Gospel Story Finder

The summer before my senior year of high school, my family moved from northern Virginia, USA, near Washington, D.C., to a small town in California. This was not an easy transition. I was looking forward to finishing high school with my friends. At 17 years old, I felt like my life was over!
My senior year wasn’t easy. I felt lonely a lot. But during that time, I learned the importance of finding good friends who support me and respect my beliefs. That has been helpful to me ever since.

In October of 2018, President Nelson traveled to South America, where he met with the president of Peru. Then, just as he had done in Colombia, he gathered with a small group of young men and young women before addressing almost 6,000 in a member devotional broadcast throughout the country. [32]

When he asked for questions one brave young woman spoke up: “What do I do if I am the only member in my family?” she said.

Her question was filled with doubt — about her status in the Lord’s kingdom and her ability to move forward without the same level of religious support many youth her age enjoy.

But President Nelson did not hesitate. He looked her in the eyes and said, “You and I are just alike.”

At first, I didn’t understand what President Nelson meant by that response. He is a world-renowned heart surgeon in his 90s who had just met with the president of Peru. She was a young girl, wondering if she was seen by the Lord.

President Nelson spoke of his own youth, where he was the only active member of the Church in his family. He asked the young woman to let God prevail in her life. “Your family and your friends will see the light of the gospel reflected in you,” he said. [33]

Danetta Blackwelder, Tallahassee, Florida—I remember that my first-quarter psychology professor took special delight in mocking the “superstitions” of religion. “Man,” he said, supported by his interpretation of scientific facts, “is not spiritual but merely physical and mental,” and all physical and mental processes result from environmental stimuli. Man has no control over himself; he only thinks he does. The professor mentioned once or twice two of his colleagues who are members of the Church. Their inconsistency in claiming scientific professionalism and being active men of faith was beyond his understanding. Then one day he came to class and apologized to any he might have offended. Someone had taken the time to explain certain things, he said, and he felt impelled to acknowledge that he could not deny the existence of anything with which he had never had personal experience. He said he had experienced some things—love was one—that he couldn’t see or touch but whose evidence was in some ways more real than anything else. He had never before made this application, but by extension, without experiencing religious faith personally, he said he would have to concede that such experiences were possible, even though they could not be recorded electronically or measured scientifically. Suddenly my faith was renewed in the reality of the light of Christ in all men, and I could see that his truth can penetrate anyone, if we will only give it a fair chance.

Some are overcome by major problems; others let small matters become big. Symonds Ryder was a Campbellite leader who heard about the Church and had a meeting with Joseph Smith. Moved by this experience, he joined the Church in June 1831. Immediately thereafter, he was ordained an elder and called to serve a mission. However, in his call letter from the First Presidency and on his official commission to preach, his name was misspelled—by one letter. His last name showed as R-i-d-e-r, not the correct R-y-d-e-r. This caused him to question his call and those from whom it came. He chose not to go on the mission and fell away, which soon led to hatred and intense opposition toward Joseph and the Church. In March 1832, when Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon were ripped from home during the night by an angry mob and tarred and feathered, a voice was heard to shout, “Simonds, Simonds [sic], where’s the tar bucket?” (History of the Church, 1:262–63). In less than 10 months, Symonds Ryder went from an eager convert to a mob leader, his spiritual decline starting with the offense taken over the misspelling of his name—by one letter. No matter the size of the issue, how we respond can reset the course of our life.

For William Wood the hike home across the foggy November English countryside was hard work—emotionally. The teenage butcher’s apprentice had just lost his job. And at a time when good jobs were hard to find! Inside he hurt—or maybe it was anger. Hadn’t he done a good job for Mr. Biaxall? Still, William was fired simply because he had become a Latter-day Saint. And as he trudged along he worried about his parents’ reaction to his changed circumstances.

Mr. Blaxall, whose family had shared their church pew with William on many Sundays, likewise tried to reconvert his young apprentice. Deep discussions, however, changed neither person. Finally, fearing loss of such important customers as the local parson, Mr. Blaxall gave William two choices: “Either quit Mormonism or find another job.”

