Gospel Story Finder

Words expressed lightly and without commitment can be destructive to trust. I once had a young man in our home who had come to install a kitchen range. He was well dressed, well mannered and very skilled. As I worked in the kitchen, we visited while he did his work. I learned he was a student about to graduate and had some ambitious and worthy goals. I asked if he were married and he replied he was not. I suggested that he would be a mighty good catch for some young woman. Then he stopped what he was doing and looked at me seriously and said, "How can you tell when you can trust someone?" His question took me by surprise, but then he explained that he had a girlfriend and she had told him how much she loved him and wanted to be married to him. Then, rather abruptly, he learned she was seeing someone else. His inclination to trust had been damaged.

It is important that we can stand behind the words we speak. Just as it is important to take your car to a mechanic you can trust or to put your money in a bank you can trust, how much more important to place your heart or your feelings in a relationship you can trust. Make a conscious effort to be a man or woman of your word. How could we possibly be prepared to make and keep sacred covenants if we have not learned to be honest in word? Relationships of trust are the foundation of sacred covenants and should never be taken lightly.

In my first general conference message, I briefly shared how the transformative power of the Savior’s Atonement changed my father.
Today I would like to tell you a little more about how that change began. My father hit a very low point in his life when two ministering brothers began to visit him. One of them invited my father to come with him and his wife to the temple. He accepted the invitation. Each week they picked him up and drove to the next city to worship and serve in the house of the Lord. This continued for three years. Then my dad decided to become a temple worker.
I remember seeing changes in my father during that time. He became aware and attentive to the needs of others. He took better care of his health. He began to care about His relationship with God and subsequently all the relationships in his life. The change was real. He now had the Spirit with him, and I felt it.
Bless this ministering couple for helping my dad. They didn’t judge him for where he was in his life. They walked with him and helped him to develop his relationship with God. They are still my father’s closest and dearest friends.
Because these humble and devoted disciples of the Savior quietly ministered to a seemingly lost and dejected man, my family and I have been eternally blessed.

I am grateful for my wife, Sharon. I hope you could sense her goodness as she has just addressed you. She makes my life’s journey so much the better for having her at my side …My wife is a survivor. Not only has she survived 38 years married to me but she survived a night lost in the Kahana Valley. The October night she didn’t come home gave me a unique perspective. It made me realize more completely how much I love her and how much I depend on her. We learned a few practical things as well: That you should always let someone know where you are going; that it’s wise to stop hiking before it gets dark; and that the search and rescue people truly are heroes. We remain grateful to all in the community who stopped what they were doing to help find her and our two friends.

My husband and I had been married about two years when I read an article recommending that married couples discuss truthfully and candidly the habits or mannerisms they find annoying in each other. The theory was that if partners knew of such annoyances, they could correct them before resentful feelings developed.
It made sense to me. I talked with my husband about the idea. After some hesitation, he agreed to give it a try.
As I recall, we were to name five things we found annoying. I started off. After more than 50 years, I remember only my first complaint: grapefruit. I told him I didn’t like the way he ate grapefruit. Instead of cutting it open and eating it with a spoon, he peeled it and ate it a section at a time. Nobody else I knew ate grapefruit like that. Could I be expected to spend a lifetime, and even eternity, watching my husband eat grapefruit like that? Although I have forgotten them, I’m sure my other complaints were of similar importance.
Then it was his turn. It has been more than half a century, but I still carry a mental image of my husband’s thoughtful, puzzled expression. He looked at me and said, “I can’t think of anything I don’t like about you.”
Gasp. I quickly turned my back, not knowing how to explain my tears. I had found fault with him over such trivial things, while he hadn’t even noticed any of my peculiar and no doubt annoying habits.
I wish I could say this experience completely cured me of faultfinding. It didn’t. But it did teach me early in my marriage that we need to keep in perspective, and usually ignore, the small differences in our spouse’s habits and personalities. Whenever I hear of married couples being incompatible, I always wonder if they are suffering from what I now call the grapefruit syndrome.

