Gospel Story Finder

Voices in the front room awoke Sherrie. Through her outside window she could see nothing but blackness. It can’t be morning already, she thought. Listening, she heard Mama say, “Perry, please don’t go. Storm warnings on the news are urging people not to travel today unless absolutely necessary.”
“It is absolutely necessary. If I can pick up this load of freight, it will get us out of a bind.”
“Perry, please. A couple of days won’t make that much difference.”
“I might be able to beat the storm if I go now. It isn’t supposed to hit the Wasatch Front until this evening.”
Sherrie heard Daddy tell Mama goodbye, the front door open and close, and Daddy’s big truck rumble out of the yard. Turning her face to her pillow, she prayed softly, “Dear Heavenly Father, take good care of Daddy, and bring him safely home.” Then she drifted off to sleep.
By early afternoon, the heavy clouds had turned to snow. Sherrie ran home from school through swirling flakes—a rare and exciting thing. It practically never snowed in Hurricane, Utah, for just like nearby St. George, this was “the place where the summer sun spends the winter.”
When Mama turned on the TV to watch the six o’clock news, the newscaster was announcing that the blizzard had arrived hours earlier than expected and that Salt Lake City was snowed in. Pictures showed trucks and cars stalled in the snow.
When it came time for family prayers, Mama said, “Sherrie, I believe that it’s your turn tonight.” Everyone silently knelt and bowed their heads.
“Heavenly Father,” Sherrie began, “thanks for the snow to play in, but we’d like to have not so much of it for the people traveling on the roads. Take good care of Daddy, and bring him home safely. And if Thou would, please send a bright angel to protect him from danger, and help him to return soon. Thanks for taking good care of us and keeping us well. We love Thee, Heavenly Father. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Morning brought the sunshine. The storm was over, and Hurricane’s skift of snow was reduced to tiny white patches in the shade. Good! Daddy will have safe traveling today, Sherrie thought. But when she came home from school, his big truck wasn’t in the yard.
The evening news showed that weather conditions were still bad in northern Utah. Mama looked out the window often as she prepared supper. “Sherrie, please help Annie set the table,” she said.
Sherrie set Daddy’s place first. Then she drew little flowers on a card and wrote, “We love you, Daddy,” and put it by his plate.
Mama was just taking a pan of biscuits from the oven when Daddy’s truck rumbled into the yard. A stampede of children greeted him as he came through the door. It took some doing to hug his way through them before he could greet Mama. Happy faces surrounded the table, and Mama put on the roast and the vegetables. She had even made Daddy’s favorite lemon pudding.
“Dad, did an angel guard you on this trip?” Clay asked. “Sherrie prayed for one for you.”
As Daddy looked up from his plate, Sherrie shyly ducked her head. Daddy regarded her tenderly.
“Yes, Sherrie, an ‘angel’ did guard me. You see, snow and ice aren’t the only dangers on the road. My rig held the road just fine, but something far worse than a breakdown almost happened. On my way home I stopped on the outskirts of Salt Lake to gas up the truck and get a bite to eat. Then I pulled out onto the road. After I had gone a mile or two, a man rose up in the sleeper behind me and jabbed a pistol in my back.
“‘Pull over,’ he demanded. I stopped as soon as I could. Still keeping me covered, the man climbed onto the seat beside me. ‘Do as I say,’ he ordered, ‘and I won’t hurt you. But if you give me any trouble, I’ll shoot you.’ Then he barked, ‘Empty your wallet, and be quick about it.’
“Since I was looking down the barrel of that pistol, I didn’t argue. I dug my wallet from my pocket.
“‘Hand me the money first,’ he ordered, ‘then I’ll look at the credit cards.’
“I handed him the money I got for delivering the freight, about two hundred dollars in bills. Then, as I started to pull the cards from my wallet, Sherrie’s picture fell, faceup, onto the seat beside the man. He gasped. Like a man hypnotized, his gaze was riveted on Sherrie’s picture. The pistol fell from his limp fingers, and the money scattered to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and shook with deep, anguished sobs. Speechless, I watched him. Time seemed to stand still. How long I watched that big, burly man shaking with sobs, I don’t know. It seemed quite a while, but it must have been only minutes. Finally he raised his face, took another look at Sherrie’s picture, and asked hoarsely, ‘Is that your little girl?’
“‘Yes,’ I replied.
“‘She reminds me of my own little girl. I can still feel her arms clinging around my neck, and I can hear her crying and begging me not to leave her and her mommy. I’m no criminal. I’ve never robbed anyone in my life. But today I was desperate. The picture of your little girl has brought me back to my senses. Forgive me, please.’
“Perspiration stood out on the man’s forehead. He wiped his face on his sleeve, opened the door, and got out. ‘Hey, mister, don’t you want your pistol?’ I asked. Reluctantly, he picked it up. ‘Here,’ I said, handing him a couple of twenties. ‘I’m sure that you can use this.’
“He looked at me with disbelief as he took the money, then, swallowing hard, said, ‘Sir, you’re a lifesaver. You can’t possibly know what a difference this makes. God bless you.’
“I watched as he cut across a field toward a cluster of houses, and then I gathered the rest of the money from the floor. Sherrie’s picture still lay on the seat where it had fallen. As I picked it up, her smile danced in front of me through a river of tears. Over and over I whispered, ‘My angel, my darling little angel.’ My heart is so filled with thankfulness for all of you. Surely I am blessed.”
The sweet silence that filled the room seemed too sacred to be broken. At last Sherrie said softly, “Heavenly Father let my picture fall onto the seat by that man, didn’t he, Daddy?”
Stroking her dark curls, he replied, “Yes, Sherrie, my precious, bright angel. I’m sure that He did.”

