Gospel Story Finder

When a service opportunity came up at the Food Bank of Mexico, three young women (including myself), one young man from our youth group, and 10 others decided to participate.
At first, I had no idea what we were going to do. But soon people at the food bank explained that we were going to separate perishable and non-perishable foods into grocery bags to make food packages for people in need. Our group divided the tasks, and then we started packing. We worked quickly as a team and put together more than 500 grocery bags!
From this experience I learned that even if we don’t have many resources ourselves, we can still help others who have even less. Little by little, we can all help in different ways. I know that we are blessed when we serve.
I really liked serving at the food bank. If I were given the opportunity to do it again, of course I would! It was great to be able to serve others. If you have the opportunity to serve, do it! And do it with all your heart and good cheer.

The screen door slammed shut with a loud bang. Lindy trudged in, pulled a chair from the kitchen table, and plopped down.
“Hi, Punkin,” her mother said as she turned off the water in the sink. She pulled one of Lindy’s blonde pigtails and said, “Why the long face? I thought you couldn’t wait for school to be out. You can’t be tired of vacation already.”
Lindy sighed and shrugged her shoulders. “There’s nothing to do,” she said and sighed again.
Lindy’s mother smiled. “Why don’t you ride your bike? You and Julie always like to race to the end of the street.”
“Julie’s gone to her grandmother’s,” Lindy grumbled. “M-o-o-o-o-m,” she wailed, tugging on her mother’s apron. “What can I dooooo?”
“I know,” her mother said, snapping her fingers. “Why don’t you read the new book I got you yesterday?”
Lindy sat up straight and gave her mother a wide grin. Then she slumped back in her seat. “Aw, Mom, I read that yesterday.” She frowned and thumped the table with her fingers.
“I have just the thing,” Mother said, sitting down at the table with her. “How would you like to play a game—a game that can last all summer!”
Lindy giggled. “Mom, what game can last all summer?”
“I know one,” Mother said, handing Lindy a big red apple. “This one: Do something good for someone each day—something kind.”
Lindy took a big bite out of her apple. She turned questioning blue eyes on her mother. “Mom, are you sure that that will be fun? It doesn’t sound like a game to me.”
“It can be,” said Mother. “The fun part is that you mustn’t let the people know you did the things for them. You can’t let them see you, and you can’t tell them you did it. If you do, it doesn’t count.”
Lindy giggled. “They’ll think elves did it.” She got out of her chair and danced around the room. “I’ll be the secret elf of Goodman,” she said. Then she frowned. “OK, Mom, what can I do?”
Her mother laughed and got up to look out the window. “Well, Mrs. Parker doesn’t get around very well. Maybe you could do something for her.”
“I know! I know!” Lindy exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I can carry her paper from the sidewalk to her porch so it’ll be easier for her to get.”
She dashed to the door.
“Remember—she mustn’t see you,” her mother called after her.
Lindy ran to the big oak tree in the backyard and peered at Mrs. Parker’s house. She saw Mrs. Parker through the kitchen window, washing dishes.
Lindy clapped her hands and darted to the sidewalk in front of the house. She grabbed the folded newspaper and ran and dropped it next to the front door.
She just had time to scurry behind the shrubbery at the side of the house before the front door opened. Lindy bent a branch of the bush just the tiniest bit so that she could see Mrs. Parker.
“These old legs are not what they used to be,” Lindy heard Mrs. Parker mumble. Then Lindy heard a click as Mrs. Parker unlatched the screen.
“My, my! How did you get on the porch?” Mrs. Parker asked, bending to pick up the paper. She looked first up the street, then down the street.
Lindy clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her excited giggles.
“Somebody sure has been kind to me,” Mrs. Parker said, shaking her head. “My poor legs say thank you, whoever you are,” she called out. She shook her head again and went back inside.
Lindy smiled happily as she scampered back over into her yard and sat on her swing. While she swung slowly, she thought about what her next adventure would be. Gazing down the street, she saw papers and cans strewn all over Mr. Johnson’s yard.
“That’s it? She jumped out of the swing, ran to the house, tugged the screen door open, and ran in.
“Mom, I need a garbage bag quick. The dogs have made a mess of Mr. Johnson’s yard. Would you call him on the phone, please, and keep him talking so he won’t see me clean it up?”
Lindy dashed to the door, then stopped and turned to her mother. “And, Mom,” she said with a big grin, “it’s going to be a fun summer!”

