Gospel Story Finder

A year ago, on assignment in the state of California, I went with a stake president to visit with Clark and Holly Fales and their family in their home. I was told they recently had experienced a miracle. Upon our arrival, Clark struggled to stand and greet us as he was wearing a back brace, a neck brace, and braces on his arms.
Just over two months prior, Clark, his son Ty, and about 30 other young men and leaders set out on a stake high-adventure activity, hiking to the 14,180-foot (4,322 m) summit of Mount Shasta, one of the highest peaks in California. On the second day of the arduous hike, most of the climbers reached the summit—a thrilling accomplishment made possible because of months of preparation.
One of the first people to the top that day was Clark. After a brief rest near the edge of the summit, he stood and began to walk. As he did, he tripped and fell backward over the edge of a cliff, suffering a free fall of about 40 feet (12 m) and then an out-of-control tumble down the icy slope for another 300 feet (91 m). Remarkably, Clark survived, but he was severely injured and unable to move.
The miracles Clark experienced during this traumatic event were just beginning. Some of the first to reach him “happened” to be a group of hikers that included mountain rescue guides and emergency medical professionals. They immediately treated Clark for shock and provided gear to keep him warm. This group also “happened” to be testing a new communication device and sent an emergency request for help from an area where cell phones could not get a signal. A small helicopter was immediately dispatched to Mount Shasta from an hour away. After two dangerous but unsuccessful attempts to land at an altitude that pushed the limits of the aircraft, and struggling with treacherous wind conditions, the pilot began a third and final try. As the helicopter approached from a different angle, the winds “happened” to change and the aircraft landed just long enough for the group to quickly and painfully squeeze Clark into the small compartment behind the pilot’s seat.
When Clark was evaluated at a trauma center, tests revealed that he had sustained multiple fractures in his neck, back, ribs, and wrists; a punctured lung; and a multitude of cuts and abrasions. A renowned neurotrauma surgeon “happened” to be on duty that day; he is at this hospital only a few times a year. This doctor later stated that he had never seen anyone sustain so much damage to the spinal cord and carotid arteries and live. Clark was not only expected to live but to return to full function. Describing himself as agnostic, the surgeon said Clark’s case went against all his scientific learning about neurological injuries and could only be described as a miracle.
As Clark and Holly finished relating this intense account, I found it difficult to speak. It was not simply because of the obvious miracles, but because of a greater one. I had a profound impression—a spiritual witness—that Holly and each of the five beautiful children who sat in the living room around their parents have such faith that they could have accepted whatever the outcome might have been that day and they still would have spiritually prospered. Clark and Holly and their two oldest children, Ty and Porter, are with us today in the Conference Center.

I appreciate being taught by the example of my mother and father. Mother, for fifteen years, was a Relief Society president. After I received my driver’s license, she had me drive her to deliver the welfare supplies and care for the needy. Father would always have me polish the sacrament trays when I was a deacon, and we would bring them home and wash the sacrament cloths and honor the priesthood. When he was in the bishopric, he took care of the outside of the building; and we, as Aaronic Priesthood boys, assisted him.

I was called to a home in a little village in New Zealand one day. There the Relief Society sisters were preparing the body of one of our Saints. They had placed his body in front of the big house, as they call it, the house where the people come to wail and weep and mourn over the dead, when in rushed the dead man’s brother. He said, “Administer to him.”
And the young natives said, “Why, you shouldn’t do that. He’s dead.”
“You do it!”
… I had [a faithful old Maori] with me. … The younger native got down on his knees and he anointed this man. Then this great old sage got down and blessed him and commanded him to rise.
You should have seen the Relief Society sisters scatter. He sat up and said, “Send for the elders; I don’t feel very well.” … We told him he had just been administered to, and he said, “Oh, that was it.” He said, “I was dead. I could feel life coming back into me just like a blanket unrolling.” He outlived the brother that came in and told us to administer to him. …
God does have control of all of these elements. You and I can reach out, and if it’s His will, we can bring those elements under our control for His purposes.

