Gospel Story Finder

Later, when Valentine, a priest in Rome killed about A.D. 270 during the persecution of early Christians, was made a saint, his feast day was established on February fourteenth. In time, the two feast days were combined.
One legend is that Valentine is the patron saint of lovers: Roman soldiers did not want to leave their homes to fight, so the emperor, Claudius II, ordered young men not to marry. He believed that if they didn’t have homes, they would be more willing to go away and fight. Valentine felt sorry for the unhappy young men and their sweethearts and married many of them secretly. So today, sweethearts still celebrate in his honor.

The Scout-Beehive breakfast had been a big success. Everyone had eaten and now it was time for the big hike. The last pancakes had barely missed the light of day when the shout went up, “Let’s get in the cars and head up the canyon!”
As they piled into cars, Sister Larson, the wife of the Scoutmaster, remained quietly behind with the ward custodian and his wife to clean up the mess. But Steve, who had planned the activity, asked his patrol to stay and help with the cleanup. The word spread. Cars that had been full of anxious hikers emptied. The tables and chairs were put away in record time. The mess in the kitchen was wiped and shined away. Soon not one syrupy fingerprint was left. Now it was time to head up the canyon.
In another ward the young people were assigned to take care of sections of the meetinghouse garden. They grew their own plants, watered them throughout the summer, and weeded, pruned, and pampered them. Not only has the ward won civic beautification awards year after year, but “we never have any trouble with misbehavior in our building. Everyone knows it’s the Lord’s house and that it’s up to us to keep it clean,” said the ward custodian.
Both groups of Aaronic Priesthood-age youth know the elbow action needed to make a meetinghouse suitable for worship. They care about the house of the Lord and recognize that fast breaks should be limited to activity night basketball games and not chapel exits. The way you and your friends act will reflect on others’ ability to feel a reverent and spiritual environment. Some young people have spent sunshine-filled Saturdays cleaning kitchen cupboards and straightening ward supply cabinets rather than lounging at the beach. Others have vacuumed stairways and hand-polished podiums while their friends mopped floors and squeegeed taller-than-tall windows. But there are other young people who need to see and follow these examples.
“I don’t think most youth are basically ill-mannered. They don’t mean to be rude or tear up the buildings. Maybe they aren’t totally conscious that this is a house of the Lord,” said one custodian in American Fork, Utah.
Although the phrase “the house of the Lord” refers specifically to temples, meetinghouses, like temples, have also been dedicated to Him. But the quiet reverence and respect common in temples is sometimes lacking in ward houses.
“We’ve had coatracks pulled off the walls by youth swinging on them as they run around the halls playing tag. We’ve even had curtains on the stage ripped by someone swinging on them,” added the custodian.
“In the three years I’ve been here, we’ve replaced six stolen fire extinguishers and several windows inside and outside the building. Most of the broken windows are caused by slammed doors or balls thrown against the side of the building. Almost all broken windows are accidents, but they shouldn’t happen.”
Even in chapels you will often find papers stuffed in hymnbook holders, programs strewn about, songbooks torn apart, and gum on the floors. Carelessness has led to broken microphones, piano benches, stage props, and chalkboards. One bishop walked into the rest room to wash his hands just in time to see flames reaching up the wall by the sinks. Someone had overturned the wastepaper basket and set it on fire. He stamped it out before it did much damage, but the wall was blackened.
What causes rowdiness in buildings? Does the old cliché “boys will be boys” excuse wrestling matches in the foyer?
Most reverence problems in meetinghouses aren’t malicious. Whoever set the trash on fire in the rest room probably didn’t want to burn the building down. One custodian for several buildings put it this way: “The youth don’t mean to cause trouble. The problem is, they just don’t stop to think what they are doing. Maybe they’ve never been told in their homes how to behave and have respect. But a lot of times kids don’t stop to think that somebody is going to have to clean up after them. If the boys would have to help me clean up the rest rooms each week, they’d think twice before they emptied the trash cans all over the place again.”