I would like to share one such experience that happened while I was serving on my mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

My missionary companion and I were walking through a neighborhood to reach another part of the city. It was a quiet street with several homes.

At one of the houses, I noticed two young women about our age watching us and talking to each other on their front porch. We were across the street walking down the sidewalk. A thought came into my mind that we should go visit with them and I stopped walking, but I quickly dismissed it thinking that we needed to get to our other destination, and I continued on.

We were now a little farther past their home and again I felt impressed to go back and speak with them. I turned around and started walking back, but then quickly convinced myself again that we shouldn’t. So, I turned around and kept walking. At this point, my companion was so confused at what I was doing as I hadn’t said a word. I then had a very strong third impression and turned around again and told my companion that we needed to go back.

When we reached the porch, we introduced ourselves. We discussed the doctrine of eternal families for a little while, but I didn’t really feel that our conversation made much of an impact.

Then, one of the girls said she needed to grab a few things for work and quickly went inside the house. Immediately, the Spirit rushed in and told me to say several things to the sister who was still on the porch. I testified she was a daughter of our Heavenly Father and He knew and loved her so much. I also testified that she knew what she needed to do to follow Him.

I do not remember the other things, but I do remember the overwhelming love that our Heavenly Father had for her and that He knew her personally to send us that day.

I am a second-grade teacher in a community where Latter-day Saints are well known. So I was surprised one day when a peer told me of another teacher’s remark about me. The teacher had said, “Did you know that Mrs. Craig is not a Christian?”
I was torn inside. I had just lost my husband of 28 years, and I had been closer to the Savior and my Heavenly Father than at any other time in my life. I knew that I would have to bear my testimony to this teacher, but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I did not want to offend her, but I also wanted her to know that Latter-day Saints are Christians.
The next morning the Holy Ghost whispered to me what I should say. As I lay in bed, I thought of all the paintings I had in my home of the life of Jesus Christ. Each painting had a special place in my heart and was connected to a special time in my life. Thinking of those paintings brought many tender feelings about the love I have for the Savior.
One painting in particular shows the Savior calming the stormy sea. It reminds me that He conquers all and that I, through Him, can also overcome all things, including the heartbreak of losing my husband.
As I continued to reflect on the paintings, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude for the blessings that had come to me because I belong to the Savior’s Church.
That morning at school I went into my colleague’s room and told her I wanted her to know I am a Christian. I asked her, “How many paintings of the Savior do you have in your home?” She told me that instead of paintings, she had two crosses in her home.
I told her about the paintings of the Savior in my home and what the scenes depicted in the paintings meant to me. I then bore my testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement.
I also told my co-worker that it was only through my knowledge of Jesus Christ that I had been able to survive the past year. I told her how His tender mercies had helped my children and me get through the difficult time of losing a father and husband.
I hugged her as I left, and she offered a sincere apology. There was no doubt in my heart that she knew that I, a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, am a Christian.

A young sister shared that she often feels nervous about ministering because she doesn’t know how others will respond. I asked how she works through that. She smiled and said, “I go—and it usually turns out much better than I thought.” She exercises faith, and the Lord helps her.
As we minister in faith, we do not go alone. The Lord will be with us. He will “provide [the] means whereby [we] can accomplish the thing which he has commanded”—including the blessing of God’s priesthood power as we keep our covenants and His priesthood authority to represent Him through our assignment. The Lord knows the hearts of those we minister to. He loves them and He loves you. He will help you to bless them in the ways they need.

When my Young Women adviser suggested I do a Laurel value project about my family, I immediately knew we needed a family reunion.
I soon found out that planning a reunion takes time, persistence, and some hard work. It doesn’t hurt to have help from family members either. Here are some ideas that worked for me:
* Select a date. Choose a date well in advance for better attendance.
* Choose a meeting place. Use parks, pavilions, gymnasiums, or even backyards.
* Decide on a menu. Make food assignments or go potluck.
* Send out invitations. Make a list of all the relatives. Leave no one out.
* Plan activities that everyone will enjoy. Plan for swimming, board games, and art projects, just to name a few.
* Include a memento or souvenir of the reunion for each participant. Some families have screen-printed T-shirts. Others offer door prizes. The prizes can be as simple or ambitious as photos, scrapbooks, or recipe books.
* Don’t forget to send thank-you notes. Be sure to thank everyone who helped you with the planning and preparation or who donated their time or talents.
My reunion was hard work but so satisfying. I realize now what family reunions are all about.