About this time, a seminary teacher in our branch challenged me to write in my journal every day for 20 days. She said if I did, it would become a habit. I decided to try it.

Writing was hard at first, but it got easier. I found that by writing down my feelings and thoughts, I naturally included feelings and thoughts of a spiritual nature. I made my record fun by trying to include information I thought my children might be interested in someday—for example, how much things cost. I figured it would be interesting for them to see what daily life was like when I was young.

I received my 20-day challenge five years ago. I’m still writing in my journal every night. I get it out before I go to bed. I read my scriptures; then I write in my journal. Now it’s automatic, and I plan to keep writing in it throughout my life.

Illustration by Ben Savage
Last February, one of our Sunday lessons was about the importance of making wise choices. My class discussed the value of deciding now what we will and will not do in several situations. We learned that by making our choices before the moments of decision arrive, we’ll have a stronger commitment to do what’s right.
At the end of the lesson, our teacher invited us to go home and make a list of things we will do and a list of things we will never do. I completed the assignment and made two simple lists. As I continued pondering, however, I felt the Spirit prompting me to add to my list by setting personal guidelines for dating. I want to get married in the temple someday—it’s something I’ll never be willing to sacrifice. So with that goal in mind, I added to my two lists, including that I’ll date only people with high standards.
Soon after, one of my great friends asked me to go to prom with him. Even though he wasn’t a Church member, I knew he had high standards and would help me keep my standards. So I said yes. We went as friends and enjoyed a fun night together. Since we both had high standards, I wasn’t tempted to do anything I’d decided I would never do.
Because I followed the Spirit and set these standards for myself, I’m able to look back on prom and be happy about the choices I made. I’m so grateful for my teacher’s invitation, because it’s helped me keep the temple as my focus.

These words have special meaning to me. I grew up in a small Mormon community. I was raised in a fine Latter-day Saint home. I was taught to love the Lord, to reverence His name, and to communicate with Him in prayer. I was very young when I learned that the Father and the Son had appeared to Joseph Smith. I believed as a boy and I have never doubted as a man.

However, until I enlisted in the navy, I had not experienced the shock of meeting so many people who had never seen a Mormon or who had never heard of Mormonism. I soon realized how limited was my knowledge of the gospel. I was asked some pretty tough questions about the Church that I had difficulty answering. I was the only Mormon in our outfit and so there was no one with whom I could counsel. The only scripture I had was a small military copy of the Book of Mormon. I am ashamed to confess that I left Lehi and his family somewhere in the wilderness on a number of occasions.

While I had grown up as an active member of the Church, I had felt no special need or urgency to study the scriptures and the writings of the prophets. When asked a question or when strong ridicule was directed at me and the Church, I could only state the personal beliefs I had learned from my family and teachers. I tried to compensate for my knowledge deficiency by being a good example of the principles I professed.

After leaving the navy, I received a mission call. I still had not developed a real appetite for gospel knowledge. I had not equated understanding the holy scriptures with being a good Latter-day Saint. Following some brief training in the old mission home in Salt Lake, my companions and I were exposed to a few weeks of tracting in Texas while waiting for the ship that would take us to South Africa. That exposure expanded my vision of what I was going to be doing for the next two years. I gained a lot of humility in a hurry.

An unusual quirk of fate changed my whole life as we sailed toward Cape Town. It was to be a twenty-eight-day voyage, but our ship developed boiler problems crossing the equator. Limping into the port of Recife, Brazil, we hit the rocks, gashing the ship’s hull. A tugboat rescued us; but before we finally arrived in Cape Town, we had spent eighty-four days on board ship. I was fortunate enough to share quarters with a fine companion, Roy Stevens, who was a dedicated student of the gospel. His father had also been a missionary and had sent a large box of Church books with his son. It was during this confinement that a whole new world of gospel knowledge opened up to me.

