Gospel Story Finder

Another member, many miles away, shared the gospel in correspondence to a friend in Richmond, Virginia. A wonderful experience followed. Two missionaries were tracting one day in Richmond. One had been ill; the other felt uneasy as they walked the streets, knowing that his companion was not at his best. Both desired to persevere, however.

After two hours of having little success, they knocked on a door and introduced themselves as missionaries with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. “Oh, yes,” the woman replied, “Ann Smith sent you.” The elders looked at each other, shook their heads, then told her they were just knocking at the doors in the neighborhood and that no person in particular had sent them to her. She invited them in; the husband and other family members were present in the room.

She then told the missionaries something that caused them to marvel. She said, “Just an hour or two ago I finished reading a letter that I had received today from my dearest friend who lives in California. A year ago her husband and she were converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and were recently married in the temple. When we last heard, their marriage was falling apart, and she confided in me the sad situation. But today I received this ten-page letter telling me all about your church and the marvelous change it has made in their lives.”

She allowed the missionaries to read the contents of that letter, which covered Relief Society, Primary, Sunday School, MIA, and much, much more. Then they read a short note at the bottom, which said, “I will be sending two missionaries to your house to teach you more about the Church.”

After hearing the elders’ message, she said, with tears streaming down her face, “I believe the Lord sent you to us.”

When members and missionaries work faithfully together, they become as one and the Lord can use them to achieve his purposes among his children. The Lord had united as one the efforts of this faithful member and these diligent missionaries, to bring this family instruction which, if followed, will bring them joy and peace beyond measure and lead them back into the presence of our Heavenly Father.

Scheduling is the third principle of building. Achieving the goal of a schedule can only be accomplished through establishing goals, great coordination, strategizing, planning, collaborating financing and working to accomplish our goals. One of the remarkable stories about building to a schedule is the story of Prayer Rock near Cody, Wyoming. On a recent trip to the area with our Scoutmaster who grew up in Cody we went to the visitors’ center in that same city and learned the story of the early saints that settled in 1900. When the saints first arrived in the valley it became obvious that a canal needed to be dug and built in order for the saints to bring water to their new farms. They went to work immediately building the canal. The work was led by Byron Sessions, he would become the Stake President the following year. The work was backbreaking and they soon realized the work couldn’t be finished in a year; no food could be raised until they had water for irrigation. Serious discouragement plagued the camp. A special prayer was offered and soon a modern manna from heaven came to the saints in the form of an $80,000 contract to construct 23 miles of railroad. Half of the saints worked on the canal, the other half worked on the railroad making enough money to buy food for the saints. As the saints worked on the canal they came to a cliff with a very large rock directly in the canal right of way. President Sessions, who was superintendent of the canal construction, strategized that a large hole would be dug at the base of this rock and then with the help of explosions at the rocks base this would cause the rock to crumble and collapse into the hole. Safety began to be a major concern. Morning and evening prayers were held in camp for the safety of the men and the horses. The digging continued. It didn’t seem to be working. “One afternoon as President Sessions discussed the matter with the men working there,” his own son, Biney, expressed the discouragement that several of them were feeling: ‘We’ll never get this down. We just as well give it up.’ This seemed to anger his father, who said, ‘I prophecy in the name of Israel’s God that that rock will be in there tomorrow at this time.’ Jim George, one of the men working there, turned his back to President Sessions , pulled out his watch and said, ‘Let’s test him out.’ He said, ‘It’s just four P.M.’” The work continued the next day. They took their usual fifteen-minute break at 3:30 and had just begun working again when President Sessions called them up for another rest break, an unprecedented but quickly obeyed order. Then, without a powder blast, without so much as a tap from a hammer, “that rock began to split from top to bottom and landed right where we had all been busy working five minutes before. George, with the same watch, dumbfounded, said, ‘Five minutes to four.’” The standing half of the rock is still visible; the fallen half was buried in the outside bank of the canal which flows smoothly between the two halves. This was considered a miracle by the Wyoming saints – it was a miracle. As we set goals and work to meet schedules we need to do all we can to meet these commitments.

