Gospel Story Finder

Our gratitude is sometimes tested when we suffer pain or difficulty. This too must be seen through the perspective of "confessing the Lord's hand in all things."President John Taylor said:

"We have learned many things through suffering. We call it suffering. I call it a school of experience. I have never looked at these things in any other light than trials for the purpose of purifying the Saints of God that they may be, as the scriptures say, as gold that has been seven times purified by the fire."

Many times we come to understand gratitude better when we meet someone who has been given unusual difficulties or special challenges and yet see gratitude so developed in his or her spirit. I met such a person just a few weeks ago. Her name is Lora McPherson and I met her in the hospital. I felt of the mature spiritual gift of gratitude that she possesses.

Lora's family first learned of her genetic disorder, Neurofibromatosis, when she was three years old. This genetic mutation can result in the growth of nerve tumors anywhere in the body. Most people with this disorder live fairly normal lives, but some have very difficult complications. Lora is one of those. At age 7 she had tumors on her spinal cord which resulted in two surgeries six months apart. At age 12, she developed a brain tumor and at age 17 by a brain stem tumor that would not allow surgery, but required immense radiation. At age 21 a tumor grew on her forearm. At age 25, which was just last year, she had abdominal tumor surgery, removing tumors from her stomach. And finally, just recently, a tumor on her spinal cord requiring more surgery and radiation. Her very life is being challenged, and has been challenged throughout her 26 years. Yet she remains remarkably grateful for the goodness of God. She wrote to me recently:

"I trust that the Lord knows what is best for me. I can pray for cures, but I know that if I am not cured, He can still give blessings of strength and healing. I am thankful for my understanding of the bigger picture; that there is life after this life, when our trials will be put into proper perspective and we will comprehend the wisdom and love of God. I have developed gratitude for the small and simple things of life. I have more empathy for and less judgment of others who are going through trials. I have learned how to ask for help and receive it gratefully. I have a testimony that God still loves me and blesses me even when the trials are not taken away.

"When I was dealing with a great deal of pain this past spring, I was praying to Heavenly Father for understanding and help. I went to the scriptures in hopes that He would speak to me through them. The first scripture that touched my heart was Mosiah 3:19, (listen for the family of gratitude and the foe of pride) 'for the natural man is an enemy to God and, will be...unless he yields to the enticings of the Holy Spirit...and becometh a saint through the atonement of Christ the Lord, and becometh as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him':

"Whether God's healing comes in this life or the next, I don't know; but I know He's watching over me and is giving me and those around me experiences that will help us best fill our purpose on earth and be able to prepare ourselves to come back to him."

When the city of St. George, Utah, decided to designate historic sites with white picket fences, it called for volunteers from the community to help. The young women from the St. George Third Ward were quick to lend a hand to a young Boy Scout who needed help with his Eagle project by painting fences—and each other!
The project gave the girls a chance to get to know each other while they provided a service to their town.

On a snowy Friday night, I was driving home from a friend’s house. As I was driving, I was prompted to pull over to the side of the road, and without much thought, I did. But after a moment, I began to wonder why—I didn’t see any danger ahead.
At church I had been taught about recognizing promptings from the Holy Ghost, and I never felt a prompting as strong as this, but I still wasn’t sure if the feeling came from me or from the Spirit.
After sitting in my car for about 10 seconds, I decided to continue home. The streets looked clear. Then, out of nowhere, a group of deer jumped into the road ahead of me—about 10 seconds away at my previous speed. If I had not stopped when prompted, I believe I would have hit the deer, totaled my car, and probably been hurt.
After this experience, I realized what a blessing it is to have the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost. I am grateful that the Holy Ghost not only warns us but also comforts and teaches us.

The first book I ever owned came to me on the heels of near tragedy. It was at a community Christmas tree party in our little country town of Clifton in Idaho. The huge tree lighted with hundreds of burning candles … set an ideal stage for that which followed. Before our horrified gaze Santa caught fire and as he ran frantically out through a rear exit he swept along with him trimmings, candles, presents, and even a part of the tree itself. …
I returned home … disconsolate and dejected because no gift was on the tree for me. The next day from out of the ruins of the fire a book, half burned, was found with my name in it. That book was Tom, the Bootblack, by Horatio Alger, Jr.

There was one time when I found a card that proved to be particularly meaningful for me. I was having a very difficult time and had been praying for help quite a bit. It was during this time that I found a card from my dad. The card read, “We’re praying for you, Justin. Keep up the good work. Love, Dad.” It gave me a taste of home that I missed, and the encouragement from my dad helped me to keep working hard.
As I thought about how grateful I was to my dad, I realized that my Father in Heaven had also had a hand in sending me this message. It had come at the perfect time, when I needed it most. I was then reminded of the talk by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles from the April 2005 general conference about the tender mercies of the Lord and how God leaves us little reminders throughout our lives to tell us that He loves us (see “The Tender Mercies of the Lord,” Ensign, May 2005, 99). These “business cards” from Him brighten our smiles and strengthen our faith.