Phillis stood on her tiptoes and took a book from the shelf. She sat down in a chair by the window. The pages were very thin, so she turned them carefully.
“Phillis, what are you doing?” asked Miss Mary Wheatley from the doorway.
The little black girl looked up. She hadn’t asked to use the book. Is my mistress angry? she wondered.
But Mary was smiling. “You like books, don’t you, Phillis?” she asked kindly.
The little girl nodded.
Her mistress came over and looked at what Phillis had on her lap. “That’s a book of poems.”
“What are poems?” asked Phillis.
“Words that are put together in a lovely way,” the girl told her.
Just then Nat, Mary’s twin brother, came into the library through another door. “Well, what have we here?” He smiled at the little black girl.
Phillis didn’t say anything. Nathaniel Wheatley wasn’t home very often, and she didn’t know him well.
“We were just talking about books,” his sister told him. “Phillis likes to look at them.”
“Really?” he asked. “Well, Mary, why don’t you teach her to read?”
Mary had hoped her brother would suggest that. He had taught her to read. Not many girls in the 1770s could boast that! She turned to her young servant and asked, “Would you like to learn to read, Phillis?”
The little girl nodded as hard as she could. She looked like a tiny excited bird.
Nat laughed. “You certainly have an eager pupil.” Then he kissed his sister good-bye and set off for downtown Boston to see his father.
“Phillis,” asked her mistress, “would you like to begin today?” Mary was excited too.
“Yes,” answered the little girl in her soft musical voice. “I can hardly wait.”
“Fine,” said Mary. “Some of Mother’s friends are coming to visit in the early afternoon. When they leave, we’ll have our first lesson.”
Phillis closed the book and put it back on the shelf. She knew that it was her job to serve refreshments to the guests.
Soon three ladies were seated in the parlor with Mrs. Wheatley and Mary. Phillis carried a tray into the room. She walked slowly and carefully and didn’t spill anything. She offered the plate of cakes to each woman. Then she poured lemonade into dainty cups. When she left the room, she sat down on a chair outside the door so that she could hear her mistress if she called.
“That girl always seems so cheerful,” she heard one of the ladies say. “My Bertha isn’t like that at all. She never wants to do any work. And when I make her, she grumbles.”
“Phillis is special,” Mrs. Wheatley told the woman. “She’s smart too. A few months ago she had never been away from her African village. And now she speaks good English!”
Phillis felt important when she heard people talk about her that way.
“Today she looks even happier than usual,” another lady said.
Mary smiled. “That’s because we start our lessons this afternoon. I’m going to teach her to read.”
One of the women gasped. “Teach a slave to read? That’s ridiculous! Servants don’t need to read.”
That made Phillis angry. She knew that Mary would tell the woman how wrong she was.
“Well,” said Phillis’s young mistress. “I suppose you’re right.”
The little girl couldn’t believe her ears. She ran up the stairs to her room in the attic, crawled under a dilapidated chair, and hid.
Soon the guests were gone.
“Phillis!” Mary called. “Phillis, you can clear away the dishes now.”
There was no answer. Phillis always came when she was called. Mary began to look for the little girl.
Up in the attic, Phillis heard her mistress. She knew that she might be punished for hiding, but she was so sad that she didn’t care what happened to her.
Finally Mary opened the door to the attic and stepped inside. She saw the edge of Phillis’s dress sticking out from under the chair. Mary pretended not to see her.
“Where could Phillis be?” she said out loud. “I hope she isn’t lost. I’d miss her if she were gone.”
Phillis felt guilty. “Here I am,” she said, crawling out.
“Aha!” cried her mistress. “You aren’t lost after all. You certainly fooled me.” She saw that Phillis wasn’t smiling back at her. “What’s the matter?”
“You told me you’d teach me to read,” she said. “Then that lady said that I didn’t need to learn. And you told her she was right.”
“Goodness!” Mary stooped down and put her hands on Phillis’s shoulders. “I said that she was right that you don’t need to read. But you must have run away before I finished. I told her that a person who wants to read should be able to, even if he doesn’t need to. After all, a lot of people say that girls don’t need to study. But I learn, right along with my brother.”
Phillis opened her eyes wide. “Does that mean you’ll still teach me? You’ll even teach me to read poems?”
“Of course. We’ll start as soon as the dishes are cleared away,” she told the little black girl. “And when you know a few words, I’ll teach you to write them too. Maybe someday you’ll write your very own poems.”
“My very own poems,” said Phillis slowly. She ran out of the attic to finish her work.
Mary smiled as she watched her go. She’s special, she thought. She may be a great woman one day, even if she did come to this country on a slave ship.
Mary Wheatley was right. In the next few years, Phillis learned to read and write English very well. She also studied Latin, ancient history, and mythology. When she was about thirteen, she wrote some poems that were published a few years later. Phillis Wheatley became the first famous black woman writer in America.