Chris loved playing football in grade school and junior high. He started at linebacker all during high school. And, as Chris points out, football in Georgia is serious business. His high school would have 10,000 fans attend its Friday night games. During his junior year, he began getting attention from college scouts. It was exciting, but his mom would remind him not to get too interested because he was going on a mission.
When the scouts showed up, that was the time Chris had to face the possibilities of playing football at the college level. His high school coach told the scouts that he was a hard-working player and was an honor student. Finally concrete offers started to come—full-ride scholarships through four years of college, worth thousands of dollars.
“I asked,” said Chris, “if they would hold a scholarship for two years. One coach was shocked. I told him I was going to go on a mission for my church. He just stared at me and said, ‘You’re going to give up 80 thousand dollars to serve a mission for two years?’ He got mad at me. But I didn’t get offended.” After that, his coach started turning away college recruiters interested in Chris.
Eventually, State University of West Georgia called. The school offered him a scholarship. It turned out that Chris would be able to play a year and a quarter, essentially two seasons, before turning 19 and receiving a mission call. “I knew that all things were possible with the Lord. There were people saying that I couldn’t serve a mission and play ball, yet the Lord provided a way to do both.”
Chris struggled at West Georgia, not on the field where he started as a true freshman but in the permissive atmosphere in the dorms. He didn’t like what was going on around him. He was more determined than ever to go on a mission. And it was on his mission that Chris put football behind him completely. He told his coaches that if they needed to talk to him, to go through his parents. He didn’t keep up on what the team was doing. He says that the only way to serve on a mission is completely and with total focus.
At the conclusion of his mission, Chris decided that he could not return to the atmosphere at his former college. He thought that was also a decision to give up football, and he was willing to do it.
Just as Chris was completing his mission, his mission president contacted BYU about Chris. At first, becoming a BYU football team member didn’t seem like a possibility, but he was invited to try out. He received a full-ride scholarship but was redshirted a year. Once Chris thought sitting out a year would be horrible, but now it was a blessing. He was able to concentrate on his major, a difficult one, in manufacturing engineering and technology. He feels that the Lord has guided his life because at BYU he has had the opportunity to continue missionary work as a ward mission leader. Football will fall by the wayside. That’s fine with Chris. It no longer has his heart.
There is, however, one thing Chris has always wanted—a championship ring. He just missed taking state in high school. And his college team won the conference the year he left on his mission. Knowing this, some friends on his mission got together and bought Chris a ring—a CTR ring that he wears continually. It’s become his championship ring.
Whenever Chris looks at it he is reminded of what he believes deep inside. “Right makes you happy. If you do what is right, everything will fall into place.”