This story took place in Tonga in 1981.
Silioti walked home from school past trees of yellow papayas and rosy ripe mangoes. When she saw the fruit, she remembered how hungry she was. She also remembered that today was a special day. Today everyone in her stake in Tonga was fasting for the prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball. The prophet was sick and needed an operation. Tonight everyone in the stake would meet to pray and end their fast together.
When Silioti reached her house, she smelled food cooking in the ‘umu, the pit oven. Her stomach grumbled. Silioti was glad she was old enough to fast now, but fasting on a school day was so much harder than fasting on a Sunday.
Silioti tried to forget how hungry she was. She found firewood and cleaned up the leaves that had fallen from the tall breadfruit trees that shaded her yard.
“Heavenly Father will understand if I take a tiny sip of water,” Silioti thought as she washed her hands after chores. Then she thought of how much she loved President Kimball. She wanted him to be well again. She decided she would wait.
Silioti sat down on the porch and laid her head in her mother’s lap. She was so tired.
“You can end your fast if you need to,” Mother said.
“But I want to fast,” said Silioti. “I can do it.”
When Father came home from work, everyone in the family helped uncover the ‘umu. They took out the pork wrapped in leaves, the fish, and the breadfruit baked in coconut milk. Then they wrapped the food in cloth and carried it out to the road to wait for the bus.
They met other families on the road, all with their own dishes of food. They all smiled and talked as they climbed on the bus together. Silioti found a little space next to Mother. She smelled the good food as the bus bumped along.
It was dark when the bus reached the chapel. Inside, Silioti knelt with her parents, her brothers and sisters, and hundreds of other members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
During the prayer, Silioti prayed in her heart, “Please let President Kimball get well again.” She knew every person in the room was praying for the same thing. A calm feeling inside told her that President Kimball would be OK.
When she opened her eyes she saw tears on the faces of the people around her. All of these people had fasted, and she had fasted with them. It had been hard, but she had done it!
President Kimball survived his operation and served as the prophet for four more years.

When I was about to go on a mission, I worried about the same things that today worry the young men and young women who will also serve missions. I worried about work, my girlfriend, school, and family. When I was old enough to go on a mission, my father was almost 66 years old, and I thought, My father is old, and if I leave for two years, he may die and I will not see him anymore. Who will take care of my mother? She will be all alone when he is no longer at her side.

May I tell you that I served two years in the mission, I served in the Church schools in Chile for five years, I served as a mission president for three years, as a regional representative for six years, and then in the Seventy before my father died in 1993 at the age of 94.

Now I have a message that I hope to have inspiration to convey to you brethren. And I would like to tell of a little incident that happened to a great member of the Church in Germany, Karl G. Maeser, a great educator, a doctor of education, a man of great dignity and wisdom. It was he who founded Brigham Young University.
Under the direction of President Brigham Young he went to Provo, with the simple instruction that he was to found the university and to teach not even the multiplication tables without the Spirit of God. Beyond that, Brigham Young said, “Good luck and God bless you.” Brother Maeser had been converted here in Europe. This man of great dignity and prestige was a very humble man, and his attitude seems to me to characterize what we should be as holders of the priesthood.
I mention two incidents: On one occasion he was going with a group of young missionaries across the alps. They were crossing a high mountain pass on foot. There were long sticks stuck into the snow of the glacier to mark the path so that travelers could find their way safely across the glacier and down the mountain on the other side.
When they reached the summit, Brother Maeser wanted to teach the young elders a lesson. He stopped at the pinnacle of the mountain and pointed to those sticks that they had followed. And he said, “Brethren, behold the priesthood of God. They are just common old sticks, but it’s the position that counts. Follow them and you will surely be safe. Stray from them and you will surely be lost.” And so it is in the Church. We are called to leadership positions and given the power of the priesthood. And we are just common old sticks, but the position we are given counts. It is separate and apart from us, but while we hold it, we hold it.

Several decades ago an acquaintance of mine left a small southern Utah town to travel to the East. He had never traveled much beyond his little hometown and certainly had never ridden a train. But his older sister and brother-in-law needed him under some special circumstances, and his parents agreed to free him from the farm work in order to go. They drove him to Salt Lake City and put him onto the train—new Levi’s, not so new boots, very frightened, and eighteen years old.