Creak, creak. Bang, bang, bang!
John looked up from his plate as he heard footsteps and then a loud pounding at the door. It was early evening on a steamy summer Sunday, and five-year-old John was finishing supper with his parents, two brothers, and three sisters. He wondered who could be visiting his family.
Father got up and opened the door. “Let us in, Zachariah!”
John groaned inside as he turned to see his father’s cousins. Dan and Marv were loud and swore a lot, and they didn’t like Mormons. Ever since John’s family had been baptized six years ago, their relatives had harassed them about being Mormons. Lately it had been getting worse.
Dan pushed past Father and stepped into the room. “We’re here to say that you have to stop associating with those missionaries and leave that church of yours,” he said. “Your relatives are tired of being called ‘Mormon-lovers.’”
“I’ve told you we’re not leaving our church,” Father firmly replied. “We joined because we know it is the true Church of Jesus Christ.”
Cousin Marv’s face darkened in anger when he heard Father’s answer. Marv leaned toward Father and spoke in a threatening tone. “If you won’t leave that church of yours, you’d better leave Tennessee. If you don’t, we’ll take care of you just like they took care of Gibbs and Berry.”
John shuddered. He was named after the missionary who baptized his parents, Elder John Gibbs. Five years ago, Elder Gibbs and Elder Berry had been martyred by a mob.
Father straightened his back and stood tall. “I will not leave my church or stop supporting the missionaries,” he replied in a steady voice. “I would rather die a martyr than renounce my faith in Jesus Christ and His Church.”
John’s eyes widened, for Father’s face seemed to shine as he spoke. John felt a warm and peaceful feeling replace his fear.
“Leave our home now,” Father told his cousins. “I will take my family to Zion. You won’t be bothered with our presence here much longer.” His cousins glared at him, then tromped out the door and slammed it behind them.
Mother stood up and walked over to Father. She put her arms around his waist and looked up into his eyes. “We’ll have to leave sooner than we thought,” she said.
John’s family was trying to save money to move to Zion, but they barely had enough to survive. He wondered how they would get enough for the eight of them to make the journey from Tennessee to Utah.
As if reading John’s mind, Father spoke to the family. “We don’t have enough money saved to travel all the way to Zion, but we will start our journey next week. We’ll have to work along the way to earn money for the rest of the trip.” He paused, then quietly added, “The missionaries taught us that no sacrifice is too great for the Lord. Now it’s time for us to follow their example.”
As John finished his supper, he thought of the journey ahead. How long would it take? What would Zion be like? John didn’t know what lay ahead, but he would stand tall in faith, just like his father.

Illustration by David Malan/Malan Creative
When our first child, Caden, was 10 months old, my husband, David, and I left him in the care of my parents for the first time. We went out for dinner and then went to a movie theater. Once we got our popcorn and sat down, my mother called.
Our baby wasn’t breathing, and an ambulance was on the way!
We drove home in a panic and ran inside to see Caden in my mother’s arms, smiling at the paramedics. He was fine, but he had experienced a seizure.
Doctors couldn’t determine the cause of the seizure or two subsequent seizures, but they prescribed medication to help. As a first-time mother, I was devastated. Caden seemed OK, but the experience shook my faith. I became consumed with stress and worry.
Two years later a neurologist recommended performing an electroencephalogram (EEG) on Caden, a test that would measure his brain activity while he was asleep. If the results looked good, he could stop taking seizure medication.
I worried about the test because Caden had stopped taking naps a year earlier. How would we get him to sleep in a busy doctor’s office with electrodes all over his head?
The night before the test, David gave Caden a priesthood blessing. As the blessing began, I felt the strong presence of the Spirit. I knew everything would be OK. It was the first time since his first seizure that I felt peace.
The next day doctors attached electrodes to Caden’s head. Then we laid him on the exam table and turned off the lights.
He was asleep in minutes. This may not seem like a miracle, but he hadn’t taken a nap on his own for over a year.
Heavenly Father hadn’t forgotten us. His Spirit was there in that doctor’s office, calming Caden and comforting me. My attitude toward trials and priesthood blessings shifted that day. I know that the power of the priesthood is real.
Caden is now a young adult. He hasn’t had a seizure since he was a baby. He has faced other challenges but has overcome most of them. I know that the Lord continues to watch out for him and calm my fears (see Luke 8:50).

On a recent flight, our pilot announced that we would encounter turbulence during our descent and that all passengers must fasten their seat belts securely. Sure enough, turbulence came. It was really rough. Across the aisle and a couple of rows behind me, a terrified woman panicked. With each frightening drop and jarring bump, she screamed loudly. Her husband tried to comfort her but to no avail. Her hysterical shouts persisted until we passed through that zone of turbulence to a safe landing. During her period of anxiety, I felt sorry for her. Because faith is the antidote for fear, I silently wished that I could have strengthened her faith.

Later, as passengers were leaving the aircraft, this woman’s husband spoke to me. He said, “I’m sorry my wife was so terrified. The only way I could comfort her was to tell her that ‘Elder Nelson is on this flight, so you don’t need to worry.’”

