Gospel Story Finder

Early one evening I walked into the kitchen where my parents were, and almost instantly I could tell that something was wrong. They had their heads bowed together in conversation.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, thinking it was nothing more than a leaky faucet.
“Kristen, Mrs. Johnson called today,” my mother began, her voice soft and gentle. Mrs. Johnson had been our friend and neighbor in Ohio, before we moved.
“Honey, remember when you used to baby-sit for the Herrera children? After we moved, the doctors discovered that Mrs. Herrera had a brain tumor that was in a place that couldn’t be operated on. By the time they found it she only had three months left to live. She died a little while ago.” I could tell that Mom was trying to break the news gently because she knew how much I had liked their family, especially Mrs. Herrera.
I nodded my head and half ran, half stumbled out of the kitchen. Once I was safely hidden in my room, I flopped down on my bed and the tears came. I thought of her children and how they were too young to be without a mother. I could remember nights that I baby-sat for them, when they would pretend to be asleep, but the moment their mom walked through the door they would jump out of bed and run to her.
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared angrily up at the ceiling. It seemed so unfair that Heavenly Father would allow a mother to be taken away, especially from four small children who needed her so much.
Finally, in search of some comfort, I picked up my scriptures and flipped through the pages until three verses in the Doctrine and Covenants caught my eye. “And all they who have mourned shall be comforted. And all they who have given their lives for my name shall be crowned. Therefore, let your hearts be comforted concerning Zion; for all flesh is in mine hands; be still and know that I am God” (D&C 101:14–16).
It was exactly what I needed to read, and it had been there all along in my scriptures. I’d always heard that the scriptures would help me in my life, but I never really understood how until that day. Throughout my life I know that I will have many challenges and obstacles that I must overcome, but now I will remember where to look when I am in need of comfort.

Then one night Jim returned home from an institute class and asked me about several terms he had heard there. “Do you know what these mean?” He spoke them, and they bounced against the blank wall of my mind. “I haven’t the faintest idea,” I answered. As we talked, a suspicion arose in us, awesome, even terrible, that we did not fully understand the doctrines of this gospel we professed to believe in—that our knowledge was shallow and unenlightened.
We started a concentrated study program immediately. We went back to the beginning again to understand faith, baptism, repentance, and the Holy Ghost. We chose vacations with the express purpose of studying together, weeks or weekends, in quiet places where we could relax, research, pray, and ponder.
Growth and understanding came in sudden leaps, as well as line upon line. Our efforts again meant selflessness, sacrificing other interests occasionally, in order to keep pace with one another and to share what we learned with our family. To drag a foot was to slow the rest of us, and neither wanted to be guilty of that.
Today, gospel study and service continue to be a central activity between us, a privilege, we hold most precious. As we look back, our first successes seem small now. But we will always acknowledge a certain ray of light that came one late winter evening to two desperate, seeking newlyweds. The gospel has reaffirmed to us that selflessness and service are truly a vital part of our Heavenly Father’s formula for an enduring marriage.

Years later, a group in Cedar City were talking about her and others who were in those ill-fated companies. Members of the group spoke critically of the Church and its leaders because the company of converts had been permitted to start so late in the season. I now quote from a manuscript which I have:
“One old man in the corner sat silent and listened as long as he could stand it. Then he arose and said things that no person who heard will ever forget. His face was white with emotion, yet he spoke calmly, deliberately, but with great earnestness and sincerity.
“He said in substance, ‘I ask you to stop this criticism. You are discussing a matter you know nothing about. Cold historic facts mean nothing here, for they give no proper interpretation of the questions involved. A mistake to send the handcart company out so late in the season? Yes. But I was in that company and my wife was in it, and Sister Nellie Unthank whom you have cited was there too. We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? Not one of that company ever apostatized or left the Church because every one of us came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives, for we became acquainted with him in our extremities’” (manuscript in my possession).
That speaker was Francis Webster, who was twenty-six years of age when with his wife and infant child he went through that experience. He became a leader in the Church and a leader in the communities of southern Utah.

