Gospel Story Finder

It was another day of work in the mission field. My companion and I couldn’t catch any of our investigators, nobody let us in when we knocked on doors, and I was pretty frustrated by the end of the day. When we came home to our apartment for the night, I was upset that nobody talked to us, and I felt it was my fault, even though there really wasn’t anything more I could have done.
As I thought about this, I went into the bathroom and saw the picture of Christ my companion and I had taped to the mirror. I looked at it and smiled. I felt Christ’s love wash over me. In spite of my weaknesses, I’d tried my best, and Christ knew my effort and what I was going through.
I’ve often reflected on that experience, and I’ve resolved to always post a picture of Christ on my mirror, reminding me that as I do my best, no matter how “little” that effort may appear, I can still stand before my Savior and smile, knowing He loves me and accepts me for who I am.

The best illustration is a great real-life example. Wilfried Vanie, his seven siblings, and his mother joined the Church in Abidjan, Ivory Coast, when he was six years old. He was baptized at eight. His father, the main provider in the family, died when Wilfried was eleven.

Though saddened by the family situation, Wilfried decided to continue in school, with his mother’s encouragement and with Church support. He graduated from secondary school and served a full-time mission in the Ghana Cape Coast Mission, where he learned English. After his mission, he went on to the university and obtained a diploma in accounting and finance. Though it was hard to obtain employment in this field, he found work in the tourism and hospitality industry.

He started as a waiter in a five-star hotel, but his passion to improve pushed him to learn more until he became a bilingual receptionist there. When a new hotel opened, he was hired as the night auditor. Later, he enrolled in BYU–Pathway Worldwide and is currently studying a course to obtain a certificate in hospitality and tourism management. His desire is to one day become the manager of a high-end hotel. Wilfried can provide for his eternal companion and two children, as well as help his mother and his siblings. He currently serves in the Church as a member of the stake high council.

Wilford Woodruff was a very influential missionary, bringing thousands of people into the Church. While serving in England in 1840, he met the Benbow family. After hearing his message, the Benbows talked with Elder Woodruff about the gospel until 2 a.m.
Brother Benbow: I thank the Lord that you have found us! We, and hundreds of our friends, have been searching for the true gospel of Jesus Christ.
Mr. Benbow told his friends about the missionary who would be preaching at his house.
On the first day, six people—including the Benbows—were baptized. On the second day, Elder Woodruff baptized 600 people!
Among those baptized were 45 preachers, who owned chapels and houses that could be used for teaching the gospel.
Wilford Woodruff: The Lord has truly prepared this place to receive His word.

When Troy and Sheralee Johnson were young, they had a problem—with each other. They fought all the time.
“They just couldn’t seem to leave each other alone,” says their mom, LeAnn. “A lot of times they couldn’t even be in the same house together.”
At about the time Troy and Sheralee were having the most trouble getting along, the Johnsons decided it was time to commit the family to daily scripture study.
“During a general conference session when I was still pretty young, President Ezra Taft Benson counseled all of the Saints to read and study the Book of Mormon both as a family and personally. He promised blessings to all the families that followed his counsel. My parents decided that if anyone needed blessings, it was us,” says Sheralee.
A family meeting was held and all eight Johnsons agreed to get up early every morning to study together. That was more than nine years ago, and the family has hardly missed a day since.
The family’s dedication also brought about an unexpected, although welcome, result.
“When we started reading scriptures together, the overall feeling in our house changed, and Troy and I just didn’t fight anymore. We focused on other things, like school and church. Then, since we weren’t fighting, we could really get to know each other,” says Sheralee.
“I don’t remember anything specific happening to make us stop fighting,” says Troy. “Things just changed for the better and we started to get along. I guess we just had a better feeling in general and that made things better between us.”
Now Troy, a returned missionary, and Sheralee, a student at BYU, are friends. In fact, Sheralee says she really missed having Troy around while he was on his mission in Rome, Italy.
“Until he was gone, I didn’t really realize what an integral part of my life Troy had become. I couldn’t wait to see him again,” she says. The rest of the Johnson siblings, Curtis, Benjamin, Michael, and Angie, are now carrying on the tradition, getting up at the crack of dawn to study the gospel every day.
“Growing up, I learned how the Book of Mormon affects our lives,” says Troy. “The same feeling continued on my mission, and that helped with the work.”
“Our parents really taught us the importance of the Book of Mormon. We knew that if they made that much of an effort to get us up, it must be important,” adds Sheralee.
Is getting up at 5:30 A.M. to study scriptures with your family a challenge? Troy, who isn’t a morning person, answers a hearty “yes.” Is it worth it? Troy and Sheralee both say they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some years ago, I received a gift from one of my children that I didn’t appreciate at the moment. I wasn’t expecting much when I opened the package because I was getting it from a young child. Tina, my wife, was involved in selecting it, so I wasn’t worried that it might be a box of old toys that my son no longer wanted. However, when I opened the package, I certainly wasn’t expecting a pair of slippers.

