Gospel Story Finder

I am reminded of an experience I had several years ago while serving as bishop. I learned from my counselors at one point that an elderly sister had declined a calling in the ward. Sensing that something was amiss with this stalwart and faithful woman, I made an appointment to go to her home to speak with her. When I got there, she and her husband were both present.

After a little polite conversation I said that I understood that she had not felt comfortable in accepting a ward calling and asked what I could do to help. Both of them stared at the floor a long, long time before she answered. At last she spoke to explain that 50 years earlier, before they had been married, they had been intimate with one another and had been too ashamed to clear this up with the bishop before being married in the temple. For all of these years they had lived under the guilty burden of this transgression while paying generous tithes and offerings, serving faithfully in responsible Church callings, rearing a family in the faith, and sending children on missions.

Though they were faithful, they were not whole. They were kept from the peace and contentment that should have been theirs in golden years by clouds of self-doubt and the tarnished memory of unresolved transgression. Outwardly they seemed secure and serene. Inwardly they were carrying a kind of damage and hurt that intruded on their spiritual confidence. Together they had suffered this awful alienation from the Lord for a long time.

I don’t know why their ordeal lasted a lifetime. I only know when it ended as the Lord lifted them from their lonely lamentations. As I tearfully listened to their story, I prayed earnestly to know what I might do to relieve them. When they finished speaking I felt impressed to say simply: “It is over. You have suffered long enough. I am sure the Lord has forgiven you. Repentance consists of forsaking a sin and confessing. You forsook that guilty act long, long ago. Tonight you also confessed. Now you are free. I feel certain that the Lord has forgotten your transgression and is eager to dispel your guilt with redeeming grace.”

After kneeling in prayer together we three stood encircled in one another’s arms as they sobbed out the last of their pent-up suffering and anguish.

“Oh, Bishop, is it really over?” they asked.

I assured them that it was.

The loving kindness and the grace of the Savior poured into their lives in sweet forgiving. He reached past the things that separated them from him and embraced them in sweet communion.

What if we do not want to keep the commandments? Brother Elray Christiansen used to tell of a man who came over from Denmark who was skilled at amassing wealth. He gave up a rather substantial fortune to join the Church and come to Utah, but after he settled here he again had the ability to build up his resources. In the process he lost his testimony. As the brethren visited him, they would say, “You’re not doing right, you know,” but he would never listen.

One day two brethren were visiting and one of them said, “Now look, Lars, it’s not right what you do.” He paid no attention. The brother continued, “Look, Lars, you can’t take it with you, you know.”

That touched Lars, and he said, “What’s that you say?”

“I told you, you can’t take it with you.”

And Lars said, “Vell then, I vill not go.”

Brother Christiansen bore testimony that he has gone.

Recently we heard of the death of Nelson Rockefeller, who was one of the wealthiest men in the world, and my son asked me how much he had left. The standard answer, of course, is that he left it all, as all will do.

“I was reading the newspaper when one of my young grandsons snuggled up to me,” said Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “As I read, I was delighted to hear his sweet voice chattering on in the background. Imagine my surprise when, a few moments later, he pushed himself between me and the paper. Taking my face in his hands and pressing his nose up to mine, he asked, ‘Grandpa! Are you in there?’

“… Being there means understanding the hearts of our youth and connecting with them. And connecting with them means not just conversing with them but doing things with them too. …

“We must plan and take advantage of teaching moments. …

“… The more I live, the more I recognize that the teaching moments in my youth, especially those provided by my parents, have shaped my life and made me who I am.”4

We found a house across the street from one Protestant church and a block from another, but we lived 45 minutes from the nearest LDS meetinghouse. Every Sunday, as well as a couple of times during the week, we made the trek to our meetinghouse. During those seven years, my husband served in the bishopric, and I served as Primary president and then as Young Women president.
We knew that the social life and heartbeat of small towns exist in the local churches. To be accepted, we knew we had to get involved. Our three young children soon bonded with other ward children, but we also wanted them to feel a sense of belonging to our neighborhood. We encouraged them to become involved during the week in local church activities, including family suppers on Wednesday nights at one church.
We put our son and our girls in local youth programs. Our children also attended Vacation Bible School at both nearby churches. Our girls sang in a local church youth choir; one daughter even became a soloist in the choir. Our son attended a local church youth group.
Often a visiting revival minister preached against the “Mormons,” but our neighbors knew we were nothing like the people the preachers warned them about.
Every summer the regional churches of one Protestant sect sponsored a youth camp on St. Simons Island, Georgia. After one such camp, the minister said from the pulpit, “The only youth to go to camp this summer was our good little Mormon girl, Kelly Grant.”
Our Protestant neighbors embraced us because we had embraced them. We never had to compromise our standards or principles.