Actions are expressions of attitudes. People misbehaving in meetinghouses don’t stop to think where they are. And if they don’t stop to think where they are, they probably don’t pay any attention to why they are in church either.
“On Sunday when the older youth should be in sacrament meetings, some of them are roaming the halls,” said another custodian. “I have to lock the rooms, because if there happens to be an open one, I find the chalkboards written on and chairs turned over. Many of the young people who do stay in the meetings sit on the back row and talk. I would have to say that our basic problem is lack of reverence.”
A lack of reverence. Thoughtlessness. Failure to realize where you are. These are the problems.
What can you do? First, if your ward or branch has a reverence problem, be sure you’re not part of it. Then you and your friends get to work on the solution.
“I like the new program of youth leadership. I think it’s great. I was involved as a Scoutmaster,” said one custodian, “and if the kids want to, they can really carry the program.”
Young people are really the ones who can solve problems of misbehavior. If you and your friends put pressure on those who are acting up, it won’t be “the thing to do” anymore.
To find out what the warning signals of irreverence are, the bishop’s youth committee of the Butler Second Ward, Salt Lake City, was asked to detail some of the problems they’ve had with misbehavior and how they solved them.
“One of the first things to look out for,” said Brad Townsend, “is people standing around with nothing to do. Be sure your friends don’t come to activity night too early or stand around for hours after it is over.”
“Leaders should never leave before everyone is out ot the building,” added Mike Heiner.
“During activity night, the rowdier the activity, the rowdier the kids are going to be,” said Dianne Hansen.
“And if everybody is dressed in their grubbies, they will tend to act grubbier,” said Lori Burt.
“Be aware of who is interested in certain activities,” added Kim Asay. “Something may interest the priests but bore the Scouts. Be sure your activities are geared for the right people.”
“If something is poorly planned, watch out,” added Karen Graehl. “Nothing can cause rowdiness like an activity that falls through.”
The Butler bishop’s youth committee had one real problem to take care of—the back row at sacrament meeting. It was always full; and it was generally noisy. Whispering and giggling could even be heard during the sacrament. The committee decided to do something about it. They started a “Sit with Your Parents” campaign.
At first it wasn’t easy. The leaders would go to their friends and suggest they sit with their parents during meetings instead of on the back row.
“They thought we were a little weird to ask them,” admitted one class president, “but after they tried it, they began to like it. They found it was much easier to listen and enjoy the meeting when they sat with their parents.”
Anyone sitting on the back row gets pretty lonely now.
The youth committee also came up with several suggestions for problems that many wards face:
Start and end activities on time. This really does help keep reverence.
Plan activities thoroughly. Gear them to the ages of those participating.
Set an example. If someone sees the president of the class goofing off, he’ll goof off too. If youth leaders set the proper example, problems will disappear.
Dress according to the activity. If you come to activity night in grubby pants, then you feel like acting grubby. You act differently when dressed up.
Remind each other about your conduct in the meetinghouse. “I know my mom has told me many times to be quiet,” said one Laurel, “but if I hear it from a friend, it stuns me. If your friends remind you to act your age and they mean it, you are going to listen.”
Remember that the meetinghouse is for your use. It is dedicated to the Lord, but you have a responsibility to keep it reverent. You wouldn’t run and shout in your parents’ front room when company is there; why should you in the meetinghouse?
The bishop’s youth committee’s ideas are good. And they appear to have worked for others as well. One ward spent a lot of money on broken light fixtures. During basketball season the past three years, it had been necessary to replace all the lights in the halls around the cultural hall. Boys bouncing basketballs off the ceilings in the halls caused the problem. When the Aaronic Priesthood quorum presidents met with the bishop to discuss athletic programs, they set down a rule. “No bouncing of balls outside the gym.” They enforced it themselves.
So far this year not a single light fixture has been broken.
President David O. McKay once said, “I do not know how to define reverence, but I do know how to classify or place it as one of the objectives of nobility, indeed, one of the attributes of Deity.”