There was one major problem, and it terrified him. He had to change trains in Chicago. Furthermore, it involved a one-night layover, and that was a fate worse than death. His sister had written, carefully outlining when the incoming train would arrive and how and where and when he was to catch the outgoing line, but he was terrified.

And then his humble, plain, sun-scarred father did something no one in this room should ever forget. He said, “Son, wherever you go in this Church there will always be somebody to stand by you. That’s part of what it means to be a Latter-day Saint.” And then he stuffed into the pocket of his calico shirt the name of a bishop he had taken the time to identify from sources at Church headquarters. If the boy had troubles, or became discouraged and afraid, he was to call the bishop and ask for help.

Well, the train ride progressed rather uneventfully until the train pulled into Chicago. And even then the young man did pretty well at collecting his luggage and making it to the nearby hotel room that had been prearranged by his brother-in-law. But then the clock began to tick and night began to fall and faith began to fail. Could he find his way back to the station? Could he find the right track and train? What if it was late? What if he was late? What if he lost his ticket? What if his sister had made a mistake and he ended up in New York? What if? What if? What if?

Without those well-worn boots ever hitting the floor, that big, raw-boned boy flew across the room, nearly pulled the telephone out of the wall, and, fighting back tears and troubles, called the bishop. Alas, the bishop was not home, but the bishop’s wife was. She spoke long enough to reassure him that absolutely nothing could go wrong that night. He was, after all, safe in the room, and what he needed more than anything else was a night’s rest. Then she said, “If tomorrow morning you are still concerned, follow these directions and you can be with our family and other ward members until train time. We will make sure you get safely on your way.” She then carefully spelled out the directions, had him repeat them back, and suggested a time for him to come.

With slightly more peace in his heart, he knelt by his bed in prayer (as he had every night of his eighteen years) and then waited for morning to come. Somewhere in the night the hustle and bustle of Chicago in the 1930s subsided into peaceful sleep.

At the appointed hour the next morning he set out. A long walk, then catch a bus. Then transfer to another. Watch for the stop. Walk a block, change sides of the street, and then one last bus. Count the streets carefully. Two more to go. One more to go. I’m here. Let me out of this bus. It worked, just like she said.

Then his world crumbled, crumbled before his very eyes. He stepped out of the bus onto the longest stretch of shrubbery and grass he had ever seen in his life. She had said something about a park, but he thought a park was a dusty acre in southern Utah with a netless tennis court in one corner. Here he stood looking in vain at the vast expanse of Lincoln Park with not a single friendly face in sight.

There was no sign of a bishop or a ward or a meetinghouse. And the bus was gone. It struck him that he had no idea where he was or what combination of connections with who knows what number of buses would be necessary to get him back to the station. Suddenly he felt more alone and overwhelmed than he had at any moment in his life. As the tears welled up in his eyes, he despised himself for feeling so afraid—but he was, and the tears would not stop. He stepped off the sidewalk away from the bus stop into the edge of the park. He needed some privacy for his tears, as only an eighteen-year-old from Southern Utah could fully appreciate. But as he stepped away from the noise, fighting to control his emotions, he thought he heard something hauntingly familiar in the distance. He moved cautiously in the direction of the sound. First he walked, and then he walked quickly. The sound was stronger and firmer and certainly it was familiar. Then he started to smile, a smile that erupted into an audible laugh, and then he started to run. He wasn’t sure that was the most dignified thing for a newcomer to Chicago to do, but this was no time for discretion. He ran, and he ran fast. He ran as fast as those cowboy boots would carry him—over shrubs, through trees, around the edge of a pool.

Though hard to you this journey may appear, Grace shall be as your day.

The sounds were crystal clear, and he was weeping newer, different tears. For there over a little rise huddled around a few picnic tables and bundles of food were the bishop and his wife and their children and most of the families of that little ward. The date: July 24, 1934. The sound: a slightly off-key a cappella rendition of lines that even a boy from Southern Utah could recognize.

