Gospel Story Finder

Donna was excited. She and her cousin Judy were on their way to Aunt Pat’s house. Donna and Judy always had fun playing together.
It was dark outside, but there was enough moonlight to see by. Donna and Judy walked along the country road, laughing and joking with each other. Suddenly, they realized they were in front of Mr. Cook’s apple orchard.
The apples on Mr. Cook’s trees were big and red, and they looked delicious. Donna looked at Judy and realized they both had the same idea.
“Mr. Cook wouldn’t miss a couple of apples,” Donna said. But as she looked at the sharp pieces of the barbed-wire fence surrounding the orchard, it seemed they were prodding her already. A thought came to her: “He is your neighbor, Donna. Are you going to steal from him?”
Donna pushed the feeling aside. It would be fun. And besides, Mr. Cook had hundreds of apples.
She carefully climbed between the wires of the fence and helped Judy through. They crept into the orchard and picked a few of the shiny apples.
“OK, let’s go,” Judy said, motioning for Donna to follow her.
Suddenly, Mr. Cook’s dogs began barking. Someone turned on the porch light, and the girls heard quick footsteps.
“Run!” Donna hissed, clutching the apples in her arms.
When they reached the fence, Judy slipped through easily. But Donna was still holding the fruit and couldn’t get through the tight wires.
As she looked behind her and saw Mr. Cook’s dogs, Donna dropped the apples and squeezed through the fence. She heard a loud ripping noise and felt a sharp pain in her leg. Donna heard Judy gasp as she reached to pull her out of the wires. Donna had ripped her pants, and blood was running from a deep gash in her leg.
As Donna looked at the wound, she felt ashamed. She knew she shouldn’t have tried to steal Mr. Cook’s apples. She also knew she would have to tell Mom what had happened, as well as Mr. Cook.
When Donna got home she told Mom the whole story. Mom was silent as she washed Donna’s leg and put on a bandage.
“Donna, you know it is wrong to take something that isn’t yours,” Mom finally said. “It would have been wrong even if you hadn’t gotten caught stealing.”
Donna nodded as tears filled her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said. “I won’t do it again. I’m going to go apologize to Mr. Cook.”
Mom gave Donna a hug. Donna thought about the feelings she had before she and Judy went into the orchard. “That was the Holy Ghost,” she realized.
As Donna said her prayers that night, she thanked Heavenly Father that she had felt the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
“Next time,” she thought, “I’ll listen.”

During a recent stake conference assignment I attended in the Philippines, my heart was broken as I learned of the tragic experience of Brother Daniel Apilado. Brother Apilado and his wife were baptized in 1974. They embraced the restored gospel and were sealed in the temple. Thereafter, they were blessed with five beautiful children. On July 7, 1997, while Brother Apilado was serving as the stake president, a fire broke out in their small home. Brother Apilado’s oldest son, Michael, rescued his father, pulled him from the burning structure, and then ran back into the house to rescue others. It was the last time Brother Apilado saw his son alive. Taken in the fire were Brother Apilado’s wife, Dominga, and each of their five children.
The fact that Brother Apilado was living a life pleasing unto God when tragedy struck did not prevent the tragedy, nor did it make him immune from the sorrow that followed. But his faithfulness in keeping his covenants and exercising his faith in Christ gave him assurance in the promise that he will be reunited with his wife and family. This hope became an anchor to his soul.
During my visit, Brother Apilado, now the stake patriarch, introduced me to his new wife, Simonette, and to their two sons, Raphael and Daniel. Truly, Jesus Christ can and will “bind up the brokenhearted.”
In sharing Brother Apilado’s story, I am concerned that the enormity of his loss may cause many to think their own sorrows and sufferings are of little consequence in comparison. Please don’t compare, but seek to learn and apply eternal principles as you wade through the furnace of your own afflictions.

