Gospel Story Finder

When I was adopted at age three, my birth mother allowed the adoption to be finalized only if my parents agreed to have my Church ordinances done after I turned 12. She thought I needed to be old enough to make the choice for myself, but it was really difficult to wait.
Yes, it was hard to see many of my friends get baptized when they turned eight, but what was even harder was knowing I couldn’t be sealed to my adoptive parents and five older siblings until I was 12. I was scared that something would happen to me and I wouldn’t be able to be sealed to them.
As my 12th birthday approached, we began planning for my baptism and sealing to my family. My parents let me choose which temple we would be sealed in. I had always thought that the San Diego California Temple was the most beautiful, so my entire family agreed to drive to California for the sealing.
I couldn’t wait to become an eternal family with my parents and siblings. During my sealing, I felt the Spirit so strongly that it is hard to put into words. Now that I am finally sealed to my family, my feelings of worry have been replaced with comfort and peace, knowing I am now eternally linked to them.

Some young men march to the beat of a different drum. Because they may not enjoy physical activity, as most do, they are often isolated from the group. I remember one young man, not much of an athlete, who excelled on the stage. In our ward plays and roadshows, we could always count on a stellar performance from Mike.

Later in his youth he directed a theater-in-the-round production in the ward. Today he teaches drama in a great university and is a faithful member of the Church. How easily we could have lost him without that opportunity to be someone and to excel at something. Our cultural arts have been neglected in recent years, not intentionally, but when stakes and wards were given the liberty to choose their activities instead of being dictated to from Church headquarters—something made necessary by the worldwide growth of the Church—some took this as a signal that cultural arts were no longer to be promoted. The ward and stake activity committees are there to help our bishoprics, quorums, and Young Women classes carry out those cultural activities planned by the Bishopric Youth Committee: music, drama, speech, dance. These again are as broad as the interests of the youth and a valuable resource in promoting activity and brotherhood in the Aaronic Priesthood quorums.

I want to begin with a brief test and a self-evaluation. The following episode was presented in a general conference address in 1966 by President N. Eldon Tanner (1898–1982), a counselor in the First Presidency of the Church.
““A young man came to me not long ago and said, ‘I made an agreement with a man that requires me to make certain payments each year. I am in debt, and I can’t make those payments, for if I do, it is going to cause me to lose my home. What shall I do?’
“I looked at him and said, ‘Keep your agreement.’
“‘Even if it costs me my home?’
“I said, ‘I am not talking about your home. I am talking about your agreement; and I think your wife would rather have a husband who would keep his word, meet his obligations, keep his pledges or his covenants, and have to rent a home than to have a home with a husband who will not keep his covenants and his pledge.’”1

Alyce lives in Launceston, Australia, and has always loved to draw, but it was only in her last two years of high school that she began to take art seriously as a potential career. At the age of 19, she was offered representation with a local gallery, and after eight very successful years of showing her work commercially with them, she decided to step back to complete her bachelor of fine arts at Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah.
“Art has always been an important part of my life and it has helped me to better understand important gospel truths and to experience God’s love in ways that I wouldn’t have been able to otherwise.”
“When I create artwork, I always try to do so in a way that not only invites the Spirit into my studio but also into the lives of those who view the finished works.”
Working primarily in pen and acrylic (with the occasional shotgun blast), Alyce’s works are steeped in metaphor, nostalgia and her personal and family history. She uses animal forms to explore and expose the subtle emotions of the human experience.
Her entry, “The Others,” was selected for a merit award. In this work, three breeds of sheep confront the viewer, inviting close and careful study.
“During His mortal and post-mortal ministry, the Saviour often referred to Himself as the Good Shepherd. As the Good Shepherd, He knew each of His sheep intimately and loved them unconditionally . . . He invited all to hear His voice and to come unto Him that He might lead them home safely.”
“Regardless of breed, gender, or pedigree, in the eyes of the Good Shepherd, we as His sheep are all alike and are known, loved, and wanted.”