I’m not sure that my presence on that flight should have given her any comfort, but I will say that one of the realities of mortal life is that our faith will be tested and challenged. Sometimes those tests come as we face what appear to be life-and-death encounters. For this frightened woman, a violently rocking plane presented one of those moments when we come face-to-face with the strength of our faith.

“I’d like to bear my testimony and give thanks to my Heavenly Father for my many blessings.”
The voice came from the back corner of the chapel. To the regular ward members it was a familiar voice and one that was often heard at testimony meetings.
A visitor, turning to see who was speaking, saw a boy bent over a folding chair, supporting his gaunt body on his arms while his legs hung limp behind him. How could this obvious cripple be thankful for his many blessings? What blessings?
When he was four years old, a series of tests disclosed that Stephen Farrance had a type of muscle disease, which, if it progressed as it had been doing, would kill him by the time he was 12.
“The impact and finality of the doctor’s verdict didn’t really register with us,” recalled his mother. “Stephen could do so many things. We just encouraged him to be independent. He had his regular chores to do just like his brother and sister. Then later, when the tendons pulled his feet up and he had to walk on his toes, we withdrew some of his responsibilities but gave him others. He went to a regular school and made a niche for himself.
“I remember one teacher telling me that she called Stephen and a new boy up to her desk at the same time. When Stephen arrived, he braced his feet and placed a hand on her desk. The newcomer said, ‘Are you okay?’, and Stephen said, ‘My feet don’t like to stop walking, and it takes me a minute or two to convince them. But, thanks, I’m fine now.’”
Stephen had difficulty sitting. By the time he was 12, he knelt on his chair during class and got callouses on his knees. But he didn’t believe in missing anything that he could take part in. He figured out ways to be part of what the other kids did. The following year his class decided to learn square dancing, and the teacher apparently told Stephen that he could go to the library and read while the others danced.
“But I’d rather take part,” Stephen told her.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” asked his teacher, startled, because by now he walked hanging on to the wall and couldn’t balance himself.
“Well, I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided I could handle the record player, change the record, and watch how the steps are done. That’ll give you more time to be with the other kids on the floor,” he said. So he got to change the records and watch.
“ I have many blessings for which I am thankful …”
Like being basketball scorer in high school, managing one of the girls’ teams, working on the school newspaper, and being elected to various student council offices. When he ran for treasurer, he said in his campaign speech, “You have only to take one look at me to be sure I won’t run off with the funds.” He was elected.
He didn’t limit his time to school activities. His family had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when Stephen was eight, so he took an active part in Church programs. He went to Primary, was active in Cub Scouts, and moved on into Scouting. He advanced in the priesthood offices and served the sacrament until one day he tripped. That night he wrote in his journal: “Passing sacrament and tripped, nothing spilled, but maybe I’d better not risk it again. I think it’s too hard on the watchers.” So he switched to reminding the other deacons when it was their turn. As a teacher he helped prepare the sacrament in the little side room and was also secretary of the quorum.
Stephen got up at 5:30 A.M. five days a week for four years to go to seminary. He achieved two years’ perfect attendance and one year with one day absent. The other year he went to a drama festival with the winning play and couldn’t find an early morning seminary, so he missed four days.
“I’d like to thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings …”
While Stephen was making friends and doing new things, the disease was also progressing. His head bent back because his neck muscles couldn’t give him the support he needed. As he would inch his way along the corridors of the school, holding on to the walls, he would have to stop every few feet and rest, then look ahead to see what was in his way.
People made comments. Even some adults would come up and say, “How come you look like that?” or “What’s the matter with you?” Sometimes in a restaurant people would think he was just a bad-mannered kid and tell him to sit up properly or not take up so much room.
Did it bother him?
“No, not really. If they knew it wasn’t intentional, they wouldn’t feel like that,” said Stephen.
His older brother, James, started carrying him over his shoulder. They would make a game of it, and people never knew how serious it really was. Stephen would start home from school, and after half a block James would come along, scoop him up, and run on. Stephen would holler, and often the pair would beat the other kids to the house.
There were times in shopping centers when James would carry Stephen and be told by the security men that that type of thing wasn’t allowed. After awhile Stephen became friends with most of the security men, and they would find carts that he could drape himself over.
“Stephen became friends with people because he took time to notice them. I remember one day at the shopping center he said to me, ‘Hey, Mom, let’s go over there, I want to speak to that guy.’ He went over, and he congratulated the man on his promotion and asked what his new duties entailed. The man explained, and they chatted away. Later, I asked Stephen how he knew the man had had a promotion. ‘If you look at the sleeves of their uniforms, you’ll see they have some gold braid on the cuffs. That guy only had one stripe on last week, and this week he has two, so I figured it must mean a promotion.’”
Stephen’s awareness of people as human beings with triumphs and problems was well known. A fellow student sums up this quality: “Even through junior high you could always go to Steve with your troubles. He was always more interested in other people’s problems than his own.”