Gird up your loins; fresh courage take; Our God will never us forsake; And soon we’ll have this tale to tell— All is well! All is well! [“Come, Come, Ye Saints, Hymns, 1985, no. 30]

It was Pioneer Day. The gathering to which he had been invited was a Twenty-Fourth of July celebration. Knowing that it was about time for the boy to arrive, the ward had thought it a simple matter to sing a verse or two of “Come, Come, Ye Saints” to let him know their location.

When Elder Perry was seven years old, his family started to remodel their home in Logan, Utah, USA. They were taking out some of the walls in the house. Each day, the workers would tear down the old walls, leaving many boards full of nails. One of young Tom’s tasks was to take care of these boards.
Each night after the workers had finished, Tom gathered up the boards and took them out to the back lawn. There he made a big pile of boards. Then, one at a time, he put them up on two sawhorses and pulled out all the nails with a crowbar.
After pulling out the nails, Tom did his best to straighten them. Then he threw the straightened nails into a big green bucket and stacked the boards in a neat pile. The workers were able to use the old boards to remodel the house.
Elder Perry says this project helped him learn good lessons. First, it taught him the discipline of working hard. Second, it taught him not to waste things. These lessons have helped him his whole life.

The third experience involves me. Since I am the slow one in the family, this experience is more ambiguous than the other two. Some years ago I had the opportunity to make a choice about the path I would take in my career. The two choices offered to me were both good and honorable. I wanted to travel both paths, but that wasn’t possible. I felt I knew which path would be best. It was a path for which I felt I was well suited and that appeared bright with opportunity. Nevertheless, I prayed to know if I was making the right decision. I was surprised at how hard it was to be open and submissive when I had a bias about what I wanted the answer to be. I did not receive a clear direction about which path to take, so I moved ahead and made the best decision I could.

Given that I was unsure what I should do, what is the point of this example? It wasn’t too long after I made my decision that the path I chose—which appeared bright and promising at the time—turned dark and difficult. I lay awake many nights wondering how to address the problems before me. Just because the path I chose did not turn out as I expected does not mean it was the wrong path. In fact, just the opposite might be the case. Perhaps I learned lessons I could not have learned otherwise or I rendered service that I needed to give. But as I look back, I feel that if the same situation were to occur again—that of having to choose between two good paths—I would be less inclined to think I knew which path was best for me and less sure I knew what the future would bring. I would be, I hope, more submissive, more trusting, more open.

The fictional character Mary Poppins is a typical English nanny—who happens to be magical. She blows in on the east wind to help the troubled Banks family of Number 17, Cherry Tree Lane, in Edwardian London. She is given charge of the children, Jane and Michael. In a firm but kind manner, she begins to teach them valuable lessons with an enchanting touch.
Jane and Michael make considerable progress, but Mary decides that it is time for her to move on. In the stage production, Mary’s chimney sweep friend, Bert, tries to dissuade her from leaving. He argues, “But they’re good kids, Mary.”
Mary replies, “Would I be bothering with them if they weren’t? But I can’t help them if they won’t let me, and there’s no one so hard to teach as the child who knows everything.”
Bert asks, “So?”
Mary answers, “So they’ve got to do the next bit on their own.”

This great caring about how we behave toward everyone around us was one of the great lessons President McKay taught. On the trip to Europe to dedicate the temple sites in Switzerland and England, President McKay was surrounded by eager English youth seeking autographs from him. The first in line was a young girl about nine years old. She asked the President’s son, who was accompanying him, “May I have President McKay’s autograph?” The son, who thought his father was too tired, began to dissuade her. But President McKay, overhearing the conversation, turned to her and asked jokingly, “Do you think I can write plainly enough so you can read it?” The girl wasn’t sure whether he was in earnest, and she became flustered. At that moment, an aide interrupted with a pressing question, and several minutes of conversation ensued. When the President turned back to speak again to the girl, she had disappeared.
“I have never seen father more upset,” said his son. “Please find that girl in the blue dress,” President McKay directed. “I’m sure she has the impression that I didn’t want to sign her book. She misinterpreted my remarks. You must find her.” Before long, branch presidents and mission presidents were looking for a little girl in blue. But the search was in vain. Finally, a missionary thought he knew who the girl was. He telephoned the President later that night and then received these instructions: “Tell the girl that I am sorry I missed her, and that I have asked the branch president to send her book to me by mail to Salt Lake City; I will sign my autograph and mail it directly back to her.” And he did!