Following my baptism on 20 August 1994, in the Makélékélé Branch, Brazzaville District, I asked myself the following question:
How should I prepare myself?
In Doctrine and Covenants 11:21 we read: “Seek not to declare my word, but first seek to obtain my word, and then shall your tongue be loosed; then, if you desire, you shall have my Spirit and my word, yea, the power of God unto the convincing of men.”
This inspired me to enroll in institute, where I studied the Book of Mormon. This enlightened my life, allowed me to gain a testimony of the restored gospel, to come unto Christ, and inspired me to make a decision to serve a full-time mission. Touched by the obedience shown by Nephi, I decided to do as he did in 1 Nephi 3:7: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.”
I received my mission call a week before the civil war that broke out on 18 December 1998, in Congo-Brazzaville, my home country. I was 28 years old. I had to answer the Lord’s call which was extended to me through His servant, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008). I walked for 224 miles to get to the neighboring Democratic Republic of the Congo—the country in which I was called to serve my mission.
As we serve our fellow men, challenges can be turned into opportunities to grow. As I read the Book of Mormon and pondered over the scriptures, I came to discover that the Lord helped Nephi at all times. That gave me hope that the Lord would also help me if I made righteous decisions to serve Him through a full-time mission. In this experience, I moved forward freely, in spite of obstacles, with my mission call letter from President Hinckley, our then prophet. I felt the presence of Lord’s Spirit throughout my journey into the mission field.
It is important to know that a missionary is an instrument in the hands of the Lord, and that the purpose of a missionary is to “invite others to come unto Christ by helping them receive the restored gospel through faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement, repentance, baptism, receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost, and enduring to the end.”1 We will have to reflect upon the following question: What can we do to prepare ourselves if we wish to achieve this purpose?
We all—parents, youth, and children—can and should prepare ourselves to serve as missionaries—whether we serve as ward or branch missionaries, plan to serve at a young age, or hope to be called later in life as a senior missionary. Worthy young men should—and women might—consider serving a full-time mission. Speak with your bishop or branch president. He can help guide the process of preparation for a full-time mission and understand parents’ responsibility in this work.
In Matthew 28:19–20 the Lord has said: “Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:
“Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.”
This tells us that it is the responsibility of all those who follow Him to engage in missionary work. In Doctrine and Covenants 88:81 the Lord reiterated this declaration at the beginning of this dispensation: “It becometh every man who hath been warned to warn his neighbor.”
Sister Epiphanie Christel Mabiala was born in Pointe Noire, Republic of Congo. She and her husband are the parents of three children. She was called as an area organization adviser in July 2021.

We know a sweet young woman who is a convert to the Church. Her father is a Baptist minister. I spoke to a group of young adults and counseled them as President Kimball has asked that we do regarding temple marriage. Later in a testimony meeting, she said, “I am a convert to the Church. My father is a Baptist minister. It just about broke his heart when I joined the Mormon church. The only hope to which he could cling to salvage his ‘wayward’ daughter was to perform the wedding ceremony when I get married. Not only will he not be able to perform the ceremony, but he will not even be able to see me married. I love him and Mother dearly, but I must follow the prophet’s counsel to be married in the temple.”

One such moment came to me as a young basketball player. The game was close—hotly contested—when the coach called me from the bench to run a key play. For some reason which I shall never understand, I took the pass and dribbled the ball right through the opposing team. I jumped high toward the basket; and, as the basketball left my fingertips, I came to the abrupt realization that I was shooting for the wrong basket. I offered the shortest prayer I have ever spoken: “Dear Father, don’t let that ball go in.” My prayer was answered, but my ordeal was just beginning. I heard a loud cheer erupt from the adoring fans: “We want Monson, we want Monson, we want Monson … OUT!” The coach obliged.

Daniel L. Carter
As a young boy in Idaho, Dan Carter often cried when he listened to the Tabernacle Choir at conference time because the music was so beautiful. He said, “I always yearned to be able to share my testimony and feelings of the gospel through music.”
When he was asked to write a song to help prepare boys to receive the priesthood, he worried about his ability to write one that boys would enjoy singing. “After several weeks of working and rewriting, an idea for the music came. … I felt … sure that this song [‘A Young Man Prepared’] could help boys.”

