Gospel Story Finder

The peace of Jesus Christ is meant for us personally. Recently a young man earnestly asked, “Elder Gong, can I still go to heaven?” He wondered if he could ever be forgiven. I asked his name, listened carefully, invited him to talk with his bishop, gave him a big hug. He left with hope in Jesus Christ.
I mentioned the young man in another setting. Later I received an unsigned letter that began, “Elder Gong, my wife and I have raised nine kids … and served two missions.” But “I always felt I would not be allowed in the celestial kingdom … because my sins as a youth were so bad!”
The letter continued, “Elder Gong, when you told about the young man gaining hope of forgiveness, I was filled with joy, beginning to realize that maybe I [could be forgiven].” The letter concludes, “I even like myself now!”

After the destructive wildfires in California in 2017, I traveled with Elder Von G. Keetch of the Seventy to minister to those who had lost so much. We saw whole neighborhoods that had been destroyed in just minutes.
In that destruction, Elder Keetch discovered some lessons that he later told his family members he might someday use in a talk. Sadly, though, Elder Keetch passed away from cancer less than a year later. With the help and support of the Keetch family, I’d like to share one of the lessons Elder Keetch shared with them.
As Elder Keetch walked through what used to be a home, he saw some pottery among the ashes. The pottery was unharmed, not even blackened by the flames.
The unharmed pottery that Elder Von G. Keetch saw in a burned home became a metaphor for a lesson he wanted to teach his family about adversity.
Photograph courtesy of Keetch family
“While everything in that house had been burned or melted,” Elder Keetch’s daughter said, “that pottery held strong. Why? Because it had already been through the refiner’s fire. As it was created, it had already been exposed to temperatures and pressures so great that the fire had little effect on it. Adversity in this life is our refiner’s fire. It is what molds us, strengthens us, and causes us to withstand the fires of this mortal life.”
Elder Keetch also said that God “allows us to experience trials and difficulties because He knows we need the ‘hard things’ to help us become who we need to become. And yet He also will shoulder our burdens and carry us through the difficult times [see Mosiah 24].”
The Keetch family couldn’t have known that soon after his trip to California, Elder Keetch’s illness and death would place them in their own fiery furnace. During that trial, his daughter said, “Just like the pottery in California, I will withstand the flames. And I will be stronger because of them.”
For me, the image of pottery unharmed by extreme heat shows that we can withstand the fires of affliction. Through our faith in Christ and His Atonement, we will receive strength. Even during our most painful trials, He can bring us peace. (See Matthew 8:23–27; 11:28; Mark 4:35–41.)
I believe the Keetch family will not only remain strong but also increase in faith—and yes, even joy—as they look forward to a sweet reunion with their husband, father, and grandfather. When our faith is built “upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God” (Helaman 5:12), our burdens become lighter.

The Sunday School teacher introduced herself and then began to teach about the gold plates, the Urim and Thummim, and the story of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s First Vision. I was fascinated and listened intently.
In priesthood meeting I met the Young Men president, his counselors, and members of the bishopric. Our discussion was about Adam and Eve. I knew by the Spirit that what they taught me was true. In one day I was convinced that these were the most fun and the most spiritual people on earth. By the end of church, I felt so welcome that I came back Sunday after Sunday.
These people provided the fertile soil that helped nourish the gospel seed in my heart. I began to look forward to Sundays, and I enjoyed going to church.
I marveled at the amazing things I was learning about the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Restoration, the premortal existence, the three degrees of glory, the temple, eternal marriage, and the Atonement. My testimony grew, and I found that I knew the Book of Mormon was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I knew that God lived, and I knew He was literally my Father.
I was baptized almost two years later on 26 July 1998. I marvel now as I look back at the fellowship, the friendship, and the examples of those people who were willing to extend a hand to a stranger.

When Monika Fullmer served in a Relief Society presidency in Germany, she became acquainted with Anne, a less-active sister. (The name has been changed.) Anne’s visiting teachers encouraged her to come to church, but she was hesitant to come back after being away so long. The sisters finally convinced her that she would be welcomed with open arms.
At first, Anne sat in the back of the meetinghouse. But gradually, as the women in the ward drew her in, she became comfortable. The Relief Society presidency soon felt impressed that they should request that Anne be called as Relief Society music leader. Even though she knew very little about music, Anne accepted the assignment. With the support of the sisters in Relief Society, Anne learned to fulfill her calling, then accepted other leadership positions in the ward. In time, Anne’s husband was baptized, and her family was sealed in the temple.
“Whenever I think of sisterhood, I think of Anne,” says Sister Fullmer. “The Relief Society sisters’ love and acceptance made her feel welcome—and then needed.”

