Gospel Story Finder

The decision by Nephi and his brothers to place their trust in the things of the world proved to be no more successful than leaving it to chance. I was talking to a father while attending a stake conference. He was telling me about the pressures on his teenage daughter to follow the ways of the world and how she had made the decision not to allow those pressures to influence her life.
She was the only member of the Church in her class in school. She was a popular young lady with the boys and had many opportunities to go out on dates. The boys in her class did not live by the standards she had been taught in our Church. She made the decision to tell every boy who asked her for a date what standards she lived by. If she were to date them, they would be expected to conduct themselves in accordance with her standards. She would get such a commitment from them before she accepted a date. One day the big campus football hero came up to her before the most special dance of the year and said, “You know, I would ask you to go to the dance with me if you would lower your standards just a little.”
There was no hesitation in her voice as she replied, “If I would go out with you, I would be lowering my standards.” Be strong enough to make your decisions to not follow worldly ways.

“President,” said another member of the branch who was a recent convert, “I guess I should move away from home. There is growing tension between Mom and me. It seems to be getting worse all the time.” A tear paused at the corner of her eye. “I’ve tried to get her to listen to the missionaries, but she just becomes angry.”
“Cyndi,” I said, “have you ever told your mother how much you love her, recently, that is? Have you put your arms around her to give her a good squeeze as you have told her how much you appreciate her and all she has done for you?”
“But I want her to come into the Church so badly, I just keep talking about it.”
I interrupted. “Did it ever occur to you that you could never have become a member of this church if it hadn’t been for your mother?”
“But she didn’t want me to join.”
“You wouldn’t even have come into this world if it hadn’t been for your mother. She and your dad gave you the body you have. Your parents brought you up to appreciate the gospel truth when you heard it. They taught you righteous principles so that when you heard the message of the restoration you accepted it. Did you ever consider how many nights your mother may have been awake when you were ill, or how many hours she may have devoted to your care? Have you ever really thanked her for all of these things? Have you ever let her know how proud you are to have her as your mother?”
“But,” she said, “why would Mom be so opposed to the Church?”
“Would you love someone,” I asked, “if you thought that person was going to take your child, or your child’s love, away from you? Your mother might be worried that the Church is doing this.”
“I guess I’ve never thought of it that way,” she said.
“Tell me, what does the Church teach us about our parents?”
“Honor thy father and thy mother.”
“That’s right. Let’s forget about getting your mother to join the Church for now. Think of all the ways you can express your love for her. Throw your arms around her and tell her how grateful you are for all she has done for you.
“Next, show her how much you honor her by helping her in every way. Extend little courtesies to her. As you recall the little kindnesses, the tenderness, and understanding that she has given you over the years, remind her of these and thank her for them.
“Assure her that the Church does not intend to take you away from her. Show her by your conduct that the gospel of Jesus Christ has given you a greater appreciation and love for your parents. It should draw you closer together than ever before.”
The next time I saw Cyndi she was exuberant. “Things have never been better at home. Mom and I are closer than we have ever been in our lives. I love her so much, and she feels better about the Church now.”

Football came to our country town later than most. The school board had neither the money for equipment nor a coach. Then the great day arrived. Our high school principal was able to buy twelve inexpensive football outfits, except the expensive cleated football shoes (we used our basketball shoes), and our coach was recruited from the faculty because he had witnessed a game.
We learned a few simple plays, how to tackle—or so we thought—and set off for our first game with Twin Falls, the previous year’s Idaho state champions.
We dressed and went out on the field to warm up. Their school band started to play (they had more students in the band than we had in our entire high school), and then through the gates came their team. The twelve of us—a full team of eleven plus one all-round substitute—watched in amazement as they kept coming through the gates—all thirty-nine of them in full uniform.
The game was most interesting! To say it was a learning experience is rather mild. After two plays we didn’t have any desire to have the ball—so we would kick it, and soon they would score. When they got the ball, they would run a baffling play and score. Our problem was to get rid of the ball—it was less punishing.
In the final minutes of the game they became a little reckless. A wild pass fell into the arms of Clifford Lee, who was playing halfback with me. He was startled, not knowing for sure what to do—until he saw the “Dallas Cowboys” thundering after him. Then he knew what to do. He was fast. He wasn’t running for points, but for his life! Clifford made a touchdown; six points went up on the board. The final score—106 to 6! We really didn’t deserve the six points, but with our torn shirts and socks and our bruises, we took them anyway.
A learning experience? Of course! An individual or a team must be prepared. In all things success depends upon previous preparation.

