Gospel Story Finder

Joseph would often speak outside so that more people could hear him. On one such day in Nauvoo, a heavy wind and storm came up in the middle of his preaching.
This dust is so thick; I can’t see anything.
Let’s go home before it gets worse.
Joseph called out to those who were leaving.
Let everyone pray to the Almighty God that the winds and the rain might cease, and it shall be so.
O Father, bless that the wind and the rain will cease.
After several minutes, the storm divided. The bushes and trees on either side of the group were waving in the wind, but there was calm where Joseph spoke.
Now, brothers and sisters, I would like to speak to you about some important truths.
An hour later the Prophet concluded, and the storm returned.
Return quickly to your homes and think about what I have said.
Hurry, children.

At such times I frequently remember my own wedding day nearly twenty-six years ago and the strong feelings of love that I had for my wife, Kathy. I also remember our high expectations for the future. I am sure that we had an ideal in mind that wasn’t necessarily peculiar to us, and yet we (or at least I) thought Kathy and I were about to begin a companionship together that would be unparalleled in the romantic history of Western civilization!

Nevertheless, despite our best intentions and efforts, the “ideal” began to collide with reality shortly after our brief honeymoon in Salt Lake City at the then existing equivalent of a Motel 6. I cannot speak for Kathy but, on my part, I soon began to feel some small sense of disillusionment–a feeling that there was something more to be had in and from marriage than I, at least, seemed capable of producing.

There began to be a gradual descent from the lofty level of our wedding day to a somewhat lower plateau where we seemed destined to live out our lives well beneath our privileges. One small example from among many will illustrate the type of memories that Kathy and I were accumulating together about that time.

We were living in Salt Lake City, where I was attending law school and Kathy was teaching first grade. The stress of both of us being new to the city, to our schools, and to each other became a little heavy and our relationship a bit testy. One night about dinnertime we had a quarrel that convinced me there was no hope for nourishment at home. So I left our modest apartment and walked to the nearest fast food restaurant a block away. As I entered the north door of this establishment, I looked to my right and, much to my surprise, saw Kathy entering through the south door! We exchanged angry glances and advanced to opposing cash registers to place our orders. We continued to ignore each other as we sat alone on opposite ends of the restaurant sullenly eating our evening meal. We then left as we had entered, taking separate routes home, finally ending this utterly ridiculous episode by reconciling and laughing together about how infantile we had both been.

There are ways to increase our association with our families while we serve in our Church callings by involving our families, when appropriate, in our Church service. Let me give you one personal example.
My father served as my bishop during the early years of my life. He was a busy man with a demanding legal practice. He was also active in civic affairs and in demand as a public speaker. And, of course, he was the father of six children. I was always grateful that my father had his priorities right. Mother was always his first priority. It was evident by the way he treated her. This was followed by a real dedication to each of his children.
When I was about six years old, I received a red wagon as a Christmas gift. It was exactly like this one in miniature. The little red wagon provided a real bond between my father and me. In his busy life, he had to find ways of involving his family in activities without diminishing his own productivity.
Much of his service as a bishop occurred during the Great Depression in the 1930s. Many of our ward members were in desperate need. As the bishop, he had the responsibility of supplying the means to sustain their lives. This seemed to be a good activity for a bishop, his son, and the little red wagon.
I would come home from school and find stacks on the side of the garage—flour, sugar, wheat, and other commodities. I knew that that evening my father and I would have the opportunity of being together.
When he would arrive home, the little red wagon was loaded with supplies to take to a family. The two of us, walking and talking together, would complete our welfare assignment by delivering the commodities to those in need.
I was able to witness firsthand the love and care a good priesthood leader had for his ward members. More important, I had an opportunity of spending precious time with my father.

In my sophomore year of high school, after I had been learning and teaching from Preach My Gospel, a friend of mine came up to me during weight-lifting class and said, “Hey, Tanner, you’re Mormon, right?”
A little nervous, I answered, “Yeah, I am.”
“Can you answer a couple questions for me about your Church?” he asked.
I started to panic. What if I didn’t know the answers to his questions, or what if I just sounded stupid? Then I thought about it for a minute: “I’ve done this before. I’ve practiced in the class we have every month, and I can answer these questions. It’s no big deal. Why am I so scared?”
Because of what I had already learned and practiced, I was able to answer some of his questions and point him in the right direction. He got in touch with the missionaries and was later baptized and served a mission.