Many years ago an executive of a large retailer called me to talk about his company, which was being bought out by one of its competitors. He and numerous other headquarters personnel were extremely anxious that they might lose their jobs. Knowing that I was well acquainted with senior management of the acquiring company, he asked if I would be willing to both introduce him and give a strong reference on his behalf, even to arrange a meeting for him. He then concluded with the following statement: “You know what they say? ‘The meek shall perish!’”
I understood his comment was more than likely intended as humor. I got the joke. But there was an important principle that I felt might ultimately be of use to him. I replied, “Actually, that isn’t what they say. In fact, it is just the opposite. ‘The meek … shall inherit the earth’ is what they say.”
In my experience in the Church as well as throughout my professional career, some of the greatest, most effective people I have known have been among the most meek and humble.

Once in Utah, Dan Jones settled in Manti, where he was elected the first mayor in 1851. A year later, however, he was called to serve a second mission in his native land. Again he responded without hesitation. With a few others, he began the long trek east. When about eighty miles out of Salt Lake City, he met a group of Welsh Saints coming to the Valley. They had been baptized during his first mission, and they could scarcely contain their feelings when they met their beloved leader, they on their way to the valleys of the West, and he on his way to the valleys of Wales. They sang; they wept; they spoke with words of true affection. They spent a happy day together before parting. As they were separating, Elder Jones gave William Morgan a letter to be delivered to the Presiding Bishop of the Church, Edward Hunter. It breathes the spirit of this remarkable man and his love for his Welsh brethren and sisters:
“Esteemed Bishop Hunter.—Many of my compatriots are coming across in the 13th Company; I do not know their condition; perhaps their money and their provisions are scarce. If so, when they reach the Valley, I shall be grateful to you for furnishing them their needs, through the hand of [Brother Morgan], and I shall pay you in Manti, San Pete Valley.”7