I decided it was finally time to read the many talks and scriptures our priesthood quorum leaders had asked us to read before camp. Glancing over all the material without much enthusiasm, I saw an article on repentance.
To a 15-year-old boy, the article was not particularly awe-inspiring. It seemed to simply reinforce what I heard in Sunday School on a regular basis. However, it was while reading the message that I realized I never really prayed with the kind of conviction described in the passage. I got off my bed where I had been reading, closed my door, knelt, and began to pray. I figured that I would lose nothing in the attempt.
Although my prayer began as somewhat of a rehearsed statement, I decided to stay on my knees until I felt like I had poured my heart out to my Heavenly Father. The longer I prayed, the more sincere my outpourings became. And when I was finished, I knew I had a Father who listened and cared, and I knew I had a purpose on this earth. For the first time in my life, I thought I had truly become a convert to the principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
When the pressures of life become overwhelming, I think of those few minutes when I felt so connected to my Father in Heaven. I can still feel that same closeness when I devote myself to prayer, go to the temple, and especially when I perform service in His name. I love this gospel of Jesus Christ.

In April of 2000, I felt such direction. I had received a phone call from Rosa Salas Gifford, whom I did not know. She explained that her parents had been visiting from Costa Rica for a few months and that just a week prior to her call, her father, Bernardo Agusto Salas, had been diagnosed with liver cancer. She indicated that the doctors had informed the family that her father would live just a few more days. Her father’s great desire, she explained, was to meet me before he died. She left her address and asked if I could come to her home in Salt Lake City to visit with her father.

Because of meetings and obligations, it was rather late when I left my office. Instead of going straight home, however, I felt impressed that I should drive further south and visit Brother Salas that very evening. With the address in hand, I attempted to locate the residence. In rather heavy traffic and with dimming light, I drove past the location where the road to the house should have been. I could see nothing. However, I don’t give up easily. I drove around the block and came back. Still nothing. One more time I tried and still no sign of the road. I began to feel that I would be justified in turning toward home. I had made a gallant effort but had been unsuccessful in finding the address. Instead, I offered a silent prayer for help. The inspiration came that I should approach the area from the opposite direction. I drove a distance and turned the car around so that I was now on the other side of the road. Going in this direction, the traffic was much lighter. As I neared the location once again, I could see, through the faint light, a street sign that had been knocked down—it was lying on its side at the edge of the road—and a nearly invisible, weed-covered track leading to a small apartment building and a single, tiny residence some distance from the main road. As I drove toward the buildings, a small girl in a white dress waved to me, and I knew that I had found the family.

I was ushered into the home and then to the room where Brother Salas lay. Surrounding the bed were three daughters and a son-in-law, as well as Sister Salas. All but the son-in-law were from Costa Rica. Brother Salas’s appearance reflected the gravity of his condition. A damp rag with frayed edges—not a towel or a washcloth but a damp rag with frayed edges—rested upon his forehead, emphasizing the humble economic circumstances of the family.

With some prompting, Brother Salas opened his eyes, and a wan smile graced his lips as I took him by the hand. I spoke the words, “I have come to meet you.” Tears welled up in his eyes and in mine.

I asked if a blessing would be desired, and the unanimous answer from the family members was affirmative. Since the son-in-law did not hold the priesthood, I proceeded by myself to provide a priesthood blessing. The words seemed to flow freely under the direction of the Spirit of the Lord. I included the Savior’s words found in the Doctrine and Covenants, section 84, verse 88: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” Following the blessing, I offered a few words of comfort to the grieving family members. I spoke carefully so they could understand my English. And then, with my limited Spanish language ability, I let them know that I loved them and that our Heavenly Father would bless them.

I asked for the family Bible and directed their attention to 3 John, verse 4: “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.” I said to them, “This is what your husband and father would have you remember as he prepares to depart this earthly existence.”

With tears streaming down her face, Brother Salas’s sweet wife then asked if I would write down the references for the two scriptures I had shared with them so that the family might read them again. Not having anything handy on which I could write, Sister Salas reached into her purse and drew from it a slip of paper. As I took it from her, I noticed it was a tithing receipt. My heart was touched as I realized that, despite the extremely humble circumstances in which the family lived, they were faithful in paying their tithes.

After a tender farewell, I was escorted to my car. As I drove homeward, I reflected on the special spirit we had felt. I experienced, as well, as I have many times before, a sense of gratitude that my Heavenly Father had answered another person’s prayer through me.

