Gospel Story Finder

Members of the choir rejoice that they are singing in “the Lord’s choir.” Duffie Hurtado, who has been singing in the choir for the past ten years, remembers, “After the choir sang at the dedication of the Washington D.C. Temple visitors’ center, we had the opportunity to be greeted by President Spencer W. Kimball, who shook our hands and thanked us for singing. At that point in my life, I was making some really serious decisions, and because of personal problems I was having, I felt it might be best if I left the choir. When I reached President Kimball, he took my hand and said, ‘This is the Lord’s choir, and this is where he wants you to be.’ I hadn’t told him I had a problem, or asked for his counsel. He just knew. With the other choir members around me in the line he just shook hands and said hello or thank you or God bless you. But when I stopped that’s what he said, and I will never forget it. I know that that man was a prophet of God, and I am so touched that the Lord would answer my prayers in such a special way.”

I recently observed from a distance a couple who at one time had faith in Christ but then decided to discard their belief. They were successful in the world, and they found pleasure in their intellect and the rejection of their faith.
All seemed well until the husband, still young and energetic, suddenly fell ill and died. Like an eclipse of the sun, they had blocked the light of the Son, and the result was an eclipse of hope. The wife, in her disbelief, now felt disoriented, painfully unprepared, unable to comfort her children. Her intellect had told her that her life was in perfect order until suddenly she could see no tomorrow. Her despair brought darkness and confusion.
Let me contrast her painful despair with another family’s hope in Christ during a heartbreaking time.
Twenty-one years ago the newborn son of my nephew Ben Andersen and his wife, Robbie, was life-flighted from their Idaho farming community to Salt Lake City. I arrived at the hospital, and Ben explained the severe, life-threatening complications with their baby’s heart. We placed our hands on Trey’s tiny head. The Lord blessed him with continued life.
Trey had heart surgery the first week of his life, and more surgeries followed. As the years passed, it became apparent that Trey would need a heart transplant. Although his physical activities were limited, his faith expanded. He wrote, “I have never felt sorry for myself because I have always known the importance of having faith in Jesus Christ and a testimony of the plan of salvation.”
Trey kept on his phone this well-known quote from President Nelson: “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”
Trey wrote: “I have always looked forward to serving a full-time mission, but … my doctors won’t let me serve a mission until at least a year after my transplant. … I’ve put my faith in Jesus Christ.”
Trey was excited at being accepted into the accounting major at BYU beginning this semester, but even more excited in late July when he received the very anticipated telephone call to come to the hospital for his heart transplant.
“One year,” Trey said, “and I will be on my mission.”
There were great expectations as he entered the operating room. However, during the surgery there were devastating complications, and Trey never regained consciousness.
His mother, Robbie, said: “Friday had been the most heartbreaking day … just trying to wrap our minds around it. … I had stayed up late just trying to process everything. … But Saturday, I woke up with a feeling of absolute joy. It wasn’t just peace; it wasn’t denial. I felt joy for my son, and I felt joy as his mother. … Ben had gotten up a lot earlier than me, and when we finally got a chance to talk, Ben had awakened with the exact same feeling.”
Ben explained: “Clarity came to my soul as God taught me through His Holy Spirit. I awoke at 4:00 a.m. and was filled with indescribable peace and joy. How is this possible? … The passing of Trey is so very painful, and I miss him so much. But the Lord does not leave us comfortless. … I look forward to a joyful reunion.”
Trey had noted in his journal these words from President Nelson’s general conference talk: “It doesn’t seem possible to feel joy when your child suffers with an incurable illness or when you lose your job or when your spouse betrays you. Yet that is precisely the joy the Savior offers. His joy is constant, assuring us that our ‘afflictions shall be but a small moment’ [Doctrine and Covenants 121:7] and be consecrated to our gain.”