Rob: You usually don’t realize you have a problem until you are in so deep you can no longer see the light. That’s what happened with me. I was curious and justified my involvement with pornography by reminding myself that guys at school were involved with it too, and it didn’t seem like a big problem for them.
Pornography first appeals to curiosity. Somehow, just looking doesn’t seem all that dangerous. Every one of us has gone into a store just to look—not to buy. But this is a huge store, with almost unlimited merchandise. Once we are in the store, the invitations to satisfy our curiosity are endless. And so curiosity is never satisfied.
There are lots of things in life—like rattlesnakes or abandoned mine shafts or drugs—that we may be curious about. But knowing how dangerous they are, we walk away or leave the party or turn off the computer.
Actually, with pornography, there is no such thing as “just looking.” Looking is the problem. Viewing pornography triggers sexual feelings. We can easily get hooked on those pleasurable feelings, especially if they seem to relieve stress or anxiety—and we can start a cycle of addiction just as difficult to break as an addiction to drugs or alcohol.
Rob: Curiosity turned to interest, and interest developed into a strong habit. Soon I was addicted. I would get home from school, go straight to the computer, and be there for hours. My social life suffered. So did my schoolwork, family ties, and—most important—my spirituality.
At the very time I most needed the promptings of the Spirit in my life, I was less and less able to feel anything. Life became a constant struggle against depression.
My soul hungered, and the only thing I fed it offered no nourishment. I would get discouraged with myself, so I would delve into pornography to feel better. But the pornography would upset me even more.
Guilt, fear, and depression are common emotions for those involved with pornography—guilt, because they know what they are doing is wrong; fear, because they are terrified their secret will be found out; and depression, because they no longer feel the Spirit. Relationships with family, friends, Church leaders, and the Lord are damaged.
Blair: My self-confidence dwindled in church, school, and everywhere. Many times I felt very alone, awkward, and unworthy. If a girl liked me, I would think, “She wouldn’t like me if she really knew me.” I would shy away from being social.
Rob: Through all those years I attended church, but I was mentally inactive. I kept going to church so I wouldn’t upset my parents. But I knew the lifestyle I was caught up in was wrong. I noticed a change in my own countenance day by day, year by year. I became calloused and hardened. I found myself lying to my parents, my bishop, everyone around me. Inside I was going through personal turmoil and spiritual torment.
As these young men struggled with their addiction to pornography, each tried to overcome it on his own. But like a hiker trapped in a dangerous crevice, each needed help. Talking to the bishop became the key to changing the direction of their lives.
Blair: I prayed for strength to leave these temptations alone. I made a list of things such as prayer, scriptures, and clean thoughts that would help me draw close to God. But although I worked hard, it didn’t solve my problems.
The thought of confessing to the bishop made me cringe. I felt it would be better to tell the bishop about the problem when it was in the past. But I finally realized it wasn’t ever going to be in the past if I did not confess. If God already knew my struggles and I felt comfortable talking about them in prayer, why not talk face to face with God’s servant? Once I finally decided to confess, I felt a reassuring peace that it was the right thing to do.
If you are using pornography, you are not morally clean, even if you haven’t done anything else immoral. Rob talks about realizing he wasn’t worthy to go to the temple or on a mission.
Rob: I humbly bowed before the Lord in tears and pleaded for strength beyond my own. Night after night I prayed, and finally I knew I had to talk to my bishop about it. That was the hardest part—admitting to someone else that I had a problem. I kept thinking I could handle it myself and no one would ever have to know. I wanted it to be something just between God and me. But I finally matured to a point where I realized that was impossible. I approached my bishop and began a long and difficult repentance process.
Repentance may be difficult, but it is also comforting and filled with hope.
Speaking of those who struggle with pornography, one bishop says: “Help is available. The repentance process is just that—a process. It takes time to break negative patterns, and each small victory must be acknowledged, reinforced, and celebrated along the way. Sometimes those I have worked with still struggle, but at least they are not hiding anymore. They have begun to build a support system. They have realized they don’t have to face this challenge alone.”
A former bishop explains: “Besides my own family, I don’t think I loved anyone in my ward quite as much as I loved those who came to me with broken hearts, seeking forgiveness and peace. They cared more about what the Lord thought of them than what any person thought. I respected their courage and desire to make things right. I shed tears over them. I rejoiced when they were clean and whole again. And afterward I never looked at them as former sinners—only as beloved brothers and sisters.”
“Trust in the Lord,” counseled Elder Richard G. Scott of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “He knows what He is doing. He already knows of your problems. And He is waiting for you to ask for help” (“Trust in the Lord,” Ensign, May 1989, 36).
I felt relief when I stopped pretending. Sharing the burden with my bishop and my family meant I no longer had to deal with this addiction alone. Now I hold on to this support system.
A problem that dominated my youth could not be overcome overnight. This road has been long and hard—and it continues. It isn’t enough anymore to look happy. I want to be happy. I am coming to know Christ and to understand the Atonement. The Savior gives me the strength I need so my self-confidence and self-respect grow each day.
I was honest with my bishop. And when my dad talked to me, I was honest with him too. We worked on the problem together. We decided not to have the Internet in our home for a while. That was a big help.
I’m turning 16 soon, and I’m glad I decided not to let pornography control my life. I feel better about myself, and I think about young women differently than I did before. With my bishop’s help, I’m preparing now for the temple, a mission, and a great marriage one day.
It took a lot of time and sincere effort to break bad habits. Eventually I was judged by my priesthood leader as worthy to serve a mission. The best feeling in the world was to go to the temple and know I am clean. The Spirit I wanted to feel during all those teenage years came flooding into my heart and life. I am so thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The adversary still works on me, trying to get me to backslide. But I have learned to put on the armor of God every day. I know Jesus Christ loves me, and I love Him.

Dr. A. G. Kfoury, a devout Catholic who worked closely with Dr. Renlund for many years, states that Dr. Renlund was the lead transplant cardiologist in the region, “unmatched in his character, integrity, humility, and compassion.” He says Dr. Renlund “brought out the best in people. He did it quietly. He listened well and cared, and he was immensely interested in the success of those who worked with him.” Dr. Renlund led quietly by example and was always concerned about the families of his co-workers.
Dr. Kfoury particularly noted Dr. Renlund’s compassion for patients. For example, if a patient didn’t have means of transportation, Dr. Renlund would drive significant distances to the patient’s home, lift him or her into his car, and then drive the patient back to the hospital. Dr. Kfoury said this was extraordinary.