Of course, I was grateful that he got me a gift, and I thanked him for it, but in my mind, I thought, “This isn’t what I hoped for,” and in my heart I didn’t really feel joy for the gift.

Dutifully, I put the slippers on and wore them around the house. Over the next few weeks, something amazing happened. I had never owned a pair of slippers, so I was surprised to find how useful they were. When I came home from work and put on my slippers, they kept my socks clean even when I sometimes discovered sticky spills by stepping in them. They also kept my feet warm and comfortable. They protected my feet from little toys strewn about the house (that I won’t refer to as Legos) so that I didn’t need to hop around on one foot after stepping on the unnamed toys. They were also very convenient. I could slip them off when I wanted to put my feet up on the couch. I could slip them back on whenever I needed to go anywhere. And occasionally, I would cheat and slip them on to take the trash out. Before long, I realized that slippers were a great gift. Oddly enough, they were one of my favorite gifts that I had ever been given. I wore that pair for several years until they completely fell apart.

Even better than the satisfaction and joy that I received from those slippers, my son felt so pleased and proud that I liked his gift. He saw me using them and was joyful because he knew I liked his gift. A simple pair of slippers brought us closer together.

Now to more serious matters. When I was a young boy, 13 years old, I was about to enter junior high school in Grand Junction, Colorado. I am the oldest of five boys and thus felt some pressure to accomplish great things and be a good example for my four younger brothers. I expected that junior high would be difficult. I wouldn’t know all the kids, since in junior high we came from several different elementary schools. The thought of going from classroom to classroom made me wonder if I would get lost and look like a fool. I wondered: What if some of the teachers are mean? And I was most worried about how skinny I was at the time and about my new crop of pimples. (When you think about it, how does anyone survive junior high school?)
Most of all I worried that I would not compete well academically with the other students, as being a scholar was my goal. So I was a bundle of nerves that summer of 1962.
Fortunately I was blessed with a great mom who always seemed to be able to calm me down. Let me show you a photo of me making homemade fudge with my mother in 1953. The Salt Lake Tribune took the picture and published my mom’s great no-cook fudge recipe. This is where I got my sweet tooth! As I was worrying about starting junior high, my mom calmed me down with one of the wisest, most caring, and rational statements a mom could make to her worrywart son.
She said, “Jeff, we don’t care what your grades are. All we expect is that you do your best. If you do your best, we will be proud of you regardless of your grades.”
With that statement my anxiety was cut in half, and I started looking forward to junior high. After all, I could not control my final GPA, but I could control how hard I tried. I couldn’t control my intelligence, which was average—okay, maybe a little above average—how mean the teachers would be, how smart the other students would be, or even my final grade in any particular class. But control my levels of dedication and effort? I could do that!
Mom taught me the value of setting realistic expectations in life that day. She taught me that process or effort is more important and manageable than the final outcome. So for over a half century of living I have used her wise counsel in my life to accomplish much, get over my failures, keep perspective in all I do, and not beat myself up when I don’t succeed the first time.

Other milestones were trips to the Freiberg Germany Temple to be baptized for the dead in April and August 1994. Latter-day Saint youth from all over Hungary crowded onto buses to make the 22-hour journey. Then they returned home with a mission: to tell others about it so everyone could share in the power and beauty of the experience.
“I didn’t know who the people were who I was being baptized for—or when they lived,” says Somodi Zsuzsanna, 18. “About halfway through, without warning I suddenly felt the Spirit. I felt that perhaps that person had accepted the gospel in the spirit world and had been waiting for somebody to be baptized in her name. I have never felt such a wonderful thing, before or since.”
“When I was inside the temple,” says Borsos Péter, 18, “I had the sensation that the temple had no roof—that there was direct contact with heaven!”

