Gospel Story Finder

Recently I was invited to read the autobiography of Elder John A. Widtsoe, entitled In a Sunlit Land. It was fascinating for me to learn principles of administration at large universities through the eyes of an apostle. Elder Widtsoe presided over the Utah State Agricultural College, now Utah State University, followed by the same assignment at the University of Utah. He was highly accomplished in his own academic career, receiving his undergraduate degree at Harvard University and doctor of philosophy in Germany. Elder Widtsoe performed extensive research in the areas of agriculture and irrigation.
Like all great men, his life was not without challenges. The following excerpt from his autobiography illustrates the importance of personal revelation in Elder Widtsoe’s professional life.
The temple is particularly a place of revelation. Many experiences have proved it. Perhaps the most impressive is this: For several years, under a federal grant with my staff of workers, we had gathered thousands of data in the field of soil moisture; but I could not extract any general law running through them. I gave up at last. My wife and I went to the temple that day to forget the failure. In the third endowment room, out of the unseen, came the solution, which has long since gone into print.[5]

A few years ago, Sister Joyce Audrey Evans, a young mother in Belfast, Northern Ireland, was having trouble with a pregnancy. She went to the hospital, where one of the nurses told her she would probably lose the baby. Sister Evans replied, “But I can’t give up. … You have to give me hope.” Sister Evans later recalled, “I couldn’t give up hope until all reason for hope was gone. It was something I owed to my unborn child.”

Three days later she had a miscarriage. She wrote: “For one long moment, I felt nothing. Then a profound feeling of peace flowed through me. With the peace came understanding. I knew now why I couldn’t give up hope in spite of all the circumstances: you either live in hope or you live in despair. Without hope, you cannot endure to the end. I had looked for an answer to prayers and was not disappointed; I was healed in body and rewarded with a spirit of peace. Never before had I felt so close to my Heavenly Father; never before had I felt such peace. …

“The miracle of peace was not the only blessing to come from this experience. Some weeks later, I fell to thinking about the child I had lost. The Spirit brought to my mind the words from Genesis 4:25: ‘And she bare a son, and called his name Seth: For God, said she, hath appointed me another seed. …’

“A few months later I became pregnant again. When my son was born, he was declared to be ‘perfect.’” He was named Evan Seth.

When I was a boy, I used to go with my father to the stockyards. We lived on a small farm and occasionally sold a few animals there.
The holding pens for the cattle, hogs, and sheep were on the river bank. A fenced bridge spanned the river and connected with a ramp that angled up to the top story of a processing plant on the other bank. Since the animals to be butchered had to be herded across the bridge and up the ramp, the men who managed this operation developed a clever solution. They trained a black goat to enter the sheep pens, mingle with the sheep, and then lead the way across the bridge and up the ramp through the door of the processing plant. Once inside the doorway, the goat stepped aside, and the sheep pressed on to their ultimate fate.
I remember watching this scene as my dad explained the operation. He paused, then added, “Let that be a lesson to you; be careful who you follow. Make sure you know where you are being led.”
I’ve never forgotten that experience. When I think of fathers leading, teaching, spiritually feeding their families, I remember how my father did it—in simple but lasting ways. The opportunities to teach important lessons are not always planned. They often arise out of our day-to-day experiences—here a little and there a little, taking advantage of a teaching moment.
It encourages me to read Enos’ experience, showing that his father’s effort to provide spiritual nourishment did not have their greatest impact immediately. (Enos 1:3.) Sometimes it may seem that our efforts are of little avail, that they are being ignored or at best grudgingly endured. But experiences such as the one I had as a young boy, watching a black goat named Judas, are witnesses to me that the return is worth the investment, even when it takes a while to gather interest.

As a single mother of five children, I felt the heavy responsibility of providing for my family. I am a domestic worker, but my job does not provide enough for my family. I joined a self-reliance group so I could learn how to improve my situation.
I was inspired by the “Starting and Growing My Business” group and decided that I could sew and sell insulated bags for slow cookers. I would sew the bags late into the night after returning home from my day job.
I was working late one night on a large order that was due the next morning when my sewing machine stopped working. It was midnight, so no mechanics would be available to help. The machine came with a small tool kit, but I had never fixed a sewing machine before. I had no idea where to start.
Then the lesson in the My Foundation manual titled “Exercise Faith in Jesus Christ” came to my mind. At that time, I knew that I needed to put my trust in the Lord. I sank to my knees and pleaded: “Heavenly Father, please help me fix this machine so I can make the order for my customer to collect in the morning. Heavenly Father, help me!”
Then I had the distinct impression to take the screwdriver from the tool kit and use it to push on a particular part of the sewing machine. I did so, relying completely on my faith. I held my breath as I switched the machine back on. It worked!
I was able to meet the deadline for the order. I discovered what it’s like to have Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ as business partners. I know I will continue to be blessed as I seek for opportunities to apply what I’ve learned in the self-reliance group.