A true story from the Philippines.
Shia took a deep breath and tried to focus. She could do this. She let the shuttlecock drop from her hand, swung with her racket, and …
Plonk!
The shuttlecock hit the floor right in front of her toes.
Shia huffed and frowned. She missed. Again.
Dad jogged over from the side of the badminton court. “Good try! Maybe bend your wrist more next time you serve.”
“Serving is so hard!” Shia said. She looked over at the other court where her cousins, Analyn and Jovan, were playing. The shuttlecock flew over the net as they took turns hitting it with their rackets. They made it look easy!
Dad put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ll improve at badminton. It just takes some practice.”
“But I want to be good now,” Shia said.
Dad smiled. “Maybe your team practice tomorrow will go better.”
But the next day, team practice was not better. Shia missed the shuttlecock more times than she hit it. She couldn’t serve it over the net. And during break, she tripped and spilled water all over her uniform.
Layla, the team captain, pointed at her wet shirt and laughed. “You’re so clumsy, Shia!”
Shia felt her cheeks get hot. Then her coach called everyone over to the court.
“All right, everyone, the tournament is in just a few weeks. Everyone partner up!”
Analyn tapped Shia on the shoulder. “We can be partners. I’ll help you practice.”
Layla laughed. “Shia’s the weakest on the team! You’re never going to win if she’s your partner.”
Shia looked at her feet. Layla was right. She was the weakest on the team, and she wasn’t sure if she’d ever get better.
When Shia got home, Mom was making chicken adobo on the stove. Her baby brother, Tolome, was crying and holding Mom’s leg.
Mom looked relieved to see Shia. “Oh good, you’re home! Can you take Tolome and play with him while I finish dinner?”
Shia didn’t feel like playing right now. But Tolome looked so sad! Shia scooped him up. Tolome kept crying.
Shia set him on the floor and pulled out some craft paper from the cabinet. Quietly, she started folding an origami cat.
Tolome watched her, and slowly, he calmed down. Shia finished the cat and held it up. “Meow!”
Tolome giggled. Shia gave him the origami cat and started folding paper cranes, rabbits, and turtles for them to play with.
“What a good helper you are!”
Shia turned around and saw Mom smiling. “Thank you for helping me today. That was very Christlike of you,” Mom said.
“I’m glad I could help.” Shia looked at how happy Tolome was and felt warm inside. Even if she was terrible at serving the shuttlecock in badminton, maybe she could try really hard to be the best at serving her family.
Over the next few weeks, Shia tried to get better at serving—on the court and at home. She practiced every day after school on the badminton court. She helped Mom with Tolome after practice at home. And she prayed that Heavenly Father would help her prepare for her tournament.
When the day of the tournament came, Shia was so nervous! She and Analyn walked onto the court. Mom, Dad, and Tolome waved from the bleachers. When it was her turn to serve, Shia took a deep breath. She could do this.
Shia let the shuttlecock drop from her hand, swung with her racket, and …
Whack!
It went over the net! She heard Dad cheer. She did it!
Maybe serving wasn’t so hard after all.
Illustrations by Beatrice Costamagna. May be copied for Church use only.

I hated going without showers, eating half-cooked food, and sharing my living quarters with creepy creatures like spiders, yet there I was at girls’ camp. But the truth was I was having the time of my life.
My group was known as the Pink Ladies, and our leader gave each of us bright pink neon shoelaces as our trademark. After enduring five days of rain and cold in the great outdoors, we renamed our group the Pink Penguins.
The rain subsided just long enough to end the week with an evening testimony meeting. My testimony of Christ had been strengthened that week during evening scripture study and gospel discussions with my new friends. During the meeting I thought of my lifestyle at home. I had become friends with girls who were not living up to Church standards. My best friend, Amy, had been telling me how great smoking is and how fun I would be if only I loosened up a bit.
The Spirit had really touched me at camp, and I committed to myself to live a better life when I returned to civilization. I had never borne my testimony before, but I really wanted to this time. As I struggled to muster the courage to stand, I caught a glimpse of the feet of the girls in my group, all of them wearing their pink laces. One by one the girls’ feet carried them to the front where they bore their testimonies.
I looked down at my laces and thought of the love and unity we felt that week and realized I had a terrific support group all around me. With that I stood and headed toward the front. While bearing my testimony, the Spirit was so strong I remember thinking I never wanted to live without it again.