Two other glimpses of his home life: When mistreated, he was inclined to “get even” by offering the hospitality of his home. That involved Emma and her talents in cooking. Often he invited people with little warning—“If ye will not embrace our religion, accept our hospitality.”64 There were times when the cupboard was bare. One day they had nothing to eat but a little corn meal. They made out of it a johnnycake, as it was called, and the Prophet offered the blessing as follows: “Lord, we thank thee for this johnnycake and ask thee to send us something better. Amen.” Before the meal was over a knock came at the door, and there stood a man with a ham and some flour. The Prophet jumped to his feet and said to Emma, “I knew the Lord would answer my prayer.”65 He shared and shared until he was utterly impoverished.

In August of this year, there occurred a tragedy in Salt Lake County. It was reported in the local and national press. Five beautiful little girls—so young, so vibrant, so loving—hiding away, as children often do in their games of hide-and-seek, entered the trunk of a parent’s car. The trunk lid was pulled shut, they were unable to escape, and all perished from heat exhaustion.
The entire community was so kind, so thoughtful, so caring in the passing of Alisha, Ashley, McKell, Audrey, and Jaesha. Flowers, food, calls, visits, and prayers were shared.
On the Sunday after the devastating event occurred, long lines of automobiles filled with grieving occupants drove ever so slowly past the Smith home—the scene of the accident. Sister Monson and I wished to be among those who expressed condolences in this way. As we drove by, we felt we were on holy ground. We literally crept along at a snail’s pace along the street. It was as though we could visualize a traffic sign reading, “Please drive slowly; children at play.” Tears filled our eyes and compassion flowed from our hearts.
At the funeral, as well as the evening prior, thousands passed by the caskets and expressed support for the grieving parents and grandparents. In two of the three families, the deceased children were all the children they had.
Frequently death comes as an intruder. It is an enemy that suddenly appears in the midst of life’s feast, putting out its lights and gaiety. It visits the aged as they walk on faltering feet. Its summons is heard by those who have scarcely reached midway in life’s journey, and often it hushes the laughter of little children.
At the funeral services for the five little angels, I counseled: “There is one phrase which should be erased from your thinking and from the words you speak aloud. It is the phrase, ‘If only.’ It is counterproductive and is not conducive to the spirit of healing and of peace. Rather, recall the words of Proverbs: ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.’”
Before the closing of the caskets, I noted that each child held a favorite toy, a soft gift to cuddle. I reflected on the words of the poet Eugene Field:
The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and staunch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair,
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.
“Now, don’t you go till I come,” he said,
“And don’t you make any noise!”
So toddling off to his trundle-bed
He dreamt of the pretty toys.
And as he was dreaming, an angel song
Awakened our Little Boy Blue,—
Oh, the years are many, the years are long,
But the little toy friends are true!
Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place,
Awaiting the touch of a little hand,
The smile of a little face.
And they wonder, as waiting the long years through,
In the dust of that little chair,
What has become of our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.
The little toy dog and the soldier fair may wonder, but God in His infinite mercy has not left grieving loved ones to wonder. He has provided truth. He will inspire an upward reach, and His outstretched arms will embrace you. Jesus promises to one and all who grieve, “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.”

A group of Laurels and priests in one Wisconsin ward also wanted the opportunity to have a formal dance with high standards. So in 2009 they invited youth from their stake and a neighboring stake for a formal dance at their ward building. The night was a success, and the stake leaders decided to hold it again in future years. They moved the location to a bigger venue, and it’s continued to grow. Last year, 250 youth from four stakes attended the dance.
Because of the less-than-wholesome environment at their school proms, many of the youth in the area now consider this prom as their only prom. Some even turn down invitations to school proms and instead invite their school friends to attend their prom.
Before attending the dance, all of the youth meet with a bishop and sign a dance card saying they will uphold the standards. No one has ever had a problem with this commitment.
Stephen P. says the prom was an amazing experience: “Being able to not worry about immoral music or dancing was an incredible burden off my shoulders,” he says. “It allowed my friends and me to just be able to enjoy ourselves. The leaders who helped plan it did a fantastic job making sure everyone was included and their needs were taken care of. I actually chose to go to the ‘Mormon prom’ instead of my school prom because I knew our prom would have a more positive environment and the Spirit would always be with us.”