Then there was a Sunday School teacher—never to be forgotten, ever to be remembered. We met for the first time on a Sunday morning. She accompanied the Sunday School president into the classroom and was presented to us as a teacher who actually requested the opportunity to teach us. We learned that she had been a missionary and loved young people. Her name was Lucy Gertsch. She was beautiful, soft-spoken, and interested in us. She asked each class member to introduce himself or herself, and then she asked questions that gave her an understanding and an insight into the background of each boy, each girl. She told us of her childhood in Midway, Utah; and as she described that beautiful valley, she made its beauty live, and we desired to visit the green fields she loved so much. She never raised her voice. Somehow rudeness and boisterousness were incompatible with the beauty of her lessons. She taught us that the present is here and that we must live in it. She made the scriptures actually come to life. We became personally acquainted with Samuel, David, Jacob, Nephi, and the Lord Jesus Christ. Our gospel scholarship grew. Our deportment improved. Our love for Lucy Gertsch knew no bounds.
We undertook a project to save nickels and dimes for what was to be a gigantic party. Sister Gertsch kept a careful record of our progress. As boys and girls with typical appetites, we converted in our minds the monetary totals to cakes, cookies, pies, and ice cream. This was to be a glorious occasion—the biggest party ever. Never before had any of our teachers even suggested a social event like this one was going to be.
The summer months faded into autumn; autumn turned to winter. Our party goal had been achieved. The class had grown. A good spirit prevailed.
None of us will forget that gray morning in January when our beloved teacher announced to us that the mother of one of our classmates had passed away. We thought of our own mothers and how much they meant to us. We felt sorrow for Billy Devenport in his great loss.
The lesson that Sunday was from the book of Acts, chapter 20, verse 35: “Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” At the conclusion of the presentation of a well-prepared lesson, Lucy Gertsch commented on the economic situation of Billy’s family. These were depression times; money was scarce. With a twinkle in her eyes, she asked, “How would you like to follow this teaching of the Lord? How would you feel about taking your party fund and, as a class, giving it to the Devenports as an expression of our love?” The decision was unanimous. We counted very carefully each penny and placed the total sum in a large envelope.
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Noticeably absent was his mother. Always I shall treasure the tears which glistened in the eyes of each one present as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the delicate hand of our teacher to the needy hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. This simple act of kindness welded us together as one. We learned through our own experience that indeed it is more blessed to give than to receive.
The years have flown. The old chapel is gone, a victim of industrialization. The boys and girls who learned, who laughed, who grew under the direction of that inspired teacher of truth have never forgotten her love or her lessons.
Even today when we sing that old favorite—
Thanks for the Sabbath School. Hail to the day
When evil and error are fleeing away.
Thanks for our teachers who labor with care
That we in the light of the gospel may share.
[Hymns, 1985, no. 278]
—we think of Lucy Gertsch, our Sunday School teacher, for we loved Lucy, and Lucy loved us.

