Gospel Story Finder

It was a hot summer day in Japan. I was 10 months into my mission and had finished packing my luggage and getting ready to transfer to another area. Now I was leaving the apartment to catch a train to a new city.
More than anything, I remember the look my companion and I gave each other then. Usually farewells like these are marked by words of thanks and well-wishing. But I remember my companion’s simply glancing down the hall at me with no hint of friendliness. I did the same to him and then walked out the door.
The previous five weeks of my mission had been bitter and contentious. I had been in the city for several months when this companion had arrived. From day one we started fighting. We found we had different attitudes and ideas. When we had disagreements, instead of cooperating, we blamed each other and insisted that the other one change.
Some nights we came home frustrated and barely talked to each other. Most mornings we almost dreaded having to leave the apartment. The work in the area suffered as contention and selfishness drove away the Spirit.
When I transferred, I moved on to new places and experiences, but I often found myself thinking back on the unpleasant memories of those five weeks. As I gained maturity and experience, I felt regret. I began to recognize the good things my companion had done and realized how foolish our arguments had been. Sometimes I would hear other missionaries say complimentary things about him. Deep down, I felt guilty that I had nothing good to say.
Months later, I was reading back through my journal entries from that month. As I thought back on my mistakes and the way I had left, I resolved to do something. I knew I might never see him again, but I followed an impression I had and wrote him a long letter, apologizing and expressing my desire to reconcile.
Three weeks later my zone leader called. I was being transferred to another new city. To my surprise, he told me that I had been assigned to work again with that same missionary.
Having the same companion twice was very rare in my mission, and I knew it wasn’t happening by chance. The day we met again, he thanked me for sending the letter, and we spent a long time that night talking and making amends.
Our second time together was the opposite of the first. This time we put aside our arguments and turned to cooperation and respect. As the days flew by, we became close friends and would come home at night talking and laughing about how the day had gone. We were always eager to go out again the next morning. We had the Spirit with us as we worked and taught, and we had much more success as a result.
After a few weeks my companion was transferred. The day he left, we gave each other a warm embrace. This time, I experienced the bittersweet feeling of saying good-bye to a friend.
A few years have passed, but I still remember the valuable lessons I learned about friendship, forgiveness, and second chances. We don’t always get another chance the way my companion and I did, and I learned that it’s best to make amends before it’s too late.

I was first introduced to our church some 51 years ago in Hong Kong by two faithful missionaries, one from Hawaii and one from Arizona. Their concise presentation of Joseph Smith’s First Vision inspired me. As a 14 years old boy, I had no doubt that there is a living God. I soon wanted to join the church and be part of this wonderful organization, but my parents refused to give their permission. The Relief Society president of this small branch took upon herself the responsibility of providing me constant support and encouragement. She took me to church for Mutual Improvement Activities, presently known as Mutual Activities, and Sunday services. Could she have just assumed that teaching the gospel to an investigator was the missionary’s responsibility? Was a 14-year old boy really serious or interested in religion? Was the effort really worth the time spent with such strong opposition from his parents? After all, she had a demanding calling and several children to nurture. Not so for this good sister. She took Pres. David O. McKay’s counsel to heart. She knew what it meant of the phrase “every member a missionary.” She magnified her calling. Through her persistent effort, I received permission from my parents to be baptized a year later. The service of this sister not only brought about my conversion and baptism but of other members of my family. In the decades that followed, many others have also accepted the gospel.

In August of 2020, President Alan L. Fisher and Sister Elizabeth H. Fisher, the mission president and his companion, gathered all the missionaries in the Barbados Bridgetown Mission together in Barbados. President and Sister Fisher recalled, “We loved working with these sisters and having the opportunity of becoming very close to them during the pandemic. We believe the Lord wanted them to have this experience, learn these lessons, and have an opportunity to develop relationships with each other and their mission leaders in a way that wouldn’t have happened otherwise. One of the tender mercies we experienced was sharing in the ordinance of the sacrament with them in their apartment. We prayed, sang, and shared scriptures from the Book of Mormon. This repeated connection together brought a bond of love and strength between us and between these sweet missionaries and the Lord. He lifted them and was a constant sustaining influence.”