It was a time to study, to ponder, to pray. I read all the standard works from cover to cover, as well as Jesus the Christ and several other Church books. On this voyage I received my witness from the Lord that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. It was here that I came to know that Jesus is the Christ. It was here I developed an insatiable appetite to know the eternal truths. What a pity I had waited so long. I had wasted so much time during military service. What a priceless treasure I had ignored! I am persuaded that we will be held accountable for how we use our discretionary time.

My grandfather was a hero of mine throughout my life. He passed away a few years ago. I had watched his health decline from a strong former football and basketball star to a wheelchair-bound elderly man whose body had suffered the ravages of cancer, Parkinson’s disease, and other debilitating conditions. Through the years of his decline, what I remembered most was the strength of his testimony. Even when he could barely talk loud enough to be heard at family reunions, he would still bear his witness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Restoration, and the true Church.
For years when I visited their home, I would notice my grandparents’ temple recommends sitting on the mantle above their fireplace. I knew that their health seldom allowed them to attend the temple, and eventually Grandpa was too weak to go at all. But still he kept a current temple recommend. He always wanted to be “ready.”
As a teenager and throughout my life, I have remembered Grandpa and Grandma’s example of always being ready and worthy to serve the Lord.

What can we do to better prepare our children spiritually for their eternal roles? Perhaps the most inclusive answer is: Teach them how to live the principles of the gospel. To be good teachers, we must learn to be better listeners. Let me share one personal example: Our first child, Clark, when he was four years old, appeared to be guilty of some minor wrongdoing that at the time seemed to require some sound fatherly counsel. I took him into the bedroom and talked to him about why he must not ever again do what I had predetermined that he had done. When I concluded my great discourse, this little, brown-eyed boy looked into my eyes and said, “But Daddy, I didn’t do it.” Through his eyes his spirit talked to me and I knew that he was telling me the truth. I embraced him and asked for his forgiveness. His spirit, though in a four-year-old mortal body, spoke loudly to me that day, and I learned from him a great lesson: Always be a good listener.

A true story from the USA.
“Can I have the last cookie?” Jack asked.
“Let’s save it for tomorrow,” Mom said. “It’s time for bed.”
Jack’s shoulders slumped. He brushed his teeth. He put on his pajamas. And he kept thinking about the cookie.
He went to the kitchen for a drink of water. The cookie was in a bag by the sink. No one was looking.
Jack snatched it and dashed to his room. He pulled the cookie from the bag and took a bite. Yummy.
Then he heard footsteps. It was his brother! Jack dove under his blanket.
“What are you doing?” Trevor asked.
Jack found a book under the blanket. “Um … reading.”
Trevor pulled the blanket off Jack. “With a cookie?”
“I … I’m using it as a bookmark,” Jack said.
Mom walked in too. “A cookie for a bookmark?”
Jack pulled the blanket back over himself. He hoped Mom and Trevor would go away. They didn’t.
Jack’s face felt hot. He peeked out from the blanket. “I took the cookie so I could eat it.”
“Thanks for being honest,” Mom said.
Jack frowned. “But I don’t feel better.”
Mom sat on the bed. “Praying for forgiveness can help. Jesus Christ can help you feel peace again.”
Mom and Trevor knelt and prayed with Jack. He said sorry for taking the cookie and lying.
When he finished, Jack smiled. “Hey, I do feel better!” He handed the cookie to Mom. “And I bet this will taste even better tomorrow!”
Watch a video of this story at friend.ChurchofJesusChrist.org.