Lorenzo Snow wrote of such an experience:

Some two or three weeks after I was baptized . . . I began to reflect upon the fact that I had not obtained a knowledge of the truth of the work . . . , and I began to feel very uneasy. I laid aside my books, left the house, and wandered around through the fields under the oppressive influence of a gloomy, disconsolate spirit, while an indescribable cloud of darkness seemed to envelop me. I had been accustomed, at the close of the day, to retire for secret prayer, to a grove a short distance from my lodgings, but at this time I felt no inclination to do so. The spirit of prayer had departed and the heavens seemed like brass over my head. At length, realizing that the usual time had come for secret prayer, I concluded I would not forego my evening service, and, as a matter of formality, knelt as I was in the habit of doing, and in my accustomed retired place, but not feeling as I was wont to feel.

I had no sooner opened my lips in an effort to pray, than I heard a sound, just above my head, like the rustling of silken robes, and immediately the Spirit of God descended upon me, completely enveloping my whole person, filling me, from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, and O, the joy and happiness I felt! No language can describe the almost instantaneous transition from a dense cloud of mental and spiritual darkness into a refulgence of light and knowledge, as it was at that time imparted to my understanding. I then received a perfect knowledge that God lives, that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, and of the restoration of the holy Priesthood, and the fulness of the Gospel. . . .

. . . That night, as I retired to rest, the same wonderful manifestations were repeated, and continued to be for several successive nights. The sweet remembrance of those glorious experiences, from that time to the present, bring them fresh before me, imparting an inspiring influence which pervades my whole being, and I trust will to the close of my earthly existence. [In Eliza R. Snow, Biography and Family Record of Lorenzo Snow (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Company, 1884; reprint, 1975), 7–9; emphasis in original]

A few years ago, one of my relatives compiled a beautiful history about my father’s ancestors, and I learned for the first time about my great-great-grandfather Robert Shipley. He was illiterate, illegitimate, and raised in a British workhouse. He was put in the workhouse with his younger brother, who later died because the conditions were so terrible. Their story reminds me of a Charles Dickens novel.

Fortunately, Robert survived. When he was older, he happened to learn about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. After he was baptized, he regularly attended church and eventually met a young woman there. Her name was Harriet, and she was educated and very cultured. I don’t know what she saw in Robert, but they got married right before they boarded a ship to sail to America to join the Saints.

While they were aboard the ship, Harriet taught Robert to read and write, using the Book of Mormon and the Bible. I take great delight in thinking about Harriet—who was thirteen years younger—teaching Robert to recognize the letters, sounds, and words of the gospel. I know that his progress would have been slow and incremental and that it would have taken a long time to see improvements. But with persistence and patience, we know “that by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6). This is the doctrine of incremental growth. Just as with the Saints in Africa who are learning to read and write, my ancestor Robert was already proficient in the most important language—the language of the Spirit.

Kendra was alert for any opportunity to begin a gospel discussion. Like a lot of young people, her wallet was stuffed with pictures of everyone who’s ever been important to her. In front of all the others, she included a photo of the president of the Church and a picture of the Savior. When her friends would flip through her photos they’d ask if the kindly looking man in the first photo was her grandfather.

“Oh no,” she would explain. “He’s the president of our Church.” The next picture was of Christ. “I’m sure you recognize him,” she would say. “He’s my best friend.” It was a great conversation starter.

Sometimes, Kendra took the initiative even further. One Thursday night, when investigators called to say they couldn’t make it to her home to meet with the missionaries, she decided not to let her missionary night go to waste. She and a girlfriend jumped into the car and headed for town, where they found some young people and convinced them to skip a movie and come meet the missionaries instead.

Kendra’s missionary vigor helped 11 people join Christ’s true church and acquainted many others with its teachings. And Kendra herself grew tremendously while on her “mission.” She says it was the happiest time of her life because she cared so much about other people.

At the close of one of her letters to me, Kendra expressed joy that her “mission” really hasn’t ever ended. I sustain her in that thought. Though our callings in life may seem to change occasionally, their purposes remain the same—to help each other return to our Father’s presence.

