Gospel Story Finder

Last month I heard one of the most astounding stories I have ever heard. I sat in an audience as we were electrified by a young juvenile court judge in Los Angeles, whose name was Joseph Sorentino. He has written a book entitled Up from Never. He told us this incredible story. His home in Brooklyn was the scene of three pool halls in four blocks, rampaging street gangs, and Mafia killers. By the time he was twenty he had served time in the reformatory, the jail, the brig, and a padded cell for incorrigibles. He flunked out of school four times, went through thirty jobs, and was booted out of the Marines. That’s quite a record by age twenty. The second oldest of seven children, Joe’s constant desire was to acquire a “rep,” or become known. A dropout with no skills, he turned to professional boxing but then quit when he found that his mind was being eroded by heavyweight poundings.

One night, passing Brooklyn’s Erasmus Hall High School, he noticed a sign that invited passersby to register for night school. At that moment Joe realized, “My only chance for a better life is through education.” He enrolled. He fell in love with learning and graduated with the highest average in the history of the night school. He then enrolled in the University of California at Santa Barbara, became president of the student body, and graduated magna cum laude.

He reenlisted in the Marines to remove another blemish from his record. After an honorable discharge, he entered Harvard Law School, from which he graduated in 1967 as the valedictorian of his class. He said, “You can’t imagine how I felt looking down over the pulpit and seeing Henry Kissinger and some of the Kennedys and other notables of government sitting on the front row, and me delivering the valedictory address.” In this address he recounted the story of his life and then he ended with these words: “Do not look for tragedy or trauma to explain this change. It was mainly a resolution from within.” And then he concluded, “I come here today not just to tell my story, but to emphasize that in America we can make such things possible.”

One such experience occurred when my older brother, Adrian, needed surgery. Medical facilities here are limited, and it was necessary for him to leave his wife and children to fly to the mainland. He resisted the trip, fearing a problem with the small plane he would be taking. But in the end, he had to go. Boarding with him were the pilot and two television reporters.
As I heard the plane fly overhead, I sent my thoughts with my brother: Have no fear, Adrian. Heavenly Father will watch over you. Yet I felt prompted to go to my room and pray for his protection.
I was still on my knees when my husband came in. “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he began.
“Tell me what?”
“Adrian’s plane has crashed into the sea. We don’t know yet if there are any survivors.”
Thankfully, all four men lived. They were rescued by some people in a fishing boat and were soon back safe on the island. The entire population was waiting for them when they returned to the dock. We applauded with relief and joy and shed many tears of gratitude.
The next day the two reporters came to my place of work and gave me their version of what had happened. When the plane began to go down, the pilot ordered them to break the windows and throw out anything they could. Suitcases, cameras, shoes—everything was sacrificed to help the plane stay afloat as long as possible after crashing. The pilot gave some final instructions, and they buckled their seat belts.
Then Adrian began to pray aloud. He told the Lord that all of them felt they had a lot of living left to do. They were heads of families. They all had small children. He pleaded for another chance.
When he finished the prayer, he began to sing one of our hymns, “The Lord is my light; then why should I fear? …” (Hymns, 1985, number 89). The reporters said that without knowing the hymn, they began to sing with him. The music and his prayer gave them hope that they might be saved.
Within a few seconds of impact, the plane sank. But those few seconds were enough. They got the door open and inflated a raft. After the fishing boat picked them up, someone spotted a suitcase floating. It was Adrian’s. Inside was the tithing from our branch, which he was to deliver to Church leaders on the mainland. Other than the four men, the suitcase was the only thing that was saved.
Although we live in one of the most remote places of the earth, we know our Father in Heaven is mindful of us. We have felt his almighty hand, and he has answered our prayers.

Many years ago, before leaving to become president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, I had developed a friendship with a man by the name of Shelley, who lived in my ward but did not embrace the gospel, irrespective of the fact that his wife and children had done so. Shelley had been known as the toughest man in town when he was young. He was quite a pugilist. His fights were rarely in the ring but rather elsewhere. Try as I might, I could not bring about a change in Shelley’s attitude. The task appeared hopeless. In time, Shelley and his family moved from our ward.
After I had returned from Canada and was called to the Twelve, I received a telephone call from Shelley. He said, “Will you seal my wife and me and our family in the Salt Lake Temple?”
I answered hesitatingly, “Shelley, you first must be a baptized member of the Church.”
He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. My home teacher was a school crossing guard, and every weekday as he and I would visit at the crossing, we would discuss the gospel.”
The sealings were performed; a family was united; joy followed.