In Elder Pedro X. Larreal’s fourth month as a full-time missionary, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) visited the Venezuela Caracas Mission.
Elder Larreal recalled, “He extended an amazing invitation to us about consecration: ‘If you are focused 100 percent, I promise your future family will receive blessings.’”
Afterward, Elder Larreal wrote a letter to break up with his girlfriend back home. “I needed to put everything on the altar because I needed to be more focused.”
Looking back, he recognizes many blessings—beneficial education, successful employment—sprouting from trust in that apostolic promise.
“When we follow the direction of a prophet, seer, and revelator, we will get blessings in our life,” he said. “I promise.”

Once, on a business trip, I landed in predawn darkness at an airport in Asia and wearily found a car and driver. The trip would take a couple of hours, so I used my overcoat as a cushion and positioned myself in the left corner of the back seat, planning to sleep for a while. But my attention became riveted on the moonlit landscape of that exotic place, with its mysterious wooded hills and shadowy open expanses.

As the morning sky gradually lightened, I saw evidence of an estuary on the left and an approaching bridge. As we drove onto the bridge, I was disappointed to find that the view was blocked on both sides by tall concrete-slab walls that apparently had been erected to contain the traffic noises of the expressway. I absently stared at the wall opposite me, wondering what was beyond as I whirred by it at high speed.

As we left the bridge and the barricade ended, I glanced back at the vista that I had not been able to see and noted that it was just as I had imagined: a large body of water with a forested far edge and a few boats coming and going.

I found myself leaning forward to see farther behind us to confirm that, through the morning fog, a large sailboat was approaching the seaway under the far end of the bridge. Suddenly my jet-lag-muddled brain snapped into a moment of clarity as I wondered, “How did I know to look for that sailboat?” I could not have known it was there, but somehow I did. Somehow I had been looking for it.

In fact, I realized, none of what I saw in the fully revealed vista had surprised me. I seemed to know where to find the wooded outline of the far shore, the barges, and the building on the distant rise. But how?

It dawned on me that the slabs of the massive concrete wall on the bridge had small gaps between them of a fraction of an inch. As we had sped across the bridge, my eyes had been fixed upon the blur of gray concrete punctuated by minute flashes of bright light from the morning sun through those narrow slits—slits too small for me to detect anything but bright flickers and flashes. Yet somewhere in my mind, undetected information had been transmitted in those bursts of light that was apparently compiled and subliminally stitched together into a latent vision of what lay beyond. I knew what was there before I knew that I knew. And I would have missed the marvel of it all if I had not turned back to look.

The next morning I was up a little before five, tossing bundles of the Herald onto the back seat of the car. During the night the snow had stopped and the world was buried under its wet cottony mass. I glanced down the driveway and wondered if I should take a few minutes to push some of the snow away before pulling out. Blowing on my numb fingertips and stomping the snow from my feet, I shook my head. I didn’t have time, I reasoned. And I was sure I could get out without getting stuck.
The first stop I made was at Sister Rencher’s. With most people I didn’t make the effort to set the paper inside the front door. I just tossed it in the general direction of the porch. But with Sister Rencher I made an exception because it was so hard for her to get around. I snatched a paper off the back seat, stepped from the car, and sprinted for the front steps. I stopped at the end of the walk and stared in disbelief. The front walk and steps were swept completely clean. I glanced at my watch—5:15 A.M. “Boy, somebody’s sure been up early this morning,” I muttered, hurrying up the clean walk and setting the paper inside the storm door. “Maybe Sister Rencher can get around with that walker better than I thought,” I grinned.
“That was quick,” Dad called to me as I burst in from the cold 90 minutes later. He was just putting on his coat and stuffing papers into his briefcase before heading out the door for work.
“There’s a ton of snow out there,” I remarked. “It must have snowed another four inches after we went to bed.”
“I guess you cleaned off the walks and driveway,” Dad joked.
“What did you want me to do, get up at three o’clock?” I grinned back. “I was lucky to get the papers delivered. But somebody was sure up early. Sister Rencher’s walks were clean as spring.”
Dad smiled. “What about Sister Hatch’s and Sister Ballard’s?”
“Dad, I was delivering papers, not home teaching. I don’t go over that way.”