I have been doing some reflection on how I ended up at BYU–Hawaii as a young man in the pre-historic era of 1988. If you had told my younger self that he would leave Tonga for Hawaii, he would not have believed it. Like many of you, I realized early that education was key to a better life. My goal was to do well in school and attend university in New Zealand. When I was in middle school, I attended a devotional where the speaker taught about the power of fasting. I felt inspired to apply this principle in my life even though I did not fully understand it. I committed to fast regularly outside of first Sundays to make my dream of attending a university in New Zealand a reality.

Growing up with little, fasting felt like a big sacrifice, but I kept at it and worked hard in school. I was certain God would answer my prayers. However, after high school, I failed my entrance exams and was rejected by every school I applied to. I was shocked and could not understand why God had not blessed me in the way I wanted after all my efforts and sacrifices.

For two years, I drifted without direction. Then, BYU–Hawaii recruiters visited the hotel I worked at in Tonga. Despite not knowing me or my transcripts, they were inspired to invite me to attend BYU–Hawaii. Being stubborn, I initially refused, but they returned and invited me again, and I am forever grateful they did.

Looking back, I realized these recruiters were God’s response to my prayers. I was so focused on New Zealand that I forgot to focus on what God wanted for me. By bringing me to BYU–Hawaii, God forever altered the trajectory of my life. The blessings that He had in store for me were much greater than the ones I had imagined for myself.

My mother didn’t get mad at me very often. She was a very patient and loving woman. But one day when I arrived home after school, she was particularly upset. You see, school had been out since the middle of the afternoon, and it was after 7:00 P.M. when I finally got home! She was very worried about me because she did not know where I was.
It wasn’t until I arrived home that I realized that I had forgotten to tell her where I was going. I quickly explained that after school I had walked the four or five blocks to the newspaper office downtown to ask for a job as a newspaper boy. I had seen other boys about my age, eight or nine years old, standing on street corners, selling newspapers, and that’s what I wanted to do. That very day they assigned me a street corner, and I was so excited to start selling newspapers that I completely forgot about how worried my mother would be. Mother forgave me, but I knew that I wouldn’t again make the mistake of not telling her where I was!

In general conference those long years ago, as I related this account, I mentioned that I had lost track of Mrs. Patton but that I wanted to once more answer her question “Will Arthur live again?”
And now, my brothers and sisters, I share with you the rest of this account. I delivered my message on April 6, 1969. Again, I had little or no hope that Mrs. Patton would actually hear the talk. I had no reason to think she would listen to general conference. As I have mentioned, she was not a member of the Church. And then I learned that something akin to a miracle had taken place. Having no idea whatsoever who would be speaking at conference or what subjects they might speak about, Latter-day Saint neighbors of Mrs. Terese Patton in California, where she had moved, invited her to their home to listen to a session of conference with them. She accepted their invitation and thus was listening to the very session where I directed my remarks to her personally.
During the first week of May 1969, to my astonishment and joy, I received a letter postmarked Pomona, California, and dated April 29, 1969. It was from Mrs. Terese Patton. I share with you a part of that letter:
“Dear Tommy,
“I hope you don’t mind my calling you Tommy, as I always think of you that way. I don’t know how to thank you for the comforting talk you gave.
“Arthur was 15 years old when he enlisted in the navy. He was killed one month before his 19th birthday on July 5, 1944.
“It was wonderful of you to think of us. I don’t know how to thank you for your comforting words, both when Arthur died and again in your talk. I have had many questions over the years, and you have answered them. I am now at peace concerning Arthur. … God bless and keep you always.
“Love,
“Terese Patton”15
My brothers and sisters, I do not believe it was a coincidence that I was impressed to give that particular message at the April 1969 general conference. Nor do I believe it was a coincidence that Mrs. Terese Patton was invited by neighbors to join them in their home for that particular session of conference. I am certain our Heavenly Father was mindful of her needs and wanted her to hear the comforting truths of the gospel.