My three-year-old granddaughter illustrated the power of innocence and humility to connect us with God. She went with her family to the open house of the Brigham City Temple in Utah. In one of the rooms of that beautiful building, she looked around and asked, “Mommy, where is Jesus?” Her mother explained that she would not see Jesus in the temple, but she would be able to feel His influence in her heart. Eliza carefully considered her mother’s response and then seemed satisfied and said, “Oh, Jesus is gone helping someone,” she concluded.
No pavilion obscured Eliza’s understanding or obstructed her view of reality. God is close to her, and she feels close to Him. She knew that the temple is the house of the Lord but also understood that the resurrected and glorified Jesus Christ has a body and can only be in one place at a time.3 If He was not at His house, she recognized that He must be in another place. And from what she knows of the Savior, she knew that He would be somewhere doing good for His Father’s children. It was clear that she had hoped to see Jesus, not for a confirming miracle of His existence but simply because she loved Him.
The Spirit could reveal to her childlike mind and heart the comfort all of us need and want. Jesus Christ lives, knows us, watches over us, and cares for us. In moments of pain, loneliness, or confusion, we do not need to see Jesus Christ to know that He is aware of our circumstances and that His mission is to bless.

In 1982, I was finishing my associate’s degree in topography at a technical school.
At the end of the year, a classmate invited me to have a conversation. I remember that we left the other members of the class and went to an area beside a sports court. When we got there, he spoke to me about his religious convictions, and not only did he show me a book, but he gave me the book. Honestly, I do not remember all the words that he said, but I remember that moment very well and the way I felt when he said, “I want to bear my testimony to you that this book is true and that the gospel of Jesus Christ has been restored.”
After our conversation, I went home, turned a few pages in the book, and placed it on a shelf. Because we were at the end of the year and it was the last year of my topography degree, I did not really pay much attention to the book or to my classmate who had shared it with me. The name of the book you can already guess. Yes, it was the Book of Mormon.
Five months later, the missionaries came into my house; they were leaving just as I was coming home from work. I invited them back in. We sat down in the little patio in front of my house, and they taught me.
In my search for the truth, I asked them which church was true and how I could find it. The missionaries taught me that I could obtain that answer for myself. With great expectation and desire, I accepted their challenge to read several chapters from the Book of Mormon. I prayed with a sincere heart and with real intent (see Moroni 10:4–5). The answer to my question was clear, and several days later—more precisely on May 1, 1983—I was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Today, when I think about the sequence of events that occurred, I see clearly how important the courage of my classmate was when he bore his testimony about the restored truth and presented me with tangible proof of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ, even the Book of Mormon. That simple act, but of profound significance to me, created a connection between me and the missionaries when I met them.
The truth had been presented to me, and after my baptism, I became a disciple of Jesus Christ. During the following years, and with the help of very special people such as leaders, teachers, and friends, and also through my own personal study, I learned that when I decided to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, I had accepted the task of not only defending the truth but also proclaiming it.

When I was a child, my parents sang in our ward choir. Mother especially loved to sing at Christmastime. Every Christmas Eve our family reenacted the Nativity story and sang Christmas songs. We always finished with mother’s favorite, “Silent Night.”
In her early 60s, my mother developed asthma. Years of coughing and struggling with the illness eventually ravaged her voice. She also lost hearing in one ear and suffered diminished hearing in the other ear. She still attempted to sing but often just read and thought about a song’s lyrics.
One Sunday while I visited my parents during the Christmas season, we attended sacrament meeting. The program centered on the birth and mission of Jesus Christ.
“I won’t have asthma in the hereafter, will I?” my mother asked me before the meeting started.
“Of course not,” I replied.
Then we talked about other physical ailments she would no longer have after the Resurrection.
“I’ll be able to sing again,” she said.
“With the choirs of heaven,” I added.
As we sang the opening hymn, “Away in a Manger,” Mother could not hear the piano accompaniment. She started singing the Primary version of the song instead of the Hymns version, which has a different melody. I tried to correct her, but she had difficulty hearing me. During the sacrament hymn, she continued to struggle. She really wanted to sing, but her pitch was all over the place.
As the sacrament meeting progressed, I felt the warmth of the Spirit and the sweet innocence of the children who bore their testimonies of the Savior in song. Then, as the congregation began to sing the closing song, “Silent Night,” so did my mother.
Listening to her struggle, I wished with all my heart that she could again sing Christmas songs the way she used to. As she sang, however, I felt the quiet warmth of the Spirit speak to my mind and heart: “Her offering is acceptable to me.”
At that moment, my mother’s voice took on a new beauty, blessed and sanctified by a loving Savior who looked on her heart. And, as He did when the widow cast in two mites (see Luke 21:1–4), He rejoiced in her sincerity and offering.