Since both of my parents have passed away, it became necessary this year to clean out their home to prepare it for sale. During these past few months, as my siblings and I cleaned and sorted through my parents’ home, we found family histories and many important papers and documents. It has been fascinating to read through personal histories and patriarchal blessings of my parents and grandparents. I have been reminded of the covenants they made and kept.
My grandmother Ellen Hanks Rymer was a young mother in 1912 when she received her patriarchal blessing. When I read her blessing, these lines jumped off the page and stayed in my mind: “Thou wast chosen from before the foundation of the earth, and a chosen spirit to come forth in this day. … Thy testimony shall be magnified and thou shalt be able to testify. … The destroyer has sought to destroy thee, but if thou wilt cleave unto thy God, he [the destroyer] shall not have power to harm thee. Thou through thy faithfulness shalt have great power and the destroyer shall flee from before thee because of thy righteousness. … When the hour of fear and trials come upon thee if thou wilt retire to thy secret closet in prayer thy heart shall be comforted and the obstacles removed.”
My grandmother was promised that if she would keep her covenants and stay close to God, Satan could have no power over her. She would find comfort and help in her trials. These promises were fulfilled in her life.
Today I want to talk about (1) the importance of cleaving unto covenants and (2) the joy and protection that come from keeping our covenants.
Some of the examples I will use come from Daughters in My Kingdom: The History and Work of Relief Society. The book is filled with examples of women who have found great joy in keeping covenants.
The Bible Dictionary tells us that a covenant is a contract made between God and man. “God in his good pleasure fixes the terms, which man accepts. … The gospel is so arranged that principles and ordinances are received by covenant placing the recipient under strong obligation and responsibility to honor the commitment.” In the phrase “cleave unto covenants,” the word cleave means “to adhere firmly and closely” to something.
In the scriptures we learn of men and women who have made covenants with God. God has given instructions on what to do to honor those covenants, and then as those covenants have been kept, the promised blessings have followed.
For example, through the ordinance of baptism, we make a covenant with our Heavenly Father. We prepare ourselves for baptism by having faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, repenting of our sins, and being willing to take upon us the name of Christ. We make a commitment to keep the commandments of God and remember the Savior always. We covenant to “bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light.” We indicate that we are willing to mourn with those who mourn and comfort those who need comfort.
In holy temples other sacred ordinances are received and other covenants are made. In the early days of the Restoration, the Prophet Joseph Smith was anxious for the Saints to have the promised blessings of the temple. The Lord said, “Let this house be built unto my name, that I may reveal mine ordinances therein unto my people.”
“One of the Lord’s purposes in organizing the Relief Society was to prepare His daughters for the greater blessings of the priesthood found in the ordinances and covenants of the temple. The … sisters in Nauvoo anticipated the completion of the temple with great excitement, for they knew, as the Prophet Joseph Smith promised Mercy Fielding Thompson, that the endowment would bring them ‘out of darkness into marvelous light.’”
“More than 5,000 Saints thronged the Nauvoo Temple after its dedication so they could receive the endowment and the sealing ordinance before embarking on their journey” to the Salt Lake Valley. President Brigham Young and many Church leaders and temple workers spent their time, day and night, serving in the temple so this important work could be performed for the Saints.
Our covenants sustain us whether in good times or in difficult times. President Boyd K. Packer reminds us that “we are a covenant people. We covenant to give of our resources in time and money and talent—all we are and all we possess—to the interest of the kingdom of God upon the earth. In simple terms, we covenant to do good. We are a covenant people, and the temple is the center of our covenants. It is the source of the covenant.”
The scriptures remind us, “And this shall be our covenant—that we will walk in all the ordinances of the Lord.”
Great are the blessings we receive as we cleave unto our covenants.
In the Book of Mormon we read King Benjamin’s sermon. He taught the people about Jesus Christ, that He would come to the earth and suffer all manner of afflictions. He taught the people that Christ would atone for the sins of all mankind and that His name was the only name by which man could obtain salvation.
After listening to these beautiful teachings, the people were humbled and desired with their whole hearts to be free of sin and to be purified. They repented and professed their faith in Jesus Christ. They made covenants with God that they would keep His commandments.
“The Spirit of the Lord came upon them, and they were filled with joy, having received a remission of their sins, and having peace of conscience, because of the exceeding faith which they had in Jesus Christ.”
Another example of the joy which comes through faithfulness in keeping the commandments of God and sharing His gospel with others is demonstrated by Ammon. Ammon and his brethren were instrumental in helping thousands of people come unto Christ. These are some of the words Ammon used to describe his feelings as so many people were baptized and made covenants with God:
“How great reason have we to rejoice.”
“My joy is full, yea, my heart is brim with joy, and I will rejoice in my God.”
“I cannot say the smallest part which I feel.”
“There never were men that had so great reason to rejoice as we.”
Making and keeping sacred covenants enables us to have the Holy Spirit with us. This is the Spirit that “shall fill your soul with joy.”
World War II caused much suffering for many people throughout the world. The Saints in Germany endured many trials. A faithful Relief Society president in Stuttgart, Germany, was Sister Maria Speidel. In speaking of their trials, she said: “Our trust in the Lord and our testimony of his Church have been our pillar of strength. … With joy we sing the songs of Zion and put our trust in the Lord. He maketh all things well.”
Again, as members kept their covenants, they felt joy even in the face of tremendous challenges.
Sarah Rich was a righteous woman living in Nauvoo who was called to serve in the temple prior to the Saints being expelled from the city. These are her words about the blessings of temple covenants: “Many were the blessings we had received in the house of the Lord, which has caused us joy and comfort in the midst of all our sorrows and enabled us to have faith in God, knowing He would guide us and sustain us in the unknown journey that lay before us.”
Earlier the Saints had finished the Kirtland Temple, and many participated in the dedication. After the dedication the temple was received by the Lord. The Lord told them to “greatly rejoice in consequence of the blessings which shall be poured out … upon the heads of [His] people.”
As more and more holy temples have been built across the earth, I have seen the blessings that come into the lives of the members. In 2008 I witnessed the joy on the faces of a couple from Ukraine as they told me about going to Freiberg, Germany, to receive their temple ordinances. The trip to the temple was a 27-hour bus ride each way for these dedicated members, and they were not able to go often. They were thrilled that the Kyiv Ukraine Temple would soon be completed and they would be able to attend much more often. That temple is now open, and thousands enjoy the blessings there.
In reading from my grandmother’s personal history, I learned of her great joy in her covenants. She loved going to the temple and performing the ordinances for thousands of those who had died. It was her life’s mission. She served as a temple worker for over 20 years in the Manti Utah Temple. She wrote that she had experienced many miraculous healings in order for her to raise her children and to serve others by doing their work in the temple. As her grandchildren, if we knew anything about Grandma Rymer, it was that she was a righteous woman who kept her covenants and wanted us to do the same. When people sift through our possessions after we have died, will they find evidence that we have kept our covenants?
Our beloved prophet, President Thomas S. Monson, told us in our last general conference: “As you and I go to the holy houses of God, as we remember the covenants we make within, we will be more able to bear every trial and to overcome each temptation. In this sacred sanctuary we will find peace; we will be renewed and fortified.”
Once again: “Lift up thy heart and rejoice, and cleave unto the covenants which thou hast made.” Keeping covenants is true joy and happiness. This is comfort and peace. This is protection from the evils of the world. Keeping our covenants will help us in times of trial.
I testify that as we have faith in Christ and cleave unto our covenants, we will receive the joy spoken of in the holy scriptures and promised by our latter-day prophets.
Dear sisters, I love you and hope you will experience this great joy in your own lives. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Mary anxiously shifted back and forth in her seat as she listened to the other children in her Primary class take turns reading from the scriptures. She hoped her turn would never come.
Mary had a learning disability called dyslexia. When she looked at letters on a page, they seemed to run around and switch places. When she read out loud, her words were slow and sometimes out of order. Often she read words that weren’t there at all.
The closer Mary’s turn came, the more scared she was. When it was finally her turn, Mary couldn’t stand it anymore.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said suddenly as she jumped up from her chair, sending her scriptures tumbling to the floor. Mary ran down the hallway to the bathroom. She was glad it was empty. She stood in the corner and began to cry.
A few minutes later, she heard Sister Smith call her name as she came into the bathroom. “Mary, what’s wrong?”
Mary didn’t know what to say. She was so embarrassed. None of the other children had this problem. “I can’t read!” she cried as she tucked her head into her folded arms.
“You can’t read?” Sister Smith asked, puzzled. “I’ve seen you give talks in Primary. I know you can read.”
Mary shook her head. “I memorize my talks. I practice them over and over so I don’t have to try to read them in front of people. I can’t read out loud, and when I do, I make lots of mistakes. I don’t want the other kids to laugh at me.”
“Oh, Mary, I’m sorry. I won’t call on you to read out loud until I know you’re ready,” Sister Smith said. “And I don’t believe anyone in our class will laugh at you. They are your friends.”
“Kids at school laugh at me,” Mary whispered.
Sister Smith wiped Mary’s tears away. “Come back to class. You’ll see,” she said.
They walked back to the classroom together. Mary’s friend Betsy sat in the chair next to Mary’s, smoothing the ruffled pages of Mary’s scriptures. Mary sat down, and Betsy handed her scriptures back to her.
“Who would like to read next?” Sister Smith asked.
“It’s Mary’s turn,” a boy in the class said.
Mary hesitated, but she looked around at her classmates and saw their kind smiles. Sister Smith nodded and smiled too. Mary was nervous, but she found her place and began to read.
Her words came slowly. She made some mistakes, but when she got stuck, Betsy quietly whispered the right word in Mary’s ear. Mary did not read as well as the other kids in her class, but no one laughed or made fun of her. Then it was someone else’s turn, and the lesson went on.
As they walked to the Primary room after class, Sister Smith whispered to Mary that she was proud of her. Mary was glad she didn’t have to try to hide her trouble reading anymore. “I’ll just keep practicing,” she thought. And she smiled, knowing she had good friends at church to support her along the way.