On the night of June 20, 2000, several colleagues and I were working late in the executive offices of then Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho. We were making final preparations for an unexpected and historic assembly on our campus the next morning and the announcement by President Hinckley that Ricks College would become a baccalaureate-degree-granting institution and take on the name of Brigham Young University–Idaho. As an administrative team we were just beginning to realize the monumental nature of the responsibility and challenges that were before us.
As we walked out of the building that night, one of my colleagues asked, “President, are you scared?” As best as I can recall, I answered something like this: “If I thought we had to execute this transition relying exclusively upon our own experience and our own judgment, then I would be terrified. But we will have help from heaven. Because we know who is in charge and that we are not alone, then no, I am not scared.” And we who serve at BYU–Idaho unitedly testify that there has been help from heaven, miracles have occurred, revelations have been received, doors have been opened, and we have been greatly blessed as individuals and as an institution.

Brother Ridd said his family’s work ethic has been a blessing in his life. So have mentors and priesthood leaders who have sometimes nudged him along the gospel path. While many of his classmates from high school accepted mission calls at age 19, Randall opted to enroll in college and enlist in the army. He later took a job as an X-ray technician while continuing his studies at the University of Utah. A few wise men were bold enough to tell him that his place was in the mission field. He followed their direction and put in his application to serve. Soon he was sharing the gospel in the Mexico North Mission. “I can’t imagine what my life would be like if I had not served a mission,” he says.

There was Ted, for instance, who had been the great guilt-inflicter during those Halloween nights when we used to smash pumpkins just because we didn’t have anything better to do. “Sure, go ahead and destroy some kid’s pride and joy,” he’d object, as my braver friends and I left to tromp through the dark neighborhoods, hot on the trail of Mr. Jack-o’lantern. Ted’s unusual sensibility had always puzzled me. After all, I was nearly four months his senior, and I thought that kind of judgment belonged to older people who were married and had children of their own.
My thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Bryce, the bold one, let out a scream and jumped off the cliff. It wasn’t a graceful takeoff, but it got the job done. I watched him flip like a fish as he fell through the sky, and I heard the distant splash when he hit the water. “You’ve got to try it!” he yelled as he pulled himself into the boat. It was a direct challenge.
I looked around and found my three buddies smiling at me. My stomach went sour. It was then I realized that jumping from a 90-foot cliff wasn’t such a hot idea. But how could I pull out now? They’d never let me live it down.
Just when I was about to jump, I was interrupted by Kelly, who barked out an obscenity and took off. We never saw him hit the water, but heard him crying as the others pulled him into the boat.’ His knees had slammed together upon impact, and he would be in a cast for the rest of the summer, following surgery on both knees.
The three of us who remained were now scared to death, but we wouldn’t admit it. I remember thinking about my acceptance to BYU, and about my plans to serve a mission after my freshman year. For the first time that day, I began to think of the consequences of making the jump. What if I became seriously injured? Was impressing my friends really that important?
“Fifty percent chance you make it and fifty percent chance you get hurt,” Bryce impatiently yelled at me from below. That was comforting.
I slowly walked back from the edge, then raced toward it, lifting my body off the ground as I soared into the warm sky. I looked immediately down and found the water racing toward me. I waved my arms to maintain balance.
My entry into the water was like an explosion, and I heard my back snap. As I sank through the water, I became aware that I couldn’t move my body. I felt as though my lungs would explode as I slowly floated to the surface, only to hear my friends laughing at the expression on my face.
Ted was the first to realize I was in pain, and he told the others to stop laughing as I was pulled into the boat. I mentioned something about the pain in my back as they laid me down next to the already-injured Kelly, and I was soon whimpering right along with him.
Kelly and I watched in bewilderment as the remaining two contemplated their own jumps. Despite unfavorable odds, each of them made the leap—successfully.
Since no doctors were within 100 miles of us, I decided to finish the trip with my friends. I lay in a tent for two days, shocked at my stupidity. I was only 18, yet I had risked my life for the sake of “entertainment.”
The doctor who examined my back said I had a compression-fracture which would cause arthritis throughout my life, but I still considered myself very lucky.
For nearly four years I had wandered carelessly through a world of smashed pumpkins and crazy dives. I hadn’t stopped to consider what effect my actions were having on other people, or on myself. I had been a thrill seeker who never had to face the consequences until that fateful day when I’d almost given my life just to impress my friends. It took a crash through Lake Powell’s waters to plunge me from my fantasy world into a world of reality and responsibility.