“Sir,” answered the youth, “I will never give up my faith but will leave your service.”

Jobless, the disappointed new convert now had to explain his new situation to his parents, who had recently moved to Queensborough on the Isle of Sheppey in the mouth of the Thames River. His greatest desire now was to immigrate to Zion like many British converts had done, and along the way he tried to think of ways to earn enough money to reach Utah. While he waited for a ferry to take him across the mouth of the Thames, a verse from the Doctrine and Covenants suddenly burned itself into his mind, promising him that the Lord is bound when His children do what He says. William reflected upon that promise and decided then and there to place full trust in it. He “prayed to the Lord in my humble way, and told Him I would never recant, praying that I should succeed in obtaining employment and better wages to enable me to reach Zion.”

Minutes after his ferry docked at Sheerness on the Isle of Sheppey, William was warmly welcomed by his parents to their new dwelling. But upon learning how he lost his job, they pleaded with him to quit Mormonism and to return to Mr. Blaxall’s employment. “My dear mother was broken-hearted,” William said. They fretted about his loss of wages and found no comfort in his religious optimism. “I told them I was in the hands of God and inasmuch as I had obeyed His commands I had faith that I would obtain employment.”

Putting faith to work, William job-hunted around the island with his father’s help. He discovered that the Sheerness docks were extremely busy due to the war then raging in the Crimea (across the Black Sea from Turkey) where British, French, and Turkish forces battled Russian troops. “Everything was in excitement,” he recalled. “Merchants were making lots of money. The English navy was seeking men by offering bounties, and nearly all the naval ports were full of business.”

A butcher named Fillmore, with a contract to supply meat to British military units, thought William too young and inexperienced to employ. But after watching the teenager demonstrate his meat-cutting skills, the butcher hired him. The wages? More than double the amount paid by Mr. Blaxall! “I believe to this day,” William wrote 60 years later, “that the increases of wages … was a blessing from the Lord because I would not recant Mormonism and in answer to my prayers and for a fixed determination to gather to the valleys of the mountains.”

After his family joined the Church several years ago, 13-year-old Diogenes Gallegos of the Rio Kaw Branch, Lenexa Kansas Stake, was sealed to his parents and siblings in 1998 in the St. Louis Missouri Temple.
“My impression of the temple was fantastic,” says Diogenes. “When they did the sealing part, it was very spiritual and I started crying. My mom and my dad were crying, too. When it was over and they asked us to look at our eternal family in the double mirrors, even my eight-year-old brother started to cry. We were all so happy to be a family together for eternity.”

Let me share with you a few of my own experiences.

In 1978, shortly after returning from my mission, I had the opportunity to take the first of several trips to Italy to work with my father and grandfather carving statues from the crystalline-white marble quarried in the mountains above Carrara. On weekends we visited the great cathedrals and museums in Italy. One of the first cathedrals we visited was Santa Maria Novella, a quiet cathedral near the train station in Florence. As we entered the cathedral, the morning sun streamed through the stained-glass windows, projecting colored light along the walls and pews. I was drawn to a large fresco painting of the Trinity by the early Italian Renaissance painter Masaccio. The painting depicts the three members of the Godhead: God the Father at the highest point, His hands supporting the cross that bears His Son, and the Holy Ghost in the form of a dove immediately above Christ’s head. As I gazed on the painting, a strong spirit of reverence came over me. I remained there quietly admiring it, pondering the concept of the Godhead.

In the years that have passed since that time, the image of this painting has often come to mind, and each time I feel the same warm reverence that I felt that day. At the time I was 21 years of age and knew very little about the history of art. I later learned as part of my studies that this painting was among the most important in art history because it was the first use of scientific perspective in Western art. I also learned that Masaccio was only 21 years old when he painted the work. This masterpiece was one of only a few works that he completed before his untimely death at the age of 27. As I learned more about the technical details and historical significance of this work, my admiration for the painting, and its spiritual message, grew.