This concept helped me understand God when I was investigating the church at the age of 16. I can vividly remember the moment I finally decided to get baptized into the Church. I was standing on the shore at Honoli'i Beach Park in Hilo. Wet, holding my surfboard, I was staring out into the surf which I had just finished riding. I was mesmerized by a large dark storm cloud approaching from out in the ocean. As I watched the winds and waves grow from the ominous squall moving closer and closer toward me, I felt small and a little intimidated. This experience reminded me that 1) God is powerful and 2) I needed to commit my life to him in order to be confident in a sometimes-frightening world.

“Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die” (D&C 42:45).
Her father died on a cold night in February, on his way home from a business trip to Florida. And now her mother was explaining what had happened. She spoke in a calm, measured voice. The commuter flight to Albany had crashed taking off from Kennedy. Megan knew already. It had been on the news. They said ice on the wings was probably the cause.
The northeaster had swept up the coast over the weekend, burying the fields deeply in the freshly fallen snow. Megan stared out the living room window. The cruelest month, their neighbor Mr. Chisholm called it. Actually, it was T. S. Eliot who said April was the cruelest month, but he spent most of his life in England, so what did he know. February in the hills of upstate New York had little kindness in it, nothing but the vindictive end of winter and no hope of spring.
Andrew started to cry. Susan looked confused and frightened. Megan abruptly got up and went to the mud room and put on her riding coat and boots. She didn’t want to hang around inside any longer.
Her father and Mr. Chisholm had been working on putting the horse-drawn sleigh back together. They’d been restoring it since October. She’d saddle up William and … and …
Her breath caught in her throat, her heart almost stopped, a feeling so incomprehensible she felt it could not be happening to her. The world shimmered, fragile as fine crystal caught at the perfect pitch. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and clenched her fists.
When she opened her eyes, the shimmering had stopped.
Outside, it looked like heaven. The sky was a piercing, frozen blue, the snow cover so brilliant white it made her squint and hold up her hands to shade her eyes. It hadn’t snowed like this in years. That’s what the people said who came to sympathize, to console. Nonstop the last two days. She would prefer they didn’t. It wasn’t their business. He wasn’t their father.
She swung open the stable doors. William the Conqueror greeted her with an annoyed nicker and a bang on the side of his stall. “Oh, c’mon, William,” she said, patting his withers. She put on a saddle and bridle.
The driveway was clear. Across the county road Mr. Chisholm was finishing his long driveway with the snowplow mounted on his tractor. He always did their driveway when he did his.
She trotted William up beside him. “Good morning, Mr. Chisholm!” she yelled over the hoarse rumble of the John Deere engine.
He doffed his cap to her, old habit. “G’morning, Megan.” But he hadn’t expected her this morning. He’d heard what happened.
Megan rode up to the porch and dismounted while Mr. Chisholm parked the tractor in the barn. His dog, Gabriel, pushed open the storm door with his muzzle and limped over to her. There had been a time when he could stand and put his forelegs on her shoulders. But, however willing the spirit, the body was in bad repair. She stroked him behind the ears. “Hi ya, Gabriel. Don’t like this cold, do you?”
Mr. Chisholm shook his head. “A husky, no less. That must sting the pride.” He massaged Gabriel’s coat. “Just like people, I guess. Old is old.”
“Oh, not Gabriel,” Megan said, holding his head in her hands and peering into his weary eyes. “He’ll live forever.”
“Nobody lives forever,” Mr. Chisholm said, with a gruffness he worried later had been too sharp. He added, “Not in this life, at least.”
But Megan didn’t appear to notice or mind.
When she got home Sister Garner and Sister McAllister had stopped by. She could tolerate them, not being the weepy, feeling-sorry-for-you kind. They had brought dinner. At this rate, her mother wouldn’t be cooking the rest of the month and a good part of the next.
While they talked in the kitchen with her mother, Megan sat in the living room, staring out the window, wondering that the world could be so perfect and so deadly at the same time.
Mr. Chisholm went with them to the funeral. That night, after she got into bed, Megan listened to her mother’s and her grandparents’ voices drifting up the staircase from the kitchen. They were talking about the thing they always waited to tell her later, if at all. But she wanted to know. They weren’t going to have to move—something about insurance and double indemnity, the settlement with the airline. As for the farm, Mr. Chisholm already rented half their fields and could probably take over the rest.
“I’m worried about Megan.”
Megan leaned forward, tilting her head toward the door.
Her mother went on, “She seems so … unemotional, so distant. She and her father were very close. It worries me, seeing her … seeing her going on as if nothing had happened.”
Megan couldn’t hear what her grandmother said, but it was probably something reassuring. Grandmother was a very reassuring person.
Megan lay back and curled up under the covers. I’m not unemotional, she told herself. It’s just that I believe what the Church teaches. I’ll be with my father again. There’s nothing to be sad about. But she felt a cold clenching in her chest as she sank into her bed. She stared at the ceiling in the darkness and faded off to sleep.
The funeral marked the end of what their life had been, and the beginning of a life they could not have dreamed of. It was a season of uncertainties, and March was an incalculable month. With February so short it didn’t always know that winter was over. March was far too long, but it needed all that time to figure itself out.
You could forgive March for being that way. But not April. It occurred to Megan, walking home from the bus stop on a gray Friday afternoon, that Mr. Eliot was right. It was a cruel month, one day bright and warm and full of promise, and the next day a frost would snap the growing buds like brittle bones. It couldn’t be trusted. You always had to be on your guard.
Coming around the bend she saw Mr. Chisholm’s John Deere stopped in the middle of the north field, and Mr. Chisholm trudging through the freshly turned loam, something bundled up in his arms. It was Gabriel, and for a horrifying moment she imagined that he had been caught under the spades of the plow.