We can all recall times when we have pushed on and prayed again—and blessings resulted. The experiences of Michael and Marian Holmes illustrate these principles. Michael and I served together as Area Seventies. I was always thrilled whenever he was called on to pray in our meetings because his deep spirituality was readily apparent; he knew how to speak with God. I loved to hear him pray. Early in their marriage, though, Michael and Marian were not praying or attending church. They were busy with three little children and a successful construction company. Michael did not feel that he was a religious man. One evening, their bishop came to their home and encouraged them to begin praying.

After the bishop left, Michael and Marian decided that they would try to pray. Before going to bed, they knelt at their bedside and, uncomfortably, Michael began. After a few awkward words of prayer, Michael abruptly stopped, saying, “Marian, I can’t do this.” As he stood and began walking away, Marian grabbed him by the hand, dragged him back to his knees, and said, “Mike, you can do this. Try again!” With this encouragement, Michael finished a short prayer.

The Holmeses began to pray regularly. They accepted a neighbor’s invitation to attend church. As they walked into the chapel and heard the opening hymn, the Spirit whispered to them, “This is true.” Later, unseen and unasked, Michael helped haul some trash from the meetinghouse. As he did, he felt a distinct impression, “This is My house.”

Michael and Marian accepted Church callings and served in their ward and stake. They were sealed to each other, and their 3 children were sealed to them. More children followed, bringing the total to 12. The Holmeses served as mission president and companion—twice.

The first clunky prayer was a small but faith-filled action that triggered the blessings of heaven. The Holmeses fed the flames of faith by attending church and serving. Their dedicated discipleship over the years has led to a raging inferno that inspires to this day.

I also remember attending a meeting near Bancroft, Idaho, years ago. It was sponsored in part by the extension service of the University. We’d had a wonderful meeting, and after it was over, I was greeting some of the wonderful farmers who were there, and among them was a man by the name of Brother Yost, and I said, “Brother Yost, how are things out on the farm?” Brother Yost said, “Oh, things are fine, Brother Benson, but I’m about 20 thousand dollars worse off than I was three days ago.” I said, “What’s the matter—another frost?” He said, “Yes, it hit the wheat just in the dough stage, and you know what that means.” He said, “We’re starting the mowing machines in the morning, but everything’s all right. We’ve still got a little wheat in the bin, and we’ve got at least part of our year’s supply laid away. We’re not going to starve, and there’ll be another crop.” As we left him, I said to my wife, “What a wonderful spirit.”
We drove on down to Logan. We had our children with us, and we stopped on Main Street to go into a grocery store to pick up a few cookies for the kiddies. And who should I meet on the sidewalk but Brother Yost. I said, “Well, what are you doing way down here?” He said, “Brother Benson, it’s our day to go to the temple.” And I said, “Well, reverses don’t dampen your spirit any, do they?” Then he taught me a lesson. He said, “Brother Benson, when reverses come we need the temple all the more.”

One Friday night in December 2008, after a Christmas shopping trip with two of his friends, Chris was killed when the car he was riding in slid on some ice and crashed into a truck. News of the accident spread quickly and seemed to affect the whole town. The next day, hundreds of (mostly non-LDS) teens gathered at the stake center, seeking comfort. On Monday those same young people also crowded into the seminary building.
Faced with so many grieving teens, Brother Scott simply told them the truth—that Heavenly Father has a plan, that death is part of that plan, and that Christ’s Atonement makes it possible to return to our Heavenly Father. He taught them that the work of bringing souls to Christ continues even in the spirit world and that perhaps Chris was now doing that work.
Liz Shimbashi, 17, remembers that time well. “Lots of people came to the seminary building after the accident. It was hard at school, but then people would come here, and they realized, ‘Hey, seminary is a good place.’ So we invited them to return, and lots of them did.”
For many of the non-LDS teens, the need to be comforted grew into a desire to know more. And the seminary students, who had already been enthusiastic about sharing the gospel, now did it with a more serious purpose and deeper understanding.
“The biggest reason people came was because they saw how much Beans loved people, and through that they saw his testimony,” recalls Rachel Bennett, 16. “I think they wanted to know what he knew.”
Luke Nelson, 16, says, “Beans’s death made me notice how other people didn’t know what we know and that we’re so comforted because of what we know about the Atonement. I want to share that with everybody so they can be comforted and be peaceful and happy.”
“People wanted to know the answers to questions like ‘Is he going to heaven?’ So they came to seminary to learn just because of his example,” says Megan Fajnor, 17.