My amazing mother has had dementia-Alzheimers for over 10 years now. My dad’s lovingly taken care of her and attended to her every need at home until the last four years, when she needed to go to a memory care facility. He feeds her every meal because her capacity is so diminished. But she’s been a bright, multi-talented woman all her life…and a wonderful mother. I want to tell you a little about her…

She was an incredible pianist and taught for just $2 a lesson…just so children who couldn’t really afford it could learn to play.
Mom was an awesome seamstress! She’d stay up late making something special for homecoming or other dances. By the time my sister Alicia came along 8 years later—our folks had some money to buy her clothes. But Mom sewed all of mine…through most of college. And she did a great job!
She drove us great distances to music lessons so we could develop our talents—and even joined me playing violin in the orchestra at a Catholic girls’ convent, which my violin teacher conducted.
Mom was such a good homemaker…she was a great cook…and so clean, you could lick her floors and think they tasted good!
As an adult, she was a substitute teacher, a volunteer, and she took voice lessons. She was a renowned choir director in our California stake for decades…and put on more beautiful programs than you can count—both religious and secular. And, after they retired and moved to Utah from California …Mom played the violin in a local symphony orchestra.
She would do anything to help anyone, always serving. And she and my dad served a senior couple mission to Ireland—even though she was a bit nervous. But she was faithful and found she could do that, too…and her sweet personality won many Irish hearts. I love her dearly…and that’s the way I always think of her in my mind. Gentle and fun…never overbearing. Always kind.
Even though Mom still looks much the same…her memory is gone…along with her recognition of most of her family members. She doesn’t speak and can’t really do anything for herself. It is so very sad—yet we are thrilled she is still with us…and she’s still wonderful, beautiful Renée. I often wonder—why her? And, sometimes, I think--why us? Or why me?
But maybe, instead, we should ask the question Elder Maxwell asked when he was diagnosed with leukemia: “Why not me?” And ask…What am I to do? What am I to learn? What am I to change? Whom am I to help?
In time, we all realize that “there are beautiful sunrises even after devastating sunsets.” Heavenly Father continues to pour down blessings, even when we’re in the midst of our trials. And we, too, have seen that in our family.

All of this came together for me in a very personal way a year or so ago in Manila in the Philippines when a telephone call from my wife reached me in the middle of the night in a hotel room telling me that our only son had suffered a severe accident that threatened his mobility and perhaps his life. He was being flown home to be operated on.

About the time of his anticipated arrival home, I telephoned. There was a brief delay, then the sound of my wife’s voice, quiet and subdued. “Your four sons-in-law are standing around your son administering to him,” she said. “Paul has anointed him, and John is about to give him a blessing. He was worried because you’re not here. This will be the first administration he’s had from anyone but his father—but he’s comforted now.” I joined them in that prayer of blessing on my knees in a lonely hotel room half a world away, a room suddenly made sweet and warm.

As a leader he has tried to encourage that desire in others. He remembers a time in 1987 when he was the bishop in Fayetteville, Arkansas. “I went into Primary one Sunday,” he says. “They had invited me. I decided to wear red suspenders. I thought that I would somehow use them as an object lesson. So I got in the Primary room, took off my coat, and said, ‘Now, boys and girls, the bishop has these red suspenders. How are the scriptures like my red suspenders?’ And one little boy raised his hand and said, ‘The scriptures hold up our faith in Jesus the same way your suspenders hold up your pants.’ I said, ‘That is exactly right.’ The little boys in the ward started wearing red suspenders, and the little girls had red bows in their hair.

“My dad was a tool-and-die maker, and he would never be caught without his tools. It seemed to me that for members of the Church of Jesus Christ our tools are the scriptures and we would always have them in our meetings. When I became the stake president, we began to hold them up to remind us how they can, if we use them, hold up our faith.”

Margaret related a familiar, yet poignant, dilemma she faced as a young teenager.

Well, when I was fourteen, I had an interesting experience with dating—or, I guess, not dating. I was in ninth grade, which was not in high school at the time. A guy that I liked was a sophomore in high school, which was sort of big-time, and he was also in my ward and I had had a crush on him forever. He asked me to go to this dance at the high school, and I was absolutely thrilled. This was my big chance, and I was just so thrilled at his invitation. So I went home to my parents, and they had known that I liked this guy and my dad really adores this person because he was in his priests quorum and was just really close with him. And so my parents were kind of in a dilemma because here I was fourteen, not old enough to date by the Church’s standards, and yet they knew how important this would be to me and they also really liked him as a person.

What would you expect her parents to do? What would you do as her parents? Margaret’s parents decided not to let her go to the dance at that time in her life. Now, consider the effect of this decision on Margaret.