When I was a teenager, my family rented a small home in Laie on Loala Street for six weeks during the summer. We spent most of our days on Hukilau Beach, trying to avoid the “blue bubble” jellyfish, riding bicycles around the neighborhood, and drinking gallons of guava nectar. We visited the pineapple fields, hiked to waterfalls, and toured historic sites. This was a summer to remember for a 13-year-old boy! However, while these experiences were fun, I was impacted most by something more meaningful—the loving and welcoming nature of our neighbors.
Even though we were staying in Laie for only a short time, those around us reached out. Families invited us into their homes for dinner. Kids in the neighborhood extended a hand of friendship. We were even asked to participate in the local ward’s annual beach barbecue and talent show. We were accepted, included, and valued.
We felt like we belonged.

In college I had a friend who didn't know anything about our church. I told her there was a prophet on the earth who received revelation for his people. She quizzically said, "Oh really?" And then without hesitating she asked, "What has he told you?" I was caught off guard. But I vowed right then that I would learn what our prophet has told us. This is how I would answer her today.

He has told us to get out of debt.He has urged us to pay an honest tithing.He has encouraged us to seek education.He has pled with us to reach out in love and kindness to all people.He has asked us to be honest in all our dealings.

Tolosa district president Jose Medina and his wife, Felicitas, had their own trial of faith. Felicitas was active in another church but had doubts about it and was searching for the Lord’s true Church. She was praying fervently that she could find it while her children were still young, so she could teach them about it. Then one day while sweeping the floor, she found a pamphlet about Joseph Smith. To this day she doesn’t know how it got there because their house was located in a gated community missionaries were not allowed to enter. She read the pamphlet and wanted to know more about the Church, so she requested that the missionaries visit.
Her husband missed the first three discussions, but the missionaries told her to pray about what they had taught. Felicitas prayed, and she had a dream about the Savior. “It was as if it were the Second Coming,” she says. “People were rejoicing, but we were not because we were not a part of them.” She knew she had found the true religion, and she wanted her husband to share in her discovery.
Jose listened to the missionaries, but he wasn’t interested in baptism because he was a heavy smoker. He told the elders he believed in the Ten Commandments, and one of the missionaries asked him why he was not keeping all of them. The elder said one of the commandments was “Thou shalt not kill” (Ex. 20:13). “You’re killing yourself little by little by smoking,” he said.
Finally Jose agreed to be baptized, but because he was still smoking, the missionaries had to delay his baptism. Felicitas knew her husband needed extra motivation, so she told him she would fast one meal for every cigarette he smoked. “You will die then,” he replied, “because I smoke five packs of cigarettes a day.” But with the Lord’s help, he quit smoking and was baptized 15 days later.
Within three months Brother Medina was called as branch president. Later he served as district executive secretary and district clerk. He now serves as district president. Sister Medina has served as Young Women president and Relief Society president in both the branch and the district and has taught seminary for 10 years. “We love it,” she says. “It’s worth it. All the blessings we receive are from God.”