SYDNEY—“Flames were shooting 50 feet into the air. They were about 15 yards off. I could feel the heat on my face. That’s hot enough to know what firefighters would feel.”
But Michael James Davis isn’t a firefighter. The then 18-year-old member of the Sutherland Ward, Sydney North Stake, was standing in the driveway of his family’s home, ready to flee in horror as fire surged up from the valley where normally he walks his dog Jess.
The fire was one of about 130 that ravaged much of New South Wales in January, many of them set by arsonists. Nearly 1.5 million acres were burned.
Michael and his father had been trying to pump water from their swimming pool to hose down their house, but the fire got too intense. Firefighters ordered them to evacuate.
“I haven’t prayed so much in a long time,” Mike said. “I felt calm, but I still thought the house was going to burn. Just as long as everyone was safe, that was the main thing.”
Out in the street, he saw “everyone crying and trying to get their children out. All the people in the street, everyone just fled. It hurt me to witness that. That was almost as bad as the fire.”
He and his father joined the rest of their family at the home of some fellow Church members. After 45 minutes, a radio announcement said the fires had passed and residents were allowed to check on their homes.
“First we went to the chapel, to let them know we were safe and to see if anyone needed help. Then we came home to inspect the damage.” Miraculously, their home had been spared, even though the house next door had burned to the ground.
“All around their porch there were thick shrubs, and the shrubs spread the fire to their house,” Michael explained. Everything was gone but the foundation and a children’s play area out in the yard.
At his own house, Michael and his father found that two big gum trees in the backyard had burned completely. An iron fence had melted in the intense heat. And on the back porch, a mop sitting on the wooden deck had burned—the scorch marks are still there—but the deck had not ignited. That’s how close the fire had come.
That night Mike was allowed to sleep in his home. “The air smelled bad,” he remembers. “You could look down in the valley and see the embers glowing in the dark.” He lay there thinking of what he’d learned in just a few short hours:
—“Heavenly Father did hear my prayers. He helped me to be calm, to know that everything would be all right, even though he didn’t tell me exactly what would happen.”
—“There was a lot of help and friendship from the Church, but there was a lot of help from people in the general area as well. I took a walk around an area that wasn’t burning. Everyone was stopping and having a chat and saying, ‘Is your family all right? Is there anything we can do to help?’ These are people I hadn’t ever seen, people who weren’t in the Church, and they were good people trying to help each other.”
Over the next few days, he learned some additional things:
—“Fifteen members of our ward chipped in and bought a new fridge and a washing machine and brought blankets for the people in the house that burned down. They were just renting, but they didn’t have the contents insured. We helped them start getting their life back together.”
—“The worst thing is that police caught people looting burned out houses for jewelry. How people could do that to someone who is already hurt by their house being burned down is incredible to me. I’ve seen the bad side of people and the good side, too. I’ll take the good side.”
Time passed. “Soon we had the pool cleaned of the soot deposited during the fire, and fertilizer greened up our grass.” Down in the valley, green shoots poked through the ashes on the ground.
“Life comes back,” Mike says. “But the memory of this fire will be around for a long, long time.” Even more enduring, however, will be the new understanding of the things that are really important in life, and Mike’s deepened gratitude for them.

Mission preparation should definitely include learning about the gospel, but you don’t have to know everything before you go. For example, as a young man, Elder Neil L. Andersen of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was worried he wasn’t prepared to serve a mission. He said, “I remember praying, ‘Heavenly Father, how can I serve a mission when I know so little?’ I believed in the Church, but I felt my spiritual knowledge was very limited. As I prayed, the feeling came: ‘You don’t know everything, but you know enough!’”1

Upon arriving in the Eastern Canadian Mission, I was assigned to labor in Ottawa with Elder Gary Heiner. Elder Heiner wasted no time involving me in the work. On the evening of my first day there we visited a Mrs. Groves. The experience that evening is so vivid that I remember it like it was yesterday. We entered her home, Elder Heiner gave the first discussion, and then he bore his testimony. He then turned to me and said, “Elder Randall, will you please bear your testimony?” Oh, how I wanted to bear my testimony by playing the piano. I would have found that so much easier. I had had much more experience performing in front of people than in bearing my testimony—especially to a stranger. Well, there was no piano available that night, and I found it necessary to verbally share with Mrs. Groves my testimony of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the Restoration.