Another painting had a profound spiritual influence on me. As I child I lived in the Sugarhouse area of Salt Lake City. Our ward met in a lovely old meetinghouse built in an English Tudor style. The chapel had a long vaulted ceiling with dark oak woodwork and a wonderful pipe organ. At the front of the chapel behind the pulpit was a large mural of the Sacred Grove painted by the Latter-day Saint artist Lee Greene Richards. Every week as we met in sacrament meeting, I gazed at that painting. I don’t remember any of the words I heard over the pulpit, but the sweet promptings of the Spirit that I felt as a child in that chapel will always remain in my heart and are forever associated in my mind with that beautiful image of the Sacred Grove.

As many of you know, our family experienced a tender separation three months ago when our daughter Wendy departed from this mortal life. In the final days of her battle with cancer, I was blessed with the opportunity to have our farewell daddy-daughter conversation.
I held her hands and told her how much I loved her and how grateful I was to be her father. I said: “You married in the temple and faithfully honored your covenants. You and your husband welcomed seven children into your home and raised them to be devout disciples of Jesus Christ, valiant Church members, and contributing citizens. And they have chosen spouses of that same caliber. Your daddy is very, very proud of you. You have brought me much joy!”
She quietly responded, “Thank you, Daddy.”
It was a tender, tearful moment for us. During her 67 years, we worked together, sang together, and often skied together. But that evening, we talked of things that matter most, such as covenants, ordinances, obedience, faith, family, fidelity, love, and eternal life.
We miss our daughter greatly. However, because of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, we do not worry about her. As we continue to honor our covenants with God, we live in anticipation of our being with her again. Meanwhile, we’re serving the Lord here and she is serving Him there—in paradise.

In March 1832, Joseph Smith, the Prophet of the Restoration, was captured by an angry mob because he was preaching something new and different. His captors beat him and stripped him of his clothes. Then they scratched him and slathered his body with hot tar. Although tarring and feathering is not a common practice today, the mob mentality associated with it has found its way online, as we see public mocking, shaming, and actions aimed at destroying the reputations of others.

The morning after Joseph had been tarred and feathered, he stood to “meekly [preach] a sermon” to “mobbers and members alike.” Like Joseph Smith, we must follow Jesus Christ’s example and learn to forgive. You cannot control what others say or do, but you can control what you say and how you react.

“Ana, Ana, wake up!” The urgent cry finally woke me, and I instinctively jumped out of bed. From outside came more anguished words from my sister’s husband—“Hurry! We’ve had an accident. Your sister is in the hospital!”
It was 1977. Only four years earlier I had left Costa Rica to live in Los Angeles, California. Now my sister was close to losing her life, thousands of kilometers away form the rest of our family.
After making our way to the medical center, we climbed the stairs, took an elevator, and located the intensive care unit. We opened the doors, and there, surrounded by doctors and medical equipment, was the inert body of my sister.
A nurse saw us and led us away. We waited in the cold hallway all night long, feeling no comfort from the stark walls as the hours ticked away. When the doctor finally met with us, his prognosis was not encouraging.
As I sat there on a cold bench, my thoughts turned to the power of the priesthood. My sister was not a member of the Church, but oh, how I wanted her to have a blessing! I called by bishop and asked if he would administer to her. When he assented, my heart overflowed with gratitude. I knew that everything would be all right.
A short time later, he arrived and gave my sister a blessing. Then he gave me a blessing. I was told that “the Lord knows where your sister is most needed.” Of course, I believed that she was most needed here. She had three small children to rear.
Two days after the accident, my sister died. The Lord took her home.
What I remember now is the serenity that took possession of me during those difficult hours. Exactly one year after her death, I did vicarious work for her in the temple. I have no doubt that the power of the priesthood is real.