Doug usually nodded pleasantly and then hurried past the two-story building where many elderly people sat on the front lawn. The people were frail and sad-looking, and most of them just sat there in the sun or shade watching the cars and people go by.
One day as Doug was walking home from school, a white-haired man with faded blue eyes suddenly reached out his hands. The sudden movement frightened Doug, and without thinking he moved to the edge of the sidewalk and started running.
Later that night Doug was ashamed of himself. All those people looked lonely, and probably the old man only needed a helping hand to rise to his feet.
The least I could have done was to stop and ask what the man wanted, Doug thought.
The next morning when Doug went out to feed his dog, Fluffy, he found the chain broken and his dog gone. After thoroughly searching the neighborhood, Doug decided to ask some of the elderly people if they had seen his dog.
He hurried around the corner to the Old Folks Home. And there was Fluffy, wildly wagging her tail while the old man who had frightened Doug the day before patted her.
The boy sighed with relief. “Thank you for finding my dog,” he cried as he dropped down on one knee to cuddle his pet.
“No use trying to talk to him, son,” another elderly man called. “He’s from Russia and can’t understand what you say anyway. We call him Nick because we can’t pronounce his real name. He’s nearly one hundred years old!”
Doug was suddenly filled with a mixture of feelings. He was relieved to find his dog but even more unhappy with himself when he remembered how he had felt the day before about this lonely old man whom Fluffy seemed to like so well. He felt even worse when he learned that the man had no known relatives and had never received a letter nor had a visitor.
Doug reached out and squeezed the old man’s arm in gratitude and sympathy. Then he picked up Fluffy and carried her home so he wouldn’t be late for school.
“Dad, do you know any Russian people?” Doug asked at supper that night.
“Russian? No, I don’t,” his father replied, looking surprised. “Why?”
Doug explained how he had met Nick. “He found Fluffy for me, and so I want to do something for him. It must be lonely not being able to communicate with anyone! I’m going to find someone who can speak Russian and ask him to visit Nick,” Doug said with determination.
“I wish I could help you, son, but I can’t,” his father said. “We have people of Polish and Italian descent in town, but I’ve never met any Russian families.”
Two nights later Doug was doing his homework when he thought of checking the telephone book. He found several long and difficult names, but when he called their numbers, he found they were all of some other nationality. None of them knew anyone who could speak Russian.
Doug began to stop by to visit Nick for a few moments every afternoon on his way home from school. The old man always seemed delighted to see him and enjoyed looking at his school work. On Saturday afternoons Doug brought Fluffy with him. Nick just smiled and nodded to Doug, but he talked softly to Fluffy as he patted her. After that he sometimes saved a piece of meat from his lunch for the dog.
How do you go about finding a Russian? Doug wondered, as he left the lonely old man each day.
One afternoon as he returned home, Doug thought of going to the university for help. He knew they had instructors from all over the world who taught different languages. So Doug raced to his room and wrote a long letter explaining about his friend Nick. He addressed and mailed it to the head of the university.
After almost two weeks went by without an answer, Doug had given up hope. But one evening a telephone call came for him. A man who spoke with an accent explained that he was a Russian touring the country with a group of Russian educators. One of the professors had told them about Doug’s letter. The man said he would be happy to go with Doug to visit his friend on Saturday afternoon.
The frail old man was in his chair as usual when Doug and the Russian educator reached the Old Folks Home. Nick was watching for Doug and Fluffy to appear around the corner, and he looked disappointed when he saw the boy wasn’t alone.
Doug smiled at Nick and then proudly said to the tall man beside him, “This is my friend Nick.”
The man bowed slightly, cupped Nick’s trembling hand in his strong ones, and began to speak.
Nick just stared, not daring to believe what he was hearing. His lips trembled and his eyes filled with tears. Then words started to pour out.
Nick’s excitement and his distinguished guest drew a group of other men. One of them brought a chair for Nick’s visitor. Although they couldn’t understand a word being said, they were all smiling as they watched Nick’s faded eyes sparkle while talking and listening.
Nick told the Russian visitor that his correct age was one hundred three and that he had left Russia over seventy years ago. Nick explained he had never learned English because he was a carpenter and had always worked and boarded with emigrants like himself.
The visitor gave Nick several newspapers in his language. He also gave Doug a simple Russian dictionary so he and Nick could really talk together.
Doug lay awake a long time that night. He was too happy to sleep. Finally he got out the new Russian dictionary and looked at the strange new words.
It will be great to talk with Nick, he thought, but we really don’t need words to be friends!

He’d never forget the day he’d driven the car home from the paint shop, so gloriously white that it glowed. She had been waiting on the porch when he’d rounded the corner, his horn blasting across the neighborhood. She’d whooped and hollered and raced him to his driveway.

“It’s beautiful! It’s all white and pretty, and it’s ours!”

“You bet it is, kid. Hop inside and we’ll take it for a spin.”

They had gone to the toy store, had bought a red kite with long white streamers, and had taken it to the beach. The sky had been filled with puffy white clouds and a crisp breeze that carried the kite high into the sky and over the waves. He had given her the string, once he’d gotten the kite into the air, and she had run across the sand, her bare feet kicking a trail behind her. The kite had faltered, then fallen, slow and steady, until it had dipped into the ocean and disappeared.

“The kite! It’s drowning!”

“It’s okay.” He’d picked her up and lifted her onto his shoulders. “We’ll buy another one.”

“Wow, I’m on top of the world!”

“Ouuff, you’re on top of me, fatso.”

She had giggled and squealed, and for the first time he’d realized how much he really loved the kid.