I learned a couple of things from it. The first thing I learned was the importance of setting an example and my role in setting an example to my younger brothers and sisters. And, again, the other thing was always obeying the gospel principles no matter what type of peer pressure or what other things might be more appealing at the moment. When it comes down to it in the end, it’s better to just stick with the principle.

My husband had a lot of relatives that were in Nauvoo at that time. One of them was Zina Huntington who later became one of the general presidents of the Relief Society. She lived in upstate New York when the missionaries visited their home and left one copy of the Book of Mormon for the family to read. As a young woman, Zina held that book in her hands and said, "This is the truth, truth, truth."[15] She was converted to the gospel before she ever opened the book. She knew by the Spirit that the Book of Mormon was a true record and she made the transition from living in a beautiful two-story rock home on a farm in upstate New York, to going with the saints to Kirtland, Missouri, Nauvoo, and later traveling west. She had the confidence to leave her comfort zone, so to speak, because of her faith and testimony. As I go down Parley's Street and read those inscriptions, I weep because I feel the spirit of those men and women. I feel the sacrifices they made for us so we can be where we are now.

Zina Huntington married and while living in Nauvoo she was expecting a baby. It was in that condition that she left her home, crossed the Mississippi River, got just a little further west and had the baby on the banks of a river. The river was named Chariton. So the baby was named Chariton. I think about those kinds of things, and then I think about what we've been asked to do. And I think, "Oh, what we're doing is easy compared to them." But you know what? It's not. What we're doing now is pivotal and it's not easy. And it's not going to be easier. In fact, I think it may get harder for us. And I think that we are going to have to be very strong and firm, we're going to have to be like Zina and know-"It's the truth, truth, truth." So as we think about making transitions and moving out of our comfort zones, think about those men and women. How did they do it? What helped them make the transition? I believe it's all about having a testimony of Jesus Christ. And that if you have a testimony of Jesus Christ, and His restored Gospel, you will be able to make any of life's transitions. They had a testimony, and they had a temple. They had covenants - so they had a focus and they knew exactly where they were headed. Nothing else really mattered.

Regardless of one’s opportunities for formal education, a person can engage in lifelong learning. This wrench belonged to my grandfather. He was only able to go to school through the eighth grade. He worked as a mechanic. He brought books about diesel engines home from work, and he read them. Eventually he became the supervisor over all the diesel equipment for a company in the San Francisco Bay Area. Although his opportunity for formal education was limited, he kept learning on his own.

Sir Tom Moore was 100 years old and recently passed away, but before he did, he decided to help frontline health workers during the COVID-19 pandemic. He walked 100 steps, using his walking frame, every day for 100 days in his garden. He raised 40 million pounds! He said: “One small soul like me won’t make much of a difference.” He proved himself wrong. His most famous quote is: “Tomorrow is gonna be a good day!”

Milton Soares Jr. and his wife, Irene, are gracious hosts for visitors to the house they built in Recife. They have spent much of their lives in building—building a family and building up the Church, which began here with them.
They still have the first LDS pamphlet they received, the story of Joseph Smith, with a hand-drawn missionary diagram on the inside showing a church built on the foundation of Apostles. Another well-used Church book bears a message that the missionaries who taught Milton inscribed to him as the first person baptized in Recife in this dispensation. The date was 15 May 1960. His wife and children of baptismal age followed him into the Church three weeks later.
Irene Soares was skeptical when her husband first began investigating the gospel, but knowing him to be a good man, she thought that if he could accept it, it must be right. She received her own strong witness of the truth when President Joseph Fielding Smith of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited Recife with Elder A. Theodore Tuttle of the Seventy. “I felt in my heart the knowledge that all we had been learning was true and that [President Smith] was a prophet,” she recalls.
In the beginning, when both of their families questioned why they would join this unknown church, Milton and Irene had only their faith to cling to. His family’s feelings toward the Church softened over time. The feelings of her parents and siblings did not, but she could not give up the truths she had found.
Irene laughs when she remembers that “after just one week in the Church, I was considered an old-time member.” She felt a responsibility to meet and fellowship everyone. Her first sacrifice for the Church was to make cloths for the sacrament table. When their small branch moved to a different meetinghouse, Milton built the baptismal font and Irene found herself rounding up baptismal clothes.
Like many other Brazilians who joined the Church when it was just getting started in their area, they planted the seeds of gospel growth for their family. And as in many other Brazilian families, their example has borne fruit in succeeding generations. Their eldest son, Irajá, is just one example. After his baptism as a teenager, he quickly learned to enjoy working with the missionaries. In 1966 he became the first Brazilian elder called on a full-time foreign mission (he served in Chile). Today he serves as an Area Authority Seventy.