Mother always kept a cow so that her sons would have what she called “some real responsibility.” This included milking the cow every morning and every night, pitching hay down into the stall for the cow to eat, and watering her morning and night at a nearby stream. Unless we did these chores, the cow would be hungry and thirsty.
There were times when I would be a little late getting home, and then I’d wish I didn’t have to take care of that cow.
One evening when I returned home, I found that she had broken down the fence and run away. I looked in all of the usual places, but I could not find her. I looked everywhere imaginable—but no cow.
It started to grow dark, and I was desperate. I knew that my mother would be worried if she knew the cow was lost. We sold milk to some of our neighbors, and I could picture them waiting for me to take them their fresh milk.
How well I recall that evening! I had been taught to pray, and I knew I could ask the Lord for help. There was a little clump of bushes near the canal, and so I took off my cap, got down on my knees, told the Lord my problem, and asked Him to help me find our cow.
After my prayer, I started walking down the canal bank. And only a few yards from where I had prayed, I found our cow. She was almost hidden in the tall willows by the canal because she was about the same color as the willows. I was grateful my prayer had been answered and that our Heavenly Father had guided my footsteps down the canal bank to where she was.
The many nights my mother knelt by my bed to teach me how to pray helped me learn to talk to our Father in heaven. Ever since the night I prayed for help by that clump of bushes, I have continued to pray for His guidance.
And I know the Lord answers our prayers.

Growing up, living the gospel felt simple. I trusted my parents and leaders, and they guided me and helped me make good choices.
But as I’ve reached young adulthood, I’ve learned that we can often face difficulties and challenges in life that will test our faith.
When my grandmother passed away unexpectedly, my family and I faced one of these difficult times. It made me stop and question, “If God is good, why would He take someone good from our lives?”
My grandma was our pillar. She was kind, caring, and charitable—a mother to everyone. She welcomed everyone into our home. Neighborhood kids who played in the street in front of our house would eat dinner with us because she had a plate of food for everyone.
So when she died, I struggled with my faith.
Amid all my grief, even though I wasn’t looking to find answers in the gospel or in God, I still prayed every day. At first, my prayers were monotonous. I asked for the same things. I was grateful for the same things.
But as time passed, there was one question in my heart that I finally asked Heavenly Father:
“How can I find peace?”
A friend was the answer to that sincere prayer.
Thanks to him, I started attending church again. He invited me to come with him, and I agreed to go, just because he was my friend. I wasn’t interested in participating.
But little by little, just because I was there, the gospel messages began to enter my heart. I saw that Heavenly Father has a plan for us. President Russell M. Nelson taught:
“Eternal perspective provides peace ‘which passeth all understanding.’ (Philippians 4:7.) …
“Life does not begin with birth, nor does it end with death.”
Though I still mourn for my grandma, the gospel of Jesus Christ provides me with peace and the reassurance that we will one day be reunited.
I also learned that it takes constant and daily effort to remember my baptismal covenant and listen to the guiding voice of the Spirit. I began to treasure the gift of the Holy Ghost in my life. I know He is always with me, through every difficulty I face.
I’m so grateful for a friend who noticed I was pulling away from the gospel and reached out to support me. As I continued attending church, institute, and other young adult activities, I grew closer with more young adults in my area who were all seeking to love one another and live the gospel of Jesus Christ.
President Nelson also taught:
“Latter-day Saints, as with other followers of Jesus Christ, are always looking for ways to help, to lift, and to love others. They who are willing to be called the Lord’s people ‘are willing to bear one another’s burdens, … to mourn with those that mourn; … and [to] comfort those that stand in need of comfort’ [Mosiah 18:8–9].
“They truly seek to live the first and second great commandments. When we love God with all our hearts, He turns our hearts to the well-being of others in a beautiful, virtuous cycle.”
Helping me bear my burdens was exactly what my fellow disciples in my ward did for me and what they continue to do for one another. I sincerely love those in my ward! We get together often, we support each other, and we minister to one another. When someone needs a job, we help each other look for opportunities. When new people visit our Sunday meetings, we welcome them and try to make them feel included.
Good friends have helped me grow strong in the gospel, and together, we are strong against the trials and temptations of life.
And just as good friends supported me when I needed it most, I now have the opportunity to be that friend to others. At times when I’ve noticed people I love are struggling or have been distancing themselves from the Church, I do what I can to keep supporting and inviting them—to remind them that the Lord loves them and is waiting for them to return to the covenant path.
I know I wouldn’t be where I am today without my wonderful friends and ward members who helped me have the courage to stay faithful when I was feeling so much grief.