My university days were not all easy. As I neared the time for graduation, I seemed to have a mountain of work to complete before the specified time, and I worried that I would miss the deadline. Over the years of college training I had been earnest in my prayers and had constantly asked that the Lord would bless and guide me. But I was not aware of any special help received, even though I had made good progress. One Sunday, about a week before graduation, my wife and I were visiting a young couple who were our close friends. (You see, I didn’t study on Sunday, because I thought that during my school years that would be the same as working.) My friend asked me if I was ready for graduation. I told him that my work was still incomplete and that there was some doubt whether I could complete it.
“Oh,” he said, “you’ll make it all right. Let’s look in the newspaper. They just published the list of graduates.” He began by reading the names of those who would graduate with honors, and he included my name.
Of course, I knew he was only teasing, and I laughed as I said, “You can’t fool me with your jokes.”
Then he said, “Well, isn’t this your address?” and he read that.
I said, “Let me see the paper.”
As I read my name among those who were to receive honors, my eyes filled with tears and an inward light filled my whole being with understanding. As clearly as in a vision I saw how, over the years, in quiet, unseen ways, God had been listening to my prayers and had overshadowed me with his blessed influence to bring me through triumphant!

Just before my junior year in high school, my family moved 3,000 miles to the San Francisco area. I started the year knowing exactly one person—my freshman sister.

Redwood High School was very different from the strict high school I had been attending. The whole atmosphere was intimidating.

Shortly after school began, I tried out for cheerleader. I didn’t even make first cuts. In October I went to an audition for a Christmas choir program. Before I even sang a note, the choir director asked me if I had ever been in a school choir. When my answer was no, I was ushered out the door and told thank you very much.

The one bright spot in my day was early-morning seminary, where I always felt welcome and accepted.

At school I worked hard and occasionally forced myself to contribute during classroom discussions. Eventually I made some friends and found a group to eat lunch with. I went to the ball games and school plays, volunteered during spirit week, and hung out at the dances. But I still never felt like I quite belonged.

I kept busy my senior year filling out college application forms, taking entrance exams, and applying for scholarships. Three weeks before graduation, Lee, the good-looking, iron-pumping, brainy debate team member and senior class president, called out to me after class and asked me to walk with him. I was stunned that he even knew my name.

As we walked he explained that he was the president of his church youth group. The group had been studying the religions of the world, and someone had expressed interest in learning about Latter-day Saints. Lee turned to face me and asked if I would deliver an hour-long presentation about the Church to his group.

Weakly I managed to reply, “You don’t want me to speak; who you really want is our missionaries. I’ll ask them for you.”

His response startled me, “We don’t want your missionaries. We want you. We know you, we’ve watched you, and we like who you are.”

Stunned again, I told Lee I would be glad to speak to his group.

The next five days were a flurry of preparation. My seminary teacher, my parents, and the missionaries helped me prepare to explain the basic principles of the gospel and how The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints differs from other churches. Knowing that Lee and his friends were forceful debaters who could be merciless against opponents, I also fasted and prayed for divine guidance.

The day of the presentation arrived. With scriptures in hand and a prayer in my heart, I entered the meeting hall. The 35 people in the room—kids from school, a few adults, and the pastor—all turned to look at me as I walked to the front. After Lee greeted me warmly and introduced me, I took a deep breath and began by telling the Joseph Smith story. A calm feeling filled the room, and for the next 45 minutes the words I spoke came smoothly and effortlessly. I ended by bearing my testimony of modern-day prophets, revelation, and the love Jesus Christ has for each of us.

Then, with great apprehension, I asked if there were any questions. Hands shot up all over the room. Oh boy, here it comes, I thought to myself. But to my surprise, none of the questions were hostile or quarrelsome. As I left the hall I knew that a power stronger than my own had directed the evening’s event.

Throughout high school I had always assumed that being popular meant dating cool guys, appearing in lots of yearbook pictures, or being prom queen. Through this experience, I finally realized that there is a different kind of popularity—popularity based on respect.