The Taylors heard the restored gospel as a result of some unusual circumstances. In 1836, Parley P. Pratt was sent to Toronto by revelation to preach the gospel. Concerning Elder Pratt’s mission to Canada, Elder Heber C. Kimball had prophesied, “From the things growing out of this mission, shall the fullness of the gospel spread into England.” (See Roberts, page 35.) Elder Pratt received from a stranger a letter of introduction to a John Taylor in Toronto. But when he called at the Taylors’ home, his reception there was polite but not exactly cordial. Later, after presenting his message to the ministers in the city, Elder Pratt prepared to leave. Valise in hand, he was saying good-bye to John Taylor when a neighbor—a member of the Taylors’ religious study group—came in, offered her home for Elder Pratt to preach in, and proposed to lodge and feed him. As a result, John and Leonora Taylor heard Elder Pratt preach. This was John’s response to his group of friends:

“We are here, ostensibly in search of the truth. Hitherto we have fully investigated other creeds and doctrines and proven them false. Why should we fear to investigate Mormonism? This gentleman, Mr. Pratt, has brought to us many doctrines that correspond with our own views. … We have prayed to God to send us a messenger, if He has a true Church on earth. … I desire to investigate his doctrines and claims to authority, and shall be very glad if some of my friends will unite with me in this investigation. But if no one will unite with me, be assured I shall make the investigation alone. If I find his religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be; but if false, then I shall expose it.” (See Roberts, pages 38–39.)

For three weeks, John Taylor followed Elder Pratt from place to place, copying down sermons as Elder Pratt delivered them—and then privately comparing them with the scriptures. Satisfied that the missionary was teaching the truth, John and Leonora Taylor joined the Church. Twenty-eight-year-old John was ordained an elder and was placed in charge of the Church in Canada when the missionaries returned to their homes.

I would like to close today with a story about a young man who came to BYU-Idaho, accepted the Lord's invitation, and learned the power of faith in Christ. I talked with him just a few days ago. Here is his story, in his own voice. As you listen, please notice how the gift of increased faith blessed his life.

Let me give you some background to my story. I was kind of an average student in high school, probably an underachiever. Unfortunately, I didn't realize early on that things like trigonometry were related to anything important later in life. I did okay in school, but was not really plugged in academically. I was on the seminary council, and I tried to do things the right way. I didn't think about going to school at BYU-Idaho.

I had made some plans for college, but was still really unsettled about it. One day I drove up the canyon to think. As I sat there, I had this strong feeling come to me: "Go home." So, I went home and pulled out my patriarchal blessing. As I read, there was a line in the blessing that seemed like it was highlighted in yellow. It just jumped off the page. The line told me that the Lord would help me to organize my life at the right time to accomplish my eternal purposes. In that moment BYU-Idaho came into my mind.

I went downstairs and told my parents that I was thinking about going to BYU-Idaho. They were happy. I applied and got in, and I went to Rexburg.

That is where my life began. I have been to some very good schools since then, but I have never had an educational experience like the one I had at BYU-Idaho. I decided to study physics, which scared my parents and worried me, but it felt like the right thing to do.

I took a math class I needed for my major, but realized right away I was in over my head. I went to the tutoring center and one of the students there figured out that she would need to teach me mathematics from the very beginning.