She ran up the driveway, meeting Mr. Chisholm as he struggled up from the muddy lane. “What’s wrong?”
Mr. Chisholm shook his head. “Don’t know.” He laid Gabriel carefully on the porch. “Just seemed to run out of gas.”
Megan sat down beside the old husky. Gabriel turned his head towards her. There was grief and shame in his dark brown eyes.
Mr. Chisholm leaned against the railing, took off his cap, and wiped his brow. “I’ll give Dr. McAllister a call,” he said, a weariness in his voice Megan didn’t quite understand. He kicked the mud off his boots and disappeared into the house.
Saturday morning he took Gabriel to Charlton Corners to see Dr. McAllister. Megan watched from across the road, paced up and down the driveway, sat on the porch, rested her chin in her hands.
The big red Ford came around the bend, turned in at the driveway, and made the long, slow climb to the house. Mr. Chisholm turned off the engine. He sat in the cab, hands clutching the steering wheel. Finally, he opened the door and got out, standing, so when Megan ran up to him she could not see around him into the cab.
“How is he? How is Gabriel? Is he going to be all right?”
Mr. Chisholm looked down at her. His eyes were like Gabriel’s eyes. He put his hands on her shoulders. “Megan …” he said. “Megan, he was old. He was in pain. It’s been going on for too long. There wasn’t any way to make him better.”
She stared at him.
“Megan …” he said again.
She twisted away, ran to the cab. Gabriel lay lifeless on a white canvas sheet. Mr. Chisholm pulled her away. She lashed out at him. There was a roaring in her ears that she realized was the sound of her own voice. Then she wrenched free and ran home across the fields.
She slammed the door, tripped over her brother’s galoshes in the mud room, and crashed to the floor. She kicked off her boots, viciously stubbing her toe. She could barely stand, and she clasped her arms tightly across her chest as if she might explode.
“Megan.” Her mother looked in from the kitchen. “Megan, what’s wrong?”
“Gabriel …” she gasped, blinking the tears out of her eyes.
“Gabriel?”
“He had him put to sleep,” she stated bluntly. She limped into the living room and collapsed on the couch. Her mother followed her, but Megan averted her gaze, and presently, she left. Megan curled up on the cushions, resting her head on the armrest. The knuckles of her right hand throbbed.
She hardly felt the pain. She was afraid. She knew she was afraid, afraid she could not hold the world together. A clear, aching tone rang through her temples. If the crystal shattered, she would never find all the pieces, never put it back together. If she could just be more careful, see these things coming, not hurt, not feel, have a heart of stone.
She whispered these things to herself, a quiet mantra of unemotionality. Through the window, across the road and fields, she watched Mr. Chisholm mark out a plot in the garden by the porch and begin to dig a grave.
She looked up at the ceiling, tasting bitterness and regret in her mouth. When she looked back her mother was standing next to Mr. Chisholm, and then she was walking away. The door opened and closed, and she heard her mother’s footsteps in the hall. She closed her eyes tightly. She did not want her mother to try to talk again.
Megan knew how unfair she was being. She ran to the mud room, flung on her jacket, and pulled on her boots and flew out of the house.
Gabriel lay on the white canvas sheet next to the grave. “He was a good dog,” Megan said, softly.
Mr. Chisholm turned to her. There was an angry red welt on his jaw, and she remembered how she had bruised her knuckles. “Aye, he was.” There were tears in his eyes, and she felt sorry for what she had done.
She knelt next to him and stroked Gabriel’s silver coat.
“There wasn’t anything Dr. McAllister could do. He didn’t suffer in the end.”
“I know.” She managed to smile reassuringly.
They sat together on the damp earth. Mr. Chisholm said, “We’d better get it done.”
She nodded, and then realized he meant her to help him. She grasped the corner straps of the tarp, he the other two. It was almost too heavy for her, especially with her right hand growing numb, but she braced herself, and they lowered him into the ground.
When she got home she told her mother, “We buried Gabriel.”
After she said her prayers that night, Megan told herself she had done right by Gabriel and Mr. Chisholm. She reminded herself that the past was past, her father was gone, it was all behind her, she would be fine. But it wasn’t true.
She told herself again. The words only disappeared into the air.
She told herself again, but a voice interrupted her, a voice she somehow recognized, a voice saying, “No, Megan.” A voice insistent, not reproachful. “Everything breaks, Megan. But everything mends, if you only give me the pieces.”
She did not remember awakening. She did not remember how she cried, sobbing so she could not breathe. But she remembered her mother’s arms around her, holding her, the universe of love enclosing them, her mother whispering it was okay to cry, to feel the hurt of her loss.
And then it was morning.
It was early, and she found her mother in the kitchen, at the stove. Together they stirred and tasted the tomato, pepper, and garlic that would go on the spaghetti for lunch after church. It was always better this way, when you cooked it up in the morning and let it sit for a few hours before warming it up again. Then her mother looked at her, touched her cheek. “We’re going to be all right, you know,” she said. “Your father loved you a great deal and always will.”
Megan knew, but at the same time she felt something missing from her life, a vacancy where there should be a presence, a hollow in her heart. And yet she would not deny it now, for it marked a sacred place in her memory and held the distant hope of heaven.
She walked outside into the cool, wet sunlight. Mr. Chisholm had just stepped out onto his porch. She cupped her hands and shouted, “Good morning, Mr. Chisholm!” and waved. Not the most reverent way to begin a Sunday morning, but she strongly suspected at that moment she might be happy, or at least capable of happiness. And it would not do to keep the moment only to herself.

I remember just after I joined the Church, a great feeling of confidence came over me. I felt that since I had chosen the Lord’s side, he was on my side. Several remarkable things happened, of which I will recount but two.

Although I had never had the courage to stand on my feet and speak in debate, either at high school or college, I found myself asking my branch president if I might give a talk in sacrament meeting. I still have the notes of that very first talk. It was on faith and works.