Illustrations by Ingrid Ochoa
I used to work at a camp where I helped campers rappel (or abseil) down a 100-foot cliff, a difficult and terrifying task for some. Most of them struggle with it for one reason: they lack trust. When rappelling, you need to trust your partners, the gear, the rope, the belay, and the carabineer. But most importantly, you need to trust yourself—or nothing can be accomplished.
Many people who approach the cliff come with wide eyes and shaking hands. But before they can scramble away in fear, I look at them and say, “Everything will be OK. I know you can do this. And I’m holding you up the whole way.” And when they make it to the ground, everyone cheers and hugs them, celebrating that they were able to conquer their fears.
During my time there, I realized something powerful: in order to overcome our fears, we need to place our trust in the Lord. Sometimes I get scared or lose trust in myself, but then I remember the rappelling wall at camp. I see myself turn away from the cliff’s edge, but it’s like I can hear the Savior calling to me, saying, “Trust me! I will guide you and encourage you the whole way down. I know you can do this.” Putting my trust in the Lord, I can make it through any trial or fear. It may be hard and scary, but I know the Lord is there, helping me along the way.

As we choose that good part and put the Savior in the center of our lives by praying daily for His guidance and help, God gives us “power and wisdom.” We are blessed with spiritual insights that can fortify our families. When Doug, the father of three small children, unexpectedly lost his job, unemployment benefits plus their small savings and some help from the extended family were the means of his family’s support. His wife, Lori, tried to be positive as they both took odd jobs to help cover their expenses. They continued doing all the right things—praying, reading the scriptures, attending the temple, and paying tithing. Yet in spite of hundreds of résumés and many inquiries, job interviews were few, and no job offer was forthcoming.
One day after almost six months of job searching, Lori called her mother. Tearfully and with some anger in her voice, she said: “I don’t think Heavenly Father is listening to us. I don’t think I can pray anymore. It doesn’t do any good.”
During that telephone conversation, inspired words and thoughts came to Lori’s mother as she bore her testimony and reminded her daughter of things she already knew: “Lori, you know better. You know that Heavenly Father loves you and is aware of your needs. But sometimes you have to wait. Perhaps this is your refiner’s fire. I don’t know. But what I do know is this: You need to go into your bedroom right now and kneel and pray, asking the Lord to comfort you and give you peace. Doug will find a job, but it may take a while longer. Remember all who love you and who are praying for you and who are helping you. You are very blessed.”
What Lori realized was that when she knelt down and prayed—because she was focused on the Lord—she redirected her thoughts. She brought the Savior’s love into her own life and into her home.

One of the Twelve recently shared a story that illustrates this principle. As a priest in high school, he was hanging out with his friends. After they got something to eat, they were driving around when someone suggested they should go to a certain movie. The problem was he knew it was a movie he shouldn’t see. Although he immediately felt pressure and anxiety about the situation, he had planned for this. This was a page straight out of his priesthood playbook.

Taking a deep breath and summoning his courage, he announced, “I’m not interested in that movie. Just drop me off at my house,” which they did. A simple play leading to a victory! Years later, one of the friends with him that night described how this example proved to be a great strength for him to courageously face similar circumstances in his own life.

Shortly after my husband received his master’s degree, he considered returning to school for a PhD. This prospect daunted us since earning his master’s degree had been so difficult. We had two small children and longed to have a good job and maybe even a house.
That October conference, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shared some of his experiences related to moving his young family to Connecticut for graduate school. We had also moved to Connecticut for graduate school. Then he described how he and his family had fit all of their possessions into their little car—we had done the same. He explained that when the trip began, his car had overheated and broken down not once but twice! Our vehicle also broke down twice.
Finally, he described a more recent experience of driving a reliable car by the spot where his car had broken down 30 years earlier. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself as a young father and said these words: “Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. … There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it. … You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”1Elder Holland’s experience helped me feel understood and loved. His example gave me the courage to seek the spiritual witness that more education for my husband was the will of the Lord for our family. Five years and two babies later, my husband finished his dissertation. School was definitely challenging, but we were happy. We had followed the Lord’s will, and He had blessed us physically, spiritually, and financially.
Since that conference, I have often thought of Elder Holland’s talk. I have learned that as I strive to trust God through obeying the counsel of His prophets and apostles, good things really do come.
Melinda McLaughlin, Maryland, USA