The sixth annual Super Challenge was freckled this year with sunshine, laughter, headaches, dirt, sunburn, shaving lotion, sore muscles, jokes, learning, and testimonies. In the summer of 1976, 225 Glendale and Los Angeles youth made their plans to invade Santa Catalina Island for a youth conference they called Super Challenge. They and their 50 adult leaders were all members of the Glendale California Stake. It was the youth steering committee, consisting of Julie McGuire, Sal Palilla, Jeff Harrison, Kim Slight, Renelle Gubler, Tina Tittle, and Eric Torgeson, who spent hundreds of hours of planning to come up with all the zany and fruitful things they did. The theme of the conference, “A Generation of Excellence,” was emphasized in the first hours when two competing groups spelled excellence in human figures on the hillside.
In addition to workshops and seminars given by stake leaders, Bishop Vaughn Featherstone had sent a specially prepared 20-minute tape on his book A Generation of Excellence from which the theme was taken. The young people were counseled to “cover up cesspools and plant new gardens,” to act as though the Savior were at their side, and to enrich their lives by becoming excellent.
At a three-hour fast and testimony meeting on Sunday, 69 young people stood and bore their testimonies. Four of them were nonmembers.
The rest of the weekend was filled with basic football, crab-ball soccer, speed croquet, boat racing, swimming, rock throwing, volleyball, and treasure hunting.
The waiters at meal times were “celebrities:” the person at the table who was the most blonde, the one whose birthday was closest to July 4, etc. When the lot fell to “the tallest,” special guest speaker and BYU basketball coach, six-feet-six-inch-tall Frank Arnold, accepted the honor and served his table with the flare of a French maître d’.
What a happy time! The leaders could see it in every face, and they were sure of it the night they heard noises outside and looked to find the hillside dotted with young people singing, “I Am a Child of God.”

Balancing his Church work, his civic service, and his legal work, Howard continued to advance his distinctive career. An example of Howard’s careful, thoughtful approach to problems is the legal case in which he represented a plaintiff in an action to recover damages to a tomato crop caused by the drifting spray of a crop duster on an adjoining ranch. After Howard’s excellent opening presentation before the court, on the second day of trial arguments, the twelve defense attorneys offered a substantial settlement, which his client accepted. His capacity for precise thinking and logic, together with his intuitive feeling for justice, made him a formidable advocate.