This morning Mom and I went to the bookstore to meet my favorite author. I took my copy of one of her books, and she autographed it for me. Then Mom and I looked all around the store. I asked Mom to buy me a zillion different books, but she said, “Maybe we can get one for your next birthday.” Sometimes Mom says no. I yelled, “I want one now! If you loved me, you’d buy me a book!” Mom said, “I love you very much, but we can’t do and have everything we want. We have to make choices.” “I know,” I said. “But can I have a hug and a kiss?” This time Mom said yes!

One of my favorite sports stories has to do with Roger Bannister, who many years ago participated in the Olympic Games as a champion in the one-mile race. He was supposed to win, but he wound up finishing in fourth place. He went home from the Olympics discouraged, disillusioned, and embarrassed.
He had his mind set on giving up running. He was a medical student at the time, and his studies were so demanding. He decided that he’d better get on with life and devote all of his time in preparing for medicine and forget his hopes about running the world’s record in the four-minute mile. He went to his coach and told him, “Coach, I’m through. I’m going to devote all my time to studying.” His coach said, “Roger, I think you are the man who can break the four-minute mile. I wish you’d give it one last try before you quit.”
Roger didn’t answer him. He went home knowing not what to say or to do. But before the night was over, he had convinced himself that he would develop an iron will before he quit running. He was going to break the four-minute mile.
He knew what this meant. He would have to set a pattern and live by it. He realized he would have to study seven, eight, or even nine hours a day to get through medical school. He would have to train for at least four hours a day.
Also involved was running continually to build up his body to the peak of perfection. He knew he would have to eat the best foods. He knew he would have to go to bed early every night and sleep nine or ten hours, to let his body recuperate and constantly build up for the great day. He determined within himself that he was going to follow the rigid pattern he and the coach knew was necessary for victory and achievement.
On May 6, 1954, the four-minute-mile barrier was broken by Roger Bannister—a tall, stooped Englishman with a big-boned, angular face and a ruddy complexion—a man committed to a winning pattern which would bring him recognition worldwide.
On a dreary, cold, wet, and windy day, he went to the Oxford University track to put his theories and skill to the acid test. His parents and a few hundred others were present. The rest is history. Running strictly according to his charts and pattern, he ran the miracle mile in 3:59.4. He became the first man in recorded history to speed across this distance in less than four minutes. He had proven that man could run faster than was thought possible. He paid the price and reaped the rewards of following the proper pattern. Today in England he is a doctor in his own right. At the time of his victory over the one-mile barrier, he became an international hero in all the record books. The four-minute-mile barrier is broken constantly these days, but Roger Bannister set the pattern many years ago and followed it with total commitment, self-discipline, and a will of iron.

It might seem like these young people have had enough Church activity for one day, so they’ve decided to come to town for a lark. You soon see that’s not true, however, when the full-time missionaries arrive. Even after a full day of sports events to which nonmembers were invited, the youth of the stake have volunteered to go tracting and street contacting with the elders and sisters.

“I don’t know a lot about full-time missions,” says Hiromi Tsuchiya, 16, a sister from the Iwamizawa Branch. “But I think this is a good way to find out about them. I don’t want to get in the way tonight. But I am sure this will be a great help if I become a full-time missionary, because I’ll know a little bit about what to expect.”

Her friend Yumi Kitayama, 15, from the Teine Branch, says if she had more courage working with the missionaries would be easier. “It’s hard to talk to people I don’t know at all,” she said. “This helps me see what missionaries go through all day long. If I get scared, I just think of the Young Women program and all the fun we have. I know other people would like to share in that if they only knew.”

Yoshio Suzuki, 17, of the Otaru Ward, Japan Sapporo West Stake, says he understands that street contacting is important, and he’s glad to help. But, he adds, there’s an even better way to share the gospel. “By bringing my friends to church, to activities like we had today, to regular meetings, to missionary discussions, I make the missionary’s job easier. I too want to go on a full-time mission. I hope when I do there will be members willing to come out and work with me.”