I once visited a family in Chile. One of the children was a boy named Benjamin. He was 10 years old. One night, Benjamin gave a home evening lesson. It was about the stripling warriors from the Book of Mormon (see Alma 53:16–21; 56:42–56). He talked about how brave they were and how they trusted God.
Sometime later, Benjamin’s dad died in an accident. When Benjamin’s mom heard about the accident, she thought of Benjamin’s lesson. She told her family, “We need to be brave like the stripling warriors. We have another battle to fight.”
It was hard for Benjamin’s family. It felt like their lives were turned upside down. They had to move to another house to live with their grandma. They really missed their dad. But they knew they would be together with him again someday. They decided to be a striplingwarrior family.
I walked into their house wanting to comfort them. But I was the one who left feeling blessed. Benjamin told us, “I’m being brave.” Benjamin and his family are fighting this battle so bravely. Their faith is inspiring to me.

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

Kathy proved to be more than a good wife and mother. She became another of those defining influences in the life of Henry B. Eyring. The best example of that happened when Hal had been teaching at Stanford for about nine years. It was a richly satisfying time in their lives. He was given considerable freedom to design the classes he taught at Stanford. He returned for one year to Boston as the Sloan Visiting Faculty Fellow at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He had also entered the business world now, serving as an officer and director for Finnigan Instrument Corporation and becoming a founder and director of System Industries Incorporated, a computer manufacturing company. In the Church, he had taught early-morning seminary, served for a time in the bishopric of his own ward, and then was called as the bishop of the Stanford First Ward, a campus ward.
But that was all to change. “One night,” Elder Eyring reports, “Kathy nudged me and asked, ‘Are you sure you are doing the right thing with your life?’” He stops for a moment and then explains, “I was surprised. Now remember my situation. I have tenure at Stanford. I am the bishop of the Stanford ward. We are living next to her parents. I love what I’m doing. It’s like the Garden of Eden, all right? And then she asks me that question.”
“Couldn’t you do studies for Neal Maxwell?” she went on. Elder Eyring stops again. “You have to understand something. Neal A. Maxwell was the commissioner of Church education at that time. Kathy didn’t even know him. I didn’t know him.”
When asked about that night, Kathy is not sure what it was that brought forth that question. “We were very happy there,” she agrees, “but somehow I just felt like there was something more important that he should be doing. I knew that his teaching at Stanford was wonderful, but I felt there was something he could teach that could truly change lives.” She knew about the Church Educational System (CES) and somehow remembered that Neal A. Maxwell was the commissioner. Thus her comment.
It was enough. Hal determined he would pray about it. At first he got no answer, or so he thought. But not long after that, the phone rang and Commissioner Maxwell, who apparently knew of Hal Eyring, was on the line asking if Hal could come to Salt Lake City. He went.
“I was at my parents’ house,” Elder Eyring recalls, “so Elder Maxwell came over there. The first words out of his mouth were, ‘Hal, I’d like to ask you to be the president of Ricks College.’”
Elder Eyring smiles at that. “You’ve got to remember, I grew up in the East, and I was living in California. I have to admit I didn’t even know where Ricks College was then. If you had asked me whether it was` a two- or four-year college, I couldn’t have told you.”
But a call of such importance was not treated lightly. Even before leaving Salt Lake City, he began to pray about the offer. For a day or two, he could get no answer, which troubled him. “And then,” he says, “as I was praying, an impression came that simply said, ‘It’s my school.’” Realizing that was all the answer he needed, he returned to California, and he and Kathleen began making plans to leave Stanford.
On 10 December 1971, Henry B. Eyring was inaugurated as president of Ricks College.