I met Sister Faustina Otoo in West Africa in 1986. Her husband divorced her when she joined the Church, leaving her destitute. She worked at anything to support herself and her children. Now, from her window in the Church Area office in Accra, Ghana she looks out over the beautiful Accra Temple. Imagine the miracle it is for the Saints in Ghana to see this temple finally come to pass. I see it as a marvelous work and a wonder....for just 18 years ago the Church operation in Ghana was completely closed. The Ghanaian government had heard propaganda about the LDS Church and decided to seize the Church's assets and to close all chapels and other Church buildings. The radio and television media bombarded people with horrible stories about the Church. They said Joseph Smith was a criminal who died in prison. They said the Church persecuted Blacks. They said the temples were places where evil things took place. During this difficult period the Saints met quietly in one another's homes and kept the faith. At that time, Faustina wrote to me saying, "The gospel is a pill I have swallowed and it is already working its good in me. Do not worry about me. I will always be faithful." Are we demonstrating that the gospel is "working its good" in us?

A few weeks ago, I was getting ready to do a workout with my oldest daughter in my home. She plays volleyball, and was advised by her Coach to do extra physical activities for strength training on the off-days that she did not have practice. I could tell she was excited to work out with me for the first time in our home. As I walked over to put on my shoes, I noticed that my socks were not where I put them from the previous day. I searched all over the back room near the area where I had my shoes but could not find it. I was puzzled, how can it disappear that fast when I had just used them the day before. While I was sitting there thinking of where else it could be, my daughter walks out wearing the exact socks that I was looking for, my socks. I questioned her, “Are those my socks? Did you take it out of my shoes?” “NO Mum, these are my own socks that were in my shoes!” she replied. “I never touched your socks! I don’t know where they are!” My other daughter said, “Mum, maybe Dad took it!” and I said, “There is NO way Dad will take it because they’re too small for his feet and he will not fit into it!” At this point, I was fuming. I was convinced that the socks she was wearing were mine and that she was not telling me the truth. I asked her again, and she replied nervously knowing that I was angry and that she would be facing consequences real soon. “I promise Mum, these are my socks and they were always in my shoes!” “So where are my socks and how can it disappear so fast from where I left them?” “If there’s one thing I hate the most is having a dishonest child!” I angrily said to her. At this point, she was already tearing up not knowing what else she can say to convince me that she was telling the truth. As the angry, impatient, and poor judgement of a parent I was, I thought I was doing my responsibility to discipline her at that moment to teach her a very valuable lesson.

A few minutes later, my husband walks in after playing rugby that evening. He saw my daughter crying on the couch and asked, “What happened?” I told him that she had to suffer consequences for lying to me about using my socks. And that she would not confess to it. He said, “Oh, which socks? I took a pair of socks that were in your running shoes to use because I couldn’t find mine!”

You can just imagine the rush of guilt I felt as soon as my husband’s words sunk in. To make matters worse, my 3 other children witnessed the whole ordeal, and they too knew that I was in the wrong. Even with the guilt I felt, my pride did NOT subside. I did not want to let my children see me vulnerable as a parent so I did what I thought was appropriate. I turned to my husband and BLAMED him for everything. He took the socks without my permission and my knowledge, which made me think that my daughter took it, and she paid the price for both mine and my husband’s mistakes. Instead of me, the parent, teaching my daughter the “valuable” lesson that I was so convinced she needed, it was SHE who taught me a very “VALUABLE” lesson that day. She has never given us a reason to doubt her. She is considerate, kind, respectful, and honest. Why did I not TRUST her enough to know she was telling the truth?

When Peggy told me her husband, John, after 31 years of marriage, was going to be baptized, I asked what had changed.

Peggy said, “John and I were studying the New Testament Come, Follow Me, and John asked about Church doctrine.”

Peggy said, “Let’s invite the missionaries.”

John said, “No missionaries—unless my friend can come.” Over 10 years, John’s ministering brother had become his trusted friend. (I thought, What if John’s ministering brother had stopped coming after one, two, or nine years?)

John listened. He read the Book of Mormon with real intent. When the missionaries invited John to be baptized, he said yes. Peggy said, “I fell off my chair and started to cry.”

John said, “I changed as I drew closer to the Lord.” Later, John and Peggy were sealed in the holy temple. Last December, John passed away at age 92. Peggy says, “John was always a good person, but he became different in a beautiful way after he was baptized.”