When I was young, I questioned the existence of God because of my arrogance and doubts about my self-worth. I desired worldly praise at school, at work, and even at church. I belittled those closest to me because the lower I pushed them, the higher I would see myself.
I ruined relationships with my pride. I put my love of the world before the love that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ had for me and the love that I should have had for Them. This all caused so much grief and heartache.
As I got older and experienced some challenges, I realized I was seeking the glories of the world because I thought they defined my worth. I wasn’t aware of what truly gave me value—my divine identity.
After realizing I was seeking the things of the world, I eventually decided to turn toward Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I sought to know more about Their love for me and who I truly was.
As I studied the scriptures, I was able to deepen my faith in the blessings we can gain when we understand our identity. I love the story of Moses speaking with God on a mountaintop. In just a few verses, God calls Moses His son three times (see Moses 1:4–7). Shortly after this experience, Moses is tempted by Satan and is able to use his knowledge of his divine identity to resist him (see Moses 1:12–24).
Like Moses, I’ve been strengthened by the knowledge that I am a son of God. Because of this knowledge, I’ve been able to keep an eternal perspective and focus on what really matters. And as I’ve studied further, I’ve realized just how personally Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know us.

An evening of sharing that emphasized the similarities in people and helped to create a better understanding of the differences was sponsored by the Monument Park Third Ward, Salt Lake Foothill Stake, last November. Several weeks of planning and preparation resulted in a lively carnival and dance for 65 handicapped persons from the Salt Lake Work Activity Center.
The youth leaders of the priest and Laurel groups, Tom Green and Kay Nilson, visited the center to get acquainted with the adults and to gain some insight into what they could and could not do. After that, Tom and Kay reported to the ward Young Men-Young Women committee their observations and ideas. Then plans were made, committees were formed, and in addition, each Mutual class was given responsibility to plan and construct one carnival booth.
The night of the party, the cultural hall took on a festive, carnival atmosphere, with brightly colored, hand-lettered signs announcing the events. A long line soon formed at the bowling area, as everyone seemed to want to try his hand at knocking down the pins. The relay race consisted of participants, many of them in wheelchairs, throwing footballs through suspended hoops. Other events included a beanbag toss, fish pond, tennis ball toss, and a beauty parlor. Another popular booth was the hammer-and-nail drive where participants hammered a nail into a wooden plank. The highlight of the evening, however, was the dance. The young people earned the money to pay for a live band by making the desserts for an elders quorum party. Once the music started, everyone joined in the dancing, including those in wheelchairs, who were assisted by the young people.
A rewarding part of the evening was to see the excitement the handicapped persons exhibited when they won a prize, the pride they felt at being successful. Nancy Straider, the adviser from the center who accompanied them, said, “This has been such a wonderful experience for them! Some who are really reluctant to participate and who are usually afraid of strangers are getting involved tonight and having a great time.”
Each young person was assigned to be a special companion to one of the guests, and they really took the assignment seriously, seeing that their guests had an enjoyable time. By the time the last booth was taken down and the final cup of punch finished, all agreed it had been an evening of sharing that will be long remembered by those who participated.

When the mission age changes were announced, I felt excitement reverberate throughout the meetinghouse where I was watching it. Yet when I considered serving a mission, I felt hesitant and knew I needed to truly ponder the opportunity. Soon after graduating high school, I realized I could start my mission papers and began to feel that almost every lesson in church focused on either missionary work or discovering the will of the Father. The Spirit was prompting me to seek answers to my questions concerning a mission.

I began to pray for courage to accept God’s will for me. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment of decision, but after studying the scriptures, continuing to pray for guidance, talking with my parents, and pondering in my heart, I felt that serving a mission was not the right path for me. I inquired of the Lord to receive confirmation of this choice and was blessed with peace.
Katie G., Idaho, USA

There was once a situation where some members in our ward were misjudging my friend and me. He and I were together a lot, serving and participating in activities, and rumors began that we were dating and doing something wrong.
The rumors also claimed that my family was being rude to my friend. Although we knew it wasn’t true, I was upset because he was always treated well in my home. I didn’t want to go to church and see or talk with the people who were spreading the false rumors.
However, I remembered that we go to church because of the gospel of Jesus Christ, not just because of the people there. People sometimes criticize others without knowing what’s really going on, and I knew this moment would pass and that I could forgive them. I shared these thoughts with my friend. By looking to Jesus Christ, we found peace.

How teenager Barnard White dressed mattered a great deal to his mother. Widow Mary Ann White felt that her boy should wear clothes that told the world he was a gentleman of breeding. So when Barnard tried to enlist in the British navy, to trade his tailored clothes for a sailor’s uniform and his genteel life for common labor with ruffians, she agonized. Luckily Barnard proved to be a lump-on-the-head too short for military size and was rejected. He would try again, Mother White knew, when he grew another half inch. She pondered what to do to change his mind.
The Whites, new converts to Mormonism in 1854, hoped to emigrate some day from London to America. But problems with the estate after Mr. White’s death slowed them down. The family could not all emigrate, Mother White decided, but Barnard could. One way to keep him out of the navy but to still give him sea adventure was to put him on a Mormon emigrant ship to New York City. So in July 1855 Barnard, dressed in a broadcloth suit and silk hat, boarded the Cynosure and “went to sea.” He traveled alone, but Mormon missionaries became his shipboard companions.
One day Barnard stood on deck in his gentleman’s attire when a sudden gust of wind blew loose his silk hat and spun it down into the sea. With this symbol of his breeding gone, he now looked like so many other bareheaded immigrant boys when he stepped ashore in bustling New York City.