When I was given the assignment to speak in the priesthood session of general conference, I immediately thought of a wonderful Primary teacher. Her great desire was to prepare us to be worthy of receiving the priesthood. She grilled us on the requirements then in place for graduation from Primary—memorize the names of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and the Articles of Faith. She also made us a promise—if all of us could recite the thirteen Articles of Faith by memory, we could choose the place and go on an outing for our last class.
We decided on a special spot we liked to hike to on the rocky slopes just above the first dam at the entrance of Logan Canyon, in northern Utah. There was a small, flat space in these rocky cliffs that had a natural fireplace where you could cook hot dogs and roast marshmallows. When we chose the location, however, we did not consider our teacher, who was older and certainly not the athletic type. If we had thought about it more carefully, it might have occurred to us that she would have a difficult time making the hike. Her promise was her bond, however, and she gamely followed us.
First we climbed up the small hill. In our day there were no power lines to prevent access. With some help our teacher made it up the hill. Once over the top we dropped down into a rocky ridge to a place we called “Turtle Back.”
After we arrived, it took our teacher a little while to catch her breath. By the time we prepared to sit down and eat, she had recovered enough to teach us our final lesson. She told us how she had enjoyed teaching us in Primary for the last two years. She complimented us on how we had mastered the Articles of Faith. She could call out the number of any one of them, and we could quote it back to her. Then she said memorizing the Articles of Faith would mean nothing more than a lot of words unless we understood the doctrines and principles contained in them. She encouraged us to study the gospel doctrine taught in each of the Articles of Faith. She explained that the doctrine found in the Articles of Faith was divided into sections.
After my teacher’s wonderful lesson on that mountain in Logan Canyon, we noticed that we had stayed a little longer than we had planned. The evening was drawing to a close, and we realized we had a problem.
My teacher had struggled to arrive at our special spot, but returning presented a major challenge for us. This only compounded the poor selection of a place for our outing. The climb back was difficult for us, but even more so for a person of her age.
As we struggled to help her back up the hill, two policemen appeared. The Primary president had sent them out to find us, fearing we were lost. The drama of the event and the lessons taught made it an unforgettable experience in my life.

“OK, Jason,” Mom said as she tucked him into bed. “You’ve been extra quiet tonight. Is anything wrong?”
Jason looked up at her. “It’s about school,” he said. “I just wish recess was different.”
“Have you made any new friends?” Mom asked.
Their family had just moved, and Jason was finally starting to feel comfortable in his new third-grade class.
“A few,” he said. “But it’s the playground helper. She’s grouchy all the time! And some of the kids say mean things about her.”
“What do you think about that?” Mom said.
“Well, I don’t think she’s nice, but I also don’t like it when the kids talk like that about her,” Jason said. “It makes me feel bad inside, even when she doesn’t hear them.”
“Jason, do you remember how the Holy Ghost speaks to you?” Mom said.
Jason tapped his heart.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “He talks to you through feelings and thoughts.”
Jason loved the peaceful feeling of the Holy Ghost. But when the kids were mean to the playground helper, he didn’t feel peaceful at all.
“But the Holy Ghost makes me feel good,” he said.
Mom nodded. “That’s right, but He also tells us when something isn’t right, or when we need to fix something. When you feel bad or uncomfortable inside, it could be the Holy Ghost telling you that something is wrong and you need to do the right thing.” She smoothed his hair. “What do you think is the right thing to do?”
“Well, I know Jesus wants us to be kind to everyone,” Jason said thoughtfully. “I guess that means playground helpers too.”
“Yes, it does!” Mom said. “We are all children of Heavenly Father, so we should treat everyone nicely.”
“Well, what can I do?” Jason said, frowning. “If she wasn’t so grumpy, maybe everyone would be nicer to her.”
“We don’t always know why people act a certain way,” Mom said. “We don’t know what’s going on in her life. Maybe she’s doing the best she can.”
Jason thought about when they had first moved here. Everything was so different from his old home. He had tried not to show it, but at first he had been scared and sad. Maybe the playground helper felt that way too.
“But if I don’t know why she’s feeling bad, how can I help?” Jason asked.
“We don’t always have to know what’s wrong to cheer someone up,” Mom said.
Jason thought about what cheered him up. “I know! Can we make her some chocolate-chip cookies?”
Mom smiled. “That’s a great idea.”
Jason was getting excited. “And maybe we can make some extra cookies to give to the kids at recess too!” he said. “I could share cookies with everyone and talk about how we can brighten her day even more!”
“Even better,” Mom said. “I sure am proud of you, Jason.”
Jason smiled. He was glad he had the Holy Ghost to remind him to treat others like Jesus would treat them. Recess was going to get a whole lot sweeter.