Stevie loved story time. Every Wednesday his mother took him to the library. Bonnie, the storyteller, greeted him at her desk and handed him his name tag. Later Bonnie led Stevie and the other children into the story room. Then the fun began. Bonnie told stories, put on puppet plays, and sang with them. Stevie thought that Bonnie was almost as terrific as his mother. That was pretty terrific! After the last story, Bonnie said good-bye to them and asked them to leave their name tags with her.
But one day Bonnie surprised them. “Next time, I want you all to bring a teddy bear,” she said. “Our story time will be ‘Teddy-Bear Day.’ I will give each of you a paper to give to your parents. The paper will be a reminder to not forget your teddy bears. OK, see you next week.”
Stevie didn’t have a teddy bear. He didn’t know what to do. He slowly walked out to the table where his mother was waiting. He handed her the paper Bonnie had given him. When his mother saw how worried Stevie looked, she read the paper.
“Stevie, are you worried because you don’t have a teddy bear?” she asked. “I’m sure that you can bring something else. You have lots of great stuffed animals. You have that big, shaggy dog that Uncle Todd gave you for Christmas. You have that kangaroo. And that little white cat from your big sister. You have all kinds of stuffed animals to bring.”
Stevie wasn’t sure that dogs and kangaroos and cats counted.
“In fact,” his mother added when he hesitated, “Bonnie will have so many teddy bears at story time that she’ll be glad to see a dog or kangaroo or cat.”
Stevie smiled. He’d bring one of his stuffed animals, and everything would be fine.
By the following Wednesday, he had decided on his stuffed cat. He wanted to surprise Bonnie, so he hid it under his jacket when he went to get his name tag.
Bonnie looked at the lump under his jacket and asked, “Is your bear a secret?”
Stevie nodded. When he entered the story room, he saw lots of teddy bears. There were teddy bears and more teddy bears. Big brown ones. Little black ones and fat white ones. One bear had a red hat on, and another wore pink boots.
Stevie started to worry again. Maybe it wasn’t all right to bring a cat, after all. He kept his cat hidden under his jacket.
Bonnie sat down with her books and puppets. “I see you all remembered to bring your teddy bears. Oh, my, I see some beautiful ones! Stevie, you can bring your bear out now.”
Stevie looked down and shook his head.
“Please, Stevie,” asked Bonnie.
Stevie shook his head again. He wasn’t going to let all the other children laugh at his little white cat.
Bonnie tried again. “Stevie, it will make me very sad if you don’t let us see your teddy.”
Stevie looked up in surprise. He didn’t want to make Bonnie sad. Slowly he reached under his jacket and brought it out.
The girl next to him whispered, “That’s not a teddy bear!”
“But it is one of the prettiest little cats I’ve ever seen,” Bonnie quickly said. “Thank you for sharing him with us, Stevie.”
She smiled at Stevie, and Stevie smiled back. “His name is Teddy,” he said proudly.
“Well, then I’m sure he’ll feel very much at home with all the other ‘Teddies.’”
Bonnie opened her first book, and Stevie and Teddy snuggled up to listen.