There’s something different about Chris and Jason Trevino of Huntsville, Alabama. Something different in a positive way, a way that makes you want to understand why they’re so upbeat all the time and why they seem to have life all figured out.
This is made all the more intriguing by the fact that the two 19-year-old brothers are identical twins—twins so much alike that people get confused, yet with something so different about them they stand out among their peers. For example:
—They spend a lot of time helping their neighbors, the Wellmans, take care of their three youngest children, Michael, Jennifer, and Nathan. They play and laugh with and tease them in a good-natured way. They organize parties for them and take them fishing or boating. Sometimes they all camp out as a group in the Wellmans’ backyard. Chris and Jason are more like older brothers than neighbors to them. And what do the twins get in return for their kindness? A squeeze play. The kids smother them with hugs.
—They take care of three horses at a nearby riding club, mostly in return for the privilege of being allowed to exercise them now and then. They do the dirty work without complaining. They show up when they say they will and do all that they’re asked. They help with expenses. They’re totally dependable.
—They love their family. Put Jim and Barbara Trevino and their twin boys together and it’s like you’re with a group of best buddies, friends who treat each other with ultimate respect. Add 15-year-old sister Allison to the mix, and it only gets better.
Bad mood? The twins make it disappear.
Help with homework? No problem.
Want to tag along while we go somewhere? Great. Hop in.
Yes, the twins treat everyone well, most of all mom and dad and sister. But there’s something else—fondness may be the closest description. This family really enjoys being together, in a way that lets you know they’ll always be close.
—Most of all, at a time in life when many young men of their age and athletic ability concentrate on which college they’ll attend, what teams they’ll be on, and what young women they’re dating, the twins are leaving all that behind.
Argentina. That’s what they want to talk about right now, because soon that’s where they’ll be. They’ve both been called to serve as full-time missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Chris in Bahia Blanca. Jason in Resistencia. Two years at their own expense. Two years bearing testimony of the Lord Jesus Christ. Two years focused entirely on the needs of other people.
And maybe that’s the clue to figuring out the Trevino twins. The difference that makes them both the same is their love for other people. It’s a love that comes from following the Savior and living his teachings, from concentrating on what really counts instead of wasting worry on worldly things. It’s a dedication that brings happiness so filling it spills out into everything they do and everyone they meet. Add that to personalities that have always been spontaneous, and you’ll find Chris and Jason telling everyone what they’re up to:
—Getting passport pictures taken, they keep telling the photographer about how they’ll be representing the Church. “That’s why we brought our suits for the pictures,” Chris explains.
—Meeting with the county sheriff, who has to sign letters for their visas, they can’t help explaining how excited they are about spreading the gospel. “I can tell,” chuckles the sheriff, who already knows their father.
—At the county government building, they tell the clerks about going to Argentina to preach the gospel. “Isn’t that great?” Jason beams.
—Their mother’s boss, Victor Howard, is a Church member who works across the street. Dropping in to visit, they soon have him joking along with them. But after a few minutes, they talk seriously about the mission he served and how much he loves the Lord, the gospel, and the Church.
You have to understand. Chris and Jason are the kind of guys who, if you ask about diving and you’re close to the community pool, will show you the dives they do. Never mind that they didn’t bring their suits. They’ve been lifeguards here, and the caretaker, who knows them well, gives permission. They look at each other, accept the challenge, and even though they’re in jeans, jump on the board and plunge in the pool. You get the feeling that’s the same way they’ll plunge into missionary work—follow the rules, be dependable, work hard. But get with it—no wimpy excuses.
It’s sort of like a lesson Chris says he learned at the stables.
“Horses are good,” he explains. “If you work with them you learn to love them. But there’s one named Alvin. I don’t like to ride him a whole bunch because of his attitude. He fights me and tries to get the reins from my hands. He thinks he should do what he wants when he wants. There are a few missionaries who are like that. If their mind’s stuck on somebody back home, or if they go out just because everybody else thinks they should be there, they’ve got to change their attitude. You can’t complain about the reins; you’ve got to concentrate on where you’re going.”
And that’s what Chris and Jason are doing—concentrating on where they’re going. Not just on their missions but in their lives.
Sure there are some things that will be tough to leave behind. Family first of all. Friends a close second. Even the horses they’ve taken care of. And school, and work, and just having a blast. But nothing stands in the way once you gain the perspective of eternity. Even having to work in separate missions.
“Chris opened his call letter first, and I saw Argentina,” Jason says. “Then I opened mine, and for a split second it was like, ‘We’ll be in the same mission!’ Then we read more and found out we’d be in different parts of the country. We’ve been together for 19 years, and now we’ll be apart. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what we’ll be doing.”
Serving others. Bringing them the truth.
Like the times when they’ve talked with Mrs. Wellman about her oldest son, who died in an accident at age four, and where he is now and what he’s doing. Like the times when they’ve shared Church magazines with her, or watched the video Called to Serve.
“Don’t just let her borrow it,” Chris said then. “Let’s have her over here and we’ll all watch it together.”
These are, after all, brothers who are close in more ways than appearance. “We talk about everything together,” Jason says. “Now we’ll just do it through our letters.” That will make for some pretty great letters. Letters they’ll share with Mom and Dad and Allison. Letters they’ll share with the Wellmans and their kids. Letters they’ll share with close friends. Letters in which they’ll bear testimony and record the adventures of two years spent preaching the gospel.
“In the past we looked at missions like they were something they ask you to do,” Jason says. “Once we got closer to it, we thought, ‘It’s the Lord and the prophet who call you, and their way is the right way to go.’ We’d go to church and come home in such a great mood. We talk to everybody about it.”
That includes the 12- and 13-year-old Sunday School class he and Chris teach together.
“I’m learning more and more about the gospel,” Jason says, “especially when we talk about things like the plan of salvation and patriarchal blessings. It’s a learning experience. And I think a lot about Heavenly Father and how much he loves us. He gave up his son for us. He must have a lot of love for us to do something like that.”
“Being as close as I am to my brother,” Chris continues, “it gives me some understanding of how close I should be to the Savior, who is also my brother. Even though Jason and I will be apart during our missions, we’ll be close to Him. And that will make the bond between us even stronger.”
Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That’s the something that makes these twins different from a lot of their peers, but exactly the same in what truly counts.
Editor’s note: Since this story was written, both Chris and Jason have arrived in Argentina and are faithfully serving their missions.