Even on location he is close to his family. In talking about the experience of living with his family during the filming of Cowboy, he said, “We looked like a band of gypsies with everything but the chickens hanging on the side of our truck. We needed mobility, so we modified a motor home to be both production center and living quarters. There is something almost purifying about putting everything of real importance—wife, kids, and cameras (in that order, Honey!)—in a big box with wheels and criss-crossing the heartland of America, pursuing a dream together.
“When I get involved in a project, I become totally consumed with filming, and all my filmmaking equipment and camera gear were right there in the truck. We were totally self-contained, and it was a great feeling of freedom, but only because my family was there. It gave us tremendous perspective of the real values. We have a lovely home in California, and many good friends, and a lot of nice things, but none of them really mattered in comparison.”

A few years ago while we were in Sydney, Australia, my wife and I received a letter from one of our grandchildren. He wrote: “Dear Grandma and Grandpa, I just turned twelve years of age, and the bishop called me into the office, and he said, ‘I have some questions to ask of you, Bruce. Bruce, you’re twelve years of age now, and so I need to know if you love the Lord.’ I told him I do. ‘Do you say bad words, Bruce?’ ‘No, bishop, I never say bad words.’ ‘Do you love your mother and dad?’ ‘Yes, bishop, I do.’ ‘Do you pay your tithing, Bruce?’ ‘Yes I do, bishop.’

“You know, Grandpa and Grandma, the bishop said that I could receive the Aaronic Priesthood because I was twelve years of age, and he asked me if I knew what the Aaronic Priesthood was. I told him that I knew a little bit and that I could be ordained a deacon. You know, the next week the bishop asked who I would like to be ordained by. I said I would like to be ordained by my dad. So my dad put his hands upon my head, and the bishop stood around and so did my uncles, and my dad conferred the Aaronic Priesthood upon me and ordained me a deacon.

“Now, Grandma and Grandpa, you’re a long way away, but I know that you’re a General Authority and some day you’ll come home. You know, I can’t wait until you come home because I know you’ll sit on the stand, and then Grandpa, I can pass the sacrament to you.”
I think that is the true meaning of love, of families.

Like other prospective missionaries, Lohran Saldanha Queiroz had to make a choice to serve a mission or not. But besides deciding whether to give up school, work, family, and friends for two years, Lohran had another tough choice: serve a mission or have the opportunity to play professional football in Brazil?
Lohran, a member of the Barra da Tijuca Ward, Rio de Janeiro Brazil Jacarepaguá Stake, has football in his blood. His father, Milton, is known simply as Tita throughout Brazil. He has played professionally in five countries, won many titles, been a top scorer in the state, and played on the national team.
Tita noticed his son’s ability early on. “I grew up with a football always close by,” Lohran remembers. “My father has always encouraged me. I started accompanying him to his practices when I was three or four and have been around professional players ever since.”
Formal training began for Lohran at age 6 in Mexico, where his father was playing football at the time. By age 12 he was playing in elite competitions back in Brazil. And when he was 17 Lohran played in the junior league—the fast track to professional recruitment. Lohran seemed destined for football stardom. But his 18th birthday was quickly approaching, and he started thinking more seriously of missionary service.
Lohran explains the dilemma: “I wanted to be a football player, and I wanted to be a missionary. They expect a player to go straight from the junior team to the professional league. To stop playing for two years and then expect to be hired at 21 is almost unthinkable.”
At age 17 Lohran made some decisions that led to what he calls the beginning of his conversion. He set goals to read the Book of Mormon daily, fast, and pray. He attended Mutual, firesides, and other Church activities more often. And when he began working regularly with the missionaries, he found a love of the people he visited and prayed for. He wanted them to have the blessings of the gospel. His desire to serve a mission began to grow. But when would it be best for him to serve? And what would happen to his football career after a two-year interruption?
Lohran sought to learn God’s will through fasting and prayer. That very week, he noticed the recently delivered issue of the New Era magazine in his home, and he began thumbing through it. He was attracted to the article “Ice Dreams,” about ice skater Chris Obzansky, who interrupted a promising skating career to serve a mission at age 19, losing the opportunity to compete in the 2006 Winter Olympics.
One passage in particular caught Lohran’s attention: as Chris was in sacrament meeting listening to his Young Men president talk about his own mission call, the Spirit told Chris, “You need to serve a mission when you’re 19, or you’re going to have a tough life.” Chris said, “The message was so clear I actually turned around to see if someone was there. The feeling came back 10 times stronger, and I knew I had to go on a mission.”
Lohran smiles. “When I read that, I felt it had been written for me. Age 19 is the age prescribed by the Lord. I realized that was the answer I needed, and it was like an enormous weight was taken off my back.” The time for Lohran to serve a mission was now. He talked to his bishop, made the necessary preparations, and never looked back. “It was not even difficult to make the decision of leaving football behind,” he says, “for I knew it was the right time to do it.”
Lohran served in his country’s capital, in the Brazil Brasília Mission. He was known as “Elder Happy” because of his contagious enthusiasm. “I am exceptionally happy serving people, sharing with them what I know is true,” he says. “It is so gratifying to see people change their lives after learning the gospel.”
Like all missionaries, though, he experienced his share of hardships. “Obviously, missionary life is not all fun,” he says. “There are difficulties, moments of weakness and loneliness, but all that is next to nothing compared to the treasures of a mission. These are years I’ll never forget, that I’ll always have in my mind and, more important, my heart.”
A few months ago he finished serving a successful mission. Now that he’s home, he has joined a football team in Rio de Janiero and believes more chances to continue his football career will come his way. With faith he says, “I am now waiting for the opportunities to come, opportunities that our Heavenly Father will bless me to enjoy.”