Elder Helio da Rocha Camargo, a former member of the Seventy, once told of a ward clerk who sincerely prayed that he would be able to learn what he needed to know to fulfill his calling. At the time, all statistical and financial records were kept manually, without the help of a computer. That month, it seemed every possible problem occurred for this ward clerk: bank statements did not reconcile, records contained incorrect dates, and so on. These problems brought extra and overwhelming work. That clerk went to Heavenly Father in prayer and said, “Father, I asked Thee to help me learn to be a clerk, and then all sorts of problems happened with the records.” The response came quickly to his mind: “And didn’t I help you?”

Forty-six years ago I was called as an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve, and for the first time, I came to this pulpit. I was 37 years old. I found myself standing among the venerable and wise prophets and apostles, “whose names,” as the song proclaims, “we all revere” (“Oh, Holy Words of Truth and Love,” Hymns, no. 271). I felt how keenly inadequate I was.
About that time here in the Tabernacle I had a defining experience. It gave me assurance and courage.
In those days Primary conference was held here before the April conference. I came through a south door as the opening song was being sung by a large choir of Primary children. Sister Lue S. Groesbeck, a member of the Primary general board, was leading them. They sang:
Rev’rently, quietly, lovingly we think of thee;
Rev’rently, quietly, softly sing our melody.
Rev’rently, quietly, humbly now we pray,
Let thy Holy Spirit dwell in our hearts today.
(“Reverently, Quietly,” Children’s Songbook, 26)
As the children sang quietly, the organist, who understood that excellence does not call attention to itself, did not play a solo while they sang. He skillfully, almost invisibly blended the young voices into a melody of inspiration, of revelation. That was the defining moment. It fixed deeply and permanently in my soul that which I most needed to sustain me in the years to follow.
I felt perhaps that which Elijah the prophet had felt. He sealed the heavens against the wicked king Ahab and fled to a cave to seek the Lord:
“A great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks … ; but the Lord was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the earthquake:
“And after the earthquake a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire: and after the fire [came] a still small voice.
“And it was so,” the record says, “when Elijah heard it, that he wrapped his face in his mantle, and went out, and stood in the entering in of the cave” to speak to the Lord (1 Kings 19:11–13).
I felt something of what the Nephites must have felt when the Lord appeared to them: “They heard a voice as if it came out of heaven; and they cast their eyes round about, for they understood not the voice which they heard; and it was not a harsh voice, neither was it a loud voice; nevertheless, and notwithstanding it being a small voice it did pierce them that did hear to the center, insomuch that there was no part of their frame that it did not cause to quake; yea, it did pierce them to the very soul, and did cause their hearts to burn” (3 Nephi 11:3).
It is this still, small voice which Elijah and the Nephites heard that the Prophet Joseph Smith understood when he wrote, “Thus saith the still small voice, which whispereth through and pierceth all things” (D&C 85:6).
In that defining moment, I understood that the still, small voice is felt more than heard. If I hearkened to it, I would be all right in my ministry.
After that, I had the assurance that the Comforter, the Holy Ghost, is there for everyone who will respond to the invitation to ask, to seek, and to knock (see Matthew 7:7–8; Luke 11:9–10; 3 Nephi 14:7–8; D&C 88:63). I knew I would be all right. As the years have unfolded, so it has been.
I learned too what power there can be in music. When music is reverently presented, it can be akin to revelation. At times, I think, it cannot be separated from the voice of the Lord, the quiet, still voice of the Spirit.
Worthy music of all kinds has its place. And there are endless numbers of places where it can be heard. But the Tabernacle on Temple Square is different from them all.
For generations the Tabernacle Choir opened its weekly broadcast singing these words written by William W. Phelps:
Gently raise the sacred strain,
For the Sabbath’s come again
That man may rest, …
And return his thanks to God
For his blessings to the blest.
(“Gently Raise the Sacred Strain,” Hymns, no. 146)
More than 100 years ago, President Wilford Woodruff, then 91 years of age, delivered what may have been his last sermon from this pulpit. In the audience was 12-year-old LeGrand Richards. His father, George F. Richards (later ordained an Apostle), brought his boys to the Tabernacle to hear the Brethren. LeGrand never forgot that experience.
For more than 20 years, I was very close to Elder LeGrand Richards. When he was 96 years old, that message still lingered in his heart. He could not remember the words President Woodruff said, but he could never forget how he felt when they were said.
On occasions, I have felt the presence of those who built and kept this Tabernacle. By music and the spoken word, those who came before maintained the simplicity of the gospel and the testimony of Jesus Christ. That testimony was the guiding light in their lives.
Great events which shaped the destiny of the Church have occurred in this Tabernacle at Temple Square.
Every President of the Church, except Joseph Smith and Brigham Young, has been sustained in a solemn assembly in this Tabernacle. And in similar manner, the sustaining procedure is repeated annually in general conference and duplicated in every stake and ward and branch as required by revelation.
The Lord said, “It shall not be given to any one to go forth to preach my gospel, or to build up my church, except he be ordained by some one who has authority, and it is known to the church that he has authority and has been regularly ordained by the heads of the church” (D&C 42:11).
In this way, no stranger can come among us and claim to have authority and attempt to lead the Church astray.
Here in 1880 the Pearl of Great Price was accepted as one of the standard works of the Church.
Here also two revelations were added to the standard works, now known as Doctrine and Covenants sections 137 and 138. Section 137 records a vision given to the Prophet Joseph Smith in the Kirtland Temple, and section 138 is a vision given to President Joseph F. Smith concerning the Savior’s visit to the spirits of the dead.
Here in 1979, after years of preparation, the LDS version of the King James Bible was introduced to the Church.
The new editions of the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price were announced to the Church here.
In 1908 in a general conference, President Joseph F. Smith read section 89 of the Doctrine and Covenants—the Word of Wisdom. Then he, both of his counselors, and the President of the Twelve all spoke to the same subject, the Word of Wisdom. Then a vote to accept it as binding upon the members of the Church was unanimously passed.
That revelation begins, “In consequence of evils and designs which do and will exist in the hearts of conspiring men in the last days, I have warned you, and forewarn you, by giving unto you this word of wisdom by revelation” (D&C 89:4).
It is a shield and a protection unto our people, particularly to our youth. It becomes a part of that “whole armor” of God promised in the revelations to protect them from the “fiery darts” of the adversary (see D&C 27:15–18).