Many years ago when I received my call to serve a mission, I had an interesting experience. I knew that I needed to serve a mission, but I couldn’t get a type of confirmation. I was still wondering why. It was in the fall months, with about a month before I left on my mission. I was out hiking in the mountains in central Utah. My friends were back in college or on missions. I decided to kneel down and pray about my concerns. I think that I thought that I would have a Joseph Smith experience. I didn’t. In fact, it was about six months later when I was in Brazil that I received an answer. We were teaching a second discussion – it was on the Book of Mormon. My turn came to share my testimony. As I bore my testimony, another feeling or prompting came to me. It was the answer to the prayer. You are here to share with these people the same blessings that you have had in your life. That blessing is the gospel of Jesus Christ.

President Harold B. Lee was my grandfather. One of his favorite hymns was “Lead, Kindly Light.” I remember how often he would say that he was, as Nephi of old, “led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which [he] should do” (1 Nephi 4:6).

I remember going to him as a young man, just finishing my senior year here at BYU, trying to decide what I would be when I grew up. I took to him my patriarchal blessing and asked him to read it and counsel me. I think in my heart of hearts, though I would not have admitted it at the time, I expected that his counsel would operate something like a crystal ball—that he would help me find my occupation or, even better, my wife, whom I still hadn’t found at that time.

He read the blessing and then paused for a minute and said, “Alan, I think you worry too much about the future.” This was not what I had come to hear. He went on to say, “Let me give you a thumbnail sketch of my life.” He said, in essence:

I grew up as a boy in Clifton, Idaho. We prayed for the “pillars of the Church”—we meant the Brethren, the General Authorities. I could no more have dreamed of becoming one of them than of flying to the moon, which also seemed impossible in those days. And had I known that would happen, I might have been like Jonah, who ran from Nineveh when he received that assignment. And then I came back from a mission and thought I might be a farmer. But the farm was in real financial difficulty, and I had to go someplace else. I went to the University of Utah and got an education and met my wife. I didn’t know what I would be when I grew up, but I was lucky to get a job as a principal in an educational institution following graduation. A few years later there was another opening in a book-distribution company. And then a city commissioner died in midterm, and I was appointed to fill his term. I was called as a very young stake president, and half the members of my stake were out of work during the Great Depression. We had to struggle with how to provide welfare for them. Then I was called to start the welfare program for the whole Church. A few years later I was called as an apostle.

At this time, as he was talking to me, he was a member of the First Presidency. He said, “Looking back, Alan, do you think I could have taken thought and planned any of those steps? Do you think it would have helped me to do so?”

“Minding the gap” does not mean spending too much time in the future. My grandfather would say to me, “Don’t live too far into the future. Live for today.” He would say, “Survey large fields and cultivate small ones. Do the good that is right before you.” “Live for today, and let the Spirit guide you to do the good you can today. Don’t live too far into the future.” These were his words to me. He knew that if we would get on the path of obedience and faith, it would lead to the right end, even if we couldn’t see which way it was going. It is only human to want to see how to close the gaps in our lives as individuals or as groups. But the Lord often asks us to walk by faith.