Gracie twisted a strand of curly hair around her finger. “Is anyone else going to repeat first grade?”
“I don’t know, honey.” Mom put her arm around Gracie.
“Then why do I have to?” Gracie asked.
“Mrs. Carter says that sometimes you don’t understand the work,” Mom said. “She thinks that is why you talk to your neighbors instead of finishing your own papers.”
“But Mom, if I don’t go on to second grade, all my friends will think I did something wrong.” Gracie’s eyes filled with tears. “They’ll laugh at me if I’m in first grade again.”
Mom said gently, “You know how hard reading is for you? And how upset you get when you can’t do your math pages?”
Gracie nodded.
“Honey, you’re not quite ready for second-grade work.”
Gracie put her hands over her face and burst into tears. “I know! I’m not smart.”
“Gracie, that’s not true.”
“Yes, it is,” Gracie sobbed. “I’m the only one who still sounds out every word when I read. And yesterday, when the teacher wasn’t listening, Dalton called me stupid.”
Mom cuddled Gracie and let her cry. “You’re not stupid, Gracie. But you are younger than most of the children in your class. That makes a big difference.”
Mom tipped Gracie’s chin up and smiled into her eyes. “You know what? We have three whole summer months ahead of us, and we’re going to practice reading every day. When school starts again, first grade will be much easier. You’ll see.”
But on the first day of school, Gracie did not feel smarter. She just felt taller—like a giant standing in line with the new first graders.
Gracie saw her old friends lining up in front of the second-grade classroom. Her shoulders sagged. She slouched and stared straight ahead, trying to make herself invisible.
She noticed a new girl in front of her. A shiny black braid hung down the girl’s back, and she stood very still, as if she was scared.
Gracie remembered how afraid she had been last year when she was new. She tapped the girl on the shoulder.
“You’re going to love our teacher,” she said. “Mrs. Carter is really nice.”
The girl turned and stared at Gracie with round, dark eyes.
“Hey, Gracie!” Dalton yelled from down the hall. “You’re in the wrong line, dummy! This is the line for second graders.”
Gracie’s cheeks felt hot. She ignored him.
“I have to repeat the first grade,” Gracie said to the girl.
The girl looked at Dalton. “He … no es amable,” she said softly, then shook her head. “I mean … he is not kind.”
Gracie grinned. “My name is Gracie.”
“I am Juanita,” said the dark-eyed girl. “We just moved here.”
The classroom door opened, and Mrs. Carter smiled at the waiting children. “Welcome!” she said as they filed in. Gracie took Juanita’s hand and helped her find her name at one of the tables.
Later that morning Gracie showed Juanita where the girls’ bathroom was. She helped her get a hot lunch in the noisy cafeteria and explained about the bells for recess.
In the afternoon Gracie helped the shy boy next to her with his math page. Then she showed a girl with curly red hair how to sharpen her pencil so that the lead didn’t break.
All week Gracie was so busy helping the new first graders that she forgot she didn’t want to be there.
On Friday, Mrs. Carter called a class meeting. Gracie and Juanita sat next to each other in California, on the carpet that was a huge map of the United States.
Mrs. Carter pointed to the bulletin board. “Would anybody like to try to read the class rules to us?”
No hands went up.
“Nobody?” Mrs. Carter asked. She looked right at Gracie and raised her eyebrows.
Juanita poked Gracie. “You can read the words?”
Gracie shook her head. Just thinking about it made her heart stutter. She stared at the big red letters on the board. Then, to her surprise, as she stared at the letters they began to clump together and become words—words that she knew! Her heart beat faster. Maybe she could read the first rule. Very slowly, she raised her hand.
“Gracie.”
Gracie stood up. Her legs wobbled like cooked noodles. Everyone was staring at her.
“Class rules,” she said in a tiny voice. She cleared her throat. “Number one: Come … to … class … with … a smile!”
“Very good, Gracie!” Mrs. Carter said. “Would you like to try the second rule?”
Gracie took a deep breath. Her voice became stronger. “Ree … sp … ect … Respect others. Be kind.” She only had to sound out one word!
“Wonderful!” Mrs. Carter clapped as Gracie sat down on the floor.
Juanita whispered, “You are so smart!”
Gracie sighed happily. Maybe repeating first grade wouldn’t be so bad after all.
“Reading just takes practice,” Gracie said, squeezing the hand of her new best friend. “I’ll help you.”

Travelling to the Temple in West Africa was often a serious challenge. The Saints in Sierra Leone made an excursion to Ghana to attend the temple. Because of an insurrection it was impossible to cross the border through the Ivory Coast so they travelled three days circumnavigating the Ivory Coast through Burkina Faso. As they travelled, they were stopped by robbers and at gunpoint all their money and personal effects of value were stolen. Blessed to still be alive, they decided to proceed anyway to Ghana where they spent the week seeking the blessings of the temple. Nothing was more important to them than the eternal blessings that could be obtained in no other place than the Temple. Why would they risk so much to go there? They wanted and needed those sacred experiences which have eternal worth.

How well I can recall a sweet, young patient whom I first saw years ago for a premarital examination. She had been born with one arm missing. Just a few small rudimentary fingers were apparent on the small stub of the missing arm. Noticing that she had identified herself as a stenographer on her medical history record, I asked, “You’re a secretary?”
“Are you surprised?” she chuckled in return. “I can type with one hand as fast as many girls can with two. As early as I could comprehend, my mother told me that I have been given a deformity so that it might strengthen me, and that I was to learn to do things as well with one hand as everyone else did with two. I have never found my limitation to be a real handicap.” I have watched this young patient. She has since had a heart operation and a child of her own for whom she cares with tender love. A beautiful response to affliction, and God is pleased, I am sure.