That fall the children all came down with strep throat. We gave them antibiotics, and soon everybody was fine except for Jesse. His cough wouldn’t go away, and his neck became swollen. Pat took him to the pediatrician for what we thought would be a second antibiotic.
Two hours later Pat called from the hospital. The pediatrician had sent Jesse there for an X-ray to check for infection in his lungs. Instead, doctors found an 11-inch tumor in his chest.
“Go home, get your family packed up, head to Birmingham, and prepare for a lengthy stay,” the doctor said.
A few days after we arrived at the children’s hospital in Birmingham, we received Jesse’s diagnosis. He had pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a rare type of aggressive leukemia.
For the next three weeks, Pat and I lived at the hospital. While I zoned in on Jesse, Pat made the 90-minute drive back and forth from our home to the hospital. He tried to keep our business going and care for our goats. My mother-in-law came from California and stayed with our other children.
Jesse’s tumor had begun to cut off his airways, but it shrank after six weeks of chemotherapy. We thought that once the cancer went into remission, it would be an easy road ahead, but then Jesse got a blood clot in his brain. After doctors dealt with that, he got fungal pneumonia. He was in and out of the hospital seven times over the next several months.
In December 2015, while Jesse was back in the hospital, I began reading the Book of Mormon. I thought, “I left the Church, and I just want to rule it out like I’ve ruled out all the other churches.” But right away, it hit me like a ton of bricks—full peace. The book just spoke to me. I didn’t even have to pray to find out it was true. I knew in my heart it was true from the very beginning. I would read for hours sitting in that hospital room.
At one point, Jesse spiked a fever, which lasted for 10 days. It wouldn’t break, and doctors decided they needed to do a bone marrow biopsy to see if the leukemia had returned. I remember lying on the floor of the hospital. I had reached bottom. That’s when I decided to call Elaine Oborn, a member of our ward while I was growing up in Alabama.
I had been best friends with Sister Oborn’s daughter. Though I hadn’t spoken to the Oborn family for 20 years, I couldn’t get Elaine’s face out of my mind. I looked her up on Facebook, and there on the hospital floor, I called her.
“Do you even remember me?” I asked.
After explaining what our family was experiencing, I told Sister Oborn: “I don’t know what I need, but I need something. I’m not active in the Church. We don’t even have a church, but I keep thinking of you. Please, can you help me?”
“We can start by getting you and Jesse a blessing,” she said. She said her husband, Lynn, would come to the hospital that evening.
After the phone call, I told Pat, “I know you’re not a member of the Church, but can we have some guys come and give Jesse a blessing?”
“Whatever it takes for him to feel better,” he said.
That evening, in came Brother Oborn with two full-time missionaries, all dressed in white medical protective clothing because Jesse was so sick.
“The angels are coming for us,” I remember thinking as I opened the door.
They gave Jesse a blessing. Then Brother Oborn lined up all the kids and gave each of them a blessing. Then he gave me a blessing. Then he gave Pat a blessing. That was one of the first experiences where we all felt the Spirit. It was powerful. The next day, Jesse’s fever broke. As soon as he was released from the hospital, we started attending church.
In February 2016, the full-time missionaries began visiting us. At first Pat thought they were coming over to help on the farm. When we accepted an invitation for them to teach us, he thought the lessons were just for the children.
As the missionaries were preparing to teach us their first lesson, Pat went out to work on the tractor. After about 20 minutes, I could see that they—two sisters and two elders—were deflated. At that moment, I felt that I should get Pat and ask him to come listen for a couple of minutes.
Later the missionaries told me that they had been praying that that’s what I would do. They knew that Pat needed to hear what they were teaching.
After the missionaries had taught us for several weeks, Jesse, Bo, and Frank wanted to be baptized. Pat thought that was great, but he felt that he was “beyond salvation.” That was before he met Von and Glenda Memory and heard Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles speak during general conference.
When we saw Brother Memory at church, I recognized him from when I was a child. He was now serving as the ward mission leader. Pat introduced himself, telling Brother Memory that he really wanted the Church for our children.
“That sounds good,” Brother Memory said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll do it for the children.”
A few weeks later, after a lesson from the missionaries on the plan of salvation, Brother Memory said, “Boys, we’re going to talk about your baptism.” Then he added, “And then we’re going to talk about your dad’s baptism.”
Pat said OK, but his doubts about his readiness and worthiness persisted until general conference that April.
“You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt,” Elder Uchtdorf said in his talk. “But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.”1
Pat said: “Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me that I really could be a part of this, that I was worthy of salvation. But after listening to Elder Uchtdorf, it hit me that it wasn’t too late for me. I actually have a shot to get to heaven. I had never felt anything like that. From then on I knew. This is the Savior’s Church. We found it. I got baptized and received the priesthood. A week later I baptized my boys. When our girls were old enough, I baptized them.”
A year later, we were sealed in the Birmingham Alabama Temple.
Living the gospel of Jesus Christ as members of His Church has strengthened our marriage. It has made me a better mom. It has given our kids a foundation they never would have had. We’re confident about their futures, now that they have the Church in their lives.
I’m so grateful for everything that has happened and for all the lessons I’ve learned. I think it was important for me to go through a lot of stuff, a lot of mental anguish. I needed to be humbled, feel desperate for God’s help and love and forgiveness, and forgive myself of wrongdoings earlier in my life.
Jesse completed chemotherapy and his last round of steroids in March 2019. We would be devastated if his cancer returned, but now we have an eternal perspective. Now we’re sealed as a family. I can’t imagine ever not having the Church as my go-to for everything. The gospel has changed us forever.
Whatever happens, it’s going to be OK. We’re not afraid anymore. Jesse’s illness led to the best thing that ever happened to us. It brought us to the Savior’s Church.