Another friend says, “He was always happy and unimportant to himself. He thought it was more important to help other people, which he did every day. He was only important to himself as far as he needed to be to return to Heavenly Father. What a beautiful, fantastic person. He had the attitude, ‘I’m not going to let me get me down.’”
“I’m thankful, Heavenly Father …”
He followed his sister and brother in drama. While they were actors, Stephen became a director, a sound man, and a dabbler in lighting. He did this at high school and with the roadshows.
No one thought of him as a cripple. At home it was understood there were certain things he couldn’t do. As his sister explained to one of her friends, “Stephen can’t run, I can’t draw, and James can’t sing.” Living with Stephen taught the other Farrances compassion, not just for him but for all people.
Stephen sailed through school getting straight A’s until the last couple of years of high school when the toll of just living and moving took a great portion of his energy. He ended with a B average. He was voted Citizen of the Year by the student body and received service awards every year of high school. His last year he won the Soroptimist Youth Citizenship Award and a school bursary. He also ran an hour-long morning radio broadcast at school.
He spoke at church on a regular basis and held various church positions. Ward members loved him and gave him strength, while drawing courage from watching him. He served as secretary in the Aaronic Priesthood MIA and was vice-president of his institute class.
He was a staunch supporter of the missionary program and invited the elders home as often as possible. Stephen was thrilled the day his brother, James, received his mission call. He enjoyed the preparations and being able to travel to Salt Lake City to take James to the Missionary Home there. Stephen firmly believed he would serve a mission too, and he studied diligently to prepare himself for it. His patriarchal blessing stated that he would go on a mission. He didn’t expect to do such a great thing as tracting, but he was sure there was a place for him.
Each day found him a little weaker. His body grew more and more distorted until he was bent almost double and spent his time, awake and asleep, draped over a chair. He didn’t complain; he accepted things the way they were.
Writing and directing the New Westminster Ward roadshow was his last big venture. The Vancouver British Columbia Stake produced the combined roadshows from all the wards. When the judges came back with their verdict, Stephen’s roadshow had won “Best All-Round Entertainment.”
As the applause died down, the stake MC approached the microphone. “Stephen Farrance, writer and assistant director of the winning roadshow, died this morning. We’ve kept this sad news until now we didn’t want to influence the judges. We’d like to congratulate the cast and crew for going on tonight, with special mention to Stephen’s family, who did such a fine job. We dedicate the roadshows to Stephen.”
“How could his family be here tonight?” someone asked, and the reply was, “After living with Stephen, what else could they do?”
“I’d like to bear my testimony and thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings … thank him for the sure knowledge that I will receive a perfect body in the resurrection, for my knowledge that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I’m thankful for my membership in this church …”
Stephen had the blessing of a keen mind, a lively sense of humor, and the ability to see problems for what they were. He put all these things together and accomplished a full life, all 18 years of it. But he was not superhuman, neither a paragon of virtue nor a saint, but a warm, loving, normal human being with ups and downs, likes and dislikes.
About the time when many young LDS men are entering the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City at the start of their two-year missions, Stephen Farrance completed his mission here on earth. Did Heavenly Father send him out from the realm of pure love to give us an example to follow? Are we not all, to some extent, crippled in mind, if not in body, and in need of each other’s strength? Was this his mission?
In a letter to Stephen’s brother, James, their former stake president wrote: “Stephen had such a great desire to follow you into the mission field. Now he has received his call. He is eminently prepared to preach the gospel and will yet fulfill a great mission. But on his mission he will not have the heavy burden of his affliction. His spirit now stands straight and tall, and he can walk forth to preach the gospel with power and conviction, even as you are doing. Be of good cheer, Elder. Your brother is about his Father’s work, even as you are.”
A memorial service was held for Stephen at the Vancouver stake center in British Columbia. Instead of sending flowers, friends contributed to a fund in his name set up at his former high school. Each year a graduating student who has “shown outstanding contributions in the area of helping other young people—one who has gone above and beyond the call of duty in the spirit of a true humanitarian”—will receive $100 bursary and the “Super Steve Humanitarian Award.”
The Vancouver British Columbia Stake has inaugurated a “Stephen Farrance Memorial Sportsmanship Award” to be presented to the seminary team that shows the most concern for each other, attention to rules, sincere effort, and good sportsmanship during the annual scripture chase.
At the memorial services, members and nonmembers gathered to remember Stephen. A School friend spoke on Stephen’s contributions to the school and to his fellow students. He spoke of his many talents, his desire to serve, and his example to the student body. His priests adviser talked about Stephen’s Church accomplishments, his enthusiasm for any outing, even if he knew he couldn’t participate, and his concern for the priesthood brethren. And the bishop spoke about Stephen’s spiritual achievements. He reminded those gathered of the great, strong testimony he had, and how he had made use of every opportunity to bear it. He talked of Stephen’s desire to serve the Lord in any capacity he could. For the first time members and nonmembers, brought together through love of Stephen, became aware of many sides of Stephen’s remarkable character.
Stephen lived 18 years. He achieved much, and he was a great example to many of us. Although he lived with a crippled body and suffered much pain, he died in the manner that the Savior has promised to the faithful: “Those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.”