Many years ago I read of an experience at Christmastime which took place when thousands of weary travelers were stranded in the congested Atlanta, Georgia, airport.1 An ice storm had seriously delayed air travel as these people were trying to get wherever they most wanted to be for Christmas—most likely home.
It happened in December of 1970. As the midnight hour tolled, unhappy passengers clustered around the ticket counters conferring anxiously with agents whose cheerfulness had long since evaporated. They too wanted to be home. A few people managed to doze in uncomfortable seats. Others gathered at the newsstands to thumb silently through paperback books. If there was a common bond among this diverse throng it was loneliness: pervasive, inescapable, suffocating loneliness. …
The fact of the matter was that there were more passengers than there were available seats on any of the planes. When an occasional plane managed to break out, more passengers stayed behind than made it aboard. …
Gate 67 in Atlanta was a microcosm of the whole cavernous airport. Scarcely more than a glassed-in cubicle, it was jammed with travelers hoping to fly to New Orleans, Dallas, and points west. Except for the fortunate few traveling in pairs, there was little conversation at gate 67. A salesman stared absently into space as if resigned. A young mother cradled an infant in her arms, gently rocking in a vain effort to soothe the soft whimpering.
Then there was a man in a finely-tailored gray flannel suit, who somehow seemed impervious to the collective suffering. There was a certain indifference about his manner. He was absorbed in paperwork: figuring the year-end corporate profits perhaps. A nerve-frayed traveler sitting nearby observing this busy man might have indentified him as an Ebenezer Scrooge.
Suddenly the relative silence was broken by a commotion. A young man in military uniform, no more than 19 years old, was in animated conversation with the desk agent. The boy held a low-priority ticket. He pleaded with the agent to help him get to New Orleans so that he could take the bus to the obscure Louisiana village he called home.
The agent wearily told him that prospects were poor for the next 24 hours, maybe longer. The boy grew frantic. Immediately after Christmas, his unit was to be sent to Vietnam—where at that time war was raging—and if he didn’t make this flight, he might never again spend Christmas at home. Even the businessman looked up from his cryptic computations to show a guarded interest. The agent clearly was moved, even a bit embarrassed. But he could only offer sympathy, not hope. The boy stood at the departure desk casting anxious looks around the crowded room, as if seeking just one friendly face.
Finally the agent announced that the flight was ready for boarding. The travelers who had been waiting long hours heaved themselves up, gathered their belongings, and shuffled down the small corridor to the waiting aircraft: 20, 30, 100, until there were no more seats. The agent turned to the frantic young soldier and shrugged.
Inexplicably, the businessman had lingered behind. Now he stepped forward. “I have a confirmed ticket,” he quietly told the agent. “I’d like to give my seat to this young man.” The agent stared incredulously; then he motioned to the soldier. Unable to speak, tears streaming down his face, the boy in olive drab shook hands with the man in the gray flannel suit, who simply murmured, “Good luck. Have a fine Christmas. Good luck.”
As the plane door closed and the engines began their rising whine, the businessman turned away, clutching his briefcase and trudged toward the all-night restaurant.
No more than a few among the thousands stranded there at the Atlanta airport witnessed the drama at gate 67. But for those who did, the sullenness, the frustration, the hostility all dissolved into a glow. That act of love and kindness between strangers had brought the spirit of Christmas into their hearts.
The lights of the departing plane blinked starlike as the craft moved off into the darkness. The infant slept silently, now in the lap of the young mother. Perhaps another flight would be leaving before many more hours. But those who witnessed the interchange were less impatient. The glow lingered gently, pervasively in that small glass and plastic stable at gate 67.

I wasn’t sure what to do that afternoon in my 14th year. I was backed up against the outside wall of my school, and a bully was hitting me. Since I was surrounded by half a dozen of his friends, I decided to take the blows.
He punched me, then kicked me. Many times.
Finally he and his friends left. My bus came, and I climbed aboard. I didn’t raise my head until the bus pulled up to my stop. Even 50 years later, I still wonder if I acted out of cowardice or Christian forbearance.
This experience underscores some puzzling questions we face as Latter-day Saints. When our beliefs are attacked, do we fight, flee, or just take the blows?
The Savior’s words seem clear: “Whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also” (Matthew 5:39). I’ve often wondered, Was Jesus simply using a metaphor to teach His followers not to respond to insults with bloody retaliation, as was the usual practice? Perhaps.
And yet, consider the counsel in the Doctrine and Covenants.
In 1833 the Church was facing intense persecution, especially in Missouri. In defense of their lives, Church members took up arms. At that point, the Lord revealed section 98. In it, He taught them to forbear—within limits. They had a right to defend themselves, but if they refrained, He would reward them. If the offenders sought forgiveness, the Saints were to forgive “seventy times seven” (verse 40). As for going to battle, they were to first sue for peace and engage only if the Lord commanded it.
Times have changed since those terrible days, but in some ways the Church remains under attack. Our doctrine is generally misunderstood. Uninformed assumptions, illogical accusations, and outright lies are passed around as truth.
What are we to do? As disciples who strive to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9), we must do something. We can’t run. So do we fight or just take the blows?
In such matters, we can look to the prophets. In recent general conferences, I’ve noted a number of talks explaining the Church’s position on controversial issues. The speakers don’t castigate, but neither do they capitulate. Often they seek common ground with those who disagree with us. They are respectful. They try to understand and be understood.1
There may be times when the only choice is to fight, flee, or take the blows. But often we have a better option. We can reach out in love, as Jesus and His Apostles do.