For me, the key to choosing to serve a mission was gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon. When I was 15, living near St. Louis, Missouri, my seminary teacher challenged us to read the Book of Mormon not just once, but twice during the school year. As a reward, she offered a steak dinner. Eating a steak dinner with the girls I knew would take the challenge sounded very appealing to me.
For the first time in my life I began a committed attempt to read the entire Book of Mormon. I had tried many times before, but I always got stuck in the Isaiah chapters. I pushed past those, and within a few months I had read all the way through for the first time. When I finished, I thought, “This is a really good book! But is it correct?”
I started reading again with the intent of determining whether it was factual or fabricated. I checked for consistency in dates and calculated the ages of the various prophets to see if they were realistic. I found evidence supporting the reliability of the Book of Mormon as an ancient text. When I finished reading the second time, I was convinced that it was correct.
At this point I had reached the original goal to read the Book of Mormon twice. I was surprised to realize that I was no longer interested in the steak dinner—this was becoming too important, too sacred, for such a reward. I was now convinced the Book of Mormon was good and correct, but was it true? To answer that question, I read it for a third time.
Before I read, I said a short prayer, asking, “Father, is what I’m about to read true? If so, please tell me through Thy Spirit.” Then, when I was finished reading for the day, I’d close the book and ask, “Father, is what I have just read true?” I read it through this way the third time, and not long after that, the Spirit bore witness of its truthfulness in an unmistakable manner. I had found out for myself that the promise found in Moroni 10:3–5 really works!
Since that day, I have been on fire to share the gospel with others. I’d openly carry my Book of Mormon around school with me, hoping people would ask me about it. I would talk about it whenever I could.
I talked to my friends about it and invited them to Mutual, seminary, and church. Ultimately, three of my high school friends and the mother of one of those friends were baptized. It was very exciting!
After a year of college I was called to be a full-time missionary in Colombia. That was one of the greatest events of my life.
Do I love missionary work? You bet! Just as I learned for myself that the Book of Mormon is true, I learned that what the Book of Mormon says is true: “The Lord hath redeemed my soul from hell; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love” (2 Nephi 1:15).
Just as gaining a testimony of the Book of Mormon was an anchor to my soul, going on a mission laid a foundation for my life. I still refer back to those special, sacred events that happened on my mission. Beyond the witness I received of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, these sacred experiences were further witnesses to me of God’s reality, divinity, and love.

At one time Thomas worked with both President Brigham Young and United States President James Buchanan to clear up a misunderstanding that could have resulted in a war between the Saints and the government. Soldiers had been sent to Utah. With Thomas Kane’s help, however, a solution was found before there was any bloodshed. President Wilford Woodruff later told him: "You were an instrument in the hands of God, and you were inspired by him to turn away … the edge of the sword."

Within weeks of my call to the Twelve in October 2015, I had the opportunity to get an up-close glimpse of the past professional life of President Nelson. I was invited to attend an event where he was honored as a pioneer of heart surgery. When I entered the venue, I was astonished to see the large number of professionals there to honor and recognize the work that President Nelson had done many years before as a medical doctor and surgeon.

That evening numerous professionals stood and expressed their respect and admiration for President Nelson’s outstanding contribution to his medical specialty. As impressive as each of the presenters was in describing President Nelson’s various accomplishments, I was even more spellbound by a conversation I struck up with a man seated next to me. He did not know who I was, but he knew President Nelson as Dr. Nelson, director of the thoracic surgery residency program at a medical school in 1955.

This man was President Nelson’s former student. He shared many memories. Most interesting was his description of President Nelson’s teaching style, which, he said, brought with it a large measure of notoriety. He explained that much of the teaching of heart surgery residents was conducted in the operating room. There, residents observed and performed surgery under faculty supervision, as a laboratory classroom. He shared that the operating room environment under certain faculty surgeons was chaotic, competitive, pressure filled, and even ego driven. This man described it as a difficult environment, sometimes even demeaning. As a result, resident surgeons even felt their careers were often on the line.

He then explained the unique environment found in President Nelson’s operating room. It was peaceful, calm, and dignified. Residents were treated with deep respect. However, following the demonstration of a procedure, Dr. Nelson expected the highest standard of performance from each of the residents. This man further described how the best patient outcomes and the best surgeons came out of Dr. Nelson’s operating room.