While I was at my friend’s birthday party, we were voting on movies to watch. There were two out of the five that I knew I shouldn’t watch. I told my friend that I didn’t want to watch those two movies. She wasn’t very happy about that, but she did respect my values. We ended up watching a movie that I felt was appropriate. I am glad I have the gospel standard to follow: “I will only read and watch things that are pleasing to Heavenly Father.”
Kaitlyn M., age 11, Washington

But what might it be like to be an outsider—unwanted and uninvited? On my most recent trip to Dilley, I met a woman who understood from her interactions with immigration officials on the border and from what she had seen on the news that she was an outsider. When I met with her to prepare her for her interview with an asylum officer, she told me that she knew she was unwanted in this country. She admitted, “I don’t want to be here either.” She told me about the friends and family she had left behind—including her mother, who was too old to travel—and her job as a school teacher. After escaping abduction and rape by a gang in Honduras, she had come to the United States to move in with an extended family member living here. She spoke no English and knew very little about the United States, but she had nowhere else to go. I was touched by the way in which the women at the detention center physically reached out to comfort and help each other, even when the only thing they had in common was their shared status as outsiders.

When I was seven years old, I promised the Lord that, if given the opportunity, I would preach the gospel throughout the world. At that time I regularly attended the Baptist Church with my family. I did not understand many things. For example, I didn’t know why only the pastor and his assistants were allowed to speak. I felt everyone should have the opportunity to share his or her feelings and beliefs. However, my family and our church helped me gain a love and appreciation for Jesus Christ and for the scriptures.
As I was growing up, my family lived less than five minutes from the Washington D.C. Temple. The temple fascinated me as a young boy, and I always wanted to enter. But my father assured me, “It won’t be part of your life. Don’t ever worry about that building.”
Every day I would watch my father study the Bible intensely. I knew my father was a man of God, and I began to pose many questions. He would always tell me to read the Bible and find out for myself.
A decade later I was serving as a United States Marine security guard for the American Embassy in the Republic of Djibouti, a small country in northeast Africa. I decided to search for the truth, so I read the Bible cover to cover. As I grew closer to God, I realized the Bible was the true word of God. I did not have to rely on the testimony of my father. But I felt I still did not have the whole truth, and I longed to know why I felt compelled never to drink, smoke, or swear and to remain morally clean. Why did I always strive to obey the commandments?
After 15 months I was reassigned to the American Embassy in Pretoria, South Africa. I was selected as the first Black Marine security guard ever to serve in South Africa. In each place I was assigned, I was handpicked because of my standards. Interestingly, U.S. president Bill Clinton phoned to ask me to accept the South Africa assignment. Those were some of the reasons I received many recognitions and awards.
In South Africa I met the Cleverlys, who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The mother of the family invited me to their home at various times. She always told me about young adult activities, but I could never attend due to my job schedule. Then she invited me to attend church, and I accepted. But before Sunday came, I had three nights of duty. I went downstairs to the embassy library where there was a computer with a huge search capacity. I just typed in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. All kinds of information came up, and I read for eight hours the first night, eight hours the second night, and eight hours the third night. What I looked at most of all was what Latter-day Saints believed and how they applied it in their lives. Did they live according to what they had established as laws or standards of the Church?
The week preceding my visit to church, I had a dream. I was sitting at a table, and there were two young men with white short-sleeved shirts and black name tags. They were sitting at the sides of a table, and I was seated at the head. When I woke up, I didn’t think much about the dream.
The first time I walked into a Latter-day Saint meeting, I knew there was something different about this church. It happened to be the first Sunday of the month, which meant the members had an opportunity to stand and bear testimony. Now this is the true order of church, I thought.
I was introduced to two missionaries. One of the young men was one of those in my dream, the exact person. Sister Cleverly invited the missionaries and me to her home for dinner. She placed us at the table exactly as my dream had predicted. The missionaries began teaching me.