I share with you an incident or two from the early life of President Marion G. Romney, best told in his own words:
“I’m a Mexican by birth. I was born in Colonia Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico. My parents happened to be down there at the time. I was raised there until I was about fifteen years old. During the last two or three of those years, the Madero Revolution was in progress. The rebels and the federalists were chasing each other through the country; each taking everything we colonists had, by way of arms and ammunition and by way of supplies. Finally we were forced to leave. I came out of Mexico with the Mormon refugees in 1912.
“I remember I had a very thrilling experience on the way from where we lived to the railroad station about [13 kilometers] south of Colonia Juárez. We went in a wagon. … I was riding with my mother and her seven children and my uncle (her brother) and his family of about five or six children. … We had one trunk—that was all we were able to bring. I was seated on the trunk in the back of the wagon. … The Mexican rebel army was coming up the valley from the railroad station towards our town. They were not in formation. They were riding their saddle horses. Their guns were in the scabbards. Two of them stopped us and searched us. They said they were looking for guns. We didn’t have any guns or ammunition. They did find [20 pesos] on my uncle. … They took that and then waved us on. They went up the road about as far as from here to the back of this room, stopped, turned around, drew their guns from their scabbards, and pointed them down the road at me. As I looked up the barrels of those guns, they looked like cannons to me. They didn’t pull their triggers, however, as evidenced by the fact that I am here to tell the story. That was a very thrilling experience! One of my maturing experiences.
“The rebels blew up the railroad track after the train we were on passed over it. Later, Father and the rest of the men came out to El Paso, Texas, on horseback. We never returned nor did we recover any of our property while my father lived.
“Father and I went to work to earn a living for his large family. There were no welfare programs then. We had a difficult time making a living” (To Him That Asketh in the Spirit, Salt Lake Institute of Religion Devotional [18 October 1974] 2–3).
After he was married and his family was started, President Romney worked full time at the post office in order to provide for his family while he went through law school. In those difficult conditions his marks were high and his scholarship excellent; he was later admitted to the Order of the Coif, which admits only the most distinguished scholars. He practiced law and became a bishop, a stake president, one of the first Assistants to the Twelve, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, and a member of the First Presidency. He demonstrated his great love and compassion for people through his many years of guidance in the welfare program of the Church.

He also served several missionary assignments, accompanying American missionaries to other areas for proselyting. On one of these journeys, Opapo, his long-time friend Elisala, and one of two American missionaries went to the island of Manu‘a. Upon arriving they found that the local king, Tuimanu‘a, had forbidden anyone from receiving or assisting the Latter-day Saints in any way—the punishment for disobedience was immediate stoning. However, the missionaries were determined to succeed and stayed for two months, eating fallen coconuts from the beaches and sleeping each night in holes. They covered their heads with leaves to protect themselves from the mosquitoes, each one taking a turn nightly to help the others arrange their leaves and then unassisted himself, suffering from bites the rest of the night.
After several weeks of this grueling ordeal, Opapo was awakened by the smell of some freshly baked food in a nearby basket. The missionaries did not know whether through a human or a divine source; but after weeks of coconuts, they were profoundly grateful. Near the end of their stay the incident was repeated when an elderly woman brought them some food, saying that if she had to die for her kindness, she would, but she did not fear Tuimanu‘a.
A few weeks later, after exhausting every possible avenue, the missionaries prepared to depart. Ceremonially, Opapo and Elisala spoke directly to Tuimanu‘a and his people, warning them that they would feel the wrath and power of God if they did not repent. As his last act before boarding the longboat, Opapo paused at the edge of the village and dusted off his feet as a witness against the island. A couple of weeks later a devastating hurricane struck the island, killing many, destroying all of the crops above ground, and leveling every house except one—the fale (hut) in which lived the elderly lady who had helped the missionaries.
It is true that miracles strengthen the faith of believers but do not necessarily give faith to the unbelieving. It was not until 1974 that a branch was actually organized in Manu’a. On the other hand, the Saints to whom Opapo returned heard of the incident and increased in faithfulness.

In December 1980, President Spencer W. Kimball sent the director of the Church’s real estate department to Manila to find an appropriate site for a temple. After considering several sites, the director submitted a request to buy 3.5 acres (1.4 ha) in Quezon City. The site overlooks the Marikina Valley, and its location is relatively accessible to many Church members. The request was approved, and the property was purchased in January 1981. The street name was changed to Temple Drive at the request of the Church.

For the groundbreaking ceremony on August 25, 1982, despite the threat of a typhoon, about 2,000 Church members gathered from all parts of the islands by boat, train, and bus. Construction of the temple soon commenced, and it was ready to be dedicated in August 1984.

Nearly 27,000 members and nonmembers toured the temple before its dedication. They came despite two typhoons—just 48 hours apart—that had ripped through the Philippines a few days before. Saints from distant provinces arrived weary but buoyant. In many cases they had been forced to take circuitous routes to Manila because roads had been flooded and bridges damaged by overflowing rivers.