This story happened in the USA.
Aisea ran and kicked the ball to his teammate, Timothy. He watched as Timothy swung his foot back and kicked the ball into the goal.
“Score!” Timothy shouted as the ball hit the net.
Aisea cheered. They had won the game!
As he walked off the field, he felt great! But then one of the kids on the other team, Josh, called him a mean name.
Aisea felt surprised and hurt. He didn’t know what to say. He looked down at the ground and walked slowly to his teammates.
“We did it!” Timothy said. “Great pass, Aisea.”
But Aisea didn’t feel great. Not after what Josh said to him! He felt sad and angry.
The rest of the day, Aisea felt like a heavy weight was pulling him down. He did not like Josh anymore.
That night, Aisea sat with his family during scripture time. He tried to listen to his sister read. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what Josh said.
Aisea looked through the pages of his Book of Mormon. He stopped at a scripture in 1 Nephi. It was about a time when Nephi’s brothers were unkind to him.
“And it came to pass that I did frankly forgive them,” the scripture said.*
Nephi forgave his brothers? Aisea thought. Even after they were so mean?
Aisea thought about Josh. He didn’t want to hold onto his bad feelings for Josh forever. He was only 10!
Aisea wanted to be like Nephi. He could forgive Josh, just like Nephi forgave his brothers. And if Josh said something mean again, he would just ask him not to.
He felt warm and peaceful inside. It was like the Holy Ghost was saying, “You’re doing the right thing.”
“Aisea, what did you learn from these scriptures?” Mom asked.
Aisea looked up. “Sorry, I was reading a different scripture,” he said. He told his family what happened at soccer.
Mom and Dad pulled Aisea into a hug. “I’m sorry Josh was mean to you,” Dad said. “What he said was not true. But it’s OK to feel hurt by it.”
Aisea smiled. “Thanks. For a while I was really angry. But now that I’ve read the scriptures, I don’t want to be mad at him. I want to forgive him. And I already feel better!”
“That’s wonderful!” Mom smiled too. “Forgiving isn’t always easy. But you’re right. It is worth it.”
Aisea looked down at his scriptures. They had helped him! The heavy weight from before was gone. His heart felt warm and full of peace instead.

One Sunday right in the middle of the branch sacrament meeting, a woman walked in the door off the street. She was a homeless woman who was wearing dirty, ragged clothes, coughing, choking, and blowing her nose into a filthy handkerchief. In a loud, hoarse voice she said, “I want to sing! I want to pray!” and walked right to the front row and sat down next to a member who was wearing a white blouse, leaned against her, and laid her head on her shoulder. The member immediately put her arms around this guest and held her in her arms throughout the remainder of the meeting. It happened that the speaker had been talking about the parable of the good Samaritan as the woman had come in. As this woman coughed and choked, the speaker continued telling of the parable. As he came to the end of his talk and was quoting a relevant scripture, suddenly, in a loud voice, this homeless woman finished giving the verse that the speaker had begun. In talking of this after sacrament meeting with the speaker, we thought it had probably been a long time since someone had affectionately put an arm around our visitor. We wondered what better illustration you could have of the parable of the good Samaritan than what we had just seen, and we were reminded of the Savior’s words that preceded His telling of that parable: “Thou shalt love … thy neighbour as thyself.”