Last spring, while I was visiting a class of young women, the teacher asked the class to write our 10 priorities. I quickly began to write. I have to admit, my first thought began with “Number 1: clean the pencil drawer in the kitchen.” When our lists were complete, the Young Women leader asked us to share what we had written. Abby, who had recently turned 12, was sitting next to me. This was Abby’s list:
Go to college.
Become an interior designer.
Go on a mission to India.
Get married in the temple to a returned missionary.
Have five kids and a home.
Send my kids on missions and to college.
Become a “cookie-giving” grandma.
Spoil the grandchildren.
Learn more about the gospel and enjoy life.
Return to live with Father in Heaven.
I say, “Thank you, Abby. You have taught me about having a vision of the plan Heavenly Father has for all of us. When you know you are walking a path, in spite of whatever detours may occur, you will be OK. When your path is focused on the ultimate goal—that of exaltation and returning to Heavenly Father, you will get there.”
Where did Abby get this sense of eternal purpose? It begins in our homes. It begins in our families. I asked her, “What do you do in your family to create such priorities?”
This was her answer: “Besides reading the scriptures, we are studying Preach My Gospel.” Then she added, “We talk a lot—at family home evening, at dinner together, and in the car while we drive.”
Nephi wrote: “We talk of Christ, we rejoice in Christ, we preach of Christ.” Why? “That our children may know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins” (2 Nephi 25:26).
Talking, listening, encouraging each other, and doing things together as a family will bring us closer to our Savior, who loves us. Our intentional effort to communicate better today—this very day—will bless our families eternally. I testify that when we talk of Christ, we also rejoice in Christ and in the gift of the Atonement. Our children will come to know “to what source they may look for a remission of their sins.”

In 2002 Goodson Mofya Kapata was called as the first branch president of the Kitwe, Zambia Branch, but his conversion took place many years before that.
One day while cleaning shelves in his home, Brother Kapata found a pamphlet about Joseph Smith, and after reading it he knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true. His whole family came to agree with him. In 1994 Brother Kapata and his sister were on their way to be baptized when their car broke down. When they went again the following day, they found out that the Church had withdrawn from the Copperbelt area where Kitwe is located. For eight years Brother Kapata waited for the Church to return.
In 2002 a senior missionary couple was sent to the Copperbelt to help members there, and in October 2002 Brother Kapata and his family were finally able to be baptized. Two months later Brother Kapata was ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood and set apart as the president of the newly formed Kitwe Branch.
Zimbabwe Harare Mission annual history, 2002, 3, folder 1, Church History Library, Salt Lake City (LR 2012146 3).