A few months after my baptism, a golden opportunity presented itself at my place of work, where I was a management trainee. Again, I had that strong feeling of self-assurance, and I received my first promotion, which set my feet on the management ladder. I found that through my Church membership and the faith it engendered, I overcame the fear of taking responsibility.

What of marriage responsibility? Are there some who delay marriage for fear of the responsibility? When my wife and I were married, we had the magnificent sum of 20 English pounds between us. Although young, we felt ready for the challenges and responsibilities that we knew lay ahead. What a glorious experience it has been now for almost 40 years to shoulder responsibility and struggle together in building a happy home and a wonderful family of ten precious children.

From time to time I meet members of the Church who do not feel able to take responsibility as an officer or a teacher in the Church. I tell them of my experience in England. Literally within days of baptism, I was called to head the youth program in the Nottingham Branch. This was completely new to me, and I felt inadeqate, but I knew the Lord had need of me. There were less than 7,000 members in the whole of the British Isles where there are now 40 stakes. We all had to be “anxiously engaged” in the work of saving souls, building the kingdom, and establishing Zion. So it is with all of us. It is futile to fear responsibility when we have been called to serve “by prophecy, and by the laying on of hands by those who are in authority” (A of F 1:5).

I remember on one occasion a frustrated and angry ward member speaking quite sharply and unkindly to a bishop, criticizing his leadership. As I listened I found my anger rising, feeling this criticism was unfair and inappropriate, for I had such great respect for this bishop and knew of his great sacrifices and able leadership. After the ward member concluded his comments, I was ready to provide a strong defense for the bishop and tell the ward member how I felt about his behavior.

But before I could speak, this great bishop, with his eyes moist from the stinging rebuke, replied with such genuine love to the member. “Thank you for sharing your comments,” he said. “I know that I have shortcomings, and you have shown me where I can improve. I commit to do better. Now, what can I do to make things better for you?”

A spirit came into that room and a change came over the ward member—a visible softening—and he apologized. The bishop then expressed his genuine love for this man and the meeting came to a close. I remained in the room until the ward member had left and I was alone with the bishop. I couldn’t speak; I was so moved by what I had just witnessed. It was charity, pure and sweet.

The bishop looked over at me, and he could tell that I was emotional. He asked if I was all right.

I couldn’t answer for a moment. I then told him that I had just witnessed one of the most beautiful, Christlike experiences of my life and thanked him for it.

“Sarah Jeffreys!”
Gram’s sudden calling of my name made me jump.
“You’ve been sitting at that window for a half hour. A watched pot never boils, you know. Now get up from there and make yourself useful.”
Gram had that merry look in her eyes, and she winked at me, so I just grinned and kept looking out the window. I knew that she was anxious too. Gramps had left early that morning for the two-hour wagon trip to town. I figured it would take another two hours to pick up the supplies and hear the latest gossip, then two hours back. He should be coming around the bend any minute.
Then, as if I had willed it, there he was. “Gram, he’s here! He’s here!” I leapt off the window seat and was out the door before Gram had time to lay down the ladle she had been stirring the stew with.
“Sarah, you be careful,” she called.
But I was already down the steps, across the yard, and halfway to the wagon. Gramps grinned and waved as I turned and ran alongside the slow-clopping horses.
“Did you get them, Gramps?” I shouted. But I knew he couldn’t hear me above the clatter of the wagon, so I had to be content to simply run with the team.
Gram stood patiently on the porch, shading her eyes against the hot sun while Gramps unhitched the team, but finally even she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Robert Jeffreys, are you going to keep me in suspense all day? Did you get them or didn’t you?”
Gramps stepped up onto the porch and went into the house. “I got them, Violet,” he said, “and they’re the prettiest things you ever saw.” From his knapsack he took a small wooden box and laid it on the kitchen table. I leaned forward, eager to see.
Gram lifted the lid, and there, cradled on some soft cloth, sat a gleaming set of ordered-through-the-catalogue false teeth. Gram was short and kind of round and hadn’t had any teeth for as long as I could remember. I thought she looked just fine, but she always said her face looked like an old shrunken apple since her teeth went. It had taken her two and a half years to save enough milk-and-egg money to buy the $12.99 dentures.
“Aren’t you going to try them out?” I asked.
Gram’s face went kind of pink, but she carefully picked them up and took them to the washbasin. She ladled some water over them, then polished them dry with the soft cloth from the box. Gram turned and looked hard at us. “I can’t do it with you two watching me like cats hanging over a saucer of milk!”
Gramps and I grinned at each other and turned our backs. When we heard a muffled “OK,” we turned around again. I couldn’t believe the difference. Her lips stuck out smoothlike instead of sinking in the way they had before. She looked different—prettier somehow.
“Well?” she asked, looking at us.
Gramps took two giant steps and grasped her shoulders. “You look like a world of pretty,” he pronounced, “but then you always do.”
Gram turned as red as any young girl.
While Gramps washed up for supper, he told us all the happenings from town—new families moving in, new babies, weddings, and crop prices. Then he said, “Ned Wilson saw signs of Indians up past Elliott’s place.”
Now that was news! “Indians!” I shouted. “Do you think they’ll be peaceful?”
Gramps just smiled. “Yes, Sarah, the Indians around here are pretty friendly. They’re just passing through on their way to winter quarters, so I don’t expect any trouble. Once in a while one or two will do some mischief, but they’re usually pretty quiet.”
Gram used her new teeth for the first time on the hot and bubbly stew that she had made. She had always mashed everything that she ate, but today she spooned the potatoes and vegetables into her mouth and chewed them gingerly. Then, when she bit into a chunk of her oven-hot bread and tried to pull the bread away, her top teeth came with it and plopped right into her bowl of stew!
There was a long minute of silence as Gram stared down at the bread soaking up the stew, teeth perched proudly on top. Suddenly she started laughing, and soon all three of us had tears of laughter streaming down our faces. “I think they’re a mite big,” Gram said when she could catch her breath.
The teeth were too big. They made clicking noises and slipped when she talked, and sometimes she had to clap her hand over her mouth to keep them from falling out. But she was determined to wear them.
A couple of weeks later Gramps came in early one evening and said, “The Simmons boy rode by today to ask if I could come over to their place to help with a barn raising.”
Gram looked up from her sewing. “How long do you expect to be gone?”
“Can’t really tell, but I’d guess two days at the most.”
So Gramps was off at daybreak, and Gram and I settled into running the place without him for a couple of days. It wasn’t much trouble feeding the animals and doing the milking and the general work about the farm, but I always missed Gramps when he was gone, and I could tell that Gram did too. She never had that sprightliness in her walk when he was away.
I had just finished the evening milking and was helping Gram scrub some potatoes for supper when we heard the door latch lift. I remember thinking that Gramps had sure made it back fast. But when I turned, my shout of welcome choked off in my throat …
An Indian, not Gramps, stood in the doorway. Gramps had said that the Indians were friendly, but this one didn’t look friendly. He had a scowl on his face, and he was pointing a rifle right at us! Looking around the room, his eyes rested on the chicken browning on the spit. He stepped farther into the room, and I felt Gram stiffen beside me. The Indian pointed to the chicken, then to his mouth and back to the chicken. He mumbled something that I couldn’t understand.
Gram and I just stood there, and I don’t mind admitting that I was scared to death. The Indian kept on pointing to the chicken behind us and to his mouth. Then I guess he got fed up with us standing there like a pair of statutes, because before I knew what was happening, he grabbed me by the back of the neck and flung me out of his way.
That did it! Gram snapped to life, eyes sparkling and teeth bared. Shrieking, “Don’t you touch that girl!” she sprang forward. And as she did, both bottom and top teeth came flying out of her mouth and landed on the floor right at the Indian’s feet.
Never have I seen such a look of astonishment on anyone’s face. That Indian stood stock-still and stared at those teeth lying as pretty as you please in the middle of the floor. He looked up at Gram, who had skidded to a halt, hands clapped to her mouth; then he looked back at the teeth.
Suddenly, with a screech loud enough to raise the hair on my neck, the Indian turned and practically flew out the door. He was still running by the time I had picked myself up.
I watched him through the window. “You did it, Gram!” I shouted. “Those teeth of yours scared him clean away.” I turned to look at Gram.
Gram had the teeth in her hand and a sad smile on her face. “They’re broken,” she said finally.
I went over, and sure enough, there was a wide crack across the top set of teeth. “Gram, I’m sorry,” I said.
But Gram laughed. “They never did fit proper, anyway,” she said. “They rubbed when I ate, and made my gums sore.” She laid them on the mantel. “I had to wear them, after all I paid for them, but now I won’t have to.”
As long as Gram lived, the teeth stayed on that mantel as a reminder of her surprise attack on the Indian.