Sister Mercy Dady, beads instructor, declared, “When our class started, getting beads was not easy for YSAs due to financial challenges.” Sister Dady purchased all the beads required for the first two weeks and provided the class with all essential tools and materials. This initial sacrifice gave the class a successful start. Some of the YSA were able to contribute small amounts of money to purchase the beads required for subsequent classes.

A pregnant woman living in one of the villages neighbouring our small family farm passed through on foot one Saturday morning on her way to the community clinic where she was due to give birth. As her labour pains increased, she found herself without any help or assistance in an unoccupied portion of our farm. This would have been a very difficult moment for any woman in that condition.
My wife, Vianney, being prompted to head to that side of the farm for some reason, found the woman giving birth without any help. Upon seeing this, my wife took responsibility to help this woman until she completely delivered the baby. Then she wrapped her arms around her.
During childbirth, this woman had sustained an injury, which led to a massive loss of blood. She could not be treated in a small health centre like the one near our farm in the Kikanda Sector. She was losing her strength, which meant that her life was in real danger.
It was at this moment that my wife came to request my assistance. She asked me to drive her and this woman very quickly to the big health centre where this woman would be properly taken care of—in hopes of saving the life of both mother and baby.
We drove quickly but carefully, delivering the woman and her new baby to the clinic. The worst was averted. Vianney covered all the medical expenses and even bought a layette for the baby, since nothing else was ready.
This opportunity to serve, where we helped a stranger, is so similar to the teachings of the Saviour found in Luke 10:30–36, in answer to the question, “And who is my neighbour?” In response to that question, the Saviour taught the principles of unselfish service in a story we now refer to as the parable of the good Samaritan.

Let me illustrate this. One day when I was working on the standard plan temple, and it was about 4:00 in the afternoon; the manager of the Architecture and Engineering division came into my room and said to me: "Oh, by the way, I need the art glass design, for the temple windows, because I will be presenting it to members of the first presidency and the presiding bishopric at 11 a.m. tomorrow." He wished me good luck and left for the day. Can you imagine how, I felt as he walked away. Have you ever dealt with individuals like this? Interesting thing, I had no idea this was needed until just at that moment.

I worked about three or four hours on the design, but I could not come up with what, I felt, would be deserving of the Lord's Temple. I was in a panic and came to a point where I dropped to my knees and pleaded to my Heavenly Father that I needed his help, and that I had reached a limit on what I could do in such a short time. Now I debated about sharing this today because of the sacredness to me of this moment; however, I felt within my heart that I should share this.

As I was pouring my heart out to him, my mind was opened up and it was if the dews of Heaven came down upon me and pure thought poured into my mind and soul. I knew what the glass panels would look like and what the meaning would be. I closed my prayer and immediately began drawing what I had seen in my mind's eye. I spent a few hours putting together the presentation and placed the design on the manager's desk and left for home.

In the afternoon, the manager came in my office and said that they wanted to go ahead with the Art Glass Design. I indicated I was glad and if I had any doubt as I was thinking to myself what had happened the night before. Brothers and Sisters, I am not brilliant and I am not gifted, but the Lord, in such a short time, brought me up to the level I needed to be and at that moment.