The beauty of the temple impressed the visitors, including many prominent Filipinos. Writer Celso Carunungan commented on “a feeling of holiness, that when you get inside you are going to confront your Creator.” Colonel Bienvenido Castillo, chief chaplain of the Philippine Constabulary, said the temple is “a place where you can contemplate heavenly things because you are in such an environment.” Two nuns felt the temple “is truly a house of the Lord.” Eva Estrada-Kalaw, a member of the Philippine parliament, told guides, “I wish you would build more temples here.”6

President Hinckley, Second Counselor in the First Presidency at the time, led the services to lay the cornerstone on Tuesday, September 25, 1984. Nine dedicatory sessions followed, held in the celestial room. Some 6,500 Saints from 16 stakes and 22 districts in the Pacific Area attended the various sessions.

As soon as the last dedicatory session was completed, Paulo V. Malit Jr. and Edna A. Yasona became the first couple to be married in the Manila Philippines Temple, on September 27, 1984. The first president of that temple, W. Garth Andrus, solemnized the marriage ceremony.

Scores of Church members queued up to receive their endowments, beginning with the ordinance workers. Temple work continued through the night into the next day.

Members felt an increased desire to enter the temple. Those who lived far from Manila had to sacrifice much to travel the great distance by boat or bus. But still they came and brought with them stories of faith and determination.

For Bernardo and Leonides Obedoza of General Santos, going to the temple in faraway Manila seemed impossible. But like the merchant man who went and sold all he had to buy one pearl of great price (see Matthew 13:45–46), this couple decided to sell their house to pay for the trip so that they and their children could be sealed as an eternal family. After they sold their home and most of their possessions, they managed to scrape together the exact amount to pay the boat fare to Manila for their family of nine. Leonides was worried because they would have no home to return to. But Bernardo assured her that the Lord would provide. They were sealed as a family for time and all eternity in the temple in 1985. It was worth every sacrifice they had made, for in the temple they found joy incomparable—their priceless pearl. And true to Bernardo’s words, the Lord did provide. On their return from Manila, kind acquaintances gave them places to stay. Their children completed their schooling, and the family eventually acquired their own home in a new location.

Twenty years ago in general conference, I related a story first told by Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone of the Seventy that I believe bears repeating here.
In 1918 Brother George Goates was a farmer who raised sugar beets in Lehi, Utah. Winter came early that year and froze much of his beet crop in the ground. For George and his young son Francis, the harvest was slow and difficult. Meanwhile, an influenza epidemic was raging. The dreaded disease claimed the lives of George’s son Charles and three of Charles’s small children—two little girls and a boy. In the course of only six days, a grieving George Goates made three separate trips to Ogden, Utah, to bring the bodies home for burial. At the end of this terrible interlude, George and Francis hitched up their wagon and headed back to the beet field.
“[On the way] they passed wagon after wagon-load of beets being hauled to the factory and driven by neighborhood farmers. As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting: ‘Hi ya, Uncle George,’ ‘Sure sorry, George,’ ‘Tough break, George,’ ‘You’ve got a lot of friends, George.’
“On the last wagon was … freckled-faced Jasper Rolfe. He waved a cheery greeting and called out: ‘That’s all of ’em, Uncle George.’
“[Brother Goates] turned to Francis and said: ‘I wish it was all of ours.’
“When they arrived at the farm gate, Francis jumped down off the big red beet wagon and opened the gate as [his father] drove onto the field. [George] pulled up, stopped the team, … and scanned the field. … There wasn’t a sugar beet on the whole field. Then it dawned upon him what Jasper Rolfe meant when he called out: ‘That’s all of ’em, Uncle George!’
“[George] got down off the wagon, picked up a handful of the rich, brown soil he loved so much, and then … a beet top, and he looked for a moment at these symbols of his labor, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Then [he] sat down on a pile of beet tops—this man who brought four of his loved ones home for burial in the course of only six days; made caskets, dug graves, and even helped with the burial clothing—this amazing man who never faltered, nor flinched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal—sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child.
“Then he arose, wiped his eyes, … looked up at the sky, and said: ‘Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.’”6
Yes, thanks be to God for the men of the priesthood and for the service they will yet render in lifting individuals and families and in establishing Zion.

When I was a child, the very best part of Christmas was the arrival of my mother’s brother, who would drive once a year from his home in Tennessee to visit our home in Georgia, usually arriving the night before Christmas Eve.
As I counted down the months, weeks, and days before my uncle’s visit, the time seemed to pass so slowly that I could hardly bear the anticipation. Each year on the night he was scheduled to arrive at our house, I would press my face against the living room window, waiting to catch the first glimpse of his car. I never had to wait long before he arrived.
I never realized until I was older how much waiting for my uncle’s arrival increased the happiness I felt when his car finally pulled into our driveway laden with Christmas gifts. In a small way, I was reminded of how faithful, righteous people in the Book of Mormon and the Bible must have felt when the Savior finally arrived on earth. Not only had His birth been anticipated for centuries rather than months or weeks, but He brought to the world the most precious gifts imaginable—eternal life and the opportunity to be exalted with our families forever. I imagined the joy and excitement these people would have experienced when they recognized the signs of Christ’s birth and knew that the prophecies they had read about were finally being fulfilled.
Though I wasn’t on the earth when the Savior was born, I am so grateful for His gifts of the Atonement and Resurrection, which make it possible for me to be forgiven of my sins and live with my family forever. Just as I looked forward to the arrival of my uncle, and as people looked forward to the birth of Christ, today we can look forward to the Second Coming, when Christ will bring even greater blessings and opportunities to the righteous. I know that as we plan and prepare for Christ’s coming, our joy will be full.