There is an interesting example in the history of the Church that illustrates the difference between doubting—which often leads to darkness and uncertainty—and patient and intelligent inquiry—which leads to understanding and spiritual confirmation. When the Prophet Joseph Smith received the vision concerning the three degrees of glory, which is in section 76 of the Doctrine and Covenants, many members of the Church, including Brigham Young, initially had a difficult time accepting it as a revelation from the Lord because it departed significantly from the mainstream Christian view of one heaven and one hell. However, listen to how Brigham chose to respond: “My traditions were such, that when the Vision came first to me, it was so directly contrary and opposite to my former education, I said, wait a little, I did not reject it, but I could not understand it.”

Brigham decided to exercise patience, to pray, to ponder, and to seek clarification from the prophet. But while he sought further understanding, he did not let go of what he had come to love in the restored gospel. And soon, he obtained his own witness from the Holy Ghost.

A few months ago, while participating in a service activity I was able to observe a sister who was heavily expecting. I wondered how much she would be able to offer while carrying such a physically demanding load. The agility and energy with which this sister moved to help lift a load for another needing relief, seemed to have lightened her own load. President Spencer W. Kimball (1895-1985) observed, “Only when you lift a burden, God will lift your burden. Divine paradox this! The man who staggers and falls because his burden is too great can lighten that burden by taking on the weight of another’s burden.”3

“My brothers and I were Boy Scouts. We couldn’t afford to buy sleeping bags, so Mother went to a flour mill and brought some empty flour sacks home. She heated water and bleached the sacks in a tub, then dried them and sewed them into the shape of sleeping bags. Then she built a fire and dyed the sacks green. Over another fire she prepared a mixture of paraffin and other things to waterproof the sleeping bags, and she made a woolen quilt to put inside each one. She made those bags fifty years ago, and only last summer she made a new cover for mine, which still has the original quilt!”

Sometimes they are much smaller challenges, but they can still cause important changes in our lives. Once, in my former assignment as an Area Seventy, I was training a new presidency of a BYU student stake. At one point in the training, I wanted to show everyone present the importance of extending invitations to others. I looked at the assistant executive secretary, a BYU student. His name was Ian. I asked him:

"Is there anything in your life that you would like to do better?"
"Do you mean Church stuff or my everyday life?"
"Whichever you want."
"Well, every time I go to work, I feel embarrassed that I don't know anyone's name. I've been working at the hospital for a while, and I need to learn everybody's name."
"That's a good goal. Do you think you can do it?"
"Yeah, I can do it."
"Would it help if you reported back to me after you learn the names?"
"Sure, that would help a lot."
"Here's my phone number. Just send me a text when you have achieved your goal."

A week later he texted me as follows:

"Ian (BYU First Stake) returning to report: I learned 11 new names last week working at the hospital (and more on the way)."

Ian knew he needed to learn the names of his co-workers, but he just needed a little nudge to do it.

Example is one of the most effective ways to teach righteous principles. President Thomas S. Monson recalls: “My own father, a printer, worked long and hard practically every day of his life. I’m certain that on the Sabbath he would have enjoyed just being at home. Rather, he visited elderly family members and brought cheer into their lives.
“One was his uncle, who was crippled by arthritis so severe that he could not walk or care for himself. On a Sunday afternoon Dad would say to me, ‘Come along, Tommy; let’s take Uncle Elias for a short drive.’ Boarding the old 1928 Oldsmobile, we would proceed to Eighth West, where, at the home of Uncle Elias, I would wait in the car while Dad went inside. Soon he would emerge from the house, carrying in his arms like a china doll his crippled uncle. I then would open the door and watch how tenderly and with such affection my father would place Uncle Elias in the front seat so he would have a fine view while I occupied the rear seat.
“The drive was brief and the conversation limited, but oh, what a legacy of love! Father never read to me from the Bible about the good Samaritan. Rather, he took me with him and Uncle Elias in that old 1928 Oldsmobile along the road to Jericho” (“Hallmarks of a Happy Home,” Ensign, November 1988, 71).