I remember so well how my father would talk to the Lord when he used to call us together for family prayer. He didn’t just say a few words and then send us off to the fields. Instead he knelt with us and told the Lord about some of our weaknesses and some of our problems where we had failed.
“Eldon didn’t do exactly what he should have done today. We are sorry that he made this mistake. Kindly forgive him, and we feel sure, Heavenly Father, that he will try to do what is right. Let thy Spirit be with him and bless him so that he can be a good boy.”
In the mornings Father used to pray, “Let thy blessings attend us as we go about our duties so that we may do what is right and return tonight to make a report.” This always gave us greater strength to meet and overcome temptations, for we knew that we would be reporting to the Lord at night.
I am going to report to the Lord tonight, I used to think. And this thought helped me to live a better life during the day.
Father always thanked the Lord for our crops and flocks and home, for the country in which we lived, for one another, and for many, many other things.
He used to tell us about Joseph Smith’s prayer—how he went out into a grove to pray and how God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appeared to him. Then Father would say, “That’s the kind of God we are talking to, boys.” We knew it as he prayed, and we too learned to pray.

In October 2024, Eliza was diagnosed with Stage 3 Parapharyngeal Synovial Sarcoma—an extremely rare and aggressive cancer. Her diagnosis was a miracle in itself, confirmed only after two nearly impossible biopsy operations. Surgery wasn’t an option due to the tumor’s location, leaving chemotherapy and radiation as her only treatments. Despite completing seven cycles of high- dose chemotherapy and 36 radiation sessions, the cancer progressed to her bones and eventually her brain. She underwent 10 more rounds of radiation under palliative care. Through it all, Eliza showed remarkable courage and unwavering faith, facing even her final days with peace and trust in the Savior.
Eliza’s faith was nurtured in many ways. She loved Strive to Be music, which helped her feel close to the Savior. She looked forward to temple visits and attended church meetings whenever possible. Her time at FSY 2025 strengthened her testimony and deepened her love for the Savior. She bore her testimony from the pulpit—not from a wheelchair—during Testimony Sundays. Even when hospitalized and unable to see or move, she sent a voice recording to her bishop. Her patriarchal blessing reminded her of her divine identity and gave her peace, even in moments of great pain. In her final weeks, she stayed awake to be fully present with us, showing love and courage without relying on heavy medication.
On June 18, 2025, Eliza returned to our Heavenly Father. That day shattered our hearts, but amid the grief, the Spirit whispered that her earthly mission was complete—and that our story with her was far from over.

At Philadelphia, Elder John E. Page lost the spirit of the mission and Orson continued on to Jerusalem alone. During his travels Orson met many notable personalities, some of whom were amazed at and interested in his mission. He enjoyed his travels through Europe and while waiting for his visa in Munich, learned to write and speak German.
Tired and weary after several months’ travel of nearly 10,000 miles, Orson’s enthusiasm was revitalized as he finally arrived at the sacred city of Jerusalem. Here he carefully walked along a dark, narrow street, avoiding the heavily loaded camels that traveled toward him. In the early morning hour he passed through the ancient gate in the old decayed wall near the brook, Kidron. As Orson crossed over the small brook and climbed up the gentle slope of the hill, bright rays of sunshine encompassed the Mount of Olives. It was a magnificent sight as he gazed upon the surrounding countryside from the top of the mount.
There, alone, on Sunday, October 24, 1841, Orson wrote and offered the prayer dedicating Palestine for the return of the Jews and for the building of a temple in the future. For the first time in 1,800 years, an apostle stood again on the Mount of Olives. After his prayer Orson Hyde built two stone altars patterned after those of ancient Israel for memorials. The first memorial was on the Mount of Olives and the second on Mt. Moriah.

In middle school, other kids commonly question me about why I don’t date, drink coffee or tea, or cuss. Sometimes they even tease me. One way I deal with this is to tell them about my standards and what I believe in. There is so much sin and profanity everywhere that it is hard to avoid being teased or asked why you don’t participate in it. I answer that I am a Mormon and live by high standards. For example, when I am asked why I don’t drink coffee, I explain that I live by the Word of Wisdom and want to keep my life free from addiction. Usually after explaining my standards, people are understanding and willing to believe me.
Elijah S., 14, Washington, USA