Walnetta Broederlow McCall was only nine years old when a missionary asked if anyone could play piano for their fledgling congregation. “I gingerly put up my hand!” she recalls. The missionary, Elder Charles W. Ashman, was not deterred by her age or inexperience. He gave Walnetta hymns to practice, and the following week, she became the pianist for their meetings.
When Walnetta’s family migrated from Fiji to Devonport on Auckland’s North Shore a few years after the Second World War, her father, Oscar P. Broederlow, and his family, were the only known members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in that area. But the missionaries set to work and soon there were enough new converts to hold meetings in the Devonport Labour Hall, arranged by Walnetta’s mother, Hilda E. Lobendahn Broederlow.
Once the Relief Society organisation was established there, the small group of sisters would meet weekly in the home of Sister Norma Roberts. Walnetta’s mum took her along so that she could provide the piano accompaniment for ‘the singing mothers’. “Primary had not yet been formed,” she recalls, “so I always look back bemused at the fact that for me, attendance at Relief Society preceded Primary!”
Walnetta’s musical skills strengthened as she continued to serve. She witnessed the miraculous growth of the Church in her area, and with it came the opportunity to develop her talent. In her early teens, her branch became the Auckland 5th Ward, and its new chapel featured an electric pipe organ. Walnetta had never played an organ before. “The installer handed me a pamphlet and gave me a very quick rundown—it took about fifteen minutes,” she says. It would be the only organ-playing instructions she would ever receive—but she was not fazed. “I knew the Lord would help me. I then made it my business to learn all I could and to practice, practice, practice!”
For 70 years now, Walnetta’s dedication to music has blessed so many. When President Steve Midgely, a former stake president for the Whangarei Stake, had difficulty finding an organist for a stake conference, Walnetta was happy to meet his request. And, whenever Area President David Baxter presided at Takapuna Ward sacrament meetings, he would always stop by the organ after the service to thank Walnetta for the music.
“I’m sure I speak for all music personnel when I say we feel appreciated when the brethren and members are grateful for the music we provide,” she says. “I have played for ward, stake and Pacific Area meetings [and] accompanied Church choirs, particularly in local music competitions.” She feels honoured to have been able to work with so many talented singers and instrumentalists in the Church as they performed musical numbers.
Over the years, Walnetta has served in many other callings and enjoyed those experiences too. Today, she feels just as privileged to provide prelude music in her current Taupo Ward, to invite the Holy Spirit and set a reverent tone for their sacrament meetings. Reflecting on her love for her calling, she is so grateful for the gift that Elder Ashman gave her all those years ago when he asked for a volunteer pianist. “His invitation to play for our meetings and [his] confidence in me has blessed my life,” she says.
Music quickly became her expression of love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, and each of the hymns she has learned holds so much meaning for her. The first hymn she ever played was, “Lord, Dismiss Us with Thy Blessing.”

“It is a prayer that God’s Spirit will always be with us,” Walnetta says, “and over the years, that truth has been manifest in my life.”

Could she ever choose a favourite hymn? After some thought, Walnetta’s conclusion is, no. “What is more important to me is that no matter which hymn I play, I am always grateful to feel the Spirit as I have played that hymn.” She continues: “Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) once said, ‘We are in a position, as musicians, to touch the souls of those who listen.’1

“I feel that responsibility.”

I stammered and stuttered during my growing-up years. In school, I would never be involved in anything that required more than a minimum of speaking. My parents sent me to speech teachers and therapists, but they couldn’t correct my problem. However, just before my father became ill, I received my patriarchal blessing. It said, in part, “Lloyd, you have problems. Know this—the Lord loves you and wants you to be happy. I bless you that you shall go out into the world and preach the gospel with force to a waiting world.” Because of this blessing, I accepted a call to the Southern States Mission.
The first month of my mission was terrible. I had never administered the sacrament or given a talk. My companion had me talk to one lady at her door, and I stuttered and stammered terribly. After a month of not making any improvement, I prayed, “Lord, now is the time. If I don’t have relief from this affliction, the mission president will send me home. Lord, it has to be now!”
Gradually I was able to speak more fluently. After six months I went back to some elderly sisters that we had taught, and I really gave them and some others what I thought was my best talk. Afterward, with tears in their eyes, some of them came up to me and said, “The Lord has really blessed you.” After that experience, I learned about the real power of prayer.

On the morning of June 28, the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum were gently placed on two different wagons, covered with branches to shade them from the hot summer sun. William Hamilton and his father Artois accompanied Samuel Smith and Willard Richards to Nauvoo with the bodies of the slain Church leaders.

They left Carthage about 8:00 A.M. and arrived in Nauvoo about 3:00 P.M., where they were met by a great assemblage. When the bodies were returned to Nauvoo, they were washed and dressed. Then family and friends were ushered in to see them.

When young Joseph Smith III entered the room, he dropped upon his knees, laid his cheek against his father’s, and kissed him. He was heard saying, “Oh, my father, my father!” Other children of the Prophet and the patriarch crowded around to see their slain fathers. It was an almost unbearable scene.6

On the following day, June 29, the bodies lay in state in the Mansion House while thousands of Saints silently filed past the coffins, grateful but sobered to see their beloved leaders one last time. Mary Ann Phelps’s father took her to the Mansion House early in the morning, before the bodies were prepared for the public viewing.