I’d like you to meet Nebo, a box turtle. He’s different from other box turtles because he was injured somehow. He has only one front foot. A family found him, and they take care of him. He has a shell on top of his body and a smaller one underneath. His head, legs, and tail stick out of openings between the two shells. If Nebo becomes cold, sleepy, or frightened, he pulls his head, legs, and tail inside his shell.
We don’t know exactly how old Nebo is, but we can get some idea by counting the growth rings on his shell. Often though, after about fifteen years of age, the rings blend or are worn off. We do know that turtles have a longer life than most animals. Nebo could easily live to be more than fifty years old.
All spring and summer Nebo lives in his “summer camp” behind the house. He has plenty of water to drink, but he doesn’t need a pond to swim in because he is a land turtle. His adopted family feeds him his favorite foods—earthworms, strawberries, lettuce, ham, cheese, mushrooms, and hamburger. Nebo has no teeth, but his jaws have sharp edges.
When it starts to get cold in the fall, Nebo is ready to go to sleep for the winter. Because of the turtle’s injury, the family worries that he might not be able to dig a hole to hibernate in. So they take him to school!
In the first grade classroom he has a cozy home all ready for the winter. The children prepared it for Nebo. The whole class took a walk behind the school and gathered dried grass, leaves, and a couple of rocks to put in the glass tank where Nebo will live.
In the middle of winter, Nebo gets very sleepy, and although he doesn’t hibernate completely, he spends most of each day dozing. He doesn’t eat very much, and he burrows under the grass and leaves to make a little nest.
When spring comes and the ground is warm and the nights are no longer frosty, Nebo goes back to his family and his outdoor life. He’s really hungry and eats everything given to him. He sits on a rock and soaks up the warm sunshine, and he walks around in his water dish to cool off when it gets very hot. When the children walk by, he sticks up his long neck and looks at them with his bright red eyes.

Kelsie Belanger says the theme of being a beacon in the night reinforced an experience she had at young women’s camp. “We were identifying constellations,” she explains. “One of our leaders pointed out the North Star. I thought it would be brighter than it actually is. But she said the great thing about the North Star is that it is constant. It is always where it should be. That left an impression on me. I realized that even if you don’t feel your light is very bright, as long as you keep up your efforts, that makes a difference.”

Brother Paul related that he was one of three men from Kinkondja who had begun writing to then-Church President Spencer W. Kimball in 1975, asking for missionaries to be sent to the DRC—known as Zaire at the time—and especially to their own village. Brother Delphin added that his deceased father was one of those same three men. (This was well before the Church had been formally organized in the country and before the first missionaries arrived in 1986.) These brothers said that years before, both had been baptized and ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. But in earlier instructions from Church leaders, they were told that they could not be ordained to the Melchizedek Priesthood because at that time they lived too far away from an organized Church unit.
For the next two days, President Monga and Elder Wright taught and trained Brother Paul and Brother Delphin in the duties and obligations of the Melchizedek Priesthood. During his interview with Brother Paul, Elder Wright stressed the obligations associated with priesthood ordination, and reminded Brother Paul that “the priesthood is an irreversible event with heavy consequences based on the oath and covenant of the priesthood.” Speaking through President Monga as translator from Kiluba, his native language, Brother Paul replied, “I have waited for this event for 38 years, anticipating this happening for me. Do you think I will fall away? I will never turn away.”
Both brothers were sustained to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood in the district conference, and afterward ordained by Elder Wright with President Monga translating his words into Kiluba. After their ordinations, they were further authorized by President Monga to baptize their wives and children and to administer the sacrament to the Saints upon their return to Kinkondja. Brother Delphin, the younger of the two brothers, was given an additional instruction to dedicate the grave of his father to “honor him as one of the original converts and pioneers of the great work in the Congo.”