Image © Hemera/Thinkstock, iStock/Thinkstock
During my college days, I was one of a class of students appointed to fieldwork as a part of our prescribed courses in geology. …
A certain assignment had kept us in the field many days. … As the time allotted to the investigation drew near its close, we were overtaken by a violent windstorm, followed by a heavy snow—unseasonable and unexpected, but which, nevertheless, increased in intensity so that we were in danger of being snowbound in the hills. The storm reached its height while we were descending a long and steep mountainside several miles from the little railway station at which we had hoped to take [a] train that night for home. With great effort we reached the station late at night while the storm was yet raging. …
… The train for which we so expectantly and hopefully waited was the Owl Express—a fast night train connecting large cities. …
Long after midnight the train arrived in a terrific whirl of wind and snow. I lingered behind my companions as they hurriedly clambered aboard, for I was attracted by the engineer, who during the brief stop, while his assistant was attending to the water replenishment, bustled about the engine, oiling some parts, adjusting others, and generally overhauling the panting locomotive. I ventured to speak to him, busy though he was. I asked how he felt on such a night—wild, weird, and furious, when the powers of destruction seemed to be let loose, abroad and uncontrolled, when the storm was howling and when danger threatened from every side. …
His answer was a lesson not yet forgotten. In effect he said, though in jerky and disjointed sentences: “Look at the engine headlight. Doesn’t that light up the track for a hundred yards [90 m] or more? Well, all I try to do is to cover that hundred yards of lighted track. That I can see, and for that distance I know the roadbed is open and safe. … The light of the engine is always ahead of me!”
As he climbed to his place in the cab, I hastened to board the first passenger coach; and as I sank into the cushioned seat, in blissful enjoyment of the warmth and general comfort, offering strong contrast to the wildness of the night without, I thought deeply of the words of the grimy, oil-stained engineer. They were full of faith—the faith that accomplishes great things, the faith that gives courage and determination. …
We may not know what lies ahead of us in the future years, nor even in the days or hours immediately beyond. But for a few yards, or possibly only a few feet, the track is clear, our duty is plain, our course is illumined. For that short distance, for the next step, lighted by the inspiration of God, go on!

We had a wonderful time together as we drove on to Berkeley, California. We found a furnished apartment for forty-five dollars a month. But our second day, when I came home that evening, I discovered that my key wouldn’t work in the door. I finally went to the manager and said, “I’m sorry, my key doesn’t work.” She said, “Oh, that’s all right. Your wife has moved you.” I said, “Moved us?” “Yes,” she said, “we had another apartment that was five dollars less.”

Once upon a time there was a little Slobovian boy named Gorb who lived in a little boardinghouse with 10,000 Slobovians. Every morning all 10,001 of them were served the most nutritious breakfast cereal available anywhere—Captain Steadfast’s Forthright Whole Wheat Crunchies. Now federal agencies and senate hearings had proven not only that Captain Steadfast’s was the best breakfast food known to man but also that it was, spoonful for spoonful, the most economical cereal on the market. And it tasted great.
One morning just at breakfast time a stranger walked into the boardinghouse and casually tossed a new cereal onto the table that, he said, was groovy, outasight, and everyone was eating. It was called Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop. Some of the guys said they had heard it was pretty bad, but 10,000 hands nevertheless reached for the box and heaped their bowls high because, after all, it obviously was the thing to do. However, when the box came to Gorb he kindly said, “No, thank you,” and he poured himself a bowl of Forthright Whole Wheat Crunchies.
“Comment!”* roared a chorus of 10,000 Slobovian voices.
“Well, it isn’t any great mystery,” replied Gorb. “I just read on the box here that Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop has no vitamins, no proteins, none of the good stuff Captain Steadfast’s has, and it even admits to having some real junk in it. The price looks pretty expensive, and I’ve heard it can really taste gross. Besides—I like these Crunchies.”
At that point 10,000 fists hit Gorb on the jaw. “What gall,” mused Gorb as he shrugged his shoulders and went on eating his Captain Steadfast’s.
But even as Gorb was taking his lonely stand, some strange things began to happen around the table. Many of the 10,000 said they were sick; some said they were seeing strange things; a few said they couldn’t see anything at all. Several fell face first into their Gurgle, Twaddle, and Sop, and at least one just cried and cried. But those who were still able kept forcing down the G, T, & S because, after all, somebody had said it was groovy and outasight and everybody was eating it.
It wasn’t long before just one person remained sitting at the table; 10,000 others were screaming around the room or sobbing at their benches or just retching on the floor. The place was a bad scene that didn’t look either groovy or outasight, but at least everybody was doing it—except Gorb. He just quietly finished his Whole Wheat Crunchies and wondered why new always meant better to so many people.
Moral: 10,000 Slobovians can be wrong.