When he arrived at stake youth conference, Jade Meynders got out of the car, picked up his things, including his sleeping bag, and started walking down a dirt road cut through a thick forest. Those around him were dressed as if from a day long past—the girls in long dresses and bonnets, the boys in shirts with full sleeves and some in long-tailed coats, styles from 150 years ago.
As they walked, they noticed markers set up several yards apart with years painted on them. Each step took Jade back in time. “It really helped prepare my mind to comprehend and feel what was going to happen,” said Jade.
At the end of the road, the groups walked into a full-size replica of a pioneer town, complete with the Whitney store and the Grandin press, although those two businesses, significant in the history of the Church, were not originally in the same town. The Abbotsford British Columbia Stake was taking the youth back in time so they could witness several events from a variety of locations in Church history.
The town, in a forest setting, was a remarkable replica made possible by the volunteer work of some 120 men in the stake. It was originally a partially built movie set of a typical town in the western United States or Canada during pioneer times. The leaders of the Abbotsford Stake made arrangements for volunteers to help the owners finish the buildings, including adding roofs, hanging doors, installing windows, and painting the buildings. The owners then agreed to let the stake use the movie set as the location of their youth conference.
So when Jade and his friends entered the town, it really felt like they had stepped back in time to the 1830s.
The town was dressed with garlands and flowers. The teens, their leaders, and members of the stake who agreed to play the parts of prominent Church members in history gathered for a typical fair from pioneer times. The group played games, held competitions, and enjoyed entertainment. At the end of the day, the mayor gathered everyone together and organized them into families. Under the direction of their leaders, the “families” set up their camps in a nearby wood, which would be home for the next week.
“I finally understood what the early Saints lived through and how their testimonies were their only possessions that were certain,” said Alex Loewen. “It inspires me to keep a strong testimony and rely on the Lord like they did.”
The next morning, the daily newspaper, the Times and Seasons, was delivered to each family before breakfast. It reported on the events of the previous day and announced the schedule for the upcoming day. The most anticipated event was a meeting called by the Prophet Joseph Smith for the entire village to meet in the square.
The person playing the part of Joseph Smith recounted the persecution the Saints had suffered in Jackson County, Missouri. Then he called for young men to volunteer to leave the village and march to redeem Zion. Later, the volunteers followed their leaders down main street as young women gave them bottles of water and supplies for the journey.
While the young men were gone, the young women reenacted the organization of the Relief Society, where Emma Smith and her counselors and secretary were sustained.
The young men marched a good distance with meager rations of beef jerky, crackers, and dried apples. A heavy rain fell, and the young men had only tarps to sleep under, but no one complained that wet, weary night. Instead, their heads were filled with thoughts of those who walked the 1,000 miles on the real Zion’s Camp.
The next morning, everyone gathered to listen to the person playing the Prophet Joseph Smith announce the building of the Kirtland Temple. A wooden frame replica had been erected by volunteers a few weeks earlier. Each family took turns helping to finish the outside of the structure, using cut tiles of Styrofoam and gluing them in place. Aleisha Anderson said that working on the temple was the highlight of the conference for her and that “it was spiritual and made me feel really good.”
The temple dedication was then reenacted. Rebekah Leonard said it was her favorite part of the week. “The weather was perfect, and the Spirit was so strong.”
On the final evening the teens put on their cleanest clothes and stepped out to the town’s midsummer square dance. Then, just as the dance was winding down and the sun was setting, the town gathered to witness a moving reenactment of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s being dragged from his home and tarred and feathered by a mob. Youth and leaders quietly and solemnly talked on the way back to their camps, where they gathered to discuss how opposition and faith still work together.
At about 10:30, the peace of the camp was shattered by the sound of shouts and gunshots. A mob of jeering men, some on horseback and some with lighted torches tore through the camp, driving the Saints out into the dark. Although the teens knew that they were not in any real danger, still the feelings of facing what early Saints had to face became vivid for them.
“In a weird way, I loved getting driven out of our camp by a mob,” said Alyssa Bill. “It showed me a small portion of the faith the Saints had to have to go forward with the Church. I’m really grateful that they stayed strong.”
The group gathered again by lamplight and heard their stake president talk about facing up to today’s dangers.
For many participants, the best part of the conference was feeling what it must have been like to have the Prophet Joseph Smith in their midst talking to them, playing games, and enjoying their company. Clayton Jensen said, “The conference made me realize there was more to Church history than we read. Now I know that the Prophet Joseph was someone who actually had fun and had friends like any other person.”
On the last day, the sheriff came to town and arrested Joseph and Hyrum Smith. The teens watched in dismay as the two were taken away. Later, the news spread that the Prophet and his brother had been martyred. Reactions were powerful and heartfelt. Jillian Collingridge said, “The reenactments definitely made things seem more real to me. The conference strengthened my testimony so much. I want more than ever to be the best I can be.”
On the final day, the group met together like the pioneers in Kirtland and Nauvoo did before leaving their towns. The gathering was used as an opportunity for teens to bear their testimonies.
Shoshana Okana loved the conference. She said, “It was amazing. It was a great way to learn more about our heritage and the strong Saints who helped keep the Church going through terrible persecution. My testimony is so much stronger, and not just my testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the sacrifices of the early Saints, but of the truthfulness of the gospel and the love our Church leaders have for us youth.”
That love held the Saints together in the past, and it will continue into the future.