Forty-five years ago I worked with a man named Sharman Hummel in the printing business. I once asked him how he came to receive his testimony of the gospel.
He responded, “We lived in the East. I was journeying by bus to San Francisco. In Salt Lake City a young girl entered the bus—a Primary girl—who sat next to me. She was going to Reno, Nevada, for a visit with her aunt. As we journeyed westward, I noticed a billboard: ‘Visit the Mormon Sunday School this week.’
“I said to the little girl, ‘I guess there are a lot of Mormons in Utah, aren’t there?’
“She replied, ‘Yes, sir.’
“Then I said to her, ‘Are you a Mormon?’
“Again her reply: ‘Yes, sir.’”
Sharman Hummel then asked, “What do Mormons believe?” And that little girl recited the first article of faith; then she talked about it. Continuing, she gave him the second article of faith and talked about it. Then she gave him the third and the fourth and the fifth and the sixth and all of the Articles of Faith and talked about all of them.
Sharman Hummel said, “I was profoundly impressed. When I arrived in San Francisco, the very first thing I did was to look through the yellow pages for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I called the mission president, and he sent two missionaries to where I was staying. I became a member of the Church, my wife became a member, all of our children became members.”
The entire Hummel family remained active in the Church. Each of the daughters has been to the temple. Countless are those who have been brought to a knowledge of the gospel by the members of this family—all because a young child had been taught the Articles of Faith and had the ability and the courage to proclaim the truth.

The next morning, July 24, 1847, Wilford drove his carriage for several miles down a deep ravine. Brigham lay behind him in the carriage, too feverish and weak to walk. Soon they traveled along a creek through another canyon until they arrived at a level bench of land that opened to a view of the Salt Lake Valley.
Wilford gazed with wonder at the vast country below. Fertile fields of thick green prairie grass, watered by clear mountain streams, stretched for miles before them. The streams emptied into a long narrow river that ran lengthwise down the valley floor. A rim of tall mountains, their jagged peaks high in the clouds, surrounded the valley like a fortress. To the west, glistening like a mirror in the sunlight, was the Great Salt Lake.
After a journey of more than a thousand miles through prairie, desert, and canyons, the sight was breathtaking. Wilford could imagine the Saints settling there and establishing another stake of Zion. They could build homes, cultivate orchards and fields, and gather God’s people from around the world. And before long, the Lord’s house would be established in the mountains and exalted above the hills, just as Isaiah had prophesied.32
Brigham could not see the valley clearly, so Wilford turned the carriage to give his friend a better view. Looking out across the valley, Brigham studied it for several minutes.33
“It is enough. This is the right place,” he told Wilford. “Drive on.”34
Brigham had recognized the spot as soon as he saw it. At the north end of the valley was the mountain peak from his vision. Brigham had prayed to be led directly to that place, and the Lord had answered his prayers. He saw no need to look elsewhere.35
Below, the valley floor was already alive with activity. Even before Brigham, Wilford, and Heber Kimball descended the mountain, Orson Pratt, Erastus Snow, and other men had established a base camp and begun plowing fields, planting crops, and irrigating the land. Wilford joined them as soon as he reached the camp, planting half a bushel of potatoes before eating his evening meal and settling in for the night.
The following day was the Sabbath, and the Saints gave thanks to the Lord. The company met to hear sermons and partake of the sacrament. Though feeble, Brigham spoke briefly to encourage the Saints to keep the Sabbath, take care of the land, and respect each other’s property.
On the morning of Monday, July 26, Brigham was still convalescing in Wilford’s carriage when he turned to Wilford and said, “Brother Woodruff, I want to take a walk.”
“All right,” Wilford said.36
They set out that morning with eight other men, traveling toward the mountains to the north. Brigham rode in Wilford’s carriage part of the way, his hands clutching a green cloak around his shoulders. Before they reached the foothills, the ground leveled off into a plain, and Brigham stepped out of the carriage and walked slowly over the light, rich soil.
As the men followed Brigham, admiring the land, he stopped suddenly and thrust his cane into the ground. “Here shall stand the temple of our God,” he said.37 He could already see a vision of it in front of him, its six spires rising up from the valley floor.38
Brigham’s words struck Wilford like lightning. The men were about to walk on, but Wilford asked them to wait. He broke off a branch from a nearby sagebrush and drove it into the ground to mark the spot.
The men then continued on, envisioning the city the Saints would build in the valley.39
Later that day, Brigham pointed at the mountain peak north of the valley. “I want to go up on that peak,” he said, “for I feel fully satisfied that that was the point shown me in the vision.” The round, rocky peak was easy to climb and clearly visible from all parts of the valley. It was an ideal place to raise an ensign to the nations, signaling to the world that the kingdom of God was again on the earth.
Brigham set out immediately for the summit with Wilford, Heber Kimball, Willard Richards, and others. Wilford was the first to reach the top. From the peak, he could see the valley spread out before him.40 With its high mountains and spacious plain, this valley could keep the Saints safe from their enemies as they tried to live the laws of God, gather Israel, build another temple, and establish Zion. In his meetings with the Twelve and the Council of Fifty, Joseph Smith had often expressed his desire to find such a place for the Saints.41
Wilford’s friends soon joined him. They called the place Ensign Peak, evoking Isaiah’s prophecy that the outcasts of Israel and the dispersed of Judah would assemble from the four corners of the earth under a common banner.42
Someday they wanted to fly a massive flag over the peak. But for now, they did their best to mark the occasion. What happened is uncertain, but one man recalled that Heber Kimball took out a yellow bandana, tied it to the end of Willard Richards’s cane, and waved it back and forth in the warm mountain air.43