When I first learned to write, I wrote everything backwards, in a mirror image. Later I learned to write my letters in the right direction, but my handwriting was very sloppy. My mother was worried, but Mrs. Leroy, my second-grade teacher, said, “He’s doing well in math and in other areas, so don’t worry about his handwriting. It will improve.”
Sometimes you wonder if you’re progressing or not. But if any of us looked back to when we were in kindergarten, we could certainly see we have made progress. You’re getting better and better in every way.

One Sunday Adrianne sat listening to Sister Newby in sacrament meeting. Sister Newby was Adrianne’s Merrie Miss teacher, and one of Adrianne’s favorite people.
“Remember what our prophet, President Benson, told us at conference,” Sister Newby said. “‘The great test of life is obedience to God. … The great task of life is to learn the will of the Lord and then do it. The great commandment of life is to love the Lord.’”*
Normally Adrianne liked to hear everything that Sister Newby had to say—but not today. Something was bothering Adrianne, and the words of President Benson made her feel more uneasy.
As soon as sacrament meeting was over, Adrianne went right up to Sister Newby. “You gave a nice talk,” she said.
“Thank you, Adrianne. I hope that it meant something to you.”
“Did President Benson really say the great task in life is to learn the will of the Lord and then do it?”
“Yes, he did,” said Sister Newby. “He said it in April conference a few years ago.”
“How do we know what the will of the Lord is?”
“Sometimes we know because the prophets have told us. And sometimes we know because we keep having a feeling about something. We feel like there is something we should do, and the feeling won’t go away.”
“That’s what’s happening to me,” said Adrianne. “I keep having a feeling that I should do something nice for a new girl named Rita in my class at school. I keep thinking I should make my favorite pumpkin cookies** and give them to her.”
“Why don’t you do it?” asked Sister Newby. “That would be an easy task—a fun one too.”
“I’m scared,” Adrianne admitted. “I don’t really know Rita, and I’ve never seen her parents. Maybe they’ll think I’m a little weird.”
“Is that what you thought when I brought you those brownies when your family moved here?” asked Sister Newby.
Adrianne was embarrassed as she remembered the delicious brownies Sister Newby had brought them last spring. “No, but you did it because you were going to be my teacher.”
Sister Newby laughed. “I did it because at the time I had a feeling that it would be a nice thing to do.”
“I see what you mean,” said Adrianne. “Well—I think Heavenly Father wants me to take cookies over to Rita’s house, so I’m going to do it!”
When Adrianne got home from school on Monday, she started making pumpkin cookies right away. After they were baked and cooled, she frosted them with creamy white frosting. The longer she worked on the cookies, the more she had doubts about delivering them to Rita.
“I don’t think I’ll take these to Rita,” Adrianne said to her mom as she finished frosting them. “What if Rita won’t even open the door. I’ll stand there looking really silly.”
Adrianne’s mom had agreed with Sister Newby when Adrianne explained the feeling she had been having. Mom now offered to drive Adrianne to Rita’s house, adding, “But you do what you think is best.”
“I’m not sure what I want to do. I keep thinking of what President Benson said. ‘The great test of life is obedience to God. … The great task of life is to learn the will of the Lord and then do it. The great commandment of life is to love the Lord.’”
Adrianne looked at the pumpkin cookies. “Well, I do love the Lord, and I keep thinking He wants me to take these cookies to Rita. So I guess I’ll just do it if you’ll please drive me there and wait in the car.”
“Sure,” said Mom. “I’ll be glad to.”
Adrianne put the cookies on a paper plate and covered them with plastic wrap. They looked wonderful. Encouraged, she went into her bedroom and said a prayer. That gave her even more courage. Then she and Mom drove to Rita’s house.
“Wish me luck,” said Adrianne as she left the car and started up the walk to the front porch. It seemed like a long walk to Adrianne, and it took forever for the door to open after she rang the doorbell.
Later, when Adrianne left Rita’s house, she ran back to the car. “I can’t believe I was in there all that time,” she said when she looked at the clock in the car. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long.”
“That’s OK,” said Mom. “When you’ve been a mom as long as I have, you come prepared.” She held up a book she was reading. “How did it go?”
“It was wonderful! Rita was so surprised that she didn’t know what to say. We just stood there looking at each other at first. Then she invited me in, and we started talking and talking. And you’ll never guess what she said.”
“I give up. What did she say?”
“While we were talking, she found out I’m a Latter-day Saint. One of her best friends where she used to live was a Church member too. She asked me if she could go to church with me!”
“I think you were right, Adrianne. Heavenly Father did want you to go over and get to know Rita.”
“Yes, and I’m happy I did. I can’t wait for Sunday to come. You know, I have a feeling that Sister Newby won’t be a bit surprised when I bring Rita to Merrie Miss class.”