Forty-five years ago, shortly after the horrors of the Second World War, at age eight I was baptized in Zwickau, Sachsen, in eastern Germany. This came about because a white-haired, courageous, and caring lady shared the restored gospel of Jesus Christ with my grandmother and parents, and they did not hesitate to accept the challenge. How I love them for that! In 1952 my family had to leave that part of my homeland, expecting never to see it again. We went to Frankfurt, where I was ordained a deacon and taught by tough but loving leaders to appreciate the value of work and service.
At the same time, in the heart of western Germany, another marvelous lady, recently widowed, still in her thirties, was terrified by the difficulties of the future. She had two young daughters and felt left alone in a country without hope. Right then two young missionaries rang the doorbell and brought the message of light, truth, and hope.
I give thanks eternally to those diligent American missionaries and most of all to Sister Carmen Reich, who became my mother-in-law, for her faith, strength, and willingness to listen to the still, small voice. My life has been very different because of the miraculous insight of these great individuals.
In those years, many Saints left Europe to go to Zion. But then the Brethren taught us that Zion could be anywhere around the globe if we were willing to establish it. The Saints had faith and stayed, and Zion increased in beauty and holiness. Stakes were organized and strengthened. Nevertheless, Germany still had two completely different political systems divided by concrete-walled boundaries.
My eternal partner—my wife, Harriet—encouraged me never to lose hope that someday there would be one Germany again. How grateful I am for her, her love and partnership, and for our family.
In 1976, President Monson gave my country a blessing with promises far beyond logical or political reasoning. It was a prophetic promise which required modern-day miracles. And the miracles occurred.
In 1989 the Berlin Wall fell, and this week, four years ago, Germany was reunited. The borders were enlarged, and Zion was enabled to put on her beautiful garments. There are now two temples in Germany, five temples in Europe, and more to come. The kingdom of God is expanding rapidly into the eastern parts of Europe and even moving far beyond geographic or political boundaries of yesterday. Missionaries are now serving at places most of us have to look up in dictionaries or cannot find easily on maps.
I am grateful for the Saints in Europe, for their strong testimonies, which are visible in the conduct of their everyday lives. Their faith has given me comfort and security. Their examples have helped me to find and keep the right direction in days of challenge and questioning.
That dark night over the North Atlantic, safely directing our big jet to its destination, we had to be extremely careful and precise in creating the navigational basis by entering the geographic coordinates into the navigational reference system. It had to be true and valid because it was the foundation for all future decisions. In 1979, a flight started in New Zealand on wrong coordinates and crashed into Mount Erebus at the South Pole.
The gospel of Jesus Christ is the only true and valid basis for our lives. If we enter it into our system—into “all [our] heart, might, mind and strength” (D&C 4:2)—we will know how to choose the right and to whom to listen.
On long-range flights, the shortwave radio frequencies are often crowded, and static distorts the messages. The same is true for our lives. Everybody wants to get their message across. We have to train and condition ourselves to hear the still, small voice, never to be distracted or stop listening because of too much static on that sacred frequency. This can best be done by internalizing and acting according to the moral and ethical standards we receive from the scriptures and the living prophets.
From the Prophet Joseph Smith to President Howard W. Hunter, we are receiving updated sacred guidance according to our needs and readiness. The general conference messages by our prophets, seers, and revelators are given to us by the Lord in his own time, in his own way, and for a very special purpose.
Jesus Christ, the Son of God, made the miracle of forgiveness and redemption possible. This is truly the Church of Jesus Christ; it proclaims a gospel of joy, hope, courage, truth, love, and miracles. This I bear humble witness of in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

My phone rang one afternoon many years ago. The young man on the other end of the line said frantically that he needed to see me. I told him that I was involved with appointments for the remainder of the day and asked if he could come tomorrow. He stated that he had to see me at once. I told him to come and asked my secretary to change the other appointments. In a few minutes he walked in, a boy with a hunted and haunted look. His hair was long, his appearance miserable. I invited him to sit and to talk openly and frankly. I assured him of my interest in his problem and of my desire to help him.

He unraveled a story distressing and miserable. He was in serious trouble. He had broken the law, he had been unclean, he had blighted his life. Now in his extremity there had come a realization of the terrible plight in which he found himself. He needed help beyond his own strength, and he pleaded for it. I asked him if his father knew of his difficulties. He replied by saying that he could not talk with his father, that his father hated him.

I happened to know his father, and I knew that his father did not hate him. He loved him and mourned and grieved for him, but that father had an uncontrolled temper. Whenever he disciplined his children, he lost control and destroyed both them and himself.

As I looked across the desk at that trembling, broken young man, estranged from a father he considered his enemy, I thought of the great words of revealed truth given through the Prophet Joseph Smith. They set forth in essence the governing spirit of the priesthood, and I believe they apply to the government of our homes.