The sun’s glow has faded from golden to black. Lamps now light the gardens on Sapporo’s main square. The corn-on-the-cob vendor has closed up for the night and is wheeling her cart away.

A few of the young Latter-day Saints have headed home, too. But not one group. They’re busy explaining a brochure to a businessman. He’s interested in their message. Yes, he’d like the missionaries to come tell him more. An appointment is made. The man leaves with a smile and a handshake.

As a teenage boy I watched my six-week-old sister, Carol, struggle with whooping cough at a time when there were no antibiotics. I came home one night from having been a grease monkey [mechanic] at a bus depot and saw the light was on. It was about four o’clock in the morning. I knew it meant trouble. As I came in, Carol was laid out on the round dining room table, and Dad was waiting for a neighbor to come to join in blessing her. I thought she was gone. It seemed to me she had quit breathing. Then I watched the power of the priesthood, and I watched her start breathing again. That experience let me know the reality of the priesthood at a very young age. Our prayers for her were answered.

Some prayers are answered dramatically, as with Carol. With others we must wait. But if we do that, in those waiting moments there will come to us special things.

Later, as I served in the British Mission, in 1962 our mission president, Marion D. Hanks, had us read and study the Book of Mormon. We were asked to first mark everything having to do with the Savior in red. In the second reading we marked doctrine in a different color; I chose green. President Hanks had been a General Authority for nine years before serving as our mission president. He would teach us the doctrine after we had marked the Book of Mormon. In reading 2 Nephi 5:21, describing a skin of blackness associated with being cut off from the Lord’s presence approximately 600 years before Christ’s birth, President Hanks was adamant that this phrase related solely to that people and during that period of time. Those people who were Lamanites were literal blood brothers and sisters to Nephi and his siblings. President Hanks had us immediately turn to 2 Nephi 26:33, which reads, in part:

And he denieth none that come unto him, black and white, bond and free, male and female; and he remembereth the heathen; and all are alike unto God, both Jew and Gentile.

That was our doctrine then and that is our doctrine now. President Hanks made it clear that if anyone had feelings of racial superiority, they needed to repent.

Elder Falabella learned early that gaining a testimony begins with a desire to know the truth and a willingness to live it.
Born on May 9, 1950, to Udine and Leonor Falabella, Elder Falabella was 12 when missionaries knocked on his family’s door in Guatemala City, where he was born and raised. The oldest of four children whose mother had died several years earlier, Elder Falabella recognized that there was something different about the missionaries. He saw it in the love they showed and the power with which they taught.
“I wanted to know what they knew,” he recalls. That desire and his willingness to do what the missionaries asked led to his conversion.
“Very early on I learned to appreciate the Savior’s words: ‘If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself’ (John 7:17). If we will live gospel principles, the Spirit can touch our hearts, and we will learn that they are really true.”