People have asked me, “Why do you do this every week?” My answer is that my family started this habit a long time ago. I’m the youngest of 12 kids, and for as long as I can remember I’ve seen my mom coming home from the early Saturday morning temple session. She promised Heavenly Father that if she ever lived near a temple she would go often (for her, once a week), and she has kept her promise ever since my family moved close to a temple many years ago.

When I began my junior year at BYU I had a schedule full of music classes, a religion class and a physical science class I had been putting off for a couple of years. Two or three days after the start of the semester I literally woke up one morning with an overwhelming feeling that I should register for a Russian class. This made absolutely no sense. I had already taken an upper division Portuguese class and then tested out of my language requirement for graduation. Taking a Russian class would do nothing to further my specific educational goals. Although I had a significant interest in Russia, I had never been there, nor had I any hope of going. At the time, the Berlin Wall was still standing and the Soviet Union was intact. But for a day and a half the feeling would not leave me, so I researched the possibility of adding the class. It so happened that Russian 101 was a 5 credit hour class and there was no way I could add 5 more credit hours to my load. The class met daily and would require a great deal of independent study in addition to class hours. But I knew that for whatever reason I was to take that class. So I re-arranged my schedule, bought the text and a copy of the Book of Mormon in Russian, and began to immerse myself in a new language, a new alphabet and a new culture. I did not by any means become fluent in my semester of study but learned enough to engage in a very simple conversation.

Just one year later, the Iron Curtain fell with the collapse of the Berlin Wall and I found myself unexpectedly in Helsinki, Finland on a tour with the BYU Young Ambassadors. International travel had been made available to Soviets for the first time in years and I was astounded to discover that our audiences were in large number, Russian speaking. I will never forget two young women, Tania and Viola, who walked right up to me on the street one morning and, in Russian, indicated that they were on vacation from St. Petersburg. They asked who we were, where we were from and what we were doing there. How they sensed I might be able to understand them must have been a miracle. Using Russian I never dreamed I would have the opportunity to use, I explained that we were musicians from the United States, representing Brigham Young University of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and I invited them to our show that evening. They accepted enthusiastically, asking for my address so I could tell them more about who we were and what our Church was all about. I was grateful for the fluent full-time missionaries at the show that evening who could pick up where my sketchy Russian left off. But what if I had not followed that prompting a year before? Tania and Viola might never have had an opportunity to hear the gospel.

My Russian has grown a little rusty since then, but I have no doubt that the Lord will call upon me to dust it off and use it again. And perhaps more importantly, that experience planted an unquenchable desire in my heart to learn to bear my testimony in as many languages as I possibly can. I’m hoping that if I prepare myself, the opportunities will come. And since that experience in Helsinki over ten years ago, I have had similar unexpected experiences in other countries with other languages. Isn’t it amazing what the tiniest prompting or interest or desire can lead us to?

Robert Rightenour, a 14-year-old teacher from the Seattle (Washington) First Ward, spent six months at a special sports training school in Trencin, Slovakia, one of the first Americans ever to attend the school. While he was there, Robert attended the tiny branch, which consisted of seven members and two missionaries.

When Robert wasn’t training with world champions in canoe racing and kayaking, he spent time as a home-teaching companion with the missionaries.

Robert also helped his family do their genealogy. Many of his ancestors came from Slovakia, and he has met several relatives in the nearby town of Svidnik.