I burned a tremendous amount of midnight oil. It was a total awakening. And it was very hard. I remember one night, especially. I was struggling mightily in that math class. I was in trouble and really behind. I didn't think I could do it anymore, had actually filled out a card to drop the class, and was about to hand it in. I called my dad and talked to him. He encouraged me and gave me some good advice about getting more help. That night I decided not to give up. I decided to have faith that somehow the tide would turn.

And it did. My classmates helped me, my teacher helped me, my tutor helped me, and the Lord was there. I can see now that I was surrounded by people who wanted me to succeed. These people cared about me, and I felt the Spirit of the Lord help me to learn.

That experience completely turned my life around academically. I passed that class and did well in school. That experience gave me an idea of who I was and of my potential as a child of God. It prepared me to serve a mission. I will be forever grateful for that experience. [22]

Today, this young man and his wife have a beautiful family. He has a productive professional career and has served the Lord in many capacities.

He still has that drop card he decided not to turn in. He has kept it because it helps him remember that with the gift of faith and the Lord's blessing of power he can do hard things. He still faces frontiers in his life, and he still acts in faith in Christ trusting in His almighty power. He has faith as a grain of mustard seed.

There were many other examples of similar courage. One day Margaret Henrietta Camp Baird, a crippled widow with eight children who lived in Holbrook, Arizona, caught a wild cow. A fighter, the cow bellowed and struggled when Margaret and her sons tried to rope her. Finally they succeeded and tied her to the snubbing post in the center of the corral. But with her lunging the cow succeeded in snapping the rope, and the boys ran for cover. Just as determined as the cow, Margaret made her way into the corral. The cow sniffed and headed toward her. Margaret raised her cane and brought it down over the cow’s head with such force that the animal’s knees buckled. According to a family report, Bossy proved to be the best milk cow they ever had. On another occasion Margaret received a call for help from a ward member about to be confined. The neighbor was a mile and a half away across the Little Colorado, which at that time was a raging torrent because of the spring melt. Margaret saddled her horse and started out with her baby strapped on her back as there was no one to leave her with. The horse had to swim across the bulging river, but Margaret and baby made it in good time to deliver the neighbor’s child.10

“A group of men were talking with the Prophet Joseph Smith one day when news arrived that the house of a poor brother … was burned down. Everyone expressed sorrow for what had happened. The Prophet listened for a moment, then ‘put his hand in his pocket, took out five dollars and said, “I feel sorry for this brother to the amount of five dollars; how much do you all feel sorry?”’ … Last year millions of you responded to the sorrow of others with your means, tender hearts, and helping hands. Thank you for your wonderful measure of generosity.”Bishop H. David Burton, Presiding Bishop, “Tender Hearts and Helping Hands,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2006, 8.

I fell in gym class at school and hit my head on the floor. My head hurt really bad, and my stomach was upset. I also felt weird and very tired. When my dad got home from work, he gave me a priesthood blessing. After the blessing I wasn’t scared anymore. My mom and dad took me to the emergency room, and the doctor said I had a concussion.
Five days later my mom took me to the doctor again. This time they rushed me to a children’s hospital. It turned out that I had fractured my skull and had a bleeding artery in my brain that caused two blood clots. The doctors were really surprised that I was doing so well. I know it was because of the blessing my dad gave me. I stayed in the hospital for three days. When I got home, the bishopric came and gave me another blessing. A lot of people prayed for me. Within weeks the blood clots were gone, and I made a full recovery.
I know that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know me and love me, and I look forward to the day when I can hold the priesthood.Matthew Nielsen, age 7, Aurora, Illinois