When I was young, my parents did volunteer work in different countries. I wanted to help people around the world too. So when I grew up, I became a doctor. I have now worked in many different countries helping people. My family and I have enjoyed being with the Latter-days Saints in these areas. They are so happy and hopeful. And they love Jesus Christ and His gospel.
My children often went to Primary with other children that didn’t look like them or speak the same language. But they were all Heavenly Father’s children. He knows and loves each one of us. We are each part of His family.

When I was in my late teens, I received a telephone call that would change my life—my eternal life.
A good sister from my ward called to invite me to perform a dance number at a Mutual activity evening that was being held in a couple of weeks. Dancing was a hobby of mine, and I was studying ballroom dancing at a studio in Salt Lake City. I had never been to a Church dance before, and I was excited to accept the invitation to perform.
My partner and I arrived on the appointed evening and were greeted enthusiastically. I was surprised to find that we were the only ones on the program. It was an exciting experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
The following Sunday morning, I decided to go to church in our ward for the first time since I was ordained a deacon. At that time, none of my family was active. I found people who welcomed me warmly, and they demonstrated a genuine friendship and caring. These experiences started me on the road to activity and service in the Church that has been a joy to me throughout the years.
A group of brethren took me under their wing, and we became good friends. A wonderful returned missionary taught me the basics of the gospel and helped prepare me to serve a mission. During this same time I was asked to help teach dancing in the ward, which gave me a feeling of being needed, and it also gave me a responsibility.
The next 15 months flew by, filled with growth and happiness as I progressed. I soon received a call to serve a mission in Mexico. I quickly grew to love the language, the country, and its people. Sharing the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ gave me a foundation upon which to build the rest of my life.
That evening so long ago when I was invited to share my talent, the door opened to a wonderful new world of friends and activity in the Church. I am grateful for those who reached out with a warm hand of fellowship, invited me in, nurtured me, and blessed my life.