But on its basketball court, ordinary activities like the stake youth sports festival can become extraordinary. For example, watch the Mandaluyong Third Ward basketball team. Suddenly your eyes focus on a young man wobbling and limping his way down the hard court.
A knee injury, perhaps?
A sprained wrist?
Not so, you find out. The young man is partially paralyzed.
For Alvin Martinez, rising against the odds is just like turning swampland into skyscrapers. Alvin was born healthy, and like other newborn Filipino babies he was given polio shots. But somehow, the vaccine attacked his nerves. His right leg and arm started turning immobile. The polio vaccine rendered his entire right side paralyzed.
Alvin was often the subject of jokes in school when classmates would see him limping his way to class.
“Hey, it’s Alvin,” somebody would shout.
“The way is straight,” another would jeer, “so how come you walk crooked?”
“Alvin, Alvin pilay!” Pilay means “cripple.” It was a jeer his straight-walking classmates loved to bestow on him.
But teasing wasn’t Alvin’s only trial. His father suddenly died of a stroke. Struggling with his family’s loss and his classmates’ snide comments, Alvin drifted from school and church activity and found another barkada, or group of buddies.
In Manila, a barkada can consist either of friends who build you up or of those who let you down. Alvin’s barkada was of the negative variety. Still, Alvin tried to maintain his LDS standards. “My friends would invite me to smoke,” he remembers, “but I told them I was a Mormon.”
Finally, Alvin resolved to rise up despite his limitations and, like David of old, conquer his personal Goliaths. He made a firm resolve to continue his schooling. His widowed mother, who now works as a seamstress, was delighted. She had patiently reminded him that his future would be brighter if he had a good education.
At school, Alvin found a new barkada, classmates who treated him with respect. “All my classmates are so kind and friendly,” he beams.
A little bit shy at first, but actually fun-loving and witty, Alvin also began to find church to be a home away from home. “I enjoyed being in church,” Alvin says, “and I liked being with my fellow young men.” Because of the influence of good Church friends and priesthood quorum members, Alvin’s testimony was strengthened and he found himself, with the help of his youth leaders, back in church. In visiting Alvin, they would often tell him not to be ashamed of his disability. “We wanted him to know that he was valued,” one youth leader recalls, “and he did feel appreciated eventually.” Alvin is grateful for the missionaries who taught his family, and he’s even more grateful for the youth leaders who helped him come back to church after going through some real struggles.

Friends mean a lot to Shawn. He wants to be able to trust everybody, but he’s already met people who just want to take advantage of him. “Deep down I can sense their motives. I can tell when people want to know me for what I am, not who I am. I think it’s the Holy Ghost saying, ‘Be careful.’”

“People ask, is he conceited?” says Corinne. “He’s not at all. He’s very ordinary. He never gives you the feeling that he thinks he is better than anyone else. He’s always quick to say he’s sorry if he does something wrong.”

In his ward, Shawn’s bishop, Scott Johansen says, “He’s quiet, friendly, and very considerate of others. He goes out of his way to cheer others up. He would be an outstanding young man even if he were shorter than he is.”

When asked to think about someone Shawn has helped, his friend Bill Wright thought for a fraction of a second before answering, “He’s helped me. He’s incredibly caring. He puts everybody ahead of himself. My mother died two years ago, and he was the only one of my friends who came to her funeral. That has stuck with me. He was so caring and thought about me so much. He’s always there for me when I’m feeling bad.”

When asked what advice he would give to young people, Shawn says, “It bothers me when people don’t think well of themselves. They need to have high self-esteem. If I had advice for anyone anywhere, it would be that you have got to think of yourself as the Lord would think of you, as one of His children.” Maybe that’s part of Shawn’s secret, why he treats people with such kindness and courtesy.

And his ability to see the good side to things has something to do with his favorite scripture, 2 Nephi 2:11. “That’s the one that talks about opposition in all things,” says Shawn. “If something goes wrong, I say, well, there is opposition in all things. This is the opposition. You have to put it aside and go on.”

Shawn has learned how to take gospel truths into his life and let them guide his actions and decisions. It is in this way that he continues to grow.

Yes, Shawn Bradley is tall, and he is definitely someone to look up to.

Since this article was written, Shawn has received his mission call. He is now serving in the Australia Sydney mission.

Sister Groberg shared other memories about her high school friends. “There was always a surplus of girls,” she remembered, and then added, “and I was never in the real dating circle. I hardly had any dates in high school, and you know how you’d feel. The day my older sister who was always an example for me turned 16, a young man called her up, and for four nights in a row a different boy called. It was like they had all been waiting for her to turn 16. It was so exciting. I thought that was the magical thing: you turn 16 and you start dating. Well,” Jean said, with emphasis, as though she was remembering it all over again, “it didn’t happen when I turned 16.” She paused a moment, reflecting on what must have been a very disappointing experience.
“And how did you survive that situation?” I asked.
“Oh, I had a lot of good girl friends, and we had a lot of fun” she said, then thoughtfully added, “I never feel badly if a girl doesn’t have dates in high school. If you’re just a little patient, you can still have a good time. I really had fun dating in college, a lot of fun.”