The first time I knew I had a testimony of Joseph Smith was when I was just 11 years old and my parents took me to Temple Square in Salt Lake City.
My favorite activity was to collect all the free stuff. I became very adept at working the system. I would ask, “Is this free?” After a positive response I would reach out my 11-year-old hand and say, “Thank you. Is that free too? Thank you!” On occasion someone might say, “No, I’m sorry; those cost five cents.” Undeterred, I would lower my head and, showing much disappointment, say, “Oh, I always wanted to read that pamphlet, but I don’t have any money. Thank you!” It worked every time. The truth is, I never read it. I just collected it.
However, on this particular trip, I was alone in our 1948 Chevrolet, waiting for my parents, when I became inescapably bored. In desperation I looked down at the seat and spotted my stack of free stuff. I picked up a pamphlet entitled Joseph Smith Tells His Own Story and began to read it.
I was riveted, and my heart was filled with joy. After completing it, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror, and much to my surprise, I was crying. I didn’t understand then, but I understand now. I had felt a witness of the Spirit. My parents weren’t there. My sister wasn’t there. My Primary teacher wasn’t there. It was just me and the Spirit of the Holy Ghost.

Recently my granddaughter Jennifer was invited to go with some of her school friends to a dinner and a movie. The girls all agreed on the movie they were going to see, and Jennifer was comfortable attending. However, the girl who left dinner to buy the movie tickets for the group returned with tickets to a different movie than was planned. She said, “It is a great show, and it’s R-rated.”

Jennifer, caught by surprise, couldn’t believe the situation had changed so quickly. But fortunately she had made up her mind before she ever found herself in this position that she would not watch R-rated movies. She was able to stand firm and say to her friends, “I can’t go see an R-rated movie. My parents would not approve.” To which the girls replied, “Oh, come on! Your parents will never know.” Confronted with this, Jennifer went on to say, “Well, actually it doesn’t matter whether my parents will know. I just don’t go to R-rated movies.”

Her friends were upset and tried to get her to relent. They told her she was ruining everything. When she would not give in, they threw the ticket and change in her face and deserted her for the R-rated movie. It wound up being a lonely night full of rejection from her friends. But it was a great moment for Jennifer and our family. She gained confidence, self-worth, and spiritual power.

Due partly to the efforts of David Alan Carter, Dodge City, Kansas, is in the news again. But this time, it’s not because of cowboys and gunslingers. David, a member of the Dodge City Branch, Kansas Central District, Independence Missouri Mission, was the moderator of a panel of four that took third place nationally in a tape-recorded discussion. The topic was pornography, and although they touched on many areas of the problem, most of their 20-minute discussion concerned constitutional questions. The four panel members (of whom only David was a member of the Church) were all students at Dodge City Community College, one of just two community colleges in the nationwide competition. David serves as elders quorum secretary and Course 8 Sunday School teacher in the Dodge City Branch, attends school, and works part-time at several jobs (including a family-owned and operated drive-in movie theater) to earn money for his mission.