“No power or influence can or ought to be maintained … , only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;
“By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile” (D&C 121:41–42).
I believe those marvelous and simple words set forth the spirit in which we should stand as parents. Do they mean that we should not exercise appropriate but sensitive discipline, that we should not wisely reprove? Note these further words:
“Reproving betimes with sharpness, [When? While angry or in a fit of temper? No.] when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; [Does the Holy Ghost attend contentious reprovings? No.] and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be thine enemy;
“That he may know that thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death” (D&C 121:43–44).
This, my brethren and sisters who stand at the head of families, is the key to government in the home directed by the Holy Spirit. I commend those words to every parent and do not hesitate to promise that if you will govern your families in the spirit of those words, which have come from the Lord, you will have cause to rejoice, as will those for whom you are responsible.
These inspired words are the spiritual sinews of the gospel and become the fiber of our faith. God help us to cultivate them in every activity in the Church and in every association in our homes.

Most of the children at Sean’s school have never heard of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He is one of only ten Church members attending his school from kindergarten to twelfth grade. But he and his brother and sister are good examples and take advantage of missionary opportunities whenever they arise. Their father is the ward mission leader, and the missionaries visit them often. Sean likes having the elders over for dinner, and he wants to serve a mission when he turns nineteen.
One day he told two school friends, “When I grow up, I want to be a missionary.” His friends didn’t know what that meant. He explained, “A missionary is someone who tells people about Jesus!” At age five, Sean was being a missionary!

“My story is very short. I settled on Mrs. Canfield. She’s an old friend of our family. She baby-sat us when we were little, and now she’s teaching me embroidery. She’s so warm and happy! I’d love to have her join the Church.
“It was tough deciding how to approach her. She’s very old and wise, and I didn’t want to sound like a smart-aleck.
“I stewed and fretted and finally just came right out and asked her. ‘Mrs. Canfield,’ I said, ‘would you like to learn about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints?’
“She smiled kindly. ‘No, Michaelene. Churches—any church—aren’t important to me. But thank you for asking.’
“And that was that.”
“We can’t force the gospel on people,” Sister Searle said. “But you’ve given her the opportunity to choose.”
“She knows where I am, if she changes her mind,” Michaelene mused.

I will begin with Ruth May Fox, who was a Young Women general president many years ago. She served in that calling until she was 84 years old. Sister Fox was born in England, and when she was 13, she walked almost every step to the Salt Lake Valley with a group of pioneers. Her mother died when she was a baby, so she spent the first dozen years of her life living with a number of different families. She must have been a difficult child to manage, because her grandmother called her a “bad maid” and refused to take care of her.
Eventually, Ruth married and had 12 children. She shared her firm testimony with her children and taught gospel lessons while she worked beside them, but she admitted that her older children sometimes received harsh discipline because she had a quick temper and she did not always “count [to] ten” when she was provoked. She worked hard to master this weakness and came to be known for her kind heart and service to others.
Sister Fox lived to be 104 years old. In her long life she experienced great joys and difficult trials, and she taught that “life brings some hard lessons. The sturdiest plants are not grown under glass, and strength of character is not derived from the avoidance of problems.”
Last year I climbed Independence Rock in Wyoming to find where Sister Fox had carved her name at age 13 when she was on her journey to the Salt Lake Valley. The weather from the last 140 years has almost erased it, but I was able to just make out “Ruth May 1867.” I wanted to know more about this great leader and disciple of Jesus Christ who worked all her life to improve herself and whose motto was “the Kingdom of God or nothing”!

After returning home from my mission, I took over the lawn-care business my brothers and I had started as teenagers. I was also busy with my university studies. One spring week, heavy rain and looming final exams left me overwhelmed and behind on yard work.

Midweek the skies cleared, and I planned to catch up on yard work after classes. But when I arrived home, my truck and equipment were gone. Curious, I visited the scheduled yards; each one had already been beautifully trimmed. At the last yard on the schedule, I saw my younger brother walking behind the mower. He saw me, smiled, and waved. Overcome with gratitude, I hugged and thanked him. His meaningful act of service deeply strengthened my love and loyalty for him. Serving each other is an unmistakable way we show our love for God and His Beloved Son.