My family and many Filipino Saints went through a similar conversion process. When we accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ and joined the Church, we changed our ways and our culture to align to the gospel. We had to let go of wrong traditions. I saw this in my father when he learned of the gospel and repented. He was a heavy smoker, but he threw his cigarettes away and never touched one again. Because of his decision to change, four generations from him have been blessed.

Both Emily and Amanda chose to not attend parties, even though they wanted to go to them. Emily decided to not go to her friend’s house when she learned that her friend’s parents were not going to be there. Amanda decided to not go to a swimming party when she learned that it would be on a Sunday. Neither girl knew that her sister had turned down an invitation, but both were trying to follow the Savior’s commandments. Emily wanted to honor her parents’ rules and choose the right; Amanda was sad to miss the party, but she knew that her decision “would make Jesus happy.” Both felt good about their decisions.

I had the privilege to serve my mission in Anchorage, Alaska, USA. It was heartbreaking to come home early due to complications from spraining both ankles and feet. It was certainly not easy, but I had many experiences that taught me valuable life lessons. I learned that Heavenly Father has a purpose for everything that happens in our lives. I also learned how to go through trials with a better perspective. My relationship with the Savior became stronger than it had ever been because I learned how applicable the healing power of His Atonement is.
Heavenly Father truly helped me through this difficult time. Even though I still struggle at times, I know that Heavenly Father is in control and that He knows what I need in my life more than I do.
Amber Bangerter, Utah, USA

The singular beauty of that first morning was followed by a week of busy filming. By Thursday renewed bad weather set in—more clouds and more rain. By the end of the day there was still one important scene that needed to be put on film—and that scene had to be filmed in bright sunlight. It was the scene where Joseph runs toward his home on a bright sunny day. So Friday morning they set up an 18-foot scaffold for their cameras in the center of the field that lay between the grove and Joseph’s home. They offered another special prayer and waited. After what seemed like hours the clouds parted. The cameras rolled. Just before the scene ended, the clouds closed in again, and darkness prevailed. “That’s all we got,” said David Jacobs, producer-director, “but that was all we needed—it’s the scene that opens the film.”

One day my instructor was giving an explanation to five of us in the ready room. In order to explain a certain maneuver, he went to the blackboard. Inasmuch as he was smoking a cigarette, he handed it to me to hold while he made the demonstration, and by this means I had the “privilege” of holding my first cigarette. After he had finished his demonstration at the blackboard, he took his cigarette back, and then he said, “Mr. Bangerter, I apologize for handing you my cigarette. I know you don’t smoke, do you?”
I said, “No, sir, I don’t.”
He said, “You don’t drink either, do you?”
I said, “No, sir.”
He asked, “Do you drink tea?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you drink coffee?”
“No, sir.” He turned to the other four students standing together and said, “Now, men, that’s the Word of Wisdom. We would all be much better off if we lived that way.” You can appreciate that I felt uplifted by that experience.