An example from Church history is that of Reddick Newton Allred. He was one of the rescue party sent out by President Brigham Young (1801–77) to bring in the Willie and Martin handcart companies. At the Sweetwater River near South Pass, Captain George Grant asked Reddick Allred to remain there with a few men and wagons and be ready to help when the rescuers returned with the handcart pioneers.
The rescuers found the Willie company mired in the snow, freezing, starving, and dying. Some of the rescuers continued to search for the Martin company, while the others helped the Willie company make that heartrending pull up and over Rocky Ridge. Soon after they made camp, Reddick Allred and his men came to deliver essential assistance and supplies.
Allred then waited for Captain Grant to return with the Martin company. Week after week passed with no sign of them. As blizzards howled and the weather became life threatening, two of the men decided it was foolish to stay. They thought the Martin company had either wintered over somewhere or perished. They decided to return to the Salt Lake Valley and tried to persuade everyone else to do the same. Allred refused to budge. President Young had sent them out, and Captain Grant, Reddick Allred’s priesthood leader, had told him to wait there.
Those who returned took several wagons, filled with needed supplies, and started back to the Salt Lake Valley. Even more tragic, they turned back 77 wagons that were coming from the valley to help. Some of these wagons returned all the way to Big Mountain before messengers sent by President Young met them and turned them back around.
Finally, more than three weeks after Reddick Allred had assisted the Willie company, Captain Grant arrived with the Martin company. These pioneers were even more destitute and had suffered dozens of deaths. Captain Grant’s rescue team was small and low on provisions—and still more than 200 miles (320 km) from the Salt Lake Valley. Once again, because Reddick Allred had stayed true to his assignment, even in the most trying circumstances, he was able to provide life-sustaining assistance and supplies.

In 2007, the United States was in the middle of an economic downturn. Because of this recession, some of my business clients were filing for bankruptcy and shutting down their businesses. This was hurting my business. As I sought to provide for my family and to help my clients, I was seeking guidance from Heavenly Father on what I should do. I wasn’t getting a clear answer and I didn’t know what to do. One morning as I was praying and reflecting upon this problem, I picked up the Book of Mormon and began to read. As I read this wonderful book, I felt ideas come to my mind on what I could do to help my clients and my business. It was a clear answer to my prayers.

Grandmother Jo reached in and pulled out a small velvet box. She opened it to reveal a medal. “This is the Purple Heart medal awarded to your Grandfather Thomas, who fought in World War II,” she explained. “He was wounded on D-Day.”
Christopher proudly held the medal in his hands. Grandfather must have been very brave, he thought. Grandmother Jo took a picture from the chest and showed it to Christopher. It was Grandfather Thomas. He looked handsome and brave dressed in his soldier uniform.

Matt, Joey, Isaac, and Liza had spent a whole week at Grandma and Grandpa’s house with their parents. They had played at the park, visited the river, and seen the last patches of snow melting in the mountains. They also went to a children’s museum, read books at the library, and watched a funny movie. It had been a good trip.
“Are we leaving tomorrow?” Liza asked on the last night of their vacation.
“Yes,” Mom said. “But we don’t have to leave until after lunch. Maybe we can do something fun together in the morning.”
“Shopping?” Matt asked. He was hoping to search the second-hand store for treasures.
“I have a different idea,” Mom said. She pointed out the window at the garden. Spring was almost over, but most of the things growing in the garden were weeds. Last year’s grapevines draped over a fence. One fuzzy, pale green plant had started an army of little shoots just like itself. Matt remembered that plant—lamb’s ear. He helped Grandpa choose it a few years ago.
“Don’t you think we’d have fun helping Grandma and Grandpa get their garden ready for summer?” Mom asked. Nobody said a word. “Think about all the nice things Grandma and Grandpa have done for you. Wouldn’t you like to do something kind for them? I know you’re all good workers, and they’d be thankful for your help.”
Matt didn’t think working sounded like fun, but he did want to help his grandparents.
After breakfast the next day, Grandpa gave each person a job. Mom used big clippers to trim the grapevines. Liza pulled weeds, Isaac lined up smooth stones around the edges of a new flowerbed, Joey carried weeds and grapevine trimmings to a compost pile, and Matt helped Grandpa and Dad dig up the little lamb’s ear plants so they could be planted in new places in the garden.
Soon the sun was high in the sky. “I think we’ve put in a good morning’s work,” Grandpa said.
The garden looked much different than it had earlier that morning. Matt was amazed they had done so much work.
“Everybody, go clean up for lunch,” Mom said. “After we eat it will be time to go home.”
After lunch, Mom and Dad buckled the children into the car. Grandma and Grandpa came out to say good-bye.
“Thank you for all your hard work,” Grandma said. “It would have taken us a lot longer to do it all by ourselves.”
Grandpa leaned into the car and handed Matt a big, sealed plastic bag. When Matt looked closely, he realized it was one of the small lamb’s ear plants surrounded by dirt.
“Remember when you chose that plant, Matt?” Grandpa asked. “I thought you’d like to have one for your own garden.”
Matt looked at Mom. “Can we put it in our flowerbed in the front yard?” he asked.
“Sure, Matt. Then you’ll see it every day,” Mom said.
“Awesome,” Matt said. “And every time I see it, I’ll remember working in Grandma and Grandpa’s garden.”