It was my last Christmas in the Brazil Rio de Janeiro North Mission. I would soon be returning to my home elsewhere in Brazil, and I was happy about the Christmas season. My companion, Elder Barney, was an American who had been in Brazil for only a short time. He was fighting homesickness.
We had been working hard, but we still weren’t sure how to celebrate Christmas. We hoped a family would invite us to spend Christmas with them, and eventually one family did. However, I wondered about some of the other missionaries in our area. On our next trip to Vitória, my companion and I learned that Elder Jones and Elder Junot didn’t have any Christmas plans. I thought within myself, These elders are my family while I’m on my mission. We can’t leave them alone on Christmas. The four of us decided we would spend Christmas together in Vitória.
We made plans for a special dinner on Christmas Eve. Although we didn’t have much money, we knew the Lord would bless us.
On Christmas Eve I recorded my feelings in my journal: “Today is 24 December. It has rained a lot, and I see that my companion is sadder. He says he misses the symbols of Christmas he is used to seeing in his country—snow, music, trees, and decorations. I can imagine how hard his Christmas will be since he is so far away from his family, his people, and his customs. The rain continues to fall, but it is lighter now.”
I looked at my companion and sensed his homesickness. I wanted him to be happy.
On the bus trip to Vitória, we could see people hurrying to make their Christmas purchases. We went by a house illuminated with colored lights. Children played in the gardens. Tears filled my eyes, and I could not speak to my companion because I knew I would cry. He seemed to be crying silently. For Elder Junot, Elder Jones, and me, this Christmas was our last on the mission. But it was Elder Barney’s first, and I didn’t know how to console him. During the trip, I cried several times but concealed it. And my companion concealed his tears from me.
We got off the bus and went to the other missionaries’ apartment. We put our money together, and Elder Junot and Elder Jones went out to make the purchases. After they returned with the food, we set the table with a white tablecloth and napkins and placed Christmas cards on it for decoration. But even this didn’t seem to lift our spirits.
Seeing this, Elder Jones suggested we get out our hymnbooks and sing hymns to the Lord. We sang one, then one more, and then another. And we sang louder each time. I wanted the neighborhood to hear our singing and know that we were worshiping the Lord. We started to feel the Spirit of the Lord.
After the singing, Elder Jones shared a scripture about the birth of Christ. Then everyone read from the scriptures. We bore our testimonies about our Redeemer.
When Elder Barney shared his testimony, he explained, “I was missing the things that are familiar to me—the snow, the Christmas tree, the turkey, the Christmas music of my country. I forgot to be concerned about the Son of God born in a manger.” We had tears in our eyes, for the Spirit testified in our hearts that we had worshiped the Creator of the day. We thanked the Lord for all He had given us.
It was my last Christmas in the mission, but it was the first true Christmas I ever spent.