The Church and individual members of it have always been, are now, and ever will be under siege from the adversary. He will cover, even erase the still, small voice through loud and dissonant music awash with lyrics that cannot be understood—or worse, by lyrics that can be understood. He will carefully lead us astray with every other temptation he could devise.
Here by revelation the Lord clarified the order of the priesthood, and this opened the doors to fulfill the commandment of the Savior to take the gospel to “every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people” (D&C 133:37) and to cause the Church to be established among them.
Here the Book of Mormon was given the subtitle “Another Testament of Jesus Christ.” Thereafter, whoever opens the book will know from the very title what is offered within.
The teachings, the sermons, the music, and the feelings and Spirit in this sacred building transfer without being diminished to the great Conference Center nearby, where they are heard by tens of thousands, translated into dozens of languages, and sent to congregations across the world.
Even more, that Spirit enters into the homes of millions upon millions of Latter-day Saints. In the homes, parents pray for the well-being of their children. Men and women and, as the Book of Mormon promised, even little children can receive the testimony of Jesus Christ (see Mosiah 24:22; Alma 32:23; 3 Nephi 17:25) and of the Restoration of His gospel.
This Tabernacle on Temple Square is “a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of glory and of God, even [His] house” (D&C 109:16). Those called to speak or to perform words, music, and culture are obligated to present that which is worthy.
To seek after the praise of men, the scriptures caution us, is to be led carefully away from the only safe path to follow in life (see John 12:43; 1 Nephi 13:9; 2 Nephi 26:29; Helaman 7:21; Mormon 8:38; D&C 58:39). And the scriptures warn us plainly what follows when we “aspire to the honors of men” (D&C 121:35).
It is not so much what is heard in the sermons but what is felt. The Holy Ghost can confirm to all who come within that influence that the messages are true, that this is The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
The Tabernacle stands here next to the temple as an anchor and has become symbolic of the Restoration. It was built by very poor and very, very ordinary people. It is now known worldwide.
The Tabernacle Choir, identified by the name of this building, has been a voice of the Church for many years. May they never drift from or allow themselves to be pulled away from the central mission which has been their place for generations.
For generation after generation the choir has opened and closed each broadcast with a message of inspiration, rich in principle and anchored in the doctrines of the Restoration, beginning with “Gently Raise the Sacred Strain” (Hymns, no. 146) and closing with “As the Dew from Heaven Distilling” (Hymns, no. 149).
The Tabernacle stands in the world as one of the great centers of worthy music and culture. But most of all, it stands as a standard of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. That simple testimony was embedded deeply and permanently in me here in this building by those Primary children singing in reverent, revelatory tones.
God bless this sacred building and all that transpires within its walls. How grateful we are that it has been renewed and refurbished without losing its sacred character.
Elder Parley P. Pratt of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles read these words from section 121 in the Doctrine and Covenants: “Let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven.
“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever” (D&C 121:45–46).
Deeply moved, Parley P. Pratt turned his thoughts to a hymn which is actually a prayer. For many years it was chosen by the choir to close its weekly broadcast:
As the dew from heav’n distilling
Gently on the grass descends
And revives it, thus fulfilling
What thy providence intends,
Let thy doctrine, Lord, so gracious,
Thus descending from above,
Blest by thee, prove efficacious
To fulfill thy work of love.
Lord, behold this congregation;
Precious promises fulfill.
From thy holy habitation
Let the dews of life distill.
Let our cry come up before thee.
Thy sweet Spirit shed around,
So the people shall adore thee
And confess the joyful sound.
(“As the Dew from Heaven Distilling,” Hymns, no. 149)
I add my testimony that Jesus is the Christ, that this is His house, on this sacred day of dedication, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I stood and watched my sleeping son. His sleep was heavy from the sedatives the doctor had given him. My heart felt just as heavy; indeed, my whole being felt heavy, as if a great burden had been laid on my chest.
What effects would the terrible events of this day have upon my son? I wondered. He was only 20 and had watched his oldest brother and one of our best friends fall down a snow-encrusted Icelandic mountain and die. Both were young men with their whole lives ahead of them. One was our branch president. He left behind a young wife and two children, the youngest only six weeks old.
The three friends had left my home that January morning to hike up a nearby mountain. I had begged them not to go; I knew there would be ice on the mountain, and the weather report forecast poor conditions. But they had not listened. I could still see their smiling faces as they waved and drove away. I would never see two of them alive again. The sorrow was so great that I closed my eyes. Pain pierced my heart like a sharp knife.
How could the Lord allow this to happen? These young men had been almost all we had of priesthood leadership in our very small branch. I could not understand. I felt the Lord had let us down.
I undressed and as usual knelt by my bed to thank my Heavenly Father for the day that had passed. But I could not utter a word. How could I thank Him for this terrible day? What was there to thank Him for? There must be something, I remember thinking. And then I remembered my sleeping son and felt shame flood my heart. How could I have forgotten him? He had been in the same danger as the other two, but he had come back alive. I thanked my Heavenly Father for protecting him and bringing him back to me. I asked Him to help my son get through this ordeal.
And then I thanked my Father in Heaven for those two young men who had died—my oldest son and our friend, our branch president. I thanked Him that I had known them and loved them and enjoyed their friendship. I thanked Him that they had both been converted, that both had believed in Him and in His Son, our Savior, and that both had changed their lives before they died. They had both died in the Lord—oh, how grateful I was for that!
And then I thanked my Heavenly Father for my four other children who were alive and healthy, for my good children-in-law, and for my grandchildren. And I kept on. There was so much to thank the Father for; there seemed to be no end to it.
With each word of thanks, the burden on my chest lightened, and a warm, life-giving feeling started flowing through my body. My mind was filled with peace, and my heart with joy.
How could that be? I thought. How could I feel joy after what had happened? But I did, and I knew it was right. The sorrow was there still, deep and painful, but there was also joy. I had learned that even in deepest sorrow our Father in Heaven can bless us with peace and joy. The key is faith in our Lord and Savior, complete trust in him, and gratitude—gratitude to our Heavenly Father for all that we have and all that we have had.
I finished my prayer and lay down in my bed. I still didn’t know why the deaths had to happen, but it didn’t matter. I had felt my Heavenly Father’s love. We were in His hands, and everything would be all right.