Because my mother was raised in Southern California and that was where we lived, I knew my mother’s side of the family much better than my father’s side in Utah, simply because of proximity. My dad felt strongly about my getting to know the Utah side of the family and getting to know the people in Salt Lake. He thought there was experience to be gained and strongly encouraged me to go to the University of Utah, which I did.
When I arrived, I joined a fraternity. A majority of the fraternity were also Church members, some of whom were returned missionaries. After a while I began to notice that the returned missionaries just seemed to “have their act together” in a way that the others, in my opinion, didn’t. I had not been raised with the notion of serving a mission, although as I got to be an older teenager my parents began to mention it. My father had not served a mission because of World War II. His medical school training went right through the war.
As I spent more and more time in Salt Lake and got to know the returned missionaries, somehow I was able to perceive that these missionaries had gotten more out of life and were further down the road in a very positive way than others of the same age. They were directed. They had goals. They had a feeling for who they were that others didn’t seem to have. In my view, they had social skills that I thought were an advantage. That was what got me started thinking about a mission. At first, it was entirely for the wrong reasons, for selfish reasons.
Even within this group there were some returned missionaries whose stories about their missions made me feel hesitant about service. Their stories were about how hard it was or how cold it was or how primitive the circumstances were. I was basically reluctant to do anything cold or difficult. But other returned missionaries took me aside and said, “Whit, let me tell you what it is really like, how wonderful it is.”
Nobody who was a returned missionary said, “Don’t go.” They all told me to go, but a few of them delighted in telling me the hard parts. I decided to listen to these others who said, “That’s just the way he talks. He had a great experience, and look what he became. You’ll have a great experience too.”
At the same time I had an experience that was very important to me. I used to go down to a local gym to work out. One time when I was down there in the late morning, I noticed Elder Marion D. Hanks of the Seventy. We were the only two in the gym, and he struck up a conversation with me.
After a little small talk, I asked him if I could ask a question.
“Sure, please go ahead,” he said. He was very friendly, very warm.
“I’m trying to decide whether to go on a mission.”
He said, “What are the things that you are thinking about? What are the considerations?”
I said, “Really just one, and it is a question about the amount of time it would take.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
At this point in time I thought I wanted to be a doctor. My father was a doctor, and I wanted to be a doctor. This was before I knew much about organic chemistry.
I said, “I’m 19 now and still have three years of college and then time as an intern and a resident. I expect to be drafted into the military (it was during the Vietnam conflict) plus a mission. You add all of these things up, I’ve got 14 or 15 years to go before I get to real life. If I do all of these things, I won’t get to real life until I’m 33 or 34 years old. That seems like a very late start.”
He said, “Well, that’s an interesting question. You should know that I did not serve a mission. I was in the military during World War II and was not able to serve a mission, but I’ll tell you how I think you should answer the question.”
He asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you don’t do any of those things?”
I answered, “I’ll be 33.”
He again asked me, “How old are you now?”
I said, “I’m 19.”
“How old will you be in 14 years if you do all of those things?”
I said, “I’ll be 33.”
Then he asked me. “When you are 33, what would you rather have done? None of those things, half of those things, or all of those things?”
I saw immediately the wisdom of his response, and it just penetrated me. I saw how it fit with what I had seen in the returned missionaries on campus. I decided then and there I was going to serve a mission.
That was the best decision I have ever made, because everything good in my life has come from that decision. I don’t believe my wife would ever have been willing to consider marrying me if I had not been a returned missionary. I think her decision to marry me was the best thing that has happened in my life. Our experience together across the years, raising a family and being involved in Church service, our community involvement, my professional involvement, all of those things have been influenced by that mission.
I am so grateful for the example of returned missionaries—for the way they dressed, for the way they talked, the way they worked, for the light in their lives, which was immediately evident to me. I could see the difference in the way they dressed, spoke, and carried themselves, in the way they behaved. It was discernible. I could see it, and I wasn’t looking for it. It was simply that I began to perceive something that I hadn’t noticed before, and I learned that the Lord blesses those who do the things He asks them to do. He blessed me, and He blesses everyone who goes on a mission and then stays in essentially a modified missionary lifestyle after that. I’m grateful for that.
Those two experiences—watching returned missionaries and having a chance (well, maybe not a chance) meeting with Elder Hanks. That was the turning point in my life. My parents wanted me to go on a mission and were delighted when I did. And I think it helped my younger brothers to see me go.
Young men, look forward to serving a mission. It is hard; it is work, but there is nothing about it that you can’t do. You’ll love the experience. Doing hard things is good for us, and missions aren’t so hard that you can’t do them. They just require something of you. You have to grow up a little, and I promise you that if you will prepare yourself for a mission in every way—intellectually, physically, and spiritually—keeping yourself clean and ready to go, you’ll have a tremendous experience, and you’ll be grateful.