Mother couldn’t help noticing the serious, thoughtful look on Eric’s face as they drove home from church. “How was Primary today, Eric?”
“Fine.”
“What did you learn today?” Mother asked.
“We talked about choosing the right in our class, and Sharing Time was about temples.”
“I can’t think of anything more special to talk about than temples,” Mother cheerfully replied. But she noticed that the faraway look was still in Eric’s eyes as they pulled into the driveway. “After you change your clothes, would you please help me set the table for dinner?” she asked.
As they were setting the table, Eric asked, “You and Dad were married in the temple, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“So that means I’m sealed to you for eternity?”
“Right again,” Mother replied.
“I won’t get to go inside the temple until I’m grown up, will I?”
Mother reminded Eric that his brother, Nathan, who was twelve and a deacon, had gone to the temple the month before and had been baptized for the dead, and how he, Eric, could do that, too, when he was twelve and held the Aaronic Priesthood. She also told him that when he was nineteen and ordained an elder, he could go through the temple for his own endowments before leaving on his mission.
Eric smiled at Mother, “I’m really looking forward to doing both of those things, but it’s not the same as what Joey did. When Sister Jones asked today in Sharing Time if anyone had a special experience to tell about the temple, Joey told about the missionaries teaching his family and about their baptism. He said that a year after they were baptized, they went to the temple as a family and were sealed together. He told about how beautiful the temple is inside and about how special it was to be dressed all in white and kneel down by the altar with his mom and dad and brothers and sisters.
“Mom, that sounds so exciting! I wish I had a story about the temple that I could share.”
Mother’s eyes sparkled. “You do, Eric. I’ll tell you all about it after dinner.”
Mother always fixed someone’s favorite dinner on Sunday, and of course the best part was dessert. Today, though, Eric was anxious for a different kind of after-dinner treat. It made his day when his older sister, Angie, and Dad volunteered to clean up the dishes so that Mother could tell him the special temple story right away.
They went to the family room, and Mother pulled her book of remembrance from a shelf and turned to a picture of a man with white hair and a white beard. She told Eric, “Welcome Chapman was my grandmother’s grandfather. While still a young man, Welcome heard rumors of a Joseph Smith, who was living in western New York, and who claimed to have a golden book that was given to him by an angel, and to have had visions and revelations. He also claimed that he had seen Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father. He said that They had instructed him to organize a new church.
“After thinking a lot about it, Welcome decided to find out for himself whether what he’d heard was true. Against the wishes of his parents, he saddled his horse and rode two hundred miles to New York.
“When he found the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Mother continued, “he discovered that they were about the same age. Welcome heard a complete account of all that had happened to Joseph, including how he obtained and translated the records on the golden plates, and was very much impressed with the Prophet and his wonderful experiences.
“He stayed two weeks at the home of the Prophet, learning all he could of the gospel. Convinced that this was the true religion, Welcome was baptized. Because of his activities in the Church and the esteem Joseph Smith had for him, he was made one of the Prophet’s bodyguards.”
“Wow!” Eric exclaimed. “He had an important job, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Mother said, “but sometimes it was dangerous, not only for him but for his family. One time while he was away on guard duty, a mob went to their home and told his wife that if there was anything in the house that she wanted, to get it out before they burned the house down. Sick at heart, she got everything out while the mob looked on. The cupboard was so heavy that she couldn’t move it alone, so one of the men helped her get it out. Then, while she and the children watched, the mobbers burned the house to the ground.
“Welcome and his family passed through many of the trials, persecutions, and other hardships that fell upon the Church and its members at that time.”
Eric had heard stories about the pioneers before, but he had never imagined that his very own grandparents had been some of them. It was exciting to picture Grandpa Welcome with the Prophet Joseph Smith. He also felt bad for their losing their home and having been treated cruelly. But he wondered what Mother told him had to do with the temple.
“You see,” she continued, “Welcome was a stonecutter, so when he was living in Kirtland, he was called to cut stone for the Kirtland Temple. Later, when the Saints were building the Nauvoo Temple, he cut stone for it. And it was in the Nauvoo Temple that many Saints, including Welcome, received their endowments.
“The Saints were driven out of Nauvoo in the early spring of 1846, and they began their long trek westward. Welcome and his family spent the first winter at Winter Quarters. That next spring, Welcome was appointed captain over the fourth company, which arrived at the Salt Lake Valley in the late summer of 1847.
“In 1849, Chief Walker, the Ute Indian chief, met in council with President Brigham Young. He requested the Mormon leader to send colonists to settle on their land. Welcome and his family went to help settle the town of Manti in the Sanpete Valley.
“On July 27, 1854, Welcome was sustained as the Manti Stake president. That afternoon, as they were baptizing some settlers who had been converted, a large crowd gathered. Among them was Chief Walker and many of his people. Welcome asked the chief if any of his people would like to be baptized. The chief replied that he did not know but would ask them. That day many Indians were baptized there.
“After serving as Manti Stake president for eight years, Welcome was called by President Young on a mission to cut stone for the Salt Lake Temple, which he did until he was seventy-five years old.”
Eric looked up at the picture on the wall of the Salt Lake Temple with a new feeling of reverence. He felt proud that one of his ancestors had cut stone for the beautiful temple. He also felt proud as he thought of the good and faithful life Welcome had lived.
Eric gave Mother a big hug and kiss and thanked her for telling him about Grandpa Welcome. “You know, Mom, not only do I have a temple story to share, but I also have a neat Grandpa that I didn’t know about before. I want to live my life like Grandpa Welcome did and do what Jesus wants me to do so I can go to the temple someday too.”

Near the end of last year, I learned of the passing of a dear couple, Mario and Regina Emerick, who were very faithful to the Lord and passed away four days apart from one another due to complications from COVID-19.