Tiger Brown was the meanest man I’d ever met. During the first summer after my mission I worked a highway construction job. Tiger was the foreman. He was about 60, short and stocky, with a bulldog neck and face. His eyes were small and angry, like a bear’s eyes.
My job was to follow a machine that laid down asphalt mix and to make sure the surface was clean and level. Large rocks would make their way through the machine, ending up buried in the asphalt. I would have to pick them out with a shovel and fill in the hole with hot mix from the front of the machine. Then I’d rake it smooth so it matched the rest of the road surface. We were laying a new surface on a highway in the west desert of Utah that summer. In the middle of the day the temperatures would be a hundred plus in the shade, and with the steaming hot asphalt it was nearly unbearable. The machine would often drop several big rocks at once, and I’d have to run just to keep up.
About four times a day Tiger would come by.
"Hey!" he’d growl at me above the roar of the machine. He would walk up to me with quick steps, his head down, pawing the air with his arms moving like an attacking grizzly. He always wore the same clothes—a ragged blue denim jacket, old khaki pants, a worn-out flannel shirt, and a dirty baseball hat. If you didn’t know him and saw him in downtown Salt Lake, you’d probably feel sorry for him and offer him a dollar. On the job no one ever made that mistake or even had to ask how he got his nickname.
"That’s not the way you do it," he would mumble, grabbing the shovel out of my hand. For ten minutes he would do my work. He would attack it with a vengeance terrifying to watch. No matter how far behind I was he would catch up to the machine in a quarter of the time it would have taken me. There was nothing I could do then but stand, humiliated, watching until finally he’d hand the shovel back to me.
"I should have hired your grandma," he’d snarl, and then after a disgusted glance he would stalk off.
He watched his crew like a red-tailed hawk watches a covey of mountain quail. If there was ever any indication of something out of order, the work moving just a little slow, or if the new road surface wasn’t perfectly level, or if the asphalt mix wasn’t just right, he would swoop down with that eagle nose and those fierce eyes, yelling, "Hey!"
I’m ashamed to admit it now, but I had bad feelings for the man, feelings that almost bordered on hate. I felt that way until about the second month of work.
We’d finished a stretch of road and were getting the equipment ready to move to a new location. The place looked like an ant bed that had been kicked. The work was moving fast, and the crew was on the run getting their equipment onto the back of trucks and large trailers. Tiger came suddenly into the middle of this scene waving his arms and yelling.
"Hey! Hey!"
He stopped all the work and grabbed the driver of a large crane by the arm and directed him toward the hot mix machine. The hot mix machine was a 50-foot long cylinder used to mix gravel and hot tar. When the crane reached the hot mix machine Tiger had the operator lower a hook that hung by cable from the crane’s arm. With the entire crew watching and wondering if he’d finally slipped his gears, Tiger put his foot in the hook and jerked his thumb upward. He rose up to about 40 feet, level with the top of the hot mix machine.
After reaching the cylinder, he carefully bent down and picked up a small bird’s nest full of bald-headed baby birds. The proud and very worried parents, two kingbirds, were hovering over the nest. Tiger jerked his thumb downward. When he reached the ground, he walked over to a small cottonwood tree and gently placed the nest in its branches. He had several of us put barricades around the tree.
"Hey! Hey!" he yelled when he turned around. "Get back at it. You think this is a spectator sport? I should have hired your grandmothers."
Tiger still barely nodded when I said good morning to him, and he yelled at me and took my shovel when my work wasn’t up to his standards; but after the incident with the birds I saw him in a different way.
We broke the Utah record a few weeks later for the amount of asphalt laid in a day. The inspectors said it was as smooth and as good a surface as they’d ever seen. Whenever I drive over that highway I feel a sense of pride. Tiger believed in giving a good value of work for his dollar and he expected the same from his crew. I started looking past his faults to the good in the man. By the end of the summer I not only learned to respect Tiger, but I also learned to like him.
Since then I’ve found there are many people like Tiger, and I’ve had to look past their faults to see the good. Some have become very good and valued friends.

The other week was my little brother Gabriel’s birthday. He would have been seven, but he had cerebral palsy and passed away two years ago. In Primary we sang “Gethsemane.” The words were clear and meaningful. It filled the room with the Spirit.
After the song, Sister Webster bore her testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It filled the room even more with the Spirit. Then she talked about how her brother had died several years ago. It made me think of Gabriel, and I almost started crying. I thought about when I held Gabe for the last time. I was sad, but I also felt peace.
Sister Webster talked about how she was so glad to know that she would see her brother again. She said she knew all of us would see our loved ones who had passed on.
After Primary I gave Sister Webster a hug. We cried together for a few minutes. The Spirit was so strong. She told me that I would see my little brother again. She said the Atonement of Jesus Christ was not only for the wicked but also for the hurt. She asked what I missed the most about Gabe, and I said that I really missed his laugh.
I told Sister Webster that I had been sad because it was Gabriel’s birthday that week and I really needed to know that I would see my brother again. She told me that the tears that we were crying were tears of joy. I could feel the Spirit, and I knew what she said was true. I am sure that I will see Gabriel again, and that makes me so happy. I love him. I know that because Jesus Christ loves me, He gave His life so that I can see Gabriel again.

Elder Mason had another experience just weeks after his marriage that helped him prioritize his family responsibilities. He said:
“Marie and I had rationalized that to get me through medical school it would be necessary for her to remain in the workplace. Although this was not what we [wanted] to do, children would have to come later. [While looking at a Church magazine at my parents’ home,] I saw an article by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve, [highlighting] responsibilities associated with marriage. According to Elder Kimball, one sacred responsibility was to multiply and replenish the earth. My parents’ home was [close to] the Church Administration Building. I immediately walked to the offices, and 30 minutes after reading his article, I found myself sitting across the desk from Elder Spencer W. Kimball.” (This wouldn’t be so easy today.)
“I explained that I wanted to become a doctor. There was no alternative but to postpone having our family. Elder Kimball listened patiently and then responded in a soft voice, ‘Brother Mason, would the Lord want you to break one of his important commandments in order for you to become a doctor? With the help of the Lord, you can have your family and still become a doctor. Where is your faith?’”
Elder Mason continued: “Our first child was born less than a year later. Marie and I worked hard, and the Lord opened the windows of heaven.” The Masons were blessed with two more children before he graduated from medical school four years later.9