When the Church first came to Ghana in 1978, the government didn’t really understand it and its practices. That led to a lot of rumors. As the Church grew over the next 10 years, so did the rumors. I remember hearing people say that the United States was sending men to spy on our government. That, combined with all the anti-Mormon literature being circulated, made the government very suspicious.
On June 14, 1989, the government closed our Church buildings, sent the missionaries home, and outlawed all official Church activities. We call this time “the freeze.” But as an 18-year-old girl, all I knew was that one day it was announced that we couldn’t go to church anymore. There were even soldiers guarding the buildings to make sure we stayed away.
Since we could no longer meet in our chapels, we got permission from Church leaders to have sacrament meetings in our homes. If you didn’t have a priesthood holder in your home, you were encouraged to go to a home that did have one. It was a confusing time but also a very special one. We shared our testimonies, and it brought us closer together.

This is the life! I found myself thinking as I stood in left field in my baggy white uniform, enjoying the sunshine and the scent of freshly cut grass. Little League baseball fans filled the stands, where hot dogs and drinks were selling for a quarter.
“Think!”
I was quickly brought back into the game as my coach stepped out of the dugout and yelled to our team. Oh yeah. I’m in a baseball game. A good hitter from the opposing team was approaching the plate, and coach wanted us to be ready. We knew from last week’s baseball practice that Think! meant “Ask yourself, What would I do if the ball were hit to me?”
My 11-year-old brain went to work. Let’s see … no outs, a runner on second base. If the ball comes to me in the air, I’ll catch it, check the runner on second to see if he’ll tag up, and throw to the second baseman. If the ball is on the ground, the runner might advance, and I’ll probably throw to third.
Now I know exactly what to do. With my knees slightly bent and my eyes fixed on the batter, I was ready for anything. The pitcher wound up and threw one right over the plate. I heard a loud crack as wood met ball. A line drive was flying straight towards me! In a split second, my mental computer judged the ball’s speed and trajectory and determined it would land just a few yards from where I was standing.
If I hustle, I can catch it. As I began running, out of the corner of my eye I saw the runner take off for third base. What was he doing? Didn’t he think I could catch it on the fly? On my fourth stride, I raised my mitt and felt the ball smack my left hand. In one motion I took the ball out of my mitt and threw it as hard as I could to second base.
I did it! I got the runner out! Or did I? Unfortunately, our second baseman forgot to think. He wasn’t on his base! He was just standing there watching. The ball bounced on the dirt infield, but luckily he scooped up the ball and stepped on the bag just in time to get the runner, who forgot to tag up.
Coach leaped from the dugout and shouted loud enough for all the players and spectators to hear, “Nice job, Bytheway!” A big Boy Scout smile spread across my face as the cheering crowd recognized the little kid in left field who just made a double play. I owed it all to my coach. He reminded me to think.

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

Monday morning is usually taken up with washday chores. But on the Monday before Christmas my thoughts were on the lovely Christmas centerpiece display I wanted to make for the table. I felt compelled to drop everything and make the journey to purchase the materials.
Preparing to cross the road to the bus stop, I suddenly changed my mind and decided to walk. I had gone two-thirds of the way when I saw a woman in a self-propelled wheelchair. She was not a member of the Church, but I recognized her as the spokesman for the elderly citizens of the borough in thanking our ward for the yearly concert we presented for them.
I greeted her, and as we chatted I learned that she would be alone at Christmas. So that was why I had felt prompted to go out that morning! I invited her to join with our family. The decorations were unimportant now, though I did continue on and purchase them.
Then, having committed myself to an extra guest, I panicked. What would my nonmember husband say? We had already invited six relatives to come (two were elderly and two were children), in addition to our household of four. How would they all respond?
At first my husband was not comfortable with the idea at all. Christmas is a time for family, he reminded me, and this lady was a complete stranger. Yet I felt she had been sent to us by inspiration, so I fasted and prayed about it and asked my Relief Society visiting teachers to do the same. By the next day there was a sunny atmosphere in our home again, and the coming of our special guest was accepted by all.
We enjoyed sharing our Christmas with her. She brought a sweet spirit into the house with her testimony of the Savior. As she testified to our nonmember relatives of her belief in the second coming of Christ, I was able to concur with her faith and to explain much more of the gospel than had ever been possible before. Our new friend had paved the way.

