, on a blind date set up by our sisters. We dated some but when I left on my mission the only agreement we had was that we would write to each other and see how we felt when I returned.

My mission to Tonga was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I loved every thing about it. It was right for me, just as everyone’s mission is, or will be right for him or her. What a joy to know that you are called by a prophet of God to serve where you can best help build His Kingdom.

How I loved helping people come unto Christ and be baptized — and still do. How I loved feeling that I was helping to build God’s Kingdom — and still do.

I loved receiving letters from Jean, but I was so engrossed in my mission that I didn’t think much about “the next step.”

Towards the end of my mission we got caught in a bad storm at sea, our boat was capsized and we were thrown into the ocean. I struggled to get to shore, but was having difficulty. In the midst of this turmoil I was blessed with the assurance that God knew who I was and where I was and what I needed to do next.

At one desperate point I felt Jean’s hand, heard her voice and felt her presence. Thus I was given strength to make it to shore and also to know what I should do when I got home. Sometimes it is in the midst of incredible turmoil that we are able to see so clearly that other concerns just fade away.

I testify that as we sincerely strive to build and strengthen the Kingdom of God, He will always help us see “the next step.”

When I returned from my mission and reconnected with Jean, we both knew it was right and were married in the Los Angeles Temple. Of course we still had many other decisions to make: schooling, a job, a place to live, starting a family — I’m sure you can relate.

I went on with my schooling, our first daughter was born and eventually we returned to my hometown of Idaho Falls just before our second daughter was born and I began my “career” in Real Estate. A year later I was called to serve as bishop of our ward. What a blessing to have a supportive wife! After serving as bishop for 4 ½ years I was called to be the mission president in Tonga. Our fifth daughter was born a few weeks before we left for Tonga.

The Lord took us step by step and eventually we ended up serving as a General Authority and were assigned to live here in Hawaii for the first two years of my call (during which time our eleventh and last child was born).

In all we tried to do, we had as our primary goal: To do what God wanted us to do to help build His Kingdom in the way He wanted us to. We made mistakes, as we all do, but we continued to try.

As we now enter the last part of our mortal sojourn, we know with deeper conviction than ever, that building the Kingdom of God, largely through our family, is not only our greatest duty, but also our greatest source of joy.

While studying at Brigham Young University as a young, single returned missionary, I attended a priesthood session of general conference in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. President Ezra Taft Benson, then-President of the Church, urged every returned missionary to take marriage seriously and make it a top priority in his life.7 After the session, I knew I had been called to repentance and needed to act on the prophet’s counsel.
Thus, I decided to go to my home country, Brazil, to find a wife. Before leaving for Brazil on a two-month internship, I called my mom and some friends on the phone and came up with a list of about 10 young women—each of them a potential wife.
While in Brazil, after much pondering and prayer, I met, dated, got engaged to, and set a date to marry one of the young women on the list. It was not record-breaking time for students in Provo, Utah, to date and become engaged, but it was fast by Brazil standards.
A few months later, I married Elaine. She is the love of my life and a choice blessing.

A couple of weeks ago Dean Paul Cox and I were having lunch with a prospective student and his father. We were dining in the Museum of Art cafe when Dean Cox told this student that biology was the world’s oldest profession. Dean Cox explained that when the Lord put Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden to care for it, he created the world’s first biologists. He added that in doing so the Lord was also the first equal opportunity employer.

Since the student was interested in coming to BYU to study biology, I didn’t interrupt the good dean to let him know that other colleges have laid claim to having older professions than his.

The dean of the College of Nursing, Sandra Rogers, could argue that when the Lord took the rib from Adam with which to make Eve, he performed an operation; therefore, medicine is the oldest profession.

Dean Douglas Smoot might take exception with both of these propositions, arguing that the Lord’s creation of the heavens and the earth out of chaos was a magnificent engineering accomplishment, making his the oldest profession.

At this point, I get to put on my journalism hat and ask, “Who do you think created the chaos?”

Lately I have been thinking of a time in my life when the weight of worry and concern over an uncertain future seemed ever present. I was 11 years old and living with my family in the attic of a farmhouse near Frankfurt, Germany. We were refugees for the second time in a period of only a few years, and we were struggling to establish ourselves in a new place far away from our previous home. I could say that we were poor, but that would be an understatement. We all slept in one room that was so tiny there was scarcely space to walk around the beds. In the other small room, we had a few pieces of modest furniture and a stove that Mother used to cook meals on. To get from one room to the other, we had to pass through a storage area where the farmer kept his equipment and tools, along with assorted meats and sausages hanging from the rafters. The aroma always made me very hungry. We had no bathroom, but we did have an outhouse—down the stairs and some 50 feet (15 m) away, though it seemed much farther during wintertime.
Because I was a refugee and because of my East German accent, other children often made fun of me and called me names that deeply hurt. Of all the times of my youth, I believe this may have been the most discouraging.
Now, decades later, I can look back on those days through the softening filter of experience. Even though I still remember the hurt and despair, I can see now what I was unable to see then: this was a period of great personal growth. During this time, our family bonded together. I watched and learned from my parents. I admired their determination and optimism. From them I learned that adversity, when confronted with faith, courage, and tenacity, could be overcome.
Brethren, I think back on that 11-year-old boy in Frankfurt, Germany, who worried about his future and felt the lasting sting of unkind remarks. I remember this time with a sort of sad fondness. While I would not be eager to relive those days of trial and trouble, I have little doubt that the lessons I learned were a necessary preparation for future opportunity. Now, many years later, I know this for a certainty: it is often in the trial of adversity that we learn those most critical lessons that form our character and shape our destiny.

One newly called bishop, in his first meeting with his counselors, declared, “The Aaronic Priesthood is a prime responsibility of ours.” To the second counselor, he directed, “I ask you to be personally responsible to ensure that every deacon, at the appropriate age, be worthy and be ordained a teacher.” To the other counselor, he said, “Will you please do the same as pertains to the teachers, that they may, on schedule, be worthy and be ordained priests.” Then the bishop continued: “I will take the same responsibility for the priests to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and be ordained elders. Together, and with God’s help, we can do it.” And they did.