My missionary companion and I weren’t getting along so well. Sister Reynolds* and I were as different as—well, just think of any two opposites and you’ll have a fair idea of how different we were. We were like day and night, hot and cold, lobster and lunchmeat.
For example, my idea of Christmas decorating was to set out a miniature Nativity scene. Her idea involved covering every available surface with either tinsel, Christmas lights, fake snow, or all of the above.
Sister Reynolds thought an essential P-day activity was to grab the garden hose and have a water fight or apply a fresh coat of polish to her nails. My essential P-day activity was to grab the garden hose and wash the car or polish my shoes.
Or do yard work.
That usually consisted of nothing more than firing up the mower and taking it for a few turns around the front lawn, which was only slightly bigger than your average hankie. But one day I decided I was going to prune the hibiscus tree.
Now I’m no gardener. If killing houseplants were a crime, I’d be on death row by now. But this tree—like my companion—had been a source of irritation to me for some time. It was just so big. Its towering branches extended a good foot or two above the roof, and its dark foliage was so thick and dense that it obscured the view from our front window. And worst of all, it blocked out the sunlight, making our front room appear dim and gloomy.
Something had to be done, and although I had never pruned a tree myself, I had read about it often enough in the scriptures. How hard could it be?
I found a pair of pruning shears in the garage and went to work. As I worked, I thought of how the Savior often used examples from nature in his teachings. I wondered if I could illustrate a gospel principle by pruning a tree. I thought of how sometimes being cut back helps us be what God intended us to be. I also thought how bad habits, selfishness, and pride are like overgrown branches that stop trees from having the strength to bring forth the “good fruit” of joy and service.
Feeling quite pleased with this little analogy, my thoughts turned to my fun-loving companion. Now there’s someone whose tree needs a little trimming, I thought in exasperation. With each snip of my pruning shears, I imagined some habit or shortcoming I would love to cut off my companion.
Wakes up late. Snip! Plays practical jokes. Snip!
Snip! Snip! Snip!
I guess I got a bit carried away. When I stood back to survey my work, leafy branches and hibiscus flowers littered the ground. And the tree looked a bit like a Marine haircut.
It will probably fill out in a few weeks, I convinced myself.
A couple of months passed, and all the while my companion and I worked hard to overcome our differences. When Sister Reynolds’s transfer came, we parted on good terms.
I probably would have forgotten all about the hibiscus episode except that I stayed in the area for another month. And another and still another.
As it turned out, I spent the last eight months of my mission there. I had plenty of time to watch that poor hibiscus tree slowly shrivel up and die.
Those eight months also gave me plenty of time to make a few other observations. I noticed how sad it is to have a dried-up stump in your yard where there used to be a vibrant display of beautiful, tropical flowers. I also began to realize just how hot a room can get without any foliage to block the sun’s scorching rays.
Lastly I realized just how foolish and proud I had been to ever prune that tree in the first place.
Gospel principles began occurring to me. I thought of how sometimes we get so busy criticizing others and thinking about how they should change that we can’t see what we really need to change is the way we’re looking at things. I needed to open my eyes to the good in others and begin appreciating their true worth and beauty. Of course I thought about my former companion and how wrong I had been to want to prune away her beautiful branches.
What I had thought was her impulsiveness was actually a lovely quality called spontaneity. And her “irreverence” was something most people recognize as light heartedness. She could enjoy herself in all situations.
Sister Reynolds’s personality, I figured out, suited her abilities perfectly. That’s why she could do the work. She was just like that hibiscus tree.
As I look back on this experience, one lesson stands out. Pruning is best left to gardeners.