I’d like to tell you about the time I and other family members crossed that Canadian-U.S. border with our dad and mom on our way back home, knowing for Dad it would be the last time. As we cleared customs, Dad raised up from his sick bed in the back of the car and commented, “This prairie has never looked so beautiful. It’s at it’s very best for my last inspection.”
During our brief stay in our old hometown, we sauntered haltingly down the gravel road past the tall cottonwood trees where the old school had been. Dad took the lead. “It was the old bell,” he said, and we all looked in the same direction, seeing it clearly in our mind’s eye. “The school bell kept us in line. There were two bells,” he went on. “A fifteen-minute bell would ring six times, giving ample warning before the final five-minute bell sounded a simple dingdong—and you’d better be there.” His weakened voice increased in intensity as he added, “It’s important to listen for the bell.”
As we mused together in silence for a time, I pondered the possibility of my own inner bell being silenced, if only for a moment, just a rest break maybe. In years since, rather than wishing to silence the bell within, I feel myself strain a little that I might hear it more clearly.
After our trip to Canada, Dad talked about going home on that final journey and we talked together of the border crossing. His body was less than 100 pounds, and his mortal journey was coming to a close. Dad talked about the sweetness and sacredness of these times and spoke of the nearness of the Lord, the Holy One of Israel, the gatekeeper. Life had presented plenty of struggles, and he had used them to prove himself worthy and to cleanse the soul. And he was ready for the border crossing.
That last day, Dad spoke of Addison, his younger brother who had gone on before him. I wonder if his brother, and maybe his mother and father, were standing at the window an hour before his expected arrival, anxious for his safe return home.
By midafternoon I had decided to sit with Dad. It seemed his eyes were open, yet he wasn’t seeing me. I took his hand in mine, a hand that had spanked me and blessed me and caressed me throughout my life. “Dad,” I whispered. He didn’t respond. “If you know I’m here, please squeeze my hand.” I wasn’t sure if there was a squeeze, but it didn’t seem like it. I bent over and put my cheek to his very bony cheek, with my hand on the other side of his face. I waited just a second, then straightened up. He looked at me just a moment, and in his eyes I saw complete peace. Joy, trust, confidence, and anticipation all mingled together in that look. He was ready for the border crossing and the gatekeeper, the Holy One of Israel. A tear escaped the corner of his eye. I pressed my cheek to his again. There are things we cannot find words or even sounds to express, but in that moment, I had some sense of what that final crossing might be and the ecstasy that we’ll never fully understand in this life.

One priesthood bearer remembered as a young boy a meeting at his home in which Eliza R. Snow, Zina D. Young, Clara Kimball, and other leaders of the Relief Society were present. While he was playing on the floor, he heard Sister Snow, by the gift of tongues, and Zina D. Young, by interpretation, promise that he should grow to manhood and become an apostle of the Lord. The man recalling the incident was President Heber J. Grant.

“[Once] I stayed in the home of my niece and her family. That evening before the children went to bed, we had a short family home evening and a scripture story. Their father told about the family of Lehi and how he taught his children that they must hold fast to the iron rod, which is the word of God. Holding fast to the iron rod would keep them safe and lead them to joy and happiness. If they should let go of the iron rod, there was danger of drowning in the river of dirty water.
“To demonstrate this to the children, their mother became the ‘iron rod’ that they must cling to, and their father played the role of the devil, trying to pull the children away from safety and happiness. The children loved the story and learned how important it is to hold fast to the iron rod. After the scripture story it was time for family prayer. …
“Scriptures, family home evening, and family prayer will strengthen families. We need to take every opportunity to strengthen families and support one another to stay on the right path.”1

When the mission age changes were announced, I felt excitement reverberate throughout the meetinghouse where I was watching it. Yet when I considered serving a mission, I felt hesitant and knew I needed to truly ponder the opportunity. Soon after graduating high school, I realized I could start my mission papers and began to feel that almost every lesson in church focused on either missionary work or discovering the will of the Father. The Spirit was prompting me to seek answers to my questions concerning a mission.

I began to pray for courage to accept God’s will for me. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment of decision, but after studying the scriptures, continuing to pray for guidance, talking with my parents, and pondering in my heart, I felt that serving a mission was not the right path for me. I inquired of the Lord to receive confirmation of this choice and was blessed with peace.
Katie G., Idaho, USA