I had been raised in the Church. I sang the Primary songs about the temple. I was taught the Young Women lessons on keeping myself worthy to be able to go to the temple. I figured that someday I would be married in the temple just like my mom and dad, grandparents, and almost every relative I had.
When I was 19, I started dating a young man who always showed the highest respect for me. He was very kind, we got along really well, and I was very attracted to him. The only problem was that he couldn’t take me to the temple. We had started talking about marriage, and I told him the temple was where I wanted to be married. After a lot of talking, I started to believe that maybe we could get married at the church and have a temple ceremony a year later when he would be ready to go.
It was after these rationalizing thoughts began to bombard me that something happened.
My cousin was getting married in the Manti Temple that Saturday, and my parents were going to the wedding. My dad asked if I would like to go too.
“Why would I want to get up at five in the morning and drive four hours to sit outside and wait?” I asked.
“I would really like you to come with us. It would mean a lot to all of us,” Dad said. With his words ringing in my ears, I agreed to go.
Saturday my alarm went off at 5:00 A.M. What am I doing? was my first thought. But I got up and was ready to leave with my parents.
It was a beautiful morning and a beautiful drive. The sun was peeking up behind the mountains as we set out for Manti. I sat in the back watching Mom and Dad. They had a strong marriage, and I knew they loved each other very much.
When we arrived at the Manti Temple, I walked with my parents through the doors. There was a sitting area where I could wait for them. I hugged them and watched them as they were greeted warmly by two temple workers.
I sat in the chair for a while and watched people going in. Each one looked very happy, and there seemed to be a calmness in their eyes.
A few minutes had passed when I saw my grandma and grandpa come around the corner where my parents had disappeared. They were dressed in white, and they were holding hands as they approached me. They gave me a hug and told me they loved me. A few minutes later, my aunt and uncle walked in. They, too, embraced me and expressed their love for me. A third time this happened with a different uncle and aunt.
After they had all gone in for the ceremony, I stepped outside to look around the temple grounds. The thought of the visits I had just experienced wouldn’t leave me. I knew my family loved me, and I loved them. But all the love in the world could not let me go with them into the temple. They could come out to visit me, but I couldn’t go in.
Suddenly a wave of understanding hit me. That was exactly how it would be in the life after this one. No matter how much love we had for each other as family, I would not be allowed to be with them forever if I wasn’t worthy to go to the temple now. The desire to be able to go inside and join my family was overwhelming. For a moment I felt deep despair, but then, just as quickly, I felt washed over with love that I’d never felt before. I knew my Heavenly Father loved me.
After this experience, I decided to break up with the young man I had been seeing. But it wasn’t too many months later that I met and fell in love with a young man who was worthy to go to the temple, and the one we chose to be married in was the Salt Lake Temple. As I knelt across the altar from my eternal companion, I couldn’t help but think of that day in Manti. I then glanced around the room at all my family. Each one loved me, and I knew my Heavenly Father was pleased with the decisions I had made. It was the beginning of a welding of two lives together—a union that would continue into eternity if we lived worthy of the covenants we had made.

Recently, some members of my family determined it would be fun to bicycle from Bozeman, Montana, to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, in the United States. This 225-mile journey would take us three days, and we would cross the Continental Divide on three occasions. We determined that traveling through the mountain passes with good weather would be a wonderful experience that would help us appreciate God’s creations.