By the time the sun began to sparkle on the Bear River and warm the cattle on the Wyoming ranch, Minerva Teichert had been up for some time. There was breakfast to cook for her husband Herman, the five children, and a few ranch workers. Every morning there were milk bottles for the dairy that would take several hours to clean and sterilize. In addition, there were chickens to feed, clothes to wash and mend, a garden to weed. By the time the household began to quiet down for the evening, she had cooked two more meals and finished a variety of other chores that life on a ranch in the 1930s demanded.
But still Minerva’s day was not complete. It never was until she had picked up her brush and her “palette”—a long piece of wood dabbed with oil paints—and spent a few precious moments at her canvas.
Minerva was “filled and thrilled,” she said, by the heroism of the pioneers, too enchanted by the strong beauty of the American Indian, too captivated by the glory of animals in unfettered motion, to take her subjects lightly. From childhood, the faith of the prophets had flowed in her veins. And all her life, her love for the beautiful and the heroic drove her to paint and give it expression on canvas. This she did with bold strokes, in a style uniquely hers.
Last year, for the one-hundredth anniversary of her birth, the Museum of Church History and Art featured a collection of Minerva Kohlhepp Teichert’s work. In past years, her paintings have appeared in Church magazines and manuals, but widespread recognition of Sister Teichert’s importance as an artist has been slow in coming. The show included a selection of her forty-plus-piece Book of Mormon mural series, murals chronicling the Latter-day Saint pioneer trek and the settling of the American West, portraits, still-life floral paintings, and work from her student days.
Minerva Kohlhepp was just four when her mother, a strong and creative woman, gave her a set of watercolors. From that moment, the child considered herself an artist. Everywhere she went, young Minerva carried a sketchpad and charcoal or pencil.
Born on 28 August 1888 in North Ogden, Utah, Minerva was the second of ten Kohlhepp children. Most of her early years were spent on her family’s Idaho homestead. The Kohlhepp family was poor financially, and with no school nearby, Minerva had little formal education as a small child. But each night her father gathered the children around to read the scriptures or classics of literature.
Minerva left home for the first time at age fourteen to work as a nursemaid for a wealthy Idaho family in San Francisco. There she saw museum art for the first time and attended classes at the Mark Hopkins Art School. But it was not until she had graduated from high school back home and taught school for several years that she was able to pursue any serious training in art.
By age nineteen, she had saved enough money to go to Chicago, Illinois, where she studied at the Chicago Art Institute under the great John Vanderpoel. Several times during her three-year course she had to go home to earn more money by working in the fields or in the classroom. But Minerva always returned to her studies. With characteristic confidence, Minerva once confronted Mr. Vanderpoel, asking why he criticized her work so harshly when so many classmates were doing much poorer work. She later recalled, “I shall never forget the disappointment on the man’s face when he answered in a choked voice, ‘Can it be possible you do not understand; those other students are not worth it, they will eventually leave school, but you—ah, there is no end’” (“Miss Kohlhepp’s Own Story,” Pocatello, Idaho, 1917).
By 1912, she had finished her course at the Art Institute and returned west to earn more money. During this period she was courted by two young men—calling off a wedding with one wealthy suitor when she learned that he didn’t want to be married in a Mormon church. The other young man, not a Church member either (she knew no Latter-day Saint young men), was Herman Teichert. Herman was a gentle cowboy whose favorite activity was chasing wild horses on the desert by moonlight. In April 1915, however, she left Herman behind, telling him to marry someone else, and went to the Art Students’ League in New York City.
At the time, the League was one of the most important art centers in the world. Minerva paid for the privilege of studying there in a variety of ways, including sketching cadavers for medical schools and performing rope tricks and Indian dances.
At this critical point in her life, Minerva had two experiences that took her out of the art world. The first experience crystallized her desire for life with a family—specifically, for life with Herman. In a testimony meeting she was listening to a sister speak on the joys of marriage and motherhood. “I thought of all the men I had met in my search for ‘the right one,’” wrote Minerva later. At that moment, she realized that “back on the Idaho desert, herding his cattle and branding his calves was a man more nearly meant for me than anyone else in the world” (unpublished autobiographical sketch, 1937, transcription from handwritten manuscript). Never one to doubt her own judgment, Minerva returned home to Idaho and married Herman.
The other experience helped her to strengthen her feeling that she had a mission as an artist and that she should place her art in the service of her faith. Minerva later recorded how Robert Henri, one of her renowned teachers, asked her, shortly before she left New York, whether any artist had ever told the “great Mormon story.”
“Not to my liking,’ I answered. ‘Good Heavens, girl, what an opportunity. You do it. You’re the one. That’s your birthright. You’ll do it well.’
“I felt that I had been commissioned” (unpublished manuscript, 1947).
Minerva Teichert spent the rest of her life, and her enormous vitality, answering these two callings—one to love and serve her family, the other to tell the story of her people and her faith through her art.
When Herman returned from serving in France during World War I, he and Minerva moved to the old Teichert family homestead in Idaho. Minerva loved this place, but they were eventually forced to leave by the construction of a new reservoir. They made their new home on a cattle ranch at Cokeville, Wyoming. Minerva painted scenes of the Idaho countryside around their old home in a frieze for the living room of their new home. For more than forty years, this room was both Minerva’s studio and the center of the Teichert household. She cooked meals on a wood-burning stove, occasionally adding a touch to a painting as she cooked. Every night while the family ate supper, she read to them—literature, history, and the scriptures.
In that same living room she developed a strong, original style as she painted hundreds of murals, portraits, and other works. The conditions were far from ideal for painting. The room was too small to spread out her larger murals. She sometimes had to fold the canvas, painting one section at a time. To see her murals in perspective, she would look through the small end of a pair of binoculars. Distractions were constant. But somehow Minerva persisted. “I must paint,” she once explained (unpublished manuscript, 1947).
Minerva’s spiritual life was guided by dreams and by an increasing ability to rely on the Lord. As a young mother, she turned down an opportunity to study in London, England, with her great teacher Robert Henri when she dreamed of a daughter who would soon be born to her. Laurie, the only Teichert daughter, was born with the next year or so. In the same way, Minerva saw future daughters-in-law in dreams before she met them. She trusted implicitly what she felt the Lord had told her and taught her children and grandchildren to rely on His guidance.
One of the highlights of her spiritual life was Herman’s baptism in 1933. He had supported her Church participation and paid tithing for years. Minerva and Herman were later sealed in the Logan Temple.
Minerva Teichert’s mission in art had two crowning points. One was the completion of the Book of Mormon mural series. She had felt that having the series published by the Church would be the ultimate fulfillment of her mission as an artist. When she could interest no one in publishing the paintings, she was devastated and eventually donated them to Brigham Young University.
But if the reception of the Book of Mormon murals was one of her life’s greatest disappointments, her commission to paint murals in the world room in the Manti Temple was one of its great satisfactions. In 1947, at the age of fifty-nine, Minerva Teichert and an assistant completed the murals in just a few months, a remarkable example of her almost unimaginable vitality.
By her death in 1976 at the age of eighty-seven, Minerva Kohlhepp Teichert had created perhaps as many as a thousand pieces of art. “Eternity seems very real to me,” she wrote in 1937. Then, expressing her eternal wish: “I want … to be able to paint after I leave here. Even though I should come back nine times I still would not have exhausted my supply of subjects and one life time is far too short but may be a schooling for the next.