Several months ago we were having family scripture study. My two-year-old grandson was sitting on my lap as we read. I was in full-blown grandma mode, relishing the visit of my son’s family.
With our scripture study complete, I closed my book. My grandson knew that it would soon be bedtime. He looked up with his eager blue eyes and spoke an eternal truth: “More scriptures, Nana.”
My son, a good and consistent parent, warned me, “Mom, don’t be a weak link. He is just trying to get out of going to bed.”
But when my grandson asks for more scriptures, we read more scriptures! More scriptures enlighten our minds, nourish our spirits, answer our questions, increase our trust in the Lord, and help us center our lives on Him. “Remember to search them diligently, that ye may profit thereby.”

I want to begin by sharing with you a story that was told of a baseball team. This baseball team had a manager who thought that if his players took turns playing all the positions, they would become a better team. So, during one game the manager called time out, walked onto the field, and told the third baseman and the first baseman to switch positions. The problem in this instance was that the third baseman had never played anything but third base. From the time he was a child, he had practiced scooping up ground balls and throwing them across the field to first base. And now he was playing in a professional game in a large stadium with a lot of fans and a lot of pressure, and he was asked to play a position he had never played.

The next hitter was a large, left-handed batter who hit a scorching ground ball to the newly appointed first baseman. The player’s years of experience kicked into gear, and he easily reached down and scooped up the ground ball. But reacting more than thinking, he raised his arm to throw the ball across the field—not remembering that first base was just a few steps away. As he did this, the runner, whose only option was to run to first base, stopped immediately in his tracks, thinking that the first baseman was about to throw the ball at him.

Everyone started yelling to the first baseman to just touch first base. But in all the confusion and noise, this young player was not thinking clearly. So when he saw the catcher throw off his mask and raise his arms, yelling something that he couldn’t understand, the first baseman decided to throw the ball to the catcher.

Now the runner was confused because the catcher and the first baseman began throwing the ball back and forth to each other. Even though a runner cannot return to home plate, he was trying not to be tagged out. So he made a break for the first open base he thought he could reach safely—home plate. As he dived into home, the catcher caught the ball and tagged him.

The umpire yelled, “You’re out!”

The catcher turned to the umpire and asked, “And what if he had been safe?”

It’s kind of an odd story. Those who understand baseball know that the first baseman should have clearly known what to do, and the runner should have known as well. But in all the noise and chaos, what seems so obvious and simple became very confusing.

On this mortal journey we must never think that our choices affect only us. Recently, a young man visited my home. He had a good spirit about him, but I sensed he was not fully participating in Church activity. He told me that he had been raised in a gospel-centered home until his father was unfaithful to his mother, resulting in their divorce and influencing all his siblings to question the Church and to fall away. My heart was heavy as I spoke with this young father who now, affected by his father’s choices, was raising these precious spirits outside the blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Another man I know, a onetime faithful Church member, had questions regarding certain doctrine. Rather than ask Heavenly Father for answers, he chose to rely solely on secular sources for guidance. His heart turned in the wrong direction as he sought what seemed to be the honors of men. His pride may have been gratified, at least temporarily, but he was cut off from the powers of heaven.11 Rather than find truth, he lost his testimony and brought with him many family members.
These two men became trapped in unseen riptides and brought many with them.
Conversely, I think of LaRue and Louise Miller, my wife’s parents, who despite never having much by way of worldly possessions, chose to teach the pure doctrine of the restored gospel to their children and to live it every day of their lives. By so doing they have blessed their posterity with the fruits of the gospel and the hope of eternal life.
In their home they established a pattern where the priesthood was respected, where love and harmony were abundant, and where the principles of the gospel directed their lives. Louise and LaRue, side by side, demonstrated what it meant to live lives patterned after Jesus Christ. Their children could clearly see which of life’s currents would bring peace and happiness. And they chose accordingly. As President Kimball taught, “If we can create … a strong, steady current flowing toward our goal of righteous life, we and our children may be carried forward in spite of the contrary winds of hardship, disappointment, [and] temptations.”12