Later, when I learned the principle of baptism for the dead, I thought it amazing that one could go to a sacred place and do these things for people who had passed away. I thought about my two grandfathers and my grandmother who had passed away. That’s when I started to feel the Holy Ghost. The teachings sounded right to me.
We got to the next principle, which was about families, and I realized I had always known that was true. When I heard about eternal families, I told the missionaries, “I knew this existed.”
Then the missionaries taught me about the Word of Wisdom, and it was then I made a discovery. It felt as if my soul unfolded, and I shed a sort of shell and a new person came out. I felt like I was floating off the ground. I had always lived the Word of Wisdom, and I had wanted to know why I was the way I was. No one had ever had the answer for me. But the Lord did, and I learned that answer through the missionaries and the discussions. I knew everything they had taught me previously was true and everything they would teach me would be true. I had never felt the Spirit so strongly reading the scriptures as when I read Doctrine and Covenants 89:18–21. I knew it was true. I always knew my body was important, and I knew it was never to be defiled.
From this point forward, I began to experience mixed emotions about becoming a member of the Church. I was concerned about my father’s opinion and his reaction to my decision.
During the sixth discussion, I received the message that I had an incoming call from my father. The phone rang. I picked it up, and it was indeed my dad.
He said, “Your mother informed me you’ve made a decision to join the Latter-day Saints.”
I said yes.
He said, “I’m here to prevent that from happening.”
And I said, “You know what, Dad? I love you and you’ll always be my dad. You’ve done a great job with me. But I’m 22. I’m a man now, and these decisions are for my family and my future. I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and will continue to do for me, but this is my decision. I’m going to do it, and I know the Lord wants me to do this.”
My dad wasn’t very happy when he hung up the phone. Immediately I got on my knees and asked the Lord to help me see and understand that what I was going to do was correct. I was thousands of kilometers from home. I was all alone, and nothing was going right. Only when I was with the missionaries did I feel good. At that moment the Spirit testified to me that it was the Lord’s will and that the Lord wanted me to be baptized. A very clear voice said, “You are to do the Lord’s will. You are to follow His example.” Then I knew. I never looked back after that. I was baptized on 12 October 1995.
It was a year to the day of my baptism, 12 October 1996, that I entered the Washington D.C. Temple to be endowed in preparation for serving full time in the Spain Madrid Mission.
During the first year of my mission, my parents were not supportive of my missionary service. The Lord revealed to me while I was on my mission that my family was fine and they would be taken care of. Then things changed all of a sudden. The last six to eight months of my mission, my family was very supportive. They said they were receiving blessings, and they knew it was because of my mission.
After I returned from my mission, I stayed with my family for three weeks before leaving to enter Brigham Young University. Before school started my father visited me, meeting my friends and seeing Salt Lake City. When I took him to the airport, he embraced me and said, “Out of all 46 years of my life, never ever have I felt more love or the Spirit of God in my home than when you were home the last few weeks. I know we owe it to the service you gave in Spain for two years.”

In the Western Athletic Conference indoor track meet, Doug once again shocked everyone by beating Suleiman. Some had assumed that the first victory was a fluke—a very impressive fluke notwithstanding.
This set the stage for the indoor nationals. “I knew that Suleiman would be expecting me this time, and that I would have to move earlier than I had before. So I made a move with five laps to go, almost a half mile. That was quite a race. It was rough. He ran in lane two for almost the last five full laps. He tried to pass me repeatedly. I won by four-hundredths of a second.” Less than an hour later, Doug had to run the 5,000 meters. Not knowing how much he had left, he dropped to the back of the pack. With two and a half laps to go, he made his move, swinging wide around a group in front of him. He moved into third place with a lap to go, took second on the backstretch, and kicked hard in a grim charge to overtake Suleiman. He couldn’t quite catch him, finishing second.

Let me give you an example. Earlier this summer I drove my son down to Provo to drop him off at the MTC. He is our eldest child, and it was just me and him for those four hours since his mom and sisters were at Girls Camp, and the youngest was at Grandma's house.