I have always tried to honor and obey my parents. During my teenage years, when I went home at night I would report to them. Mother would always be awake. Coming home with a clear conscience and being able to tell her where I’d been meant a lot to me. Some of my friends didn’t have to check in with their parents, but I’m grateful that I was expected to be accountable to mine. They helped protect me against temptation.

In Alaska, LDS teenagers who live in the towns of Wasilla, Palmer, and Eagle River look at the Anchorage Alaska Temple and know that something of theirs is safe inside. They were fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time to make a promise, sign their names to it, then have those pledges sealed inside the cornerstone of the temple at the dedication.
The promise they signed was quite short. It said simply: “As I prepare for marriage and a mission, I will live the standards of worthiness for entrance into the house of the Lord.” It was a promise that many of them were willing to make, but now that the promise is literally encased in stone in the temple and sealed with mortar, these young people have taken it very seriously.
“This was a goal I had previously made,” says Katie Green of the Eagle River Second Ward, “but had never put on paper. When I was given the opportunity to do so, I jumped at it. I didn’t just sign it; I pondered it. To me a promise is a promise and cannot be broken, especially with our Father in Heaven. Living the standards of worthiness doesn’t mean just not crossing the line. It means that we must live as far away from that line as possible.”
For Amie Uscola of the Wasilla First Ward, making a promise like this one is very personal. “Having my name in the cornerstone of the temple is like an agreement on a personal basis with the Lord. It is like a possession of His, and if you broke it, it is more personal. I actually do think about it every time I come here.”
These teens are thrilled to have a temple so close to their hometowns. Before the Anchorage Alaska Temple was built, these teens only rarely, if ever, had the opportunity to travel to a temple. The trips were expensive and often a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Now they have many more opportunities to do baptisms and to go through the temple for their own endowments before leaving on missions or being married. Ryan Rampton of the Eagle River Second Ward said, “With something as sacred as doing temple ordinances, now I won’t have to go to another state. I can do it in the place I grew up. That actually means a lot to me.”
Having signed a pledge that is now permanently in the temple’s cornerstone makes coming to the temple even better. “The feelings I get whenever I enter the temple,” says ShaLene Grover of the Palmer First Ward, “make the desires of my heart stronger to be a better person. This makes a difference in my life, to always be worthy to go to the temple, so I can always feel the peace I feel when going there.”

I remember my first association with the welfare program. It was inaugurated in the early 30s during President Grant’s administration. Presidents J. Reuben Clark, Jr., Harold B. Lee and Henry D. Moyle were its principal architects. I was a bishop at the time. We had many people living in my ward in that depressed era who were unemployed and unable to sustain themselves. I remember we were in this building at a conference when President Heber J. Grant told us as bishops to go home and see what we could do to get together the basic food, clothing and other necessities of life required to care for our people during the coming year. I remember that in our ward we built some closets in the basement and gathered food and used clothing, which we put in those closets to take care of our people during the ensuing winter.

When I was about nine, I wanted to grow a mustache. I thought I could do this by shaving my face every day. For several days I used my father’s razor to shave. One day my father saw me shaving. He warned me not to do it because I could cut myself.
I am sorry to say I disobeyed my dad. The next day I shaved again. As I was shaving, the razor slipped from my soapy fingers. It made a deep gash above my lip. I was pretty scared as I bandaged my lip. But I was even more afraid of what my father would say.
When he came home that night and saw my cut, he was surprised and worried. He asked how it happened.
“Well,” I said, “I was running down the sidewalk, and I fell on my face.”
I had lied! First I had disobeyed, and now I had been dishonest! That night I couldn’t sleep. It was late, but I had to tell Dad the truth. I found him in the living room.
“Dad, I lied to you,” I said. “I didn’t fall down. I cut myself shaving with the razor. I’m sorry.”
My dad was quiet for a moment. Then he gently said, “You did disobey, Son. That is not a good thing. But I’m proud that you decided to tell the truth.”
That lesson—and the actual scar—has stayed with me every day since then.