One of their sons, who is currently serving as a bishop in Brazil, related the following to me: “It was so difficult to see my parents depart from this world in that condition, but I could clearly feel the hand of the Lord in my life amidst that tragedy, because I received strength and peace that transcended my understanding. Through my faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement, I received divine help to strengthen and comfort my family members and all those who helped us during this trying experience. Even though the miracle that everyone hoped for did not occur, personally I am a witness of many other miracles that have occurred in my own life and in the lives of my family members. I felt an inexplicable peace that penetrated the depths of my heart, giving me hope and confidence in the love of the Savior for me and in the plan of happiness of God for His children. I learned that on the very most grief-filled days, the loving arms of the Savior are always extended when we seek Him with all our heart, power, mind, and strength.”

Last Christmas, my mom’s whole family came to our house. We all wrote down things that we were going to give Christ for the next year. Then we went around and said what we had decided to give.
My grandma said she was going to read the Book of Mormon in four months. My grandma has not gone to church since she was nine and has only read parts of the Bible. We were all surprised. She said she wanted to read it because all of her kids and most of her grandkids had read it. She wanted to know why it was so important to us.
All of my aunts, uncles, and most of my cousins decided to read the Book of Mormon with her. I wasn’t sure if she was going to do it, but she is now starting the book of Alma. She really likes it. I feel happy when I read the Book of Mormon and know that my grandma is reading it as well.

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

To be honest about it, the seminary students in the Phoenix Park Ward of the Dublin Ireland Stake were a little worried. More than a little worried. Their stake president and their bishop had approached them about something new. Would they be the first seminary class in all of Ireland to try meeting every day—early every day?
Elaine O’Farrell, 15, put their fears into words. “I thought if we see each other every day, we’ll get on each other’s nerves.” And there was that other obvious worry. Pamela Fagan, 15, said, “No way would they get me out of bed that early.” And Farris Bukhatwa, 17, and Louise Byrne, 17, lived the farthest distance away. It was not going to be easy.
But not everyone was worried about the early-morning class. Jenna Gallagher, 15, was a little bit excited about the idea. Of course, her dad is the stake president. But it went beyond supporting dad. This was going to be her first year of seminary. She said, “I used to hear about early-morning seminary in America. I always dreamed of going to seminary that way. I was really pleased when we were told we were going to do it. I knew if I made a sacrifice, the Lord would bless me.”
Then it happened. Things started to work out. Farris got the car in the mornings and could pick up Louise. Pamela even agreed to getting up extra early to be ready to leave on time with her brother Derek. Elaine changed her mind and said that she liked seeing these people every morning. Jenna was happy just to be in seminary. Brett, 18, and Brandt Crowther, 16, the mission president’s sons, were thrilled to be with other Church members their same ages every day. And best of all, their teacher, Rosemary Richmond, was terrific.

Born 9 July 1936 in Grass Valley, Oregon, to Merrill and Mal Berg Oveson, Stephen was the third of four children. He grew up in Oregon, then attended Brigham Young University before serving in the Northern Mexican Mission from 1956 to 1959. Upon his return to BYU to study finance and banking, he met Dixie Randall of Tempe, Arizona. On 7 September 1960, they married in the Arizona Temple. After they graduated from BYU in 1961, they moved to Tempe.

Brother Oveson spent the first 10 years of his career in finance and banking. In 1970, he went to work for the founder of Granada Royale Hometels—the first all-suite hotel chain in the United States. This chain eventually became Embassy Suites. In 1985, Brother Oveson started his own hotel development and management company—Suite Thinking, Inc.

Now residents of San Juan Capistrano, California, the Ovesons are the parents of six children, all sons, and grandparents of 15. With a family of boys, the Ovesons have always enjoyed sports and outdoor activities. Among their favorite memories over the last 25 years are yearly family vacations at Lake Powell and skiing trips to Utah. All of the boys have served missions.

No strangers to heartache, the Ovesons lost a two-and-a-half-year-old son to death. Today, still aware of the suffering of little children, Brother Oveson has found time among his many activities to be involved with Pathway, a center for disadvantaged children in Madras, India.

“I have a strong conviction that Heavenly Father’s plan for me is the one that I need to follow,” says Elder Oveson, who has served as a bishop, a stake missionary, a stake high councilor, and a temple ordinance worker in the San Diego Temple. “I look upon this calling as another blessing and opportunity from the Lord, and I plan to fulfill it to the best of my abilities.”