In the early 1990s when I met the missionaries, I was interested by all that they taught me. However, I was particularly fascinated by the teachings about the temple. I used my best efforts to deepen my knowledge of the house of the Lord on earth. I shared with the missionaries my desire to go to the temple, and they taught me how to prepare myself for this goal. At that time, there were no temples yet in the Caribbean Area.
Thus, I began my full-time mission in Haiti without having had the opportunity to receive my endowment in the house of the Lord. I found a picture of the Salt Lake Temple in a Church magazine, and I carried it with me wherever I served in the mission field. I always put it in front of my desk and wrote under it, “I want to get married in the temple.”
I was filled with joy when the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple was dedicated in 2000. I have been given the opportunity to be sealed with my wife in the house of the Lord. Later in the April 2015 general conference, I felt even more blessed when President Thomas S. Monson (1927-2018) announced the Port-au-Prince Haiti Temple. The public open house and the dedication of the Port-au-Prince Haiti Temple has marked my life and deepened my understanding of the importance of the temple on earth. In response to my question “How would you describe your experience in the temple?” a visitor said, “I have no words to describe it, I certainly have been in a celestial location,” and a journalist replied, “I don’t know what to say, but in the celestial room, I had a strange feeling that I have never had before.”

When I was in my last year of Primary, a wonderful older lady named Marth Christensen was our teacher. She helped us learn the Articles of Faith. To this day I still know the Articles of Faith because of what I learned in Primary. We visited Sister Christensen’s home often. It was always a wonderful experience to be there. She taught us cooking skills, and we made cookies and candy. Sometimes we took the treats we had made to somebody who was homebound. The examples of wonderful teachers taught me to serve.

President J. Scott Dorius of the Peru Lima West Mission told me their story. He said:
“Becky and I were married for 25 years without being able to have [or adopt] children. We moved several times. Introducing ourselves in each new setting was awkward and sometimes painful. Ward members wondered why we [didn’t have] children. They weren’t the only ones wondering.
“When I was called as a bishop, ward members [expressed] concern that I did not have any experience with children and teenagers. I thanked them for their sustaining vote and asked them to allow me to practice my child-raising skills on their children. They lovingly obliged.
“We waited, gained perspective, and learned patience. After 25 years of marriage, a miracle baby came into our lives. We adopted two-year-old Nicole and then newborn Nikolai. Strangers now compliment us on our beautiful grandchildren. We laugh and say, ‘They are our children. We have lived our lives backwards.’”

Elder Marcus Bell Nash remembers as an eight-year-old boy puzzling over something a nonmember friend had told him. This friend had said that he believed his own church was true. Elder Nash says, “I knew our Church was true. I had never thought that someone else could think his or her church was true. I walked home puzzling and pondering this question. If he thinks his church is true, and I think mine is true, who is right?”
As he sat on the front steps, his head in his hands, he asked himself, “How do I figure this out?” Elder Nash says, “A voice came into my mind, and it said, ‘Now you know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, don’t you?’ I answered the question inwardly, ‘Yes.’ Then the voice said, ‘Then you know the Church is true, don’t you?’ And I said, ‘Yes!’ All the doubt disappeared.”
That answer set the foundation of his testimony. Elder Nash developed a great love for the Prophet Joseph Smith and a powerful feeling for the Book of Mormon that built upon that foundation.

In my high school there were only two boys who were members of the Church: myself and another boy who was inactive. On a whim I decided that on Fridays, for a few weeks, I would wear a white shirt and tie to school. Surprisingly, after the first week, many followed my lead and came dressed in white shirts and ties. One day the principal called me into his office. I had been there before for reasons that I would not care to mention today, but on that occasion he thanked me for setting a standard of dress for the rest of the boys, which he felt improved the spirit of the school. I felt good to know that I had led my friends to do a simple but uplifting thing and that it had been recognized by the school administration.