Here in Salt Lake City in 1985, Bishop Steven Christensen, through no fault of his own, was cruelly and senselessly killed by a bomb intended to take his life. He was the son of Mac and Joan Christensen, the husband of Terri, and the father of four children. With his parents’ consent, I share what they learned from this experience. After this terrible deed, the news media followed members of the Christensen family around relentlessly. On one occasion this media intrusion offended one of the family members to the point that Steven’s father, Mac, had to restrain him. Mac then thought, “This thing will destroy my family if we don’t forgive. Venom and hatred will never end if we do not get it out of our system.” Healing and peace came as the family cleansed their hearts from anger and were able to forgive the man who took their son’s life.

Below the grass and some railroad tracks, the ground fell away into a steep, wooded bank. On that bank three young men were working in the rain—cutting a path through the sumac and serviceberry down to the wide, gray, rain-dimpled Susquehanna.

As the three workers hacked away at the dripping brush under a bonfire of autumn leaves, their minds turned now and then to a bright spring day in May of 1829 when this spot was part of a Pennsylvania township called Harmony.

Last fall when the leaves were turning, the nearby branch of Honesdale scheduled a baptism in the Susquehanna near the restoration site. It had been quite a while since the last baptism there, and underbrush had reclaimed part of the trail down to the river. Rodney, Randy, and Chris volunteered to reopen the path so that the baptismal party wouldn’t have to fight limbs and thorns.

Unfortunately, that Saturday morning dawned rainy and cold. Low clouds brushed the mountaintops. The trees and brush along the river dripped water. The steep path was slick and muddy.

The three young men went ahead with the job anyway. They worked in the rain, getting drenched. Occasionally one of them slipped and went sliding down the hill. But they had a lot of fun too, as young men working together usually do. They even found a little time for skipping rocks on the Susquehanna. The young women of the branch came along to prepare a feast for the workers. Well, one of the young women came—Rodney’s sister. And damp hot dogs can be a feast if you go at it with the right attitude. At any rate, they worked on until they had cut a wide path down to the river.

After the project the young men got together at Rodney’s house in Hallstead, Pennsylvania, to dry out, watch some television, play some computer games, shoot a few baskets (Chris and Randy are on their school teams), and talk a little bit about the gospel and themselves.

This story took place in the USA.
Janie closed her book and sighed happily. This book was her favorite! She had already finished it three times. She loved to read!
“Do you think I could build a little library?” Janie asked Mom and Dad later that day. She wanted to help others by sharing books with them.
“What’s a little library?” Dad asked.
“It’s a box that you put outside with books in it,” Janie said. “People can borrow them for free. Or they can leave books for others to read.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” said Mom.
Dad nodded. “We can help you build it.”
“Thanks!” said Janie. “Maybe we can have a bake sale to earn money for the supplies!”Janie and her sister, Carli, made signs announcing the bake sale. They placed them around the neighborhood. Mom and Dad let people know about the bake sale online. Janie was so excited!
Janie had a lot of fun making the treats. She made cookies, crispy cereal bars, and snowball cakes.
Soon the day of the bake sale came. Janie, Carli, and their friend Bella put a table in the front yard. They sold treats to a lot of their neighbors. Some people donated extra money too. Janie put all the money in a special jar.
After the bake sale, Janie had another idea. She entered some of her favorite treats into a contest at the county fair and won a prize! She put the prize money in the jar with the other money for her little library.
Now that Janie had the money for the little library, she needed books to fill it with. She went from door to door and asked her neighbors to donate books they didn’t need anymore. Some friends came by to give Janie their books too.
It was finally time to build her little library. Janie used the money she’d earned to buy supplies. She drew a design of the box and made measurements. Dad helped her cut the wood, and Janie helped him put the pieces together.
Mom filled in the cracks and seams to keep the water out when it rained. Janie helped hang up a sign telling people to take a book or share a book.
Finally Janie and her family took the box out to the front yard next to their big, shady tree. Dad put a post in the ground, and together they put the box on the post. They had made a little library!
Dad placed three heavy rocks around the post. “That should keep it from blowing over,” he said.
“I love it!” Janie said. “Now we can put the books inside.” They filled the little library with the donated books.
After that, Janie went to check the little library every day. She loved to see what books people added or took out. One day she saw a little girl choose one of Janie’s own favorite books! She was so glad she could help her neighbors by sharing books in the little library.
Illustration by Barbara Bongini