With flexible, low-cost online courses available through BYU-Pathway Worldwide, obtaining an education is possible for more people than ever, including Samantha Winterdal.
Samantha, from the Dominican Republic, always planned to go to university, but her plans didn’t work out the way she envisioned. After high school, she got a job but felt like something was missing. “Every year that passed, I saw my schoolmates graduating, and I was just working,” Samantha said. “I thought, ‘What am I doing with my life?’”
She decided to pray for guidance. One Sunday, a sister from church mentioned BYU–Pathway to her. Samantha registered and began her first course. Although she couldn’t complete it at that time, she returned to BYU–Pathway years later to resume her studies.
When Samantha was ready to start classes again during the COVID-19 pandemic, she enrolled at a local university. However, the school wasn’t designed to run online and wasn’t accommodating of her schedule, so she left. With the encouragement of her husband, Mario, she decided to go back to BYU–Pathway—she loved it so much that Mario enrolled too!
“We love the flexibility of BYU–Pathway because it allows us to work and take care of my 94-year-old grandfather, who has cancer,” Samantha said. “I know that I will continue to climb to the work level I want, and it will also help me with my own business.”

On a sunny spring day in 2017, the open house for the Paris France Temple was well underway when one of the tour guides was approached by a man with a sorrowful expression on his face. He said he lived next to the temple and admitted he had been an active opponent of its construction. He related that one day as he was gazing out of his apartment window, he watched a large crane lower a statue of Jesus from the heavens and softly place it on the temple grounds. The man declared that this experience completely changed his feelings toward our Church. He realized we were followers of Jesus Christ and begged our forgiveness for the previous harm he might have caused.

At a time when I was assigned to a stake conference in Provo, the Sunday morning welfare meeting was scheduled to begin at 7:30 A.M., so it was necessary that I leave home about 6:15 A.M. Just as I came to an intersection before turning onto the on-ramp to enter the freeway, the light changed to red. As I stopped for it at that early hour, there were no cars in sight. Mine was the only car at the stop light.
The thought crossed my mind that if I ignored the red light, no one would be hurt or endangered, for not a car was in sight at that early hour. Nevertheless, I waited out the light change and proceeded on the green light. If I had turned left, no one else would have known, but I would know that I was breaking the traffic code, and surely the Lord would know. I was reminded of the scripture which says:
“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17).

Of course there are examples of these serviceable individuals in our dispensation as well. Oliver Granger is mentioned in the 117th section of the Doctrine and Covenants. Oliver’s name may be unfamiliar to many, so I will take the liberty to acquaint you with him.
Oliver Granger was 11 years older than Joseph Smith and, like the Prophet, was from upstate New York. Because of severe cold and exposure when he was 33 years old, Oliver lost much of his eyesight. Notwithstanding his limited vision, he served three full-time missions. He also worked on the Kirtland Temple and served on the Kirtland High Council.
When most of the Saints were driven from Kirtland, Ohio, the Church left some debts unsatisfied. Oliver was appointed to represent Joseph Smith and the First Presidency to return to Kirtland to settle the Church’s business. He performed this assignment so well that one of the creditors wrote: “Oliver Granger’s management in the arrangement of the unfinished business of people that have moved to the Far West, in redeeming their pledges and thereby sustaining their integrity, … has entitled him to my highest esteem” (Horace Kingsbury, Painesville, 26 Oct. 1838).
When he died in 1841, even though there were but few Saints remaining in the Kirtland area and even fewer friends of the Saints, Oliver Granger’s funeral was attended by a vast concourse of people.
Though Oliver Granger is not as well known today as other early leaders of the Church, he was, nevertheless, important in the service he rendered to the kingdom. And of course, if no one but the Lord had his name in remembrance, that would be a sufficient blessing for any of us.