For several months I didn’t attend seminary. It was hard for me to get up early, and I thought it was all right not to go because it didn’t help me much in school.
One day my friend told me that the teacher had taken my name off the attendance roll. I thought about the valuable things I had missed in seminary. So the next day at 5:45 a.m., I made myself get up to go to seminary.
For the next couple of mornings it was hard for me to get up, but I put the effort into making it there. After that, I noticed I felt rested and alert, had a better attention span, and was able to absorb more information at school and actually remember it when it counted.
Seminary has been a good experience for me because it has made my days at school go more smoothly. Seminary has also given me a better understanding of the gospel and the Church, which will help me when I serve a mission.

“Before I was born, my parents migrated from Germany to America. Life was challenging and they had to work hard to provide for us little ones as we came along
“During a diphtheria epidemic, my little sister and I both became very ill. The doctor who came told my parents that he had only enough medicine for one, and that a decision would have to be made.
“For some reason, I received the medication and lived. A couple of days later, my little sister died.
“I still remember my father placing her in the little wooden coffin. The neighbors could only come and look through the window, because we were quarantined and everyone was terribly afraid of the contagion.
“I was so small that father had to lift me up to see over that crude little coffin and look upon the face of my childhood playmate for the last time in this mortal existence. Then father went out, got up on the wagon seat, tenderly lifted the coffin onto his lap, and rode away, all alone, to the nearby cemetery.
“Years later, after completing my first month of medical practice, my nurse prepared bills for all my patients. As I saw them sitting there on the desk, that childhood memory passed before me. I remembered also how my parents had later paid the doctor with potatoes and other produce. I asked myself, as I had often asked before: ‘Why was my life preserved instead of hers?’ With that question still on my lips, I swept the stack of bills into the wastebasket and told my nurse that we would keep good records on the books and if people wished to pay me, they would do so; but we would not follow the usual practice of billing patients.”

Another young person, William Hamilton, met Joseph and Hyrum when, on their first night in Carthage, they stayed at his father’s inn. They arrived at the Hamilton House hotel five minutes before midnight on June 24. Early the next morning, the Smith brothers voluntarily surrendered to a constable. After a court hearing during the day, they met with Governor Ford. During the interview a justice of the peace appeared with a paper from a judge authorizing the jailing of Joseph and Hyrum Smith until they could be tried for treason—which was a change from the original charge of rioting.

Despite protests from their attorneys, Joseph and Hyrum were hurried off to Carthage jail, only a few blocks away. Several friends and associates were allowed to stay with the Prophet and the patriarch that evening. On the next day, June 26, the treason hearing was held. No witnesses appeared, so Joseph and Hyrum were required to stay in jail until another hearing could be held, this one scheduled for June 29. But the conspiracy to murder the Prophet and his brother was already in motion.

On June 27, 1844, William stood as lookout on the roof of the county courthouse. It was hot and humid. Sometime near five o’clock, William noticed a group of about 100 men with blackened faces going toward the jail. He hurried to report the movement, but it was already too late. The soldiers assigned to protect the prisoners were outnumbered by the mob. They stormed the jail, rushed up the stairs, and fired shot after shot after shot. Then a yell that the Mormons were coming caught everyone’s attention, and the mob fled.

William went into the jail, where he saw the body of Hyrum Smith. Outside the jail, the Prophet Joseph also lay dead in a pool of blood. John Taylor was severely wounded. Willard Richards was only grazed on his ear by a bullet.2

For sisters Kimberly and Kristen Sylva (left, inset) of Black Mountain, North Carolina, sharing the gospel comes naturally. During high school, both of these sisters brought their best friend into the Church.
Kimberly and her best friend, Kara Dillow, had a lot in common academically as the top two students in their class. But after Kara’s baptism, the two grew to have even more in common—testimony, Church, seminary, and youth activities.
Kristen introduced the gospel to her best friend, Lance Dome. Lance is now a missionary himself, serving in the Belgium Brussels Mission. (That’s Kara and Lance in the larger photo.)