I shuddered, remembering that first day I had asked my parents’ permission to be baptized. They knew I had been studying with the Mormons and going to their meetings, but I don’t think they had admitted to themselves how serious I really was. My father is a quiet man, and kind. He thought about it for a long time before he replied. But my mother reacted immediately. Her face went pale and her mouth hard and tight.
“Absolutely not, Michelle,” she said, and her voice sounded cold and deeply angry. “It is absolutely out of the question, so don’t mention it again.”
“But why?” I demanded. “Why?”
“Why?” she screamed back, her eyes blazing. “Because you don’t know what you’re doing. I’m trying to save you from making a terrible mistake, Michelle. I know. You just have to trust me. I know.”
I wondered what awful things she knew or thought she knew about the Mormons. But no matter how persistently I questioned her, she wouldn’t talk. She just kept saying no in that hard, tight way. In the end, though, my father prevailed. He usually did because he was so reasonable and so patient. He kept reminding her that I was 20 years old. In a few months I would be able to decide for myself, without their approval. He reminded her of what a good girl I was: smart and hard-working, obedient and truthful. “She deserves to find her own way in life,” he told my mother gently.
So we made a bargain. I was to meet with the minister of my own church for classes in theology. I was to learn everything I could about the beliefs and doctrines of the church I had belonged to my whole life. In other words, I was to give their way one last, real chance, as much a chance as I had given the Mormons. Then, if I still wanted to leave—to reject their ways, to become a Latter-day Saint—they would give their consent.
Those visits with our minister, I reflected, had led to one of the most solemn, impressive experiences of my life. I remembered vividly how nervous, almost foolish, I had felt as I walked the path to the old stone church and pulled back the heavy door. My footsteps sounded loud and obtrusive as I crossed the hard, polished floor and knocked tentatively on the door of the pastor’s office. The office, itself, was enough to make me feel overwhelmed. It was large and thickly carpeted, and one entire wall was lined with shelves that supported hundreds of thick, old, impressive-looking volumes. The remaining walls were paneled in oak, and Dr. Allred sat in a brown leather armchair behind a massive mahogany desk, which separated us awkwardly as I perched on the edge of a chair across from him.
“So you think you want to be a Mormon?” he said suddenly, and his face never changed expression. I couldn’t begin to tell what he was thinking. Before I could find an answer, he continued. “It’s your parents’ idea that you come here, isn’t it?”
I nodded, while he gazed at me, and through me, until finally a slight smile began to break up the corners of the thin, long line of his mouth. “Well, let’s see what we can do,” he said, leaning forward across the desk.
We met together three different times, and I read the books and pamphlets he gave me. I answered his questions and he answered some of mine, but our discussions were always very polite and restrained. On our last evening together he sat behind his desk and looked across at me, and he left unopened the heavy book we were supposed to talk about together. Instead he lifted his eyebrow in a thoughtful manner and said, “I’ve done what your parents desired, Michelle. But there’s really nothing I can teach you; both you and I know that. What you do now must be your own decision, of course.”
He hesitated, and I found myself leaning forward in my chair, drawn by the expression on his face and something I felt in the tenor of his voice. He pushed his chair back suddenly and rose, walked quickly to the expanse of books and pulled down a small, slender volume. Returning to the desk he set it down firmly, then pushed it over until it rested mere inches from my own hand, which was gripping the smooth edge of the big desk. The lettering on the leather cover was close to me and easy to see. I gave a little gasp as I read the words: Book of Mormon.
“That’s right,” he said, “the Book of Mormon. I get some of the material for my sermons out of that book.” His voice was soft, but it penetrated deep inside me so that my heart began to beat wildly, and I felt a warm, tingling sensation across my skin.
“I would be a Mormon myself if it were possible.” He picked up the volume and balanced it thoughtfully in his hand. “I am a minister; it is my life. It’s all I’ve ever known. My father was a minister, and his father before him.” He paused and looked up, and his eyes held a sadness that was almost an intrusion to look upon. “But if I were you,” he continued in the same soft, firm voice, “I would become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Dr. Allred rose and replaced the book. I rose from my chair. I knew there was nothing left to be said between us, but I was wrong. At the door he shook my hand warmly, holding me with his eyes. “What I said tonight I have said for you alone. If you repeat it, I will deny that it was ever spoken. And you know, of course, which of us would be believed.”
I nodded, trying to answer with my eyes and my smile, too overwhelmed to be able to do more, and walked home alone through the crisp, silent night.
The next week I was baptized. None of my family attended the baptism. This was something I wanted to do, and I had their permission. But permission and support are not the same thing. Even my kindly father could not offer support for something he could neither agree with nor understand.