As a young man of Primary and Aaronic Priesthood age, I attended church in the grand old St. George Tabernacle, construction for which had begun in 1863. During very lengthy sermons I would amuse myself by gazing about the building, admiring the marvelous pioneer craftsmanship that had built that striking facility. Did you know, by the way, that there are 184 clusters of grapes carved into the ceiling cornice of that building? (Some of those sermons were really long!) But most of all I enjoyed counting the window panes—2,244 of them—because I grew up on the story of Peter Neilson.
In the course of constructing that tabernacle, the local brethren ordered the glass for the windows from New York and had it shipped around the cape to California. But a bill of $800 was due and payable before the panes could be picked up and delivered to St. George. Brother David H. Cannon, later to preside over the St. George Temple being built at the same time, was charged with the responsibility of raising the needed funds. After painstaking effort, the entire community, giving virtually everything they had to these two monumental building projects, had been able to come up with only $200 cash. On sheer faith Brother Cannon committed a team of freighters to prepare to leave for California to get the glass. He continued to pray that the enormous balance of $600 would somehow be forthcoming before their departure.
Living in nearby Washington, Utah, was Peter Neilson, a Danish immigrant who had been saving for years to add on to his modest two-room adobe home. On the eve of the freighters’ departure for California, Peter spent a sleepless night in that tiny house. He thought of his conversion in far-off Denmark and his subsequent gathering with the Saints in America. After coming west he had settled and struggled to make a living in Sanpete. And then, just as some prosperity seemed imminent there, he answered the call to uproot and go to the Cotton Mission, bolstering the pathetic and sagging efforts of the alkali-soiled, malaria-plagued, flood-bedeviled settlers of Dixie. As he lay in bed that night contemplating his years in the Church, he weighed the sacrifices asked of him against the wonderful blessings he had received. Somewhere in those private hours he made a decision.
Some say it was a dream, others say an impression, still others simply a call to duty. However the direction came, Peter Neilson arose before dawn on the morning the teams were to leave for California. With only a candle and the light of the gospel to aid him, Peter brought out of a secret hiding place $600 in gold coins. His wife, Karen, aroused by the predawn bustling, asked why he was up so early. He said only that he had to walk quickly the seven miles to St. George to give $600 to Brother David H. Cannon.
As the first light of morning fell on the beautiful red cliffs of southern Utah, a knock came at Brother Cannon’s door. There stood Peter Neilson, holding a red bandanna which sagged under the weight it carried. “Good morning, David,” said Peter. “I hope I am not too late. You will know what to do with this money.”
With that he turned on his heel and retraced his steps back to Washington, back to a faithful and unquestioning wife, and back to a small two-room adobe house that remained just two rooms for the rest of his life. (See Andrew Karl Larson, Red Hills of November, 1957, 311–13.)

Dear President Tanner,
I am 10 years old, and we received our Ensign magazine and enjoyed the record very much. I was very inspired by your talk. I agree there are many problems in this world today. There are many things I don’t understand, one of them is wearing pants to school. My mother says that the presidency wouldn’t like young girls wearing pants to school. We play kick ball and all kinds of out door games that are not presentable in a dress. The principle say it’s all right, and even teachers wear them. I know this gospel is true and I do have a testimony and know you are an inspired man from god and I would like to know your true feelings on this matter. I want to thank you for your time.
Love
Valarie
Dear Valarie,
This will acknowledge your very sweet letter. It shows me that you want to do what is right.
You ask about the proper dress for school. The Church has taken the position that whether youth are at school, attending a sacrament or other Church meeting, at a dance or an athletic or sports-camp activity, at home or away, Church standards require young men and women to be appropriately dressed. Modesty is a protection for the youth of the Church and is one of the Lord’s ways to help them live clean, wholesome lives.
Girls should try always to enhance their natural beauty and femininity. They should dress appropriately for any occasion. It would seem proper to wear slacks or pants when playing kickball or the other outdoor games that you mention.
Modesty in dress is a quality of mind and heart, born of respect for oneself, one’s fellowmen, and the Creator of us all. Modesty reflects an attitude of humility, decency, and propriety. Consistent with these principles and guided by the Holy Spirit, let parents, teachers, and youth discuss the particulars of dress, grooming, and personal appearance, and with free agency accept responsibility and choose the right. You should honor your parents, who love you dearly, and follow their advice or instruction after discussing your problems with them.
May the Lord bless you and give you the desire and strength to do right always. By doing this you will be happy, loved, and respected.
Love,
N. Eldon Tanner
P.S. Would you or your mother or father have any objection to having your letter and my answer published in the Friend? We feel it may be helpful to others of our youth who have the same question.
Dear President Tanner,
I received your letter today. I appreciate the time you have spent with me and my letter. My parents and I both think it would be nice to put it in the Friend, and I will be honored. Thank you again for your time.
Love,
Valarie