The Savior’s love, which shines through this Christmastime experience of President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, can brighten our lives all year long.
One winter day as Christmas approached, I thought back to an experience from my boyhood. I was eleven. Our Primary president, Melissa, was an older and loving gray-haired lady.
One day at Primary, Melissa asked me to stay behind and visit with her. The two of us sat in the otherwise empty chapel. She placed her arm about my shoulder and began to cry. Surprised, I asked her why she was crying. She replied: “I don’t seem to be able to encourage the Trail Builder [now Blazer] boys to be reverent during the opening exercises of Primary. Would you be willing to help me, Tommy?”
I promised her I would. Strangely to me, but not to Melissa, that ended any problem of reverence in that Primary. She had gone to the source of the problem—me. The solution was love.
The years flew by. Marvelous Melissa, now in her nineties, lived in a nursing [home] in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. Just before Christmas, I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the car radio, I heard the song “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” I reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago. They brought gifts of gold, of frankincense, and of myrrh. I brought only the gift of love and a desire to say “Thank you.”
I found Melissa in the lunchroom. She stared at her plate of food, teasing it with the fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to her, my words were met with a blank stare. I took the fork in hand and began to feed Melissa, talking all the time I did so about her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker. There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word.
Two other residents of the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they spoke, saying: “She doesn’t know anyone, even her own family. She hasn’t said a word in all the time she’s been here.”
Lunch ended. My one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail hand in mine, gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance, and said: “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.”
Without warning, she spoke the words: “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She pressed my hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were hallowed [made holy] by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing. Outside the sky was blue—azure blue. The air was cool—crispy cool. The snow was white—crystal white.
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.*
The wondrous gift was given, the heavenly blessing was received, the dear Christ entered in—all through the doorway of love.
(See Ensign, October 1996, page 7.)

I am so glad Jill is here today. We met some 30 years ago here upon the campus of BYU–Idaho, then Ricks College. It was a blind date. I remember going to pick her up. It was apartment #22 of Hillcrest Apartments, then called Mansard Village. Jill answered the door. I remember how beautiful she was, her wonderful smile and sparkle in her eyes. I hoped that this was indeed Jill Anstead. I told her I was Richard and that I was here to pick up Jill. She sweetly smiled, looked me straight in the eye and told me that Jill had left 15 minutes ago. Luckily her roommates started laughing in the background. That day, I received the first taste of her unique sense of humor.
She is my friend – my best friend – I am so thankful that our paths crossed here at Ricks College so many years ago.
Brothers and sisters, the reason I share these accounts with you, is that years from know, it will be times like these at BYU–Idaho which you will remember. It will be of being in the temple, going to Church, walking through campus on a sunny fall day. It will be your relationships with roommates, ward members, faculty and those you date. These very personal experiences will be the source of fond and rich memories which you will draw on in years to come.

As a teenager I was lonely and depressed. I had few good friends, hated school, withdrew from my family, and often had doubts of Heavenly Father’s love for me. I hated myself and despised the world.
Then everything changed. My Young Women president challenged the girls in my ward to read the Book of Mormon and pray regularly for three weeks. Despite my doubts I took the challenge. That night I opened my Book of Mormon and read for about 10 minutes, then said my first sincere prayer in months. Though difficult at first, eventually the reading and praying became a habit. Soon the three weeks were done.
Our Young Women president gave each girl who had completed the challenge a small prize. But more prized to me was the difference it had made in my life. As I continued to read the scriptures and pray, I became happier. Problems no longer seemed as difficult, and I recognized how blessed I was. Instead of feeling worthless, I felt like a beloved daughter of God and developed a strong testimony with steadfast faith.
How wonderful it was when in the midst of prayer, I felt the Spirit testify of Jesus Christ and His loving sacrifice for me! I wept to think that I had ever doubted my Heavenly Father, who is merciful enough to forgive me when I am ready to repent. To know this is a wonderful prize indeed.