This is no surprise to me at all. This is what I have observed firsthand and been truly blessed by in the Quorum of the Twelve. I feel like I have been, in a sense, one of his “residents in training.”

President Nelson has an exceptional way of teaching others and offering correction in a positive, respectful, and uplifting manner. He is the embodiment of a Christlike heart and an example to us all. From him we learn that in any circumstance we find ourselves, our conduct and hearts can be in accordance with the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

My family moved a lot while I was growing up. Adjusting to new places was difficult, but by my freshman year of high school, I loved where we lived. Everything changed, though, when my grandpa passed away and my parents decided to move closer to my grandma. I dreaded moving again. I’d worked hard to get involved at school and make friends.
I became resentful and argued with my parents about moving. My parents encouraged me to pray about it. I tried but didn’t receive any answers. Despite my frustration, I decided to pray one more time. Before I could start, I heard a clear voice in my mind say, “Rachel, you aren’t getting an answer because you don’t want one.” I was stunned. After a moment, I began to pray differently. I poured out my heart to Heavenly Father and asked what He needed me to do.
The feeling I received was that my family needed to move. After humbling myself and accepting what Heavenly Father wanted, I felt at peace. It wasn’t always easy, but I knew we were where the Lord needed us to be. This experience helped me draw closer to my Savior and to move closer to becoming the person He needs me to be.
Rachel H., Washington, USA

I was having a meltdown. I was working on a family history project, and I was getting nowhere. I was looking for a marriage certificate for my great-great-great- grandparents, but when I’d done a quick search on FamilySearch for their names, nothing had come up. I’d prayed to Heavenly Father that the Spirit would help and guide me, but I was starting to get frustrated because my prayer hadn’t been answered yet.
I started scrolling down matches again. No, no, no; this wasn’t helpful at all. I scrolled back to the top. Wait—I’d missed one! There were my grandparents’ names, but they were on a baby’s birth certificate. I called for my mom, and I told her I’d found a record of a baby named Sarah. I would have never imagined her response.
“We don’t have a known great-aunt by the name Sarah,” she said.
I checked the record. Yep, it was correct. We searched for her name by itself, and we found a death certificate for her. It was four days after she was born. I was ready to cry, but they were tears of happiness. My prayer had been answered. I had one thought: “We’ll all be together again.”

In February 2005 I was going through the final phase of my army officer candidate school in the wintry woods of Alabama. We spent days and nights perfecting small-infantry tactics in freezing temperatures. One particular evening a hard, freezing rain poured incessantly on us as my fellow officer candidates and I struggled to set up camp to bunk down for the night.
I felt miserable. My hands and feet were frostbitten, and every movement was painful. I was soaked from head to toe. Every part of my body was shaking. To make matters worse, I feared that I was developing pneumonia, which I had had several times in the past.
The thought of quitting crossed my mind, but I then recalled the example of the handcart pioneers who never gave up despite seemingly insurmountable odds. I resolved that I would finish my training. My family and I had sacrificed too much for me to give up on my goal of becoming an officer. I prayed to Heavenly Father for strength to keep going.
I did not sleep at all that night, and the next day found me in worse shape. I was exhausted. Hours of training in the cold did nothing to alleviate my pain and coughing. One of the instructors noticed my condition and ordered me to spend a couple of hours in the warm-up tent.
While standing barefoot in the mud and hanging up my soaked clothes, I yearned for a priesthood blessing. One of the tent flaps suddenly opened, and in walked two officer candidates. I began chatting with one of them, Scott Lundell. Somehow the conversation steered toward international travel. Scott told me he had spent a couple years in the Philippines before joining the service. The Spirit immediately told me that Scott was a returned missionary.
“What did you do over there?” I asked.
“Oh, just a church thing,” he replied.
“Are you a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?” I asked.
“Yes, I am,” he said.
“I am too,” I added.
As we shook hands, I asked Scott if he would give me a blessing. He unhesitatingly said yes, and I knelt in the mud. He pronounced the blessing, and I was healed immediately! Strength returned to me, and I stopped coughing. My illness was gone. I finished my training, and a month later I was commissioned an officer.
Heavenly Father truly is mindful of each of us and in His own way will bless us as we exercise faith in Him. In our most difficult moments, He will bear us up.
Scott Lundell was killed in action in Afghanistan on November 25, 2006. I didn’t know him well, yet his death deeply affected me. Heavenly Father sent him to me at a critical point in my life. I will never forget him, and I will always remember that special blessing given to me by a worthy priesthood holder.