It was the worst electrical storm in 50 years, knocking out electricity and communications over a 200-mile region overnight.
Fifteen-year-old Shane had spent the evening huddled with his family around the fireplace, enjoying the warmth and light it gave. But at ten o’clock his parents suggested everyone go to bed, and so Shane took a flashlight and padded barefoot up the stairs to his bedroom, which had been converted from an attic several years ago.
He had just gotten into bed and turned out the flashlight when the door opened and someone else stepped into the room. At first Shane thought it was one of his parents coming to check on him, but the visitor didn’t say anything, just sat down on the other side of the bed.
Shane thought that it might be a burglar, and because he was afraid of being shot, he kept quiet.
The visitor, in pajamas, removed a wristwatch and then got in under the covers on the other side of the bed from where Shane was.
Shane jumped out of bed, grabbed his flashlight and a bat, and prepared himself for a fight.
The visitor likewise jumped out of bed and went into a karate stance. From the light of the flashlight, Shane saw that he appeared to be in his late twenties. There was something strangely familiar about the man’s face.
“What are you doing here?” the visitor asked.
“Look, this is my bedroom. What are you doing here?”
“You must be mistaken. This is my bedroom.”
“Look, all the houses on this block look alike. You must be in the wrong one.”
“4216 Cedar Street,” the visitor said.
Shane was puzzled. That was his address too.
“What’s your name?” the visitor asked.
“Shane Logan.”
“Don’t play games with me,” the stranger said.
“What do you mean?” Shane asked.
“I’m Shane Logan,” the stranger said.
“You can’t be,” Shane said.
“Why can’t I?”
“Because there’s only one Shane Logan that lives at 4216 Cedar Street.”
“I don’t live here now. I just came to visit for the night. My business brings me out here a few times a year. I always stay the night so I can visit with my parents.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” Shane said.
“I can’t see your face very well,” the stranger said. “Shine the flashlight on your face.”
Shane did as the man asked.
“I can’t believe it,” the visitor said.
“You can’t believe what?”
“Your face.”
“It’s not that bad, is it?”
“What year is it?”
“1988,” Shane said.
“You need counseling,” the visitor said.
“Why?”
“Because actually the year is 2003.”
“Look at the calendar on the wall if you don’t believe me,” Shane said. He pointed the flashlight at the calendar on the bulletin board.
“I think we have a problem here,” the visitor said. “The electrical storm must have caused some kind of a time warp. We’re the same person from two different times. You’re me at 15, and I’m you at 30.”
Shane paused. “This is a joke, right?”
“Afraid not.”
“Look, I don’t care who you are. You can’t spend the night here.”
“I’m afraid I have to.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m supposed to be here overnight. If and when the time warp ever reverts back, we both have to be in this room, or else we might miss it and one of us be trapped in the wrong time.”
Shane pulled up a chair from his desk and gave it to the stranger.
“Are you married?” Shane asked, sitting on his bed.
“Yes.”
“What’s your wife’s name?”
The visitor paused. “I don’t think I’ll tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t know who my wife was going to be, and since you’re me, I don’t think you should either. Does that make sense?”
“Is her first name Tara?”
“No.”
“Is her first name Melissa?”
“Look, let’s change the subject, okay? You’re on your own about who you marry. That’s the way it should be.”
“Okay, but what can you tell me about myself that might help?”
The visitor paused. “Obey your parents. Stay active in the Church. Live the Word of Wisdom. Go on a mission. Keep yourself morally clean.”
“You sound like my dad.”
“Well, maybe that’s because I am a dad.”
“You are? I mean I am? I mean I will be? What’s it like? How many kids do we have?”
“One, and one on the way.”
“Is our wife a knockout?”
“Let’s see, a knockout. It’s been a while since I heard that word. That means beautiful, right?”
“Right.”
“Then she’s a knockout.”
“How do we do next year in geometry?”
“Well, if we work hard, and get some help, we do okay.”
“But Mr. Adelstein is a tough grader.”
“I know, but he’s fair.”
“What about girls?” Shane asked.
“What about ’em?”
“Melissa Stewart, what about her? Does she ever get to like me?”
The visitor smiled. “Forget Melissa Stewart.”
Shane frowned. “Rats. What else can you tell me?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Am I going to turn out okay?”
The visitor smiled. “I think so, but of course I’m probably prejudiced.”
“Anything I should watch out for?” Shane asked.
“Drugs and alcohol.”
“Did you stay away from those things?”
“Yes, but last year I was talking to a friend of mine, a psychologist. He told me I had all the personality characteristics of someone who could become an alcoholic. He told me it was a good thing I’d never started drinking. So don’t you start either or else I might not be around at 30.”
“Did we go on a mission?”
“Let me just say, I’d strongly recommend it.”
“What kind of a job do you have?”
The visitor paused. “Actually it wouldn’t do any good to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because the work you’ll end up doing when you’re my age hasn’t even been invented yet.”
“So what do I do to prepare for it?”
“Get as good an education as you can.”
Suddenly there was a knock on the door.
“Hide,” Shane said.
The visitor got under the bed.
Shane opened the door. His mother was standing there holding a candle in her hand.
“I heard talking coming from your room.”
“I was just talking to myself,” Shane said with a strange grin, and then he burst out laughing uncontrollably.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, Mom, really,” he said, still laughing.
“Well, get to bed and get some sleep.”
“I will, Mom. Good night.”
“Good night, dear.”
He shut the door.
Suddenly the lights in the house went on.
“You can come out of there now,” Shane said. “I’ve got a lot more questions. When I go before the Eagle Scout review board next week, can you remember any of the questions they’ll ask me?”
No answer.
Shane looked under the bed. The visitor was gone.
“Where are you? Look, don’t go away. There are so many things I want to know about my life. When will my parents let me get a driver’s license?”
Another knock on the door. “Come in,” Shane said.
His mother opened the door.
Shane was on his knees looking under the bed. All he saw was an old banana peel and some dust.
“What are you doing?” his mother asked.
“I’m looking for something.”
“Shane, quit this foolishness and get to bed.”
“All right.” He paused. “Mom?”
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter about Melissa Stewart.”
She smiled. “Well, I’m glad you finally came to your senses. Good night.”
His mother left.
The visitor never returned.
Actually that isn’t quite true, because in time Shane became the visitor.
As we all do.