I have entitled my remarks “Lift Up Thine Eyes to the Mountains.” This title was inspired by an experience I had two years ago. I like to vacation in the mountains, yet the summer of 1999 was the first time I had ever traveled to nearby Wyoming to visit the Grand Tetons. A friend and I arrived at the national park in the late afternoon. As we drove along the park road to get closer to those majestic peaks, we noticed an area where we could pull off and read signs telling us the names and geologic history of the mountains. As we stood outside the car, drinking in the beauty of the scene, a van pulled off the road and parked beside our car, and a couple probably in their early forties got out to admire the mountains, too.
I noticed that the license plate on their van indicated they were from one of the flat midwestern states, and I thought perhaps the mountains would be especially awe-inspiring to them. As I turned to go back to the car, I noticed in the rear of their van two teenaged boys—presumably the sons of this couple—seated with their backs to the Grand Tetons and showing absolutely no interest in looking at them. One boy had headphones on and his eyes shut, apparently caught up in whatever he was listening to. The other had his nose in a magazine, doggedly reading, seemingly oblivious to the beauty that surrounded him.
Now I don’t know why these two boys were ignoring the view; maybe it was the last day of their trip and they had already seen enough. But, unfairly or not, I imagined that they had come on vacation at their parents’ insistence, and now, just to show how cool they were, they were refusing to be impressed by the sights their parents had brought them to see.
As I drove away from this family, I thought that many of us often behave in the way these boys did: There are inspiring things our Father in Heaven wants to show us and wonderful experiences He wants to give us, yet we are so absorbed in trivial, worldly interests that we sometimes turn our backs to the thrilling views of eternity that are available if we would only lift up our eyes and see.

When I was a small boy I soon realized that many who bore their testimonies in Sacrament meeting ended up crying. I began to believe that if I had a testimony I should cry too. I remember wanting to cry when I bore my testimony. It wasn’t until later in my life that I learned the following about the relationship between tears and a testimony. Alvin R. Dyer relates the following incident he had with President Spencer W. Kimball.

You don’t have to cry about the gospel to have a testimony! Many times we think that we don’t have a testimony unless a few tears flow. Nothing could be further from the truth. It is not necessary or needful for a person to have tears streaming down his face to have a testimony of the gospel. I went to a meeting with Spencer W. Kimball and a man got up and bore his testimony and he cried all the way through it. After the meeting, Brother Kimball called him over and said, ‘Brother, I wish you’d stop crying when you bear your testimony. You don’t have to do that to tell the people you love the Lord.’