I was trapped.
At 18, I knew the Church was true. The Lord knew I knew. The missionaries knew I knew. But my parents didn’t know I knew.
It took me three weeks to work up the courage to tell Mom about it. I didn’t dare tell Dad.
“Mom,” I asked after she had recovered from the shock of hearing that her Catholic son wanted to become a Mormon, “how can I tell Dad?”
She was silent for a moment. “I don’t know if you should. He’d kill you,” she said, confirming my fears. “But don’t worry,” she added. “I’ll tell him someday.”
“But, Mom, I want to get baptized as soon as possible.”
“If you wait until you go to college,” she said, “you’ll be away from your father, and he’ll have time to make adjustments before he sees you again. It really would be much easier on both of you.”
I knew what she was saying made sense, but I didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. I talked to the elders.
“It’s your decision,” said one elder. “Of course we’d like you to get baptized now, while you’ve got the desire and the understanding and the guidance of the Spirit. But you’ve got to do what’s best for you. The only way to be sure,” he said as he patted me on my shoulder, “is to fast and pray about it.”
I had never fasted or prayed in my life, but I was willing to give it a try. My head hurt and my stomach growled, and at every possible chance I prayed and pondered what I should do. I made a list of pros and cons. I talked it over with the elders, my friends, my mom. And I prayed some more.
Finally, near the end of my fast, I had a feeling, a strong feeling, that I should get baptized as soon as possible. I didn’t want to cause problems in my family, but I couldn’t shake that feeling. Heavenly Father had answered my prayers. I knew I had to get baptized.
I told the elders. I told my friends. And then I found the courage to tell my mom and dad. Dad didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor with his face turning red and his feet shuffling uncomfortably. He was too upset to speak all night. The next evening he did something he’d never done before—he came up to my room to talk with me. I was sure my life was over, but Dad surprised me.
“Son,” he said, sitting on my brother’s bed, “I want you to know that I think you’re making a serious mistake by joining the Mormon church. But you’re old enough now to do what you think is best. When I was your age, I was allowed to make my own decisions, and I guess I turned out okay.”
He stood up to leave. “Dad,” I said, “believe me. I’m sorry that you don’t feel good about my joining the Church. But I’ve thought about it, prayed about it, and I know it’s what I’ve got to do.”
Then Dad did something else he’d never done before. He hugged me.
I was baptized the next week. My baptism fanned the spark of testimony I had gained from the missionary discussions into a fire that burns bright even today.
My experience taught me that Heavenly Father answers our prayers and that some answers don’t come easily. When the answers do come, blessings will follow if we find the courage and strength to act on them.

Hey, Uncle Oscar! Hey, Maria!
Are you excited to be baptized tomorrow?
Yes! Do you want to be witnesses for my baptism?
Of course!
Wait, what does that even mean?
We need two people who have been baptized to watch and make sure Maria goes all the way under the water.
Well, we are good at watching things! We love watching cartoons.
Ha, perfect! Thanks for helping.
I know Jesus is proud of you for making this good choice.
Illustrations by Katie McDee