At an age when many kids are trying to establish their personal independence and want to avoid their parents as much as possible, it’s a little unusual to see that Treasure and Mindy’s parents are their best friends.
“They say we can tell them anything, and no matter what we do, they’ll still love us, even if they don’t love what we did,” says Treasure.
“And I believe that,” says Mindy. “They’ve proven it.” One time Mindy was out with a group of friends who were doing a little mischief in people’s yards. Mindy wasn’t actually involved, but a few hours later a state trooper pulled into their driveway and collected Mindy to go help them clean up.
“My parents told me I shouldn’t have been with those kids, and they were right,” says Mindy. “I got punished, but they hugged me first and told me they loved me. It’s always been like that.”

Kyle sat on his parents’ bed and watched Dad take his temple bag out of the closet. Mom and Dad went to the temple every month. Kyle couldn’t wait until he turned 12 and could go to the temple with them. Then it could be their special family night!
But for now, Kyle got to spend the night at his grandparents’ house. And that was pretty great too. Grandpa and Grandma always did fun things, like watch movies and play board games. Kyle already had his bag packed.
Kyle watched as Dad reverently folded a white shirt and placed it in his bag. “Remind me what you’re doing at the temple?” he asked Dad.
“Well, you know how Grandma has been doing a lot of family history lately? She found out that temple work hasn’t been done for some of our ancestors. So we’re going to do their temple work tonight.”
Kyle nodded. He’d helped Grandma figure out how to use the family history website. They had typed in lots of names and dates and scanned and uploaded a stack of black-and-white photographs.
“What exactly is temple work?” Kyle asked.
Mom sat down next to Kyle on the edge of the bed.
“Well, you know what ‘covenants’ are.”
Kyle nodded. “Promises with Heavenly Father.”
“Right. You made a covenant when you were baptized. In the temple we make more covenants. But some of our relatives didn’t have a chance to make those covenants before they died. So we go to the temple to make those covenants and give them a chance to accept them.”
“We call it ‘temple work,’ but it really doesn’t feel like work,” Dad said as he zipped up his bag. “It feels like a blessing—a blessing for us and a blessing for them. Lots of Grandma’s relatives still need their temple work to be done.”
“I wish I could help them,” Kyle said.
Dad squeezed Kyle’s shoulder. “You can help them. In fact, you already have! Remember how exciting it was when you helped Grandma put the stories and pictures on the family history website?”
Kyle nodded. That had been fun!
“When you do that, you’re helping us get to know our family members better. And we can see who still needs help getting their temple work done. I hope you keep helping Grandma find more pictures and stories. And I really hope you help us keep it organized online!”
Kyle smiled. He was pretty good at using the computer.
Dad picked up his bag. “Let’s go to the living room and have a prayer before we leave. Then we’ll drop you off at Grandma and Grandpa’s.”
Kyle knelt at the sofa. He listened to Mom thank Heavenly Father for the temple and for family history work. Then she prayed for help to learn more about their ancestors so that they could do their temple work.
Kyle got a warm feeling as Mom prayed. He decided right then that he would make good choices so that he would be worthy to go to the temple with Mom and Dad when he was old enough. And in the meantime, he could help other members of his family have temple time too.

One Sunday morning last December, I was in Idaho Falls doing some Church work. I turned down a street behind a pickup truck pulling a livestock trailer. As the driver made the turn, the side door of his trailer swung open, and an old Holstein cow rolled out and landed in someone's yard. It sat there for a second and then got up and bellowed in disbelief. The truck driver didn't stop, so I thought I'd better catch him and tell him his cow had fallen out. I honked my horn, flashed my lights, and waved my arm out the window, but he just wouldn't stop. It was slick with snow and ice on the road, so I couldn't get too close. So I just kept following him. I followed for almost 15 minutes, trying to get his attention. Finally he pulled into his farmyard. When he stopped, the trailer door swung open again and out came three more old cows. I said to him, "Hey, you lost one of your cows back there!" "Oh," he said, and counted "one, two, three" as the cows walked away. I said, "If you want, I'll go back with you to show you where it fell out". He said, "Oh, I think I know. Was it where you started honking your horn and waving at me?"