“I’m not afraid to go to bed,” Billy told the baby-sitter. Mrs. Jones smiled and tucked in the covers.
“But I like to see where I am sleeping,” Billy said.
Mrs. Jones turned on the small night-light.
“And my bear would be warmer if it was under the covers with me,” Billy said.
Mrs. Jones brought the teddy bear to Billy.
“If I had a glass of water near my bed,” Billy said, “I wouldn’t have to bother you in case I got thirsty.”
Mrs. Jones went to the kitchen and brought back a glass of water.
“You must be tired,” Billy said. “Would you like me to read you a story?”
“That would be very nice,” Mrs. Jones said.
Billy read a picture story about Jesus Christ.
“I would read you another story,” Billy said, “but my eyes are getting sleepy.”
“You can read it to me the next time I come,” the baby-sitter said. She kissed him good night.
Billy nodded. He was very, very sleepy. He was also happy that Mrs. Jones knew that he was not afraid to go to bed.

One day I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and it got dark before I left. I had quite a distance to walk to reach the bus stop. This was March 1992, and it was very cold with a strong wind. My baby was squirming as I carried him. I walked backwards many times so the wind would hit me and not my baby.
I became sad as I thought about how I was freezing, walking with my baby, while my ex-husband had our car. I started thinking about how cruel life had been to me and felt a great weight in my heart. I started to cry like a child. I looked around and saw I was alone, so I cried to God out loud, “Heavenly Father, help me find the light.”
Finally I arrived at the bus stop, and when the bus came I sat in the front seat as I always did. When I looked to my left, I saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them came up to me and said to me in Spanish that was quite limited, “You too speak Spanish?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“You desire to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ?” he asked.
These words were wonderful to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I had investigated several churches, and in none of them had I heard this beautiful turn of phrase. I had always heard the word, the gospel, or the good news. So I very happily gave them my address and phone number.
I started taking the discussions from the missionaries, and in June 1992 I was baptized and confirmed. I will never forget that very special day. Before entering the waters of baptism I could feel a great weight, as if I were walking with feet of lead. But when I came out of the water, I felt like I was flying in the air. And when the missionaries placed their hands on my head and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, a warm feeling entered my body, and I was filled with a peace I had never felt before. The tears began to roll down my cheeks. To my surprise I realized I was crying not from pain or sadness but for the great joy and peace in my heart.
Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.