We need something else to do.
Yeah.
I know! We could start a club and …
… and we could invite …
Lily, Ciara, Esperanza, …
What’s wrong?
Do we invite some kids, but leave others out?
Good point.
What if everyone was in the club? We’d just invite different people to play with us every day.
So they’d be part of our club without knowing it? I like it!
Those two girls are new at school.
Yeah. I don’t know their names. … But they’re part of the club!
Let’s invite them to play soccer with us.
Do we have to let them win?
We just have to let them try.

With the permission of President Jeffrey Holland and his lovely daughter, Mary, I’d like to share their story of several years ago. It is an example of what I have tried to say today—not truth in theory, but truth in action.
Brother Holland begins:
“One night I came home quite late from work. My nine-year-old daughter Mary seemed visibly distressed. … I asked if she felt all right; she nodded that she did; but I guessed otherwise. I waited as she got ready for bed. Sure enough, she walked softly into the living room and said, ‘Daddy, I have to talk to you.’ I held her hand and, as we walked into her bedroom, she started to cry.
“‘I was at Grand Central this morning and saw a ladies’ compact I knew Mother would love. I was sure it was quite expensive, but I picked it up just to admire it.’ More tears and struggle to get it all said: ‘It fell out of my hands onto the floor. I quickly picked it up, but Daddy, the mirror was cracked. I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t have enough money to pay for it, and I was all alone. … I put the compact back on the shelf and left the store. Oh, Daddy, I think I’ve been dishonest.’ And then she wept and wept.
“I held her in my arms as that little nine-year-old body shook with the pain of sin being expelled. She said, ‘I can’t sleep and I can’t eat and I can’t say my prayers. What will I do? I won’t ever get it out of my mind.’
“Well, Mother joined us and we talked quite a while that night. We told her that we were very, very proud of her honesty … and we would have been disappointed if she had been able to eat or sleep very well. I told her … the compact probably wouldn’t cost too much, and that we would go back to the store manager, tell him of the problem, and, between the two of us, cover the cost. If the compact was still there, [perhaps we could] buy it for Mom. That little cracked mirror could be a reminder for as long as she owned it that her little girl was unfailingly honest and spiritually sensitive. …
“The tears gradually stopped, her little body began to relax, and Mary said, ‘I think now I can say my prayers.’” (“The Excellence of the Actors,” unpublished manuscript, BYU faculty assembly, 1978.)

While I was serving as a bishop many years ago, my counselors and I decided that we would visit all of the members’ homes once a year. During one such visit we walked along an abandoned railroad track that was lined on both sides with small cardboard-box homes no larger than six feet by six feet (about 2 m by 2 m). This small space served as a family’s living room, dining room, bedroom, and kitchen.
The adults living in that area have set ways and established routines. Men are mostly unemployed or underemployed. They spend much of their time gathered together around makeshift tables smoking and sharing bottles of beer. The women also gather, focusing their conversations on the most controversial news of the day, sprinkled with backbiting and gossiping. Gambling is also a favorite pastime for the young and old.
What disturbed me most was that the people seemed content to live out their entire lives in that manner. I later concluded that perhaps for most of them, hopelessness allowed them to believe they were consigned to this fate. It was indeed a heart-wrenching sight.
Later I learned that my counselor, who was an engineer, used to live in that area. I never would have guessed it because his family was much different from the families I saw there. All his siblings were educated and raising good families.
My counselor’s father was a simple man. After I met him, questions came to me. How had he elevated himself? How did he pull his family out of those conditions? What made him catch a vision of what could be? Where did he find hope when everything about him seemed hopeless?
Many years later, in the Manila Philippines Temple, I attended a gathering of all the mission presidents and their wives then serving in the Philippines. A wonderful surprise greeted me as I entered one of the rooms in the temple. Standing before me was the father of my counselor—that quiet, unassuming man—dressed in white.
At that moment there opened before my eyes two scenes. The first scene was of a man drinking beer with his buddies and wasting away his life. The second scene showed the same man dressed in white and officiating in the ordinances of the holy temple. The stark contrast of that second glorious scene will forever remain in my heart and mind.
What allowed this good brother to elevate himself and his family? The answer is found in the power of the word of God.