“I went down, saw them, and laid my hand on Joseph’s forehead,” she said. “The sheet that was around him was stained with blood. Still he looked very natural.”7

Slowly, life in Nauvoo got back to normal. Missionaries left to serve missions; new converts arrived. Work continued on homes, shops, and most importantly, the temple. Young people fell in love and were married. Parties and sporting contests were held.

Yet the memory of Joseph and Hyrum did not fade. For example, one young woman made a sampler, a common activity at the time. She embroidered:
“Sacred to the Memory of Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Who fell as Martyrs for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, June 27th, 1844. Aged 38, and 44, years.
“Zion’s noblest sons are weeping,
See her daughters bathed in tears,
Where the prophets now are sleeping,
Nature’s sleep—sleep of years.
When the earth shall be restored,
They will come with Christ the Lord.”
She signed it: “Mary Ann Broomhead’s work, 1844, Age 13 years.”8

Following a short period of peace, dark clouds cast their long shadow on Nauvoo again. Eventually the Saints were driven out, leaving their beautiful temple and the graves of their Prophet and his brother behind. Yet these young people who lived in the days of Joseph and Hyrum remembered them throughout their lives. They passed on their personal stories and experiences to a new generation. By doing so they kept alive their own faith and the testimony of two great witnesses of the Restoration.

Several years ago our sons would spend their time during the summer on their grandfather’s ranch. Twelve years ago one of our sons had a horse. It had been given to him when it was born. It had been running with a wild herd of horses on the ranch. It was now two years old, time that it could be broken to ride. Early one summer we went to the ranch. It took all day to get the horses into the corral. Finally we had my son’s horse in a chute and put a heavy halter on it. We put a big rope on it and tied it to a big post. “Now the horse must stay there for two or three days,” I told him, “until it quits fighting the rope, until it becomes calm.” We worked with it during the morning, and then we went in to eat. He hurried with his meal and then went out to his horse. He was 14. He loved that horse.
Just as we finished the meal, I heard a noise, and I heard him shout. I knew what had happened. He had untied the horse. I had told him not to, but he was going to work with it. In order to hold the horse, he had wrapped the rope around his wrist. As I came out the door, I saw that horse run by. My son was running after it with great big steps, pulled by the horse; and then he fell. If the horse had turned right, it would have gone out the gate into the mountains. It turned left and was cornered by two fences. While it was trying to find its way out, I got the rope off my boy’s wrist and the end of the rope around the post. He was bruised but not badly hurt.
In a little while we had the horse tied up again, and we sat down for a father and son lesson. I said to him this: “My boy, if you are ever going to control that horse, you will have to use something besides your muscles. The horse is bigger than you are; it is stronger than you are. Someday you can ride that horse, but it will have to be trained. You cannot train it with your muscles. It is bigger than you are; it is stronger than you are; and it is wild.”
Two years later we went to the ranch in the spring. This horse had been running all winter with the herd. We went to find it. We found the herd of horses down by the river. I knew if we went too close, they would run. So this boy and his sister took a bucket with some oats and walked quietly to the edge of the meadow. The horses began to move away slowly. Then he whistled, and his horse came out of the herd and trotted up to my boy. We had learned a great lesson. Much had happened in those two years. He had used more than his muscles.
After the experience when he had untied his horse, he was frightened. He had disobeyed, and he said, “Dad, what should we do?” And I said, “This is the way we will do it. And one day that horse will run up to you.” He had been prepared and had learned a great lesson.

That Sunday, summer did not keep her promises. Instead of sunshine, menacing clouds promised rain for the day of our son’s baptism.
“It sure doesn’t feel like August,” murmured David as he climbed into the car to go to the lake. But when all the members were gathered on the beach, we all forgot that the sun had backed out on our celebration. Smiling proudly, my husband, Jose, led David into the still water.
I watched as my husband said the baptismal prayer and gently lowered our son into the water. I too smiled as I watched David rise out of the water to a new life.
My little son paddled to the bank, where he acknowledged his friends’ congratulations and allowed us to fuss over him with towels. He seemed to be lost in thought. Then he lifted his eyes to meet mine, gave me a big smile, and said proudly, “Wow, I’m finally a member of the true church!”
Now, as I looked down into his beaming face, I feel the Lord has a very special task planned for my son. David often speaks of his future mission. But, for now, his being baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints has made us the happiest parents in the world.