We had a really nice time together on the way down, and we visited together on the steps of the Provo Temple for a few minutes before I dropped him off. We took a picture, had a big hug, shed a tear, and off he went. He didn't look back. I know because I watched him all the way.

I drove away, around the corner and down the street. By the time I got over, adjacent to Lavell Edwards stadium, I was overcome by the grief and pain of the departure of my little boy—my hiking and climbing buddy, our lawn mower and babysitter, my son.

I pulled over, sobbing, unable to see the road in front of me through my tears. I knew what he would be going through. I knew it would be wonderful and hard, exciting and scary, that he needed to experience that, and I knew God would guide and keep him, but I missed him, and it hurt.

In this my moment of sorrow, I cried out to my Heavenly Father, "How can I do this?" and He said, so clearly I could hear it, "How do you think I felt when you left?" Pow. It hit me right in my heart.

If God loves us like this, sending us to earth, eagerly anticipating our return, hearing my prayers in the same way I can hardly wait for each P-day with its accompanying pictures and precious email—wow! That's how it works.

This experience has become a touchstone for me, a persistent example of things Heavenly Father prepared to remind us of Him, His love for us, and His hand in our lives. All things testify of him.

When Kim was seven, she set off with her family on a month-long camping trip across the United States. Walking along the Freedom Trail in Boston, where she saw places she had studied about in school, such as Paul Revere’s home and the Old North Church, was the highlight of the trip for her. However, Kimberly was happy to come back home to Tempe and its surroundings, which offer many interesting things to see and do. Two places Kim likes to visit often are the Phoenix Zoo and the Phoenix Museum of Science and Technology, which is a hands-on science museum. The visitors’ center at the Mesa Temple grounds, with its talking figure of Moroni, is another favorite place.

Roger and Tina Schiele served their military relations mission in Guam. “We were given the opportunity to join those meeting a submarine as it returned to its home port,” Elder Schiele explains. “It was a wonderful experience to see families reunited.”
On board the ship was one young Latter-day Saint who was headed for his first duty station right out of submarine school. After the month-long trip to Guam, no one would be there to greet him when the ship arrived.
“His bishop at home contacted the bishop here and told him he was coming,” Sister Schiele says. “So we were there with a sign that had his name on it, waiting for him. He was so surprised that he asked if he could keep the sign!”

A few years ago, I had a stake conference assignment in California. On the flight back to Utah, a beautiful lady in her mid-70s sat beside me. Her name was Patti, and she loved to talk.
Patti told me all about her family—about her husband and her son who had died. Our conversation went on until we were about to land. I said, “Patti, you have been talking for most of the flight. Before we land in Salt Lake City, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
I asked her sincerely, “Patti, do you know you will see your deceased husband again?”
She said, “Oh, is that possible?”
Then I asked, “Do you know you will also see again your deceased son, Matt, who died as a baby?”
Her eyes became moist, and her voice was shaking. The Spirit of the Lord touched her. She had missed them so much.
Then I prayerfully asked her, “Patti, do you know you have a loving and kind Heavenly Father, who loves you so dearly?”
She said, “Do I?”
I asked, “Patti, do you know your Heavenly Father has a special plan for you and that your family can be forever?”
“Can we?” she replied.
“Have you ever heard the plan before?” I asked.
She said, “No.”
Very sincerely I asked her, “Would you like to know about it?”
“Yes, I would,” she responded.
The Spirit of the Lord touched her deeply.
The missionaries taught Patti. Three weeks later, while she was staying in Utah, Patti called me: “Brother Kikuchi, this is Patti. I am going to be baptized. Would you come to my baptism services?”
My wife and I went to her baptism. Many members were kindly fellowshipping her. Oh, I shall never forget her joyful countenance as she came out of the water!
I shall never forget her sweet tears at the sacred altar in the Salt Lake Temple a year later. I remember her peaceful and celestial glow when she was sealed to her deceased husband and son and to her living daughter, who was already a member of the Church.
My friend Patti found the Lord Jesus Christ. Because of the temple sealing, she now knows her family is forever in the Lord.