I didn’t notice her at first. She was merely a part of the sea of people milling about the reception hall. Then she stepped forward and, struggling for the right English words, pointed to her heart and said, “When you sing, you have a love.”

I looked into her red, tear-swollen eyes and smiled the warmest “Thank you” I could muster. I couldn’t speak. My heart was in my throat.

Looking around the hall, I could see that the other members of the BYU A Cappella Choir were having similar experiences. We were at Kibbutz Chatzerim in the middle of Israel’s Negev Desert. The love of the gospel of Jesus Christ expressed through song had bridged the gap of culture, language, and religion to touch the hearts of these people. It was our first concert in Israel and the beginning of a tour that, through music, would take the message of the Restoration to thousands of Jewish people.

Illustration by Wilson Ong
I was watching TV when my mother called to tell me that her brother, my 92-year-old Uncle Floyd, and his wife, Aunt Millie, were sick with the flu and had no food in their house. Neither was well enough to go to the store to get anything. Uncle Floyd and Aunt Millie had no other family nearby, so they had no one to help them.
My mother wondered if I could help. I am the only member of the Church in that part of my family, and I had been called on in situations before. The problem was that I lived in Utah, USA, and my aunt and uncle were in Hemet, California, USA.
I told my mom to give me a few minutes to think about what to do. I had a friend who lived near Hemet, so I called and asked if she knew anyone in Hemet. She told me about a lady she served with at the Redlands California Temple named Sister Dunn who was a Relief Society president there.
When Sister Dunn answered the phone, I began, “Hi, Sister Dunn. You don’t know me, but my name is Nancy Little, and I live in Utah. I’m a member of the Church, but my aunt and uncle who live in Hemet are not. They are ill and have no food in their house.” I told her where they lived, which was far from where she was, and explained that I just wanted to get information about a restaurant near them that might deliver food.
Instead, Sister Dunn insisted that she and her husband would take food to my aunt and uncle. They happened to have some homemade soup and bread, and her mother had just made cookies. I protested but she persisted.
A few hours later, Sister Dunn called and assured me that all was well. My mother called later to tell me what Uncle Floyd had said of their visit. He said, “Angels arrived at my home named Mr. and Mrs. Dunn. They came with armloads of food: fruits, vegetables, homemade soup, bread, and cookies. They were the best cookies I have ever eaten.” The Dunns visited with my uncle, helped them with their needs, and then Brother Dunn carried my frail Aunt Millie, who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, from her bed to a chair in the kitchen so that Sister Dunn could feed her.
When Uncle Floyd called my mother to tell her about the visit, he wept. He said he had never met such kind and caring people. He told my mom that I was lucky to live in Utah and be surrounded by “all those Mormons.”
Four days after the visit, Uncle Floyd walked out to his mailbox and slipped and fell. He hit his head and died four days later. With the exception of a homecare nurse, Brother and Sister Dunn were the last people my uncle saw before he died.
I am grateful for the Christlike example of one of my Relief Society sisters who lived hundreds of miles away, someone I have still never met, who helped my aunt and uncle.

It was really hot one day and my family wanted to go swimming. We like to ride bikes to the swimming pool because it’s more fun than driving in the car. The only problem is that it’s a lot of work getting the bikes down and ready to go. Mom was busy getting all the swimming things ready, so I told her I would help by getting the bicycles ready. I even set up the bicycle trailer for my little brother all by myself. When Mom came out she couldn’t believe I had done everything by myself. It felt good to go the extra mile like Jesus said to do. And we were all able to go swimming sooner too.

He began 1838 by taking another missionary trip, but in May he was called back to Kirtland. Joseph Smith and the Twelve had moved to Missouri, so Erastus with about 40 others headed West to join them. He arrived at Far West, Missouri, on August 8, 1838. There, to his joy he found his converted mother and unconverted father who had settled with the Saints in Missouri. He had not seen them since his departure from Vermont two years before. Of Erastus’s ten brothers and sisters, all but two had become Latter-day Saints. His father never accepted baptism.

For a few weeks Erastus lived at the home of Joseph Smith, where he earned board and room by chopping firewood, hauling water, and doing chores. But when hostilities escalated against the Saints, “I was among the defenders of Far West when it was surrounded by government troops, and I laid down my rifle with the rest of the brethren on demand of General Clark, at which time Joseph (Smith) was arrested and put into Liberty Jail.”

The oldest of four children, I learned as a boy on a small farm near the town of Escalante, Utah, how to work. When I was about two years old, my father was called to serve a mission. When I was three, I helped my mother by carrying in wood and chips for the stove and by helping tend the animals. Later, I drove the cows to pasture in the morning and brought them back in the evening. I also helped harvest a large garden, fruit trees, and grain and alfalfa fields. My father had several thousand sheep, and I helped care for them as they grazed in the mountains or desert.