“My father was a great, honorable, and good man. I have much admiration for him. He died very suddenly when I was fifteen. All of my growing-up years he was in the bishopric. Ten years after he was in the bishopric of the old Adams Ward, I served in the bishopric of that same ward.”
Elder Osborn’s father’s death was the hardest thing he had to face during his boyhood. His brother William said, “After Father died, Mother, Spencer, and another brother moved to a new neighborhood away from the home and friends they had known for many years. It was a lonesome time for Spencer. I lived about two miles away and built a basketball standard for Spencer in my driveway. He would walk over to my house and play basketball by himself. But even during this difficult time, Spencer was always interested in the Church; he was a solid kid all through his life.”

“Jesus told Peter to feed His sheep. That’s how Peter could show Jesus he loved Him.”
“Mom, did Jesus have a herd of sheep?”
“No, sweetie. Jesus is sometimes called the Good Shepherd, and we are like His sheep. Jesus was teaching Peter that if we want to show Jesus we love Him, we should help others.”
“Is that why we are going to deliver the pie to Sister Jacobs after family home evening?”
“Yes, it is. But it would be nice for you to think of something you can do to show Sister Jacobs you love her.”
Olivia thought about what she could do. She remembered that Mom and Grandma really like the pictures she draws.
“I know! I can make a card for Sister Jacobs and draw a picture on it!”
Olivia drew a beautiful rainbow. On the inside of the card she wrote, “Get well soon! Love, Olivia.”
When Olivia and her family got to Sister Jacobs’s house, Mom asked Sister Jacobs how she was feeling. Sister Jacobs started to cry.
“I just found out I have to go to the hospital to have an operation tomorrow. I’m a little scared.”
Mom handed Sister Jacobs the pie. Then Olivia gave her the card she had made.
“Thank you, Olivia. This beautiful card and your sweet smile make me feel better.”
Olivia felt like somebody was hugging her heart. She was happy that she could help Jesus feed His sheep.

Christmas was almost here. Amalie was excited. Soon she could unwrap the presents under the tree!
At family home evening it was Mom’s turn to give the lesson.
“Why do we give presents at Christmas?” Mom asked.
“Because it’s Jesus’s birthday!” Amalie said.
“Then shouldn’t we give a present to Him?” Mom said.
Dad helped Amalie’s brother Noah read a scripture. It said that when we serve other people, we are serving God (see Mosiah 2:17).
“Is serving others giving a gift to Jesus?” Mom said.
Noah nodded.
“What else is a gift for Jesus?”
“Keeping the commandments,” Amalie said.
“Being nice,” Noah said.
“Great ideas!” Mom said. “Now let’s play a game. I’ll say a gift someone gave to Jesus. Tell me if you know who it was. Here we go. This person gave out Christmas cards at the care center.”
Noah raised his hand. “Amalie did that!”
“This person went home teaching.”
“That’s Daddy,” Amalie said.
Soon they had named lots of gifts they had already given to the Savior.
“We can give gifts every day,” Mom said.
The next morning it was time to clean the house. “Oh no,” Amalie groaned. But then she remembered. Serving others is a gift! If she helped Mom, it was the same as helping Jesus. She found a cloth and wiped the counters until they sparkled.
The next day Amalie earned some money.
“Your tithing is eight cents,” Mom said.
Amalie remembered again. Tithing is a commandment, so paying it is a gift. She put eight cents in her tithing jar.
Later that week Amalie helped pick up pillows. Her baby brother had thrown them off the couch. “Another present for Jesus,” she said.
On Christmas Eve, Mom and Dad told Amalie they were proud of her. “You’ve been giving gifts to Jesus all week long,” Dad said. “That’s like having a little bit of Christmas every day.”

“Nearly 40 years ago as I contemplated the challenge of a mission, I felt very inadequate and unprepared. I remember praying, ‘Heavenly Father, how can I serve a mission when I know so little?’ I believed in the Church, but I felt my spiritual knowledge was very limited. As I prayed, the feeling came: ‘You don’t know everything, but you know enough!’ That reassurance gave me the courage to take the next step into the mission field.”
Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, Oct. 2008 general conference (Ensign or Liahona, Nov. 2008, 13).

