Gospel Story Finder

One night after I came out of the church, my new silver CTR ring fell out of my pocket. My dad and uncle shined the headlights of their cars into the bushes, but I still couldn’t find it. I was feeling sad. My mom said we should have a family prayer. After the prayer, I walked through the bushes and felt a prompting to look down. There was my ring under a bush! I know that my prayer was answered and that yours can be, too.