After careful planning and preparation, two of my sons and my only daughter and I set out on the first day to cycle to our overnight stop in Big Sky, Montana. The morning was perfect, and we expected a delightful journey. However, as we traveled along, dark clouds gathered and brought rain, which eventually became sleet and hail and made us extremely cold and wet and miserable. As we concluded day one of our journey and reached our overnight destination, I was reminded that life can be just like that day. Fortunately, we had prepared for all types of weather conditions; had we not done so, it would have been difficult to complete our journey that first day. At each stage of life’s journey, we should set out full of hope and optimism, but we should be prepared nonetheless to face opposition or hardship at some point.

A few years ago, a friend of mine was diagnosed with cancer. I wanted to do something to help, so I decided to grow out my hair and hold a sponsored haircut. My dad helped me arrange a free haircut and get the newspaper involved. I raised money for the children’s cancer ward at a local hospital and donated my hair to be made into a wig for a girl with cancer.
It felt great to do something for other children, especially something that would help a child feel more comfortable with a new wig.
I love serving people, and I think whenever we serve, we follow our Savior’s example and feel closer to Him.
Milla T., England

It is a good thing I did, for a similar event occurred in my life with our youngest son, Clark.
Clark has always liked animals, birds, reptiles—anything that is alive. Sometimes that resulted in a little chaos in our home. One day in his boyhood he came home from Provo Canyon with a water snake, which he named Herman.
Right off the bat Herman got lost. Sister Monson found him in the silverware drawer. Water snakes have a way of being where you least expect them. Well, Clark moved Herman to the bathtub, put a plug in the drain, put a little water in, and had a sign taped to the back of the tub which read, “Don’t use this tub. It belongs to Herman.” So we had to use the other bathroom while Herman occupied that sequestered place.
But then one day, to our amazement, Herman disappeared. His name should have been Houdini. He was gone! So the next day Sister Monson cleaned up the tub and prepared it for normal use. Several days went by.
One evening I decided it was time to take a leisurely bath, so I filled the tub with a lot of warm water, and then I peacefully lay down in the tub for a few moments of relaxation. I was lying there just pondering, when the soapy water reached the level of the overflow drain and began to flow through it. Can you imagine my surprise when, with my eyes focused on that drain, Herman came swimming out, right for my face? I yelled out to my wife, “Frances! Here comes Herman!”
Well, Herman was captured again, put in a foolproof box, and we made a little excursion to Vivian Park in Provo Canyon and there released Herman into the beautiful waters of the South Fork Creek. Herman was never again to be seen by us.

Hermann Mössner was nervous as he walked into the chapel. He and his friends from camp were still in their uniforms, marked with the letters “P.O.W.” Everyone knew those letters stood for “prisoner of war.” What would the members of the branch think? Would they see him as their enemy?
The chapel was near Leeds, England. But Hermann wasn’t from England. He was from Germany. After being forced to fight in World War II, Hermann had been captured by British soldiers and sent to an English prison camp. This was his first time at church in a long time.
Hermann took a deep breath as he sat down on one of the benches. He could see the branch president, George Camm, sitting at the front. President Camm was Hermann’s friend. Seeing him smile made Hermann feel better.
After that, President Camm visited Hermann every Saturday. During the rest of the week, Hermann did his best to live the gospel. He shared his testimony with the other prisoners while they worked in the fields. He answered their questions while they carved wood after a long day’s work. Sometimes he prayed with them.
“Hey, Hermann,” one of the prisoners had said one night. “Could I join in with you and Mr. Camm on Saturday?”
Hermann looked up from the block of wood he was carving. He smiled. “Of course!”
“May I too?” another prisoner asked.
Hermann and President Camm were very excited to teach more of the prisoners. Soon some of them even wanted to be baptized!
And now, as Hermann looked around the chapel at the families waiting for church to start, he felt peace. Some members were nervous around Hermann at first. But soon everyone came to trust him. The other prisoners who wanted to learn about the gospel got permission to leave camp to go to church with Hermann on Sundays. Later, Hermann was even called to be the branch Sunday School president.