My mom always calls me a Last-days Kid. She says it as a compliment whenever I’m especially good. Or she’ll say it to prompt me when she knows that I can do better. Sometimes she calls me that to reassure me that I can do a difficult task: “Sure you can give that talk in front of the whole ward at the Scout banquet, Ryan. You’re a Last-days Kid.”
What it means is that I’m probably one of the really good spirits chosen to be born during the last days. And it’s not just me. Mom says lots of children born now are special kids. She volunteered to help out in my fourth grade class once a week, and she continually marveled at how bright we all were. “Of course, you might all be Last-days Kids,” she’d say.
I asked her if everybody in my class could be Last-days Kids. “I thought it was only kids in our church,” I said.
“No,” Mom answered. “Any child born now, whether to LDS parents or not, might have been saved to come forth at this time. You could all be Last-days Kids.”
Suddenly I didn’t seem so special anymore. Then I thought of Kevin, my best friend. If he was a Last-days Kid, too, maybe he’d like to come to Primary with me. I’d love it if he’d join the Church. I’m the only boy in my Primary class. Lisa and Tina-Marie are OK, but I’d sure like to have a buddy in there. So I told Kevin a little about maybe being a Last-days Kid and asked him if he’d like to go to Primary with me. But he said he had other things to do on Sunday. I said, “Some other time, maybe.”
“Well, maybe,” he said, “but probably not.”
I could tell that he hoped I’d drop the subject. I felt really stupid, because I figured that he’d start to tease me about being a Last-days Kid.
Sure enough, he did. At our next soccer game we were down three to one at the half, and our coach, Gracie Gosney’s dad, was trying to inspire us to be a come-back team. “You can do it,” he said as we all sucked on the oranges the trainer had passed out. But from the looks on all of our faces, it was obvious that nobody believed that we had a chance.
Then Kevin poked me in the side and said, “Maybe we could come back and win this game if some of us are Last-days Kids!” Then he started giggling.
“What are you talking about?” Coach asked.
“Ask Ryan. It’s something they teach in his church,” Kevin said.
I stared at the ground and said, “Some of the children on the earth today were saved to be born now, because they were valiant spirits in heaven. So, Last-days Kids are special.” I said it as quickly as I could, hoping the referee would blow her whistle before anyone could laugh.
Coach didn’t understand what I was talking about, but he said, “You mean that you believe that you’re special, Ryan?”
“Probably.”
“And do you believe some of the players on our team are Last-days Kids?”
I looked him right in the eye, and I could tell by his voice and face that he wasn’t teasing me, that he really wanted to know. “Yes,” I said louder. “At least, we could be.”
“I think you’re right.” He smiled. “Let’s go out there and play like Last-days Kids!” He gave us a cheer, and we all cheered back. “Last-days Kids! Last-days Kids! Last-days Kids!” we chanted as we ran out onto the field. The other team and all the parents stared at us, trying to figure out what we were saying.
We won the game, four to three, and I kicked in one of the goals myself! After the game Gracie walked over to me. “Tell me some more about your church, Ryan,” she said.
I told her about the Articles of Faith, which is what Sister Adams says that we should do if someone wants to know what the Church teaches. But Gracie didn’t seem to understand them at all, so I started telling her about Primary.
“Can any kid go to Primary, or just kids in your church?” she asked.
“Anybody who wants to,” I answered. She just stood there, waiting, so I took a deep breath and asked, “Would you like to go to Primary with me tomorrow?”
She smiled a big smile. “I’ll ask my dad.”
Oh, brother! Another girl! I thought. I was glad that Gracie wanted to go to church, but why hadn’t Kevin reacted like this? Gracie’s father said that it was OK for her to go with me, so I told him what time Primary started and when I’d pick her up. She drove off, waving at me from the window of her dad’s van.
That night Mom and Dad came into my room for my prayers. When I was done, Mom kissed my cheek and said, “We’re really proud of our missionary.”
“Don’t be,” I said.
“Why?” Dad asked.
“Because I wasn’t really a missionary to Gracie. She practically had to beg me to invite her to Primary. I didn’t want another girl in my class—I wanted Kevin to come. Why didn’t he want to go to Primary and learn more about the gospel?”
“Even Last-days Kids have their free agency,” Mom said. “Don’t give up on Kevin yet. And don’t stop being his friend just because he isn’t interested in going to church with you.”
“I wouldn’t do that,” I said.
“Good.” Dad smiled. “I’m proud of you.” And he kissed me good night.
Our lesson in Primary the next day was about the Word of Wisdom. Gracie sat and listened hard to everything Sister Adams said. Lisa and Tina-Marie were quiet too. It was a good lesson. After Primary Mom asked Gracie if she wanted to go home.
“Are you going home?” she asked.
“No. We’re going to stay for sacrament meeting,” Mom answered. “But if you’d like to go home now, I’ll take you.”
“Am I allowed to go to sacrament meeting?” Gracie asked.
“Of course,” Mom answered.
“Then I’d like to stay, please,” Gracie said.
Dad squeezed my arm, his smile almost too big for his face.
After church we dropped Gracie off at her house. “See you at soccer practice,” she said as she hopped out of the car.
“Will you need a ride to church next Sunday?” Dad asked.
“No. I don’t think so.” The whole mood in the car went down like a flat tire on a bicycle. Then Gracie leaned in through my open window. “Last night Mom and Dad and I had a big talk. Mom’s been wanting to find a church to go to ever since we moved here. And Dad said that he’s always been impressed with Ryan. So they said that if I liked your church, next Sunday they’d go with me.”

When the missionaries took us to church in Frankfurt, Germany, I met a young man who appeared to have an obvious interest in me. He always tried to be close to me. He even influenced the sacrament table seating so he could pass the sacrament to me.

It took me quite a few years to realize that he was the man I wanted to be with for the rest of my life and beyond. He had finished a major part of his education and had spent two years far away from Germany to become a fighter pilot in the Air Force. He was quite insistent in his courting, and a true gentleman. He is still very much the same in this regard.

We married and soon had two children, a girl and a boy. When they grew up, they married, like us, in the Swiss temple. Now we have six grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. They are our treasure at the end of the rainbow. We love them and they love us. Some of them have already served missions.

All these blessings came into our lives because two missionaries had the desire and the courage to serve. These blessings came to us because temples are a central part in our conversion stories. They came about because the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ is back on earth again.

Beneath the picture of the Provo Temple is a photograph of another building, an edifice embellished with nearly every imaginable form of ornamentation. This building is a virtual temple of art, the Vienna Museum of Art History. I keep this photograph near to remind me of some wonderful experiences which my family and the family of Professors Garold and Norma Davis, and 30 beautiful, inquisitive BYU students had in Austria just a year ago. This massive, ornate structure adorned in a neo-Baroque style houses more than a thousand of the world’s greatest paintings and other works of art. In many respects it embodies much that is “virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy” (Thirteenth Article of Faith). Even devoid of its masterworks, this building would be a work of art in its own right. The grandeur of its architectural symmetry, its beautifully sculptured marble columns, and its ornate ceilings evoke feelings of awe and appreciation for the talents of the builders and those who gave of their means to help construct this beautiful building.

On one occasion as I visited this inspiring museum, I reflected upon the words of the Savior to a boy prophet in the spring of 1820:

They draw near to me with their lips . . . having a form of godliness, but they deny the power thereof. [Joseph Smith 1:19; see 2 Timothy 3:5]

Each time I revisited this museum or a concert hall or the famous Vienna State Opera House, I felt inspired by the talents of others, all of whom lived as best they could within the light they’d been given. But in each of these buildings returned the reverberating theme “[they have] a form of godliness, but they deny the power thereof.”

And then, suddenly, I was struck with a three-hundred kilovolt question: It’s wonderful that you belong to a Church which has a form of godliness and also the power thereof, but what of you and your personal life? Bibbed and tuckered in your white shirt and Sunday suit, with your spit-shined shoes and your missionary haircut, Brother Condie, do you perhaps sometimes have a form of godliness, but does your personal life really reflect the power of the priesthood of God?

Like Ebenezer Scrooge on Christmas Eve, I felt a pallor of gloom sweep my soul as I reflected upon the many times I had exercised my priesthood unworthily and the times I had partaken of the sacrament without sincere intentions of renewing covenants. I retrieved painful memories of having reproved others many times with sharpness without having been moved upon by the Holy Ghost (see D&C 121:43). I recalled the conscience-wracking consequences of covering my sins in an interview when the bishop asked me just one question: “Have you been a good kid lately?” I replied yes, but in my heart I knew, and I knew the Lord knew, that a more careful interview would have yielded some soul-searching signs of wavering worthiness.

Brothers and sisters, for one of the few times in my life, I gained a glimpse into the depths of my own soul, and I didn’t like everything I saw.