A lifetime of spiritual experiences for Lorenzo Snow was climaxed following the death of President Wilford Woodruff. President Snow, who was then serving as President of the Quorum of the Twelve, went to the Salt Lake Temple. Dressed in his temple robes, he knelt to pray, reminding the Lord that he had often prayed that President Woodruff would outlive him, so that he would not be required to carry the heavy responsibilities as President of the Church. But he then told the Lord that he would do whatever was required of him.
After his prayer, President Snow waited for an answer from the Lord, but nothing came. Later, as he was walking through a corridor, a glorious manifestation was suddenly opened up to him: The Lord Jesus Christ appeared to him. President Snow later told his granddaughter about the experience, showing her the spot in the temple where it had occurred. She wrote:
“Grand-pa came a step nearer and held out his left hand and said: ‘He stood right here, about three feet above the floor. It looked as though He stood on a plate of solid gold.’
“Grand-pa told me what a glorious personage the Savior is and described His hands, feet, countenance and beautiful white robes, all of which were of such a glory of whiteness and brightness that he could hardly gaze upon Him.
“Then he came another step nearer and put his right hand on my head and said: ‘Now, grand-daughter, I want you to remember that this is the testimony of your grand-father, that he told you with his own lips that he actually saw the Savior, here in the Temple, and talked with Him face to face.’”

Jill and I have always had family scripture reading. Generally we had scripture reading at 6 A.M. Our children would come to the table half asleep, and we sometimes wondered what they were learning. But years later, our second daughter, Mindy, came to visit us after she had children of her own. She attended church with us on Fast Sunday and bore testimony that of all the experiences she had in our home, family scripture reading was one of the most important to her.

One month ago I turned 13, and my mom wanted me to start reading the New Era, so I started looking through some old copies. In the April 1973 issue I read an article called “Becoming Saviors on Mount Zion,” which explained that we should never stop giving—not gifts of money but of service to others. All my life my sister had helped me and I had never helped her. Just then she walked into the room and said she had to get the dishes done in half an hour and that she was too tired to do them. Right then I told her I would do them, but of course, she wouldn’t let me do them alone; she had to help.
In the last month my sister and I have become very close. We have been sneaking around helping each other and doing our work together. You know, it’s a lot more fun helping someone. Before it was just me trying to keep the commandments, but now it’s both of us. My sister has told me how much she appreciates me bringing her closer to the Lord. I don’t think it was me so much as it was the New Era.
Name Withheld

Saturday of April conference of 1984 has been circled on our calendar for many years, for that date was targeted as the first time in my life that our only son would be old enough to attend general priesthood meeting with me. Last night, that long awaited goal became a reality. Brothers and sisters, little did we know that on that day my name would be presented as a member of the Council of the Twelve.
Since we didn’t know, our children didn’t know either. Our married daughters telephoned us between sessions. One who was expecting a baby, said, “Daddy, I was so shocked by that announcement—I think I am going into labor.”
That she did.
So, President Hinckley, your announcement from the First Presidency should get credit at least for “an assist.” Our twenty-second grandchild arrived safely last evening!