Going to a wedding reception alone isn’t always comfortable. But when an old friend invited me to his wedding dinner, I knew I couldn’t miss the opportunity to celebrate with him and his new bride.
The day of the wedding, I arrived just before dinner started. I spotted an empty seat and asked one of the women at the table if it were taken.
“Are you supposed to be here?” she questioned, eyeing me suspiciously.
I had no idea what prompted the question—or the manner in which she asked it. There wasn’t someone checking a guest list. The seating wasn’t prearranged. I was on time and dressed appropriately. What could be the problem?
I smiled nervously. “I’m a friend of the groom,” I assured her. She nodded, so I sat down and tried to strike up friendly conversation with the six couples at the table. Whatever discomfort I had felt before was magnified given the “welcome” I’d received. I desperately scanned the room for someone—anyone—I knew, but aside from the groom, there wasn’t a familiar face anywhere.
But then it happened. My friend, seated next to his bride at the front of the crowded hall, stood. As he did so, he saw me on the opposite side of the room. He paused, smiled, and placed his hand over his heart as if to say, “Thank you for coming. I know you sacrificed to be here. It means so much that you’re with us.”
A feeling of relief and happiness washed over me. Whatever anyone else thought, in the groom’s estimation, I belonged. I smiled as I mirrored his gesture. I hoped my friend knew how much I wanted to celebrate and share in his and his wife’s joy. Whatever social awkwardness I had felt was gone in that 10-second exchange, and I spent the rest of the evening infused with confidence.
Days later, in preparing to teach a Relief Society lesson, I studied Matthew 22 and read of a king preparing a marriage feast for his son, who represents the Savior. About these verses of scripture, the Prophet Joseph Smith taught: “Those who keep the commandments of the Lord and walk in His statutes to the end, are the only individuals permitted to sit at this glorious feast. … Those who have kept the faith will be crowned with a crown of righteousness; be clothed in white raiment; be admitted to the marriage feast; be free from every affliction, and reign with Christ on the earth.”1 That promise is powerful anytime, but it was especially so because of my experience earlier that week.
As I taught the lesson, I realized that obedience is the only requirement for accepting an invitation from Jesus Christ to rejoice with Him, to have a place at His feast. And that feast is one at which guests need never feel insecure because they do belong. Although I am as yet far from perfect in my obedience, I hope one day to qualify to meet the Bridegroom and with hand over heart—a heart submitted to His will—say, “I’m so happy to be here.”

When President Harold B. Lee was growing up in Clifton, Idaho, “money was dreadfully scarce” for his family. Their “farm produced generously, but grain and potatoes brought little” monetary return. Their “father augmented the family income by contracting for custom grain cutting, drilling wells, and building irrigation canals.” And so they had sufficient for their needs. “The Church provided entertainment opportunities” for the family.

“The Lee children did not know they were poor.” Their home was filled with love and laughter, reading, and music. Their mother was a skilled homemaker who made a very little go a very long way. Her children were always dressed appropriately for church. As an adult, President Lee recounted, “We had everything money could not buy.”

The brothers seldom separated; their desire to be together continued until the end. Only a few days before Joseph and Hyrum were taken to Carthage, Joseph asked Hyrum to leave, with his family, for Cincinnati, Ohio, where he would be safe. Hyrum rarely refused Joseph’s requests, but on this occasion he did, saying, “Joseph, I can’t leave you.”
Joseph once said about Hyrum, “I love him with that love that is stronger than death.” In the end their love did carry them to death together. On June 27, 1844, while they were being held as prisoners in the Carthage jail, a mob stormed into the building and murdered Hyrum. Seeing his brother fall, Joseph exclaimed, “Oh, dear brother Hyrum!” Then, just minutes later, he, too, fell dead, also a victim of the mob’s gunshots.