There are many today who harbor in the deep recesses of their hearts a canker, a hurt, a feeling of resentment, a dislike, or in some cases even a hate because of unpleasant experiences with past and present associations. Some have been taken advantage of in a business sense. Others have had their feelings hurt by neighbors, or relatives, or friends. A few have been lied to or had a trust of long standing betrayed. Some children, young and now grown, have been offended by harsh or dictatorial parents. Husbands and wives may have deep schisms between them caused by criticism and a resulting resentment. The list of sad experiences goes on and on—yes, it is too long. To those of you who have been nursing the wounds of hurt feelings from the past, even from the little things, I would like to tell an experience which happened some time ago.
For much of our lives, we lived in central Arizona. Some years ago a group of teenagers from the local high school went on an all-day picnic into the desert on the outskirts of Phoenix. As some of you know, the desert foliage is rather sparse—mostly mesquite, catclaw, and palo verde trees, with a few cactus scattered here and there. In the heat of the summer, where there are thickets of this desert growth, you may also find rattlesnakes as unwelcome residents. These young people were picnicking and playing, and during their frolicking, one of the girls was bitten on the ankle by a rattlesnake. As is the case with such a bite, the rattler’s fangs released venom almost immediately into her bloodstream.
This very moment was a time of critical decision. They could immediately begin to extract the poison from her leg, or they could search out the snake and destroy it. Their decision made, the girl and her young friends pursued the snake. It slipped quickly into the undergrowth and avoided them for fifteen or twenty minutes. Finally, they found it, and rocks and stones soon avenged the infliction.
Then they remembered: their companion had been bitten! They became aware of her discomfort, as by now the venom had had time to move from the surface of the skin deep into the tissues of her foot and leg. Within another thirty minutes they were at the emergency room of the hospital. By then, the venom was well into its work of destruction.
A couple of days later I was informed of the incident and was asked by some young members of the Church to visit their friend in the hospital. As I entered her room, I saw a pathetic sight. Her foot and leg were elevated—swollen almost beyond recognition. The tissue in her limb had been destroyed by the poison, and a few days later it was found her leg would have to be amputated below the knee.
It was a senseless sacrifice, this price of revenge. How much better it would have been if, after the young woman had been bitten, there had been an extraction of the venom from the leg in a process known to all desert dwellers.

The attributes of thoughtfulness and kindness are inseparably linked with President Hinckley. When my father passed away in 1963, President Hinckley was the first person to come to our home. I’ll never forget his kindness. He gave my mother a blessing and, among other things, promised her that she had much to look forward to and that life would be sweet for her. These words have brought comfort to her and to me, and I’ll never forget his kindness.

My name is Bea and I am five. It is hard being five years old. Today was Fast Sunday, and I’m not old enough to fast two meals. I tried to pour my own milk. It went all over the table.
“Oh, Bea,” my mother said, “you should have asked for help. It is hard for five-year-olds to pour milk.”
After I ate, I started dressing. My favorite dress has a lot of buttons. My big sister said, “Bea, you need help with all those buttons.” I let her help button my dress.
I put my shoes on by myself. I even tied them! Then my big brother said, “Bea, one of your laces is too long. You don’t want to trip over it.” He retied my shoe.
Joey, my baby brother, started to cry. I tried to carry him to Dad, but we fell. Dad said, “Joey’s too heavy for a five-year-old to carry.”
When it was my turn to read from the Book of Mormon before church this morning, Dad helped me a lot because I didn’t know most of the words.
It’s really hard being five.
During fast and testimony meeting, I whispered to Dad, “I want to bear my testimony. Will you go up with me?”
He looked at me. I was afraid that he’d say, “Bea, you are only five. You are too little to bear your testimony.” But he didn’t say that. He took me by the hand and led me to the pulpit. I bore my testimony! It was scary, but I did it all by myself. I said, “I know Jesus died and was resurrected. I love President Hinckley and Joseph Smith. I am grateful to be able to come to church. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
My dad held my hand, but he didn’t sit down. He stood by me and bore his testimony. He said, “Bea is a great teacher in our family. When she bore her testimony, I was reminded of the time when Christ came to the Nephites. He taught the children many marvelous things, and then they taught their parents. Bea has reminded me of the Savior’s mission. I am so grateful for Bea’s example. A five-year-old child can do great things.”
I was wonderfully happy. I had done something important. I was an example for my Savior by bearing my testimony. Although it is hard, I’m glad that I am five.