1. One talk I heard over twenty years ago illustrates how effective a talk can be when the speaker chooses the proper subject material and is personally familiar with that subject.
While living in New Jersey, I owned and operated a business that sold kitchen cabinets; and since I had built and installed kitchen cabinets for many years, I was well aware of quality construction and proud of our own custom woodwork. When I was approached by a large cabinet manufacturing firm from Pennsylvania who wanted us to sell their cabinets, I responded that I would decide after I had visited their factory and had seen their product.
While visiting the factory with other prospective dealers, I heard a man deliver a talk on how he was responsible for the shipping crates the cabinets were delivered in. This man’s vocabulary was not very broad, nor did he expound on any profound subject. But he was familiar with his subject material; it fit his speech capabilities and certainly fit the occasion; and it was very enlightening and interesting.
When the man was through talking, he took a regular cabinet directly from the factory and crated it. Then he took that cabinet and a second cabinet crated by a competitor and dropped both out of a second-story window. The cabinet our speaker had crated survived with hardly a scratch, while the other was damaged beyond repair. Words and demonstration combined to give an unforgettable impression—and convinced me that the product was good. A prime example of how words and a visual aid can motivate!

First, an experience that I had as a youth which helped to teach me an important lesson. It occurred when I was quite young—to be more specific, a boy of 10 or 11. I was herding our flock of sheep in the mountains of northern Utah to the east of East Garland. My grandfather had entrusted me with the sheep as we were moving them up the mountain to the summer range. I had just watered them in a small mountain stream and bedded them down for a short rest before going on.
While they were settled, I went about to explore the terrain and check the route ahead. I was a couple of hundred yards up the canyon when I heard a sound that chilled me to the bone. Once you have heard a rattlesnake, a very poisonous reptile, you’ll never forget the sound.
Cautiously I moved toward that sound. To my surprise I observed not one but three rattlers just a few yards away. They were on a rocky knoll that had been warmed by the spring sun. While the sight of three rattlers in a bunch intrigued me, because you seldom see more than one at a time, it also concerned me since the sheep would need to pass this way.
Before long the sheep roused and started moving up the canyon. As they came closer, the snakes seemed to sense the intruders and slithered down the incline toward the creek.
Fearing the danger, I immediately turned my sheep up the hill away from the direction the snakes were moving. I was successful for a time, but then a couple of sheep broke away from the flock. As they did so, the entire flock seemed determined to follow those two errant old ewes, and there was no stopping them. You may have heard the characterization “They all followed like a bunch of sheep.” Well, that’s what happened here. To make matters worse, they were moving directly toward the location of the rattlers.
I had hoped that the natural instinct of the sheep would keep them at a safe distance. But some of the flock were pushed directly into the path of the snakes. And there was no escape for the unfortunate ones that sustained the strikes of those disturbed reptiles.
It was a sad young shepherd who had to report to his grandfather a short time later the loss of two of his prized ewes. The experience of that day provided a very forceful illustration to me of what can happen when the sheep ignore their shepherd.
I was there as the shepherd. I perceived the danger and was trying my best to protect my sheep. But as a few started to go in the wrong direction, others were determined to follow. Though only two of the flock were lost, it was a loss that need not have been.

“Dad loves to take his grandchildren on an imaginary lion hunt, where they all try to find a make-believe lion. First, they pretend to sit on the seat of a car. Then when they arrive at the airport, they climb invisible steps to get on the airplane. Once inside the plane, everyone fastens his safety belt and leans way back in his chair as the plane takes off. When the plane lands, everyone comes down the stairs and walks over to a jeep. They climb in and, because the jeep ride is bumpy, everyone joggles up and down.
“When the jeep stops, everyone jumps out and gets an imaginary rope and gun to put over his shoulder. They wade through long grass and reeds—swish-swish-swish. They come to a bridge and everyone crosses over it—clump-clump-clump. Then they come to the place where the lions are, and they throw their ropes up around a rock to secure them. They all climb up the rope to get into a cave so they can creep up on the lion. The lion roars—GRRRR!! All of the brave lion hunters run out of the cave, slide down the rope, go clumping over the bridge, run swishing through the reeds, take off their ropes and guns, get back into the jeep, and take the bumpy ride back to the airport. Finally they arrive back home safe and sound after a great trip!”