We decided to visit him the next month as part of our visit to the temple. We called ahead, and he said we could come in when we got to his home. We drove into San Antonio and found Brother Para’s small home. He was lying on his bed with a white sheet covering his body up to his chin. He moved his head to the side and talked with us, his smile still beaming. He told us how he became quadriplegic after falling off a roof when he was in his 30s. He shared his struggle and his testimony.
A one-time visit to Brother Para turned into years of visits. He became a special part of our lives. We didn’t know what to do for him—his challenges were huge. What we did know is that we could be his friends. We could bring him small gifts: a picture of the Savior, a Book of Mormon CD in Spanish, a picture of the temple, a bag of fresh oranges. We could visit him, sing Primary songs, and listen to him. What an incredible experience this was—you cannot give a crumb to the Lord without receiving a loaf in return.1
He taught us gratitude, which changed every part of our lives. We learned to have gratitude for our knowledge of the gospel, for our relationship with God; for our knowledge of the plan of salvation; for our home, cars, food, and clothing; for our ability to use our bodies; for the chance to do good for our community; and for good people around us. Brother Para changed our definition of the words hard and trial. We had reason to rejoice in our many blessings and used those blessings to uplift others.

The second of four boys in his family, Elder Wilcox was five years old when his father decided that he wanted to have something useful for his boys to do. “My father moved us out of the city,” Elder Wilcox recollected, “and into a nice home in the country located on almost one hectare near Mt. Olympus in Holladay, Utah. We had an alfalfa field, lawns to mow, and a cow, chickens, and a currant patch to tend. There were plenty of chores to keep us boys busy, and I’m grateful to my parents for providing that good environment for us.
“Some of my choicest memories are of the foothills east of our home that provided a place for us to run and hike during the summer. In the wintertime it was beautiful, and we could ride about 2.5 kilometers down a traffic-free road on our sleighs without stopping. Ski jumping was also popular then. We just packed our skis on our shoulders up to the top of the hill, made a snow jump part way down, and spent the rest of the day seeing who could jump the farthest. Safety bindings were unheard of then, and we fastened our boots to our skis with heavy rubber bands cut from inner tubes, which held the boots tightly to the toe straps.”

Jennette Evans McKay, mother of our ninth prophet, David Oman McKay, had sacrificed a great deal to make it possible for her husband to go on a mission. When the mission call arrived in the mail, Jennette and David had three children, and a fourth—Annie—was to be born very soon. They owned a large farm that required a lot of work.
David did not want to leave his wife with so much responsibility, but Jennette said, “Of course you will go! David O. and I will manage quite nicely.”
After her husband left for Scotland, Jennette McKay had the ward priesthood quorums do her spring planting, and she spent a lot of time teaching her young children how to run the farm. They milked the cows, fed the chickens, gathered eggs, and helped harvest their precious crops.
President David O. McKay remembered listening to his mother many times tell of growing up in Wales, where she was born in the village of Merthyr Tydfil on August 28, 1850.
When Jennette was only six years old, she and her family came to America on a large ship. They had been baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and wanted very much to live with the Saints in Utah.
The Evans family settled in Ogden, Utah, and Jennette was attending school there when she first met David McKay. They were later married by Wilford Woodruff, who would soon become president of the Church.
David and Jennette became the parents of eleven children, eight of whom lived to adulthood. Jennette was a very kind and patient mother, and she taught her children the principles of the gospel each day by word and example. President McKay once said that his boyhood home was “the dearest, sweetest spot on earth.”
Jennette wanted to be sure that her children received a good education, and she sacrificed a great deal of time and money to send them to good schools. Each of her eight surviving children graduated from college!
When Church leaders from Salt Lake City visited the Huntsville area, they often stayed at the McKay home because the town had no restaurant or hotel. Usually when they had guests for dinner, the children knew that they should not take large helpings of food for themselves so that there would be enough for their visitors.
Jennette Evans McKay died in 1905 at the young age of fifty-four. Many years later President David O. McKay went to Wales and dedicated a chapel in Merthyr Tydfil, the village where his mother was born. He also had a large commemorative plaque mounted on the front of the small cottage where his mother was born, and the plaque is still there today.