Almost a decade ago, I read a letter from a returned missionary who described this process in his life. He had written to thank those who direct missionary work “for daring to send me where the Lord required rather than where I had deemed appropriate.” He had come, he said, “from a background of proud, competitive intellectualism.” Before his mission he was a student at a prestigious university in the eastern United States. Quote:

“I guess out of a sense of obligation and inertia, I filled out my [missionary] papers and sent them in, extremely careful to mark the column indicating greatest desire to serve abroad and in a foreign language. I was careful to make it apparent that I was an accomplished student of Russian and fully capable of spending two years among the Russian people. Confident that no committee could resist such qualifications, I rested confident that I would enjoy a wonderfully mind-expanding cultural adventure.”

He was shocked to receive a call to serve in a mission in the United States. He didn’t know anything about the state where he would serve, except that it was in his own country speaking English rather than abroad speaking the language he had learned, and, as he said, “The people I would work with would likely be academic incompetents.” He continued, “I almost refused to accept the call, feeling that I would be more fulfilled by enlisting in the Peace Corps or something else.”

Fortunately, this proud young man found the courage and faith to accept the call and to follow the direction and counsel of his fine mission president. Then the miracle of spiritual growth began. He described it thus:
“As I began to serve among the uneducated people of [this state], I struggled mightily for several months, but gradually the sweet workings of the Spirit began to tear down the walls of pride and disbelief that had wrapped themselves so tightly around my soul. The miracle of a conversion to Christ began. The sense of the reality of God and the eternal brotherhood of all men came more and more powerfully to my troubled mind.”

It was not easy, he admitted, but with the influence of his great mission president and with his growing love for the people he served, it was possible, and it occurred.
“My desire to love and serve these people who in the ultimate scale were at least my peers, almost definitely my superiors, waxed stronger and stronger. I learned humility for the first time in my life; I learned what it means to make our valuations of others [without relying on the] irrelevant details of life. I began to feel swelling within my heart a love of the spirits that came here to earth with me” (letter to General Authorities, Feb. 1994).

My temple service ended when I moved away to attend college. And I was so busy and overwhelmed with my studies that I didn’t attend the temple as often. I started to notice a nagging feeling that I needed to serve there again, so I met with my bishop to ask about it.
I received a call to serve in the temple on Saturday afternoons.
Yes, I was so busy, but I was thrilled to make time to serve in the Lord’s house every week. With each shift, I grew closer to the Savior and to Heavenly Father, and I was able to enjoy the peace that is unique to His house.
My temple service has been somewhat brief, but I can testify that my time serving has changed my life for the better.