Yet life has never been easy for Brady. When he was three years old, he was hospitalized with a collapsed lung and pneumonia. When his condition suddenly worsened, I called his father and suggested that he come back to the hospital because I was sure that Brady could not live more than a few hours. When Brother Blaser arrived, he asked me to join him in administering to Brady. Brother Blaser gave his son another powerful blessing, promising him not only that he would live but that he would be running up the hospital hallway the next day!
As a doctor, I thought, Steve, you can’t promise him that he will run tomorrow—he is struggling just to live!
The next morning Brady ran up the hospital hallway to greet me!

Danilo hurried through the halls of the school. Ahead of him, his dad was emptying a trash bin. Danilo hoped his dad wouldn’t see him. He lowered his head, trying to blend in with the other students. He felt embarrassed that his dad was the school custodian.
“Good morning, son,” his dad said as Danilo passed.
Danilo walked faster, pretending not to hear. But the other boys had already noticed.
“Hey, Danilo,” a boy called out. “There’s your dad, the school sweeper! Maybe he needs your help.”
“Don’t be mean to Danilo,” another boy chimed in. “Mr. Santos can do so much more than sweep. See, he can empty the trash too!”
The boys all laughed.
Danilo couldn’t wait to go to middle school next year. Maybe the teasing would stop then. He glanced over his shoulder. His dad worked with a smile on his face. How could he ignore their mean words?
Danilo ran into the auditorium. The school was having an assembly to announce the teacher of the year. His best friends, Nathaniel and Frances, had saved a seat for him.
“Who do you think the teachers chose?” Nathaniel asked.
“I hope it’s Miss Ocampo,” Frances said.
“She’s really good,” Nathaniel said. “But I like Mr. Torres most. Who do you want to win, Danilo?”
Danilo thought about his teachers. “I like all my teachers. It would be hard to pick just one.”
The principal stood up. The assembly was starting!
“It’s time to announce the teacher of the year,” the principal said. “This year, we have many wonderful teachers. But in the end, our choice was a little different.” He held up the plaque. “Our teacher of the year is Mr. Santos, our school custodian!”
Danilo couldn’t believe it! His dad, the teacher of the year? But he wasn’t even a teacher!
Danilo’s dad walked up to front of the room. Everyone clapped and cheered for him. The principal shook his hand. Then he said, “Some of you probably don’t think that Mr. Santos is a teacher. But he teaches us every day by his example. Each morning, he arrives at school before anyone else. After school, he is often the last to leave. Any job is honorable if you work hard and work cheerfully. This is what Angelo Santos has taught us. That is why Angelo Santos is the teacher of the year.”
Danilo thought of his dad emptying the trash bins. He knew how hard his dad worked. And he didn’t let what others said bother him. Maybe he could help Danilo learn how to do that.
After the assembly ended, Danilo stood up. “You go on without me,” he told his friends.
Danilo walked to the front of the auditorium. People were standing all around his dad, shaking his hand and patting him on the back. Each of them thanked him for his example. Danilo waited at the edge of the crowd until everyone had left.
His dad looked up from his plaque and smiled.
“Who would have thought it was possible?” his father asked. “Me, custodian of the school.”
“I’m so proud of you, Dad.” Danilo rushed forward and hugged his father. His father. The teacher of the year.
This story took place in the Philippines.

By August 23, 2011, Amado and Evelyn Vigil had experienced a transformation not unlike the change that had occurred on that hill in their capital city. Dressed in white, they entered a sealing room with their daughter, Michelle, age nine, and their son, Christian, age three. They were the first family sealed for time and eternity in the San Salvador El Salvador Temple. Like the temple they had entered, they were newly dedicated to the Lord’s service, and they were united in their dedication.
Evelyn and Amado speak tenderly of the day their family gathered in the sealing room. They had worried that by the time they were endowed and ready for the sealing ordinance that same day, their children would be restless. They were particularly concerned about their energetic three-year-old son, Christian. But the children entered the sealing room with peaceful reverence, suggesting that they understood the reason they were there. And when it was time for the children to participate in the sealing ordinance, Christian, without any instruction or prompting, walked to the altar and kneeled by his parents.
Evelyn remembers seeing the family’s reflection in the mirrors. Amado also speaks of seeing, not only in the temple but in everyday life. He expresses gratitude for the eternal perspective that now guides his life—a perspective that Michelle and Christian seemed to sense when they were in the Lord’s house. This perspective has expanded even more since then, especially as the Vigils have welcomed a new daughter into the family—Andrea, who was born in the covenant in July.

When Robert L. Backman was 12 years old, his father was called to be president of the South African Mission. Young Robert soon found himself living in Capetown and attending Rondebosch High School, a very strict English prep school. “The first weeks of school were a difficult time for me. I was strictly a minority and felt like a curiosity. I cried myself to sleep at night more than once, particularly when missionaries I had come to love went home. I wanted to go home with them.”
At school, Robert was indeed something of a curiosity. “Everybody wanted to hear me speak, so at recess they’d gather around me and try to provoke me into conversation, and then they’d try to mimic my accent.” Appalled at his student’s barbarous American twang, one cultured British teacher undertook to reform Robert’s speech. “Martha came down the garden path carrying a large basket of tomatoes,” he would intone in his most cultured diction, each vowel floating heavenward like a balloon. Then the young American would deliberately repeat the phrase with a Yankee accent so heavy that the good professor would shake with anguish. “He’d slam his ruler down on the desk he was so angry. We had a contest. I was just as stubborn as he was and bound and determined he wasn’t going to break me of my accent. He never did.”
To make matters worse, many of the parents of students didn’t want their children becoming too friendly with this young foreigner who might not only corrupt their speech but, since he was a Mormon, might undermine their morals as well. To a boy that age, belonging is very important, and so all this was difficult to accept.
There was another problem. After the easygoing pace of schoolwork in the United States, Rondebosch was academically tough. Robert studied English, French, Latin, math, chemistry, physics, and a couple of history courses all in the same term, attending school from 8:00 till 4:00 five days a week and till 1:00 on Saturday. And every night there was a crushing load of homework.
Discipline was also strict. Once a young school fellow made a remark that Robert took exception to, and a fight ensued. The two antagonists were ushered into the office of the headmaster, who politely asked them to please touch their toes. “He then pulled out a bamboo rod with a little steel tube right up the middle of it and gave us six good ones across our bottoms to teach us not to fight.”
But while the first weeks went badly at school, Robert turned more to the Lord and his religious faith for support, performing his duties as a deacon with great pride. His young faith grew strong. “I don’t think I’ve ever doubted. I’ve questioned. I’ve been exposed to a lot of other philosophies in my schooling, but I’ve never really had any doubt. I have always believed that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I’ve never had any question about the Savior and his mission, his death and resurrection. I suppose that part of that is due to my exposure to the missionaries quite early in my life. They buttressed me during those traumatic years when one ordinarily might be having some of those real doubts.”
And so, gradually, an unhappy situation became a happy one. “I got used to it and won my way, as youngsters usually do, and I ended up playing some rugby on the junior squads and made friends at the school and began enjoying myself.” Even the heavy academic demands turned out to be a blessing. “It was really a good discipline to my life and set me in some study patterns that have been of great benefit to me ever since.” And though it must have seemed merely a question of survival to young Robert at the time, it was a battle won, and his spiritual strength increased.

I met Mark when I came home from college for a visit. He was a young officer in the United States military, tall and handsome, just starting an exciting career. We liked each other immediately and spent as much time together as possible. It seemed we were made for each other. He visited me at college, and by the time I returned home for the summer vacation I knew I had to make a decision about my future.
After a few dates Mark had asked me to seriously consider not returning to college in the fall so that we could spend more time together. I had worked and saved through high school so that I could have a college education, and I just couldn’t give up my dreams of college so soon.
No matter how fervently I prayed about marriage and a future with Mark, I never felt peaceful with that decision. I thought it through many times and came up with many reasons why we could have a wonderful a life together. I had always wanted to travel and knew I would love living abroad in interesting foreign lands with him in the military.
One special evening, after a romantic dinner, we decided to drive around a lovely little lake. We drove slowly as if we might save the magic of the moment. We stopped not far from my home and spoke quietly and seriously about our future and how much we cared for each other.
At that moment it would have been easy to go too far with my affections, and he with his. Who would know? I had always been morally clean and thought I would never be vulnerable in that way. I was caught off guard by how easily physical desire became so strong.
Then pictures flooded my mind. I could clearly see my Beehive teacher, my grandmothers, and my parents. My thoughts were filled with their words and what they had taught me about being chaste. I could feel their love as strongly as if they were there with me. Time seemed to stop. I was facing temptation in its most deceiving disguise—temptation masquerading as young love. Clearly it was a choice between right and wrong, and I knew I wanted to be clean and pure. I was surprised at how easily that moment passed once the decision was made. I realized that real love respects purity. Temptation respects nothing.
The rest of the evening turned from romance to a clear-headed discussion of what our futures were to be. I was more certain than before that Heavenly Father had different plans for us. I don’t remember exactly what we said, only that we probably weren’t really meant for each other after all. I went home, told my parents it was over, but was at peace with the decision. We saw each other only a few times after that evening, and our paths soon went separate directions. I returned to college, and he went on with his life. We had no contact after that summer.
Returning to school, I moved back into regular college life, dating a few great guys, eventually meeting a fine man. He had a sense of humor and a strong testimony, and we had common goals. It was then that I received strong, positive confirmation he was the right person for me to marry. What had seemed so important the summer before faded. Mark just became just one of the guys I had known.
Years passed, and with a husband and several children, I was a busy mother trying to build an eternal family, working in the Church. One day I found some free time and slipped away to attend the temple. In that holy place, I noticed a temple worker who looked vaguely familiar. Only as I passed did I realize it was my old boyfriend Mark. There, in the Lord’s house, I felt no remorse or regrets. I didn’t have to turn away in shame because of things we had done. Instead I smiled and nodded.
In the celestial room I gave quiet thanks for guidance from Church leaders, parents, and Mutual teachers who had taught the principle of chastity. In the most sacred place on earth, the holy temple, I was filled with gratitude for sure and true commandments, which kept me safe and clean. Once I was young and inexperienced, but I had the best guides in all eternity, our Savior’s teachings and the Holy Ghost, to direct me to the right path. He knew what was right for me.
In the years since then, I have had a good, happy life, and I am sure Mark has had the same. I heard that he left the military, served a mission, and was later called to be a bishop. Ours are separate lives, free and clear, with only good memories. I am just one girl he dated; he is one guy I dated—and that is all.

When I first started my academic career I had occasional contact with a very driven professional colleague. He had finished a Ph.D. at the University of Michigan in economics with an emphasis in public finance. Soon he was in high demand to discuss public finance with public and private officials all over the US. He was in demand because he could explain terms like revenue elasticity or dead-weight loss in a manner that people and groups could understand. He was also an accomplished analyst. When he spoke people understood and his observations were generally on target and devoid of rhetoric. He was respected by fellow academics and his work was published in the best academic journals in his field.

Early in his career he discovered the concept of frequent flyer miles. He not only discovered them he embraced them. Frequent flyer miles became an obsession to him. Frequent flyer miles were placed on his vertical axis and on his horizontal axis was time and he wanted the line to be increasing at an increasing rate. His obsession was so strong that if he was going to Austin, Texas he would not take a direct flight but would take a series of flights, Chicago to New York to Miami and Miami to Austin. Such a route would allow him to accumulate thousands of extra miles on each trip. I found out this practice when I had a chance meeting with him in a New York airport and he was on his way to Austin via Miami.

He learned that he could be very productive on an airplane. He could write papers on the plane, he could edit papers on the plane, he could prepare lectures, and he could even correct student exams on an airplane. Travel provided him with credits to his frequent flyer accounts and the freedom to produce academic work without interruption from the phone, colleagues or students.

After several years he was offered a position that took him away from his current posting in a Midwestern University to a University located in the Northeast. As part of his bargaining with his new employers he sought additional salary because he thought the new position would not allow him to travel as much and he felt he needed to be rewarded for the potential reduction in his frequent flyer account. He thought the new position would reduce his rate of accumulation of miles. Or the rate of change on the vertical axis would slow. The account might grow but not as fast as he was used to or wanted.

His new employer agreed and granted him a boost in his compensation. There was no need to do so. He actually now traveled more than he ever had. The miles now accumulated on not one but multiple airlines. Not thousands, not hundreds of thousands but millions of miles. He had, at least in his mind a graph for each airline and they were increasing.

Did he use the miles? Did he take a vacation and travel around the world? No! Flying on an airplane for him would be like a bus driver going for a ride on his or her day off, or a postman going for a walk on his day off. The miles just kept accumulating.

Again he was offered a new position with a prominent think tank. This time the location was Washington, DC. Once again he used the argument that the new position would reduce his ability to accumulate frequent flyer miles and again the new employer agreed to his request. About this time Eastern Europe was being transformed from governments based on socialism to democratic governments. These governments now needed to understand how to develop efficient processes to fund their operations. Governments in Eastern Europe wanted him to help them design their tax systems. The same processes began to occur in countries in Asia. And he was off to Asia. And the travel continued to increase at an ever increasing rate. He continued to accumulate millions of miles on multiple airlines and as far as anyone could tell he never used them.

But a cruel reality occurred in this life. One day he noticed a small sore inside his mouth that would not heal. After a series of medical tests it was determined that he had an aggressive form of throat cancer. Within a year this disease imposed a heavy toll on his life. His last months were consumed by surgeries, chemo therapy, and radiation.

He spent most of the time in hospital gowns and hospital rooms. He spent no time using his frequent flyer miles. You might wonder how important the frequent flyer miles were to him. After he passed away the speakers at his memorial service almost universally commented on the millions of miles he had accumulated. Millions of miles that did him absolutely no good. He had found a way to kept score on the vertical axis but the score he accumulated was meaningless.

The danger is the same with wealth or power or status. It can become a measure that consumes us. But in consuming us it consumes everyone associated with us. This is the most important point from this story as the miles accumulated and as they consumed him they also consumed his family, his students, and his associates.

If you are accumulating "things"  at an increasing rate make certain that they are things that matter in the eternity. In other words if I asked to plot over time your relationship with your family I hope it is increasing at an increasing rate. Now think about what really matters to you? And if you decide that what you are accumulating does not make any sense for the eternities then following a model of decreasing at an increasing rate would be appropriate.

I have experienced many opportunities. One occurred 21 years ago, prior to the time when the German Democratic Republic—or East Germany, as it was more commonly known—was freed from Communist rule. I was visiting with the East German state secretary, Minister Gysi. At that time our temple at Freiberg, in East Germany, was under construction, along with two or three meetinghouses. Minister Gysi and I visited on a number of subjects, including our worldwide building program. He then asked, “Why is your church so wealthy that you can afford to build buildings in our country and throughout the world? How do you get your money?”
I answered that the Church is not wealthy but that we follow the ancient biblical principle of tithing, which principle is reemphasized in our modern scripture. I explained also that our Church has no paid ministry and indicated that these were two reasons why we were able to build the buildings then under way, including the beautiful temple at Freiberg.
Minister Gysi was most impressed with the information I presented, and I was very grateful I was able to answer his questions.

Another homemaking art that was apparent was Becky’s ability to save and use money wisely.
Beginning in her early teens she began working at such part-time jobs as teaching piano lessons, tutoring second graders in reading, and selling chicken at a drive-in restaurant. Through her savings she was able to purchase a sewing machine, cookware set, typewriter, silverware service for eight, and a set of fine dishes.
“I never bought anything that wasn’t on sale and that I wasn’t sure I really wanted. I was in no hurry, so I could take my time and find the best buy. When I became engaged, I realized that if I had waited to buy these things until I was ready to set up housekeeping, I would probably have had to pay whatever price was asked.”