“Please give these dish towels to Suzi,” Grandma said. She handed Nika a stack of towels. “She can put them in the box with the other kitchen things.”
“Great-grandmother sure had a lot of nice things,” Nika said, fingering the dish towels with the embroidered edges before handing them to Suzi. “The whole house is like a treasure chest.”
“Yes, it is,” Grandma said. She reached into a cupboard and brought out some beautiful dishes.
“What will you do with all of these wonderful treasures now that Great-grandmother has died?” Nika asked. “Can we keep them?”
“We’ll divide them among family members and give the rest to charity,” Grandma said. She began wiping dust off the dishes.
“Look what I found,” Uncle Mike said, laying a large book on the table. “It’s an old photo album. And look at this, Nika,” he said. He carefully turned the brown pages. “Here’s a photo of your great-great-grandmother when she was about your age.”
Nika looked closely at the black-and-white photo of the smiling little girl. She was wearing button-up boots, her hair was in long ringlets, and she was holding a china doll in her arms.
“Look at that!” Nika said, pointing excitedly. “She’s missing a tooth, just like me!” Nika stuck her tongue through the gap in her teeth.
“So she is,” Uncle Mike said. “And you both have the same freckly nose.” He smiled and carefully closed the album.
“Grandma,” Nika said, folding some cloth napkins, “are family pictures the treasure you want to keep?”
Grandma looked up from dusting. “I’m grateful to get the photos and family records. I want to organize them and make copies to share. They are important to me because they strengthen the thing I treasure even more.”
“What’s that?” Nika asked.
“This.” Grandma waved her hand to indicate the whole room.
“The house?” Nika was puzzled.
“No. Look again,” Grandma said. “What do you see in this room?”
Nika looked around. She saw her relatives everywhere, all working together.
“Family,” Nika said at last. “That’s what you treasure most, isn’t it?”
“Exactly,” Grandma said. “That’s the only thing that can last forever.”
“Were Great-grandma and Great-grandpa married in the temple?” Nika asked.
“Yes. They did their part to make sure our family is sealed together,” Grandma said.
“Do you know what treasure I’d like?” Nika asked.
“What?”
“I’d like you to tell me more stories about that girl with the missing tooth in the photo.”
“Oh, I have lots of stories to tell you,” Grandma said. “The question is, will you have time to hear them all?”
“I will,” Nika declared. “Even if it takes forever!”

At 53, Elizabeth seized another learning opportunity. She and her daughter Jessie were walking down the street in Bendigo when a man in a black coat and top hat introduced himself as a missionary from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He offered them a book and said it would teach them God’s plan for His children. Elizabeth always eagerly accepted free books, but this one would change their lives.
All through that night, Jessie read The Book of Mormon to her mother, and the Holy Spirit affirmed to them this book was true.
Elizabeth and three of her children were baptized on 2 February 1902. A couple years later, her two grandsons were baptized.

Such a project is ongoing on the Pacific Island nation of Kiribati.
Tamana Natanaera, the local self-reliance manager for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, was tasked with finding members with gardening experience and a passion for growing things.
Working with local leaders, Tamana helped to identify seven qualified members whom he refers to as “champions.”
Each champion was given the equipment to set up a nursery tailored to fit in his or her available space.
A simple greenhouse was supplied to hold and protect seedling trays, as well as to offer shade as needed. Seeds were provided for growing nutritious produce such as cucumber, eggplant, capsicum, cabbage, tomato, watermelon, papaya and rock melon.
A watering system is a particular necessity in Kiribati. Although the 33 islands that comprise Kiribati stretch across 3.5 million square kilometres of ocean water, fresh water is very scarce.
The champions were thus each provided with a watering system composed of a small solar pump to draw water from a well, a water tank with a stand, and a piping system.
Tamana Natanaera noted that the water system given to the champions is a big help as it greatly improves their ability to produce more.
With these necessary tools, the champion gardeners are able to do their part. For two years now, they have been planting the seeds in the small trays and nurturing them.
When the seedlings are ready to be transplanted into a garden, the champions begin sharing them with neighbours and friends. They may ask their church leaders to announce to their congregation that seedlings are available. They may also give the seedlings to coworkers or to neighbours in their communities who are interested in growing their own produce.
When the champion has seedlings left over, they can transplant them into their own garden for their personal use or they may sell their excess produce to neighbours.
The Church will provide seeds to the champions for one more year and at the end of that period, the gardeners should be capable of producing their own seeds to maintain growing and sharing the seedlings. The program will continue to bless many people in Kiribati communities.
This project is not just an example of growing seedlings, but also of growing self-reliance, community spirit and neighbourly friendships. Underpinning all of this is a growing faith—among many participants—in He who created all things, and who cares for His children, one by one.