Early in the summer of 1914, Dorothy Page and her parents left their home in the United States and traveled across the ocean to the city of Brussels in Belgium. Her father had been sent there on business and the family expected to be away at least a year.
Soon they were comfortably settled in a quaint old house with beautiful gardens, surrounded by a high stone wall with a heavy iron gate in front. When Dorothy grew tired of playing among the tiny flower beds and winding paths, she and her mother would drive through the narrow, crooked streets. The odd little shops and houses were interesting to Dorothy and unlike any she had ever seen back home.
In August, just as Brussels was becoming more like home to the Page family, Belgium entered World War I. Mr. Page received word that he should remain in Belgium, as few people thought the war would last very long. Dorothy and her family didn’t even worry much when they heard the big guns booming in the distance.
As food became scarce in Belgium and Thanksgiving Day drew near, Dorothy began to think of the traditional party that would be held at Grandfather’s farm back home. There would be a wonderful dinner of turkey, cranberry sauce, and mince and pumpkin pies. She was homesick for the cousins who would be there having fun playing together.
The day before Thanksgiving, Dorothy’s father came home with the news that the next morning they were driving to the coast to make arrangements to return to the United States. “Pack everything we’ll need,” he said, “and remember to take plenty of warm clothes for the ocean voyage. I believe we can fit it all in the car.”
Many hours were spent packing at the Page home, and early Thanksgiving morning the family was in the car ready to start.
Just as the car rolled through the big iron gates, a man came running after them, carrying a large square box. He explained that the box had somehow managed to come through by express from the United States. He put it down in the bottom of the car and stepped back and waved good-bye.
Soon their home in Brussels was out of sight, and the car sped smoothly down the country road toward the coast. Suddenly, as the road turned sharply, they were stopped by a sharp command, “Halt!” A half dozen soldiers blocked the road in front of them, and an officer approached their car.
He was polite but firm. He said he was very sorry but he must have their car. It was needed to carry wounded soldiers, he explained. Despite their protests, the family was soon sitting alone by the roadside with all their luggage in a neat pile beside them.
“It’s Thanksgiving Day, and we don’t have anything to be thankful for,” said Dorothy, big tears in her eyes.
“We have a great deal to be thankful for, dear,” said Father. “We are all healthy, alive, and together.”
Just behind them was a small farmhouse with one end entirely destroyed by shell-fire. The other walls had several gaping holes where bombshells had hit. The place looked uninhabited.
Suddenly, a little girl darted from the cottage and ran toward them, speaking rapidly in her own language.
The girl was about Dorothy’s own age. She had very blue eyes, yellow hair, rosy cheeks, and wore a little cap over her tight pigtail braids. Her clothes were worn but clean.
A man and a woman came from the house that had seemed so empty and deserted and followed the little girl. They all began gesturing and talking in a mixture of French and English.
Mr. Page tried to explain what had happened. At the end of his story, the man invited them to share their humble home, but he apologized that they didn’t have a crumb of food to offer them.
Everyone began carrying the baggage to the house while Dorothy’s mother was sorting out their belongings. She laid aside many things that had at first seemed necessary and kept only the warmest wraps. At last she came to the big express package from home.
When she tore off the wrapping paper and lifted the lid from the box, she gave such a happy shout that all the others crowded around her. They peered eagerly down at the package and Dorothy shouted with joy.
There was a canned turkey, candied sweet potatoes, cranberry jelly, nut bread, raisins, candy, cookies, and other tasty homemade foods that Grandmother always prepared for Thanksgiving Day.
Everyone was so hungry that they hurriedly spread the feast on an old kitchen table, but no one touched a bite of food until they had first bowed their heads and thanked Heavenly Father for their blessings. For a few moments, as they enjoyed the food, the war seemed very far away even though they ate to the sound of booming guns in the distance.
Dorothy and her parents explained why Grandmother had sent the box of food and told their new friends about Thanksgiving Day. As they did, each one felt that never before had they understood and appreciated the true meaning of Thanksgiving Day. And their Belgian friends decided that it was indeed a wonderful custom to set aside a special day of thanks for year-round blessings.

Alma Elizabeth, with her family and the other Saints, took a long train trip to Iowa. There they joined wagon trains going to Utah. She walked the entire way, except when she got into a wagon to cross a deep river.
Alma Elizabeth’s father had trouble walking. In Sweden he had been a concert violinist and an orchestra director. Then rheumatism crippled him. Slowly he learned to use his hands and feet again, but it was difficult and painful. Elizabeth’s father was unable to keep up with the wagon train, and he insisted that his family go on ahead, promising to catch up with them.
Her father struggled on until he spotted a light. It was a camp of soldiers on their way to the Civil War. One soldier spoke Swedish. When they learned that Alma Elizabeth’s father was a musician, they found a violin and he played it for them. In the morning they took him on horseback and caught up with the wagon train.