When President Kimball first came here as a member of the Twelve, he was asked to sit for a portrait. (Those of us who know him well know how those hours of sitting still must have bothered him.) To keep him from daydreaming, the painter one day asked an abrupt question:
“Brother Kimball, have you ever been to heaven?”
His answer seemed to be a shock, as he said without hesitation, “Why, yes … certainly. I had a glimpse of heaven just before coming to your studio.”
He then told of an experience in the temple where he had performed a marriage:
“As the subdued congratulations were extended, a happy father … offered his hand and said, ‘Brother Kimball, my wife and I are common people and have never been successful, but we are immensely proud of our family. … This is the last of our eight children to come into this holy house for temple marriage. They, with their companions, are here to participate in the marriage of this, the youngest.’ …
“I looked at his calloused hands, his rough exterior, and thought to myself, ‘Here is a real son of God fulfilling his destiny’” (Ensign, Dec. 1971, p. 36; also in Conference Report, Oct. 1971, pp. 152–53).

Soon after, Bengt Erlandsson, interior designer for the Palmyra New York Temple, asked Tom for a sketch of the First Vision. Again, Tom turned to the Lord.
“I was overwhelmed about doing this window for the Lord’s temple right there on the land where the First Vision actually happened,” says Tom. “I went to the Mount Timpanogos Utah Temple for inspiration, and while praying, my mind was flooded with a vision of all 108 windows. I wanted to portray that wonderful light the Prophet Joseph felt in the Sacred Grove.”
Tom sketched the artwork and remembers going to the Church Office Building thinking, What am I doing? I’m just a young man with all these ideas for windows they didn’t even ask for. I must be crazy. But he felt the Spirit prompting him.
Miraculously, Tom’s sketches were approved. With tears in their eyes, Tom and his wife, Gayle, knelt and thanked the Lord for allowing them such a privilege.
With less than four months to complete the 17,000-piece project, Tom worked feverishly, involving youth from his area. “I hired 16- to 19-year-olds who had an open mind and would ask for God’s help,” he says.
On April 6, 2000, Tom and Gayle entered the celestial room for the Palmyra temple dedication. “Everyone was telling me how beautiful the windows were, but the Spirit whispering, ‘I am pleased with the work,’ was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life,” he says.

“Remember a long long time ago when you were just a little kid?” I mused. “Well, you couldn’t, of course, because you were only about 18 months old, but it was the night after Robby was born in the old Dee Hospital on 24th Street. Anyway, you and I were the only ones home, and I guess it was about midnight or later. I came into your room to see if you were covered up, if everything was okay. The light from the hall was shining on your face a little, and there you were, wide awake as could be, just looking up at me and smiling—like right now. So I sat down on the edge of our old rocker, and we looked at each other. That’s all we did. We were all alone, just looking at each other through the bars of that crib—looking into each other—for maybe 15 minutes. And you know something?” I paused. “That was one of the neatest experiences your old dad has ever had.”