Why would a person without compelling challenges, needs, or questions be interested in meeting the missionaries and listening to their lessons? Well, in my case it was love—love for a girl, a girl named Renee. I fell in love with her, and I wanted to marry her. She was different and had standards different from most young women I knew. But I fell for her and asked her to marry me—and she said no!
I was confused. I thought I was quite a catch! I was handsome, 24 years old, and a college graduate with a great job. She spoke of her goals—of marrying only someone who could take her to the temple, of having an eternal family—and she declined my offer. I wanted to continue the relationship, so I agreed to listen to the missionaries. Is this a good reason to meet with the missionaries? Well, it was for me.
When I first met with the missionaries, I did not understand much of what they said, and to tell you the truth, I may not have paid much attention to them. My heart was closed to a new religion. I wanted only to prove they were wrong and to gain time to convince Renee to marry me anyway.
Today my children have served and are serving missions, and I understand the sacrifices that these young men and young women make to teach the gospel of Jesus Christ. Now I wish I had paid more attention to Elder Richardson, Elder Farrell, and Elder Hyland, the wonderful missionaries who taught me.

When my grandpa was first diagnosed with cancer, it was kind of surreal for me. At first he seemed all right, but as his condition worsened, I could tell the pain was getting to him. It hurt me to think about what he was going through.
My family decided to spend Christmas with him and my grandmother. I knew it would be different from having Christmas in our own home, but I could never have guessed how special it would be for me.
When we arrived at my grandparents’ home after a long drive, we were greeted by a beautifully decorated house that instantly put us in the Christmas spirit. We had a big dinner together and excitedly admired the festive decorations my grandmother had put up. After socializing and enjoying one another’s company, my family returned to our hotel to prepare for the big day.
The next morning was Christmas. We were all excited, but we didn’t want to show up at my grandparents’ house too early. We thought that Grandpa would be tired from the night before and would want to sleep in. But when we finally arrived, my grandmother said, “Where have you been? Grandpa has been up for hours waiting for you.” That’s when I knew this Christmas was going to be the best one I’d ever had. My grandpa was so excited for everybody, and his Christmas cheer was contagious.
That Christmas spent with my grandparents taught me something important: Christmas isn’t about presents; Christmas is about caring enough for others to want to make their day special, without thinking about what’s in it for you.

Some of our most vivid and significant memories of living in the Midwestern United States as young parents are of yearly visits to the temple in Washington, D.C. At the time, it was the only temple in operation east of the Mississippi River. Knowing that temple ordinances are essential for all of Heavenly Father’s children gave a sense of urgency to our efforts.
Like many of you, we arranged for friends to care for our small children, traveled through the night with a busload of fellow members, spent a couple of precious days doing as much temple work as we could, and then rode the bus home through the night so we could attend our Church meetings on Sunday. Those trips did not seem to be sacrifices; they were cherished because of the spiritual uplift that fed our souls for months afterward.
A few years later, we were thrilled to welcome the Chicago Illinois Temple, the first temple built in the North America Central Area since the Cardston Alberta Canada Temple 62 years earlier. With a temple only 45 minutes from our home, it was a joy for us to attend more often than once a year and to receive that spiritual food on a regular basis.