One of these for Kathy and me came early in our marriage when I was struggling as a first-year law student and she was overwhelmed by her first teaching position. We barely met in all of our individual comings and goings, and our relationship with each other was suffering noticeably. Even Sundays were burdensome as we tried to fulfill our Church callings and catch up on our studies and school preparation. Finally we sat down one evening and decided if our marriage was the most important part of our lives, we had better start acting like it was. We agreed to completely honor the Sabbath by refraining from work, including our studies, and by devoting ourselves to the building of a stronger marriage. There was an immediate surge in our feelings toward each other and noticeable improvement in other areas, including my grades and Kathy’s teaching. Twenty-six years later we are still faced with many similar choices and issues. I hope and pray we are still resolving them in favor of the things that matter most.

“And what do Mormons believe about marriage?” my high school Spanish teacher asked me.
All of my classmates turned in their seats, listening for my answer. I gulped as I wondered how our class discussion had wandered from Don Quixote and Dulcinea to dating and marriage.
There wasn’t another member of the Church in the class. What should I say? How much detail should I give? Would everyone make fun of me if I talked about eternal marriage?
“We, uh … ,” I stammered, still uncertain what to say.
Just then, my friend Denise came to my rescue. “Mormons have a beautiful view of marriage,” she said. “They believe that marriages performed in their temples can last forever.”
“That is beautiful,” our teacher replied. Even my classmates seemed satisfied.
With that, class resumed and I was left wondering why I had been sweating over a question that my nonmember friend answered so easily.
As more people hear about the Church, Latter-day Saints will have more opportunities to answer questions about the gospel. In high school, I learned that we don’t have to give long answers, and we don’t have to be afraid. The beautiful, simple doctrines of the gospel speak for themselves.

As a young man I participated on our high school wrestling team. We were in a tournament that included teams we had met earlier in the year. My opponent was a young man whom I had defeated in our last match. This time when we met with the referee in the center of the mat, he looked at me with a determination and said, "This is my time, Pinegar!" I responded, "Oh, no! This is my time and I'm going to beat you today!"

But, he was serious. He attacked me with a fury I had not seen in him previously. You might say he turned me every way but loose. In the third and final round of the match, he had me in a position that could result in a pin for him. I could feel my grip on him was slipping. He held my body in such a position that the only way I could look was up. As I looked up I saw a rather large man sitting several rows up in the bleachers. His face was somewhat contorted and it appeared to me he was twisting and turning as if to help me get out of my predicament. When the thought came to me that he was trying to help me I knew with his help I could reverse my position and come off victorious.

It was as if added strength came to me. With a burst of power I rolled over and pinned my opponent. What a victory that was for me! Then I looked around, wanting to find the man who had given me the confidence I needed to change what seemed a doomed position into victory. I found him - he was my Dad.

This experience reinforced my confidence in my Heavenly Father. It is often a reminder to me even now that when we are in trouble or facing a challenge of any kind, we need only to look up. Our Heavenly Father is there, pulling for us. His love will reach out to us and increase our faith and strength to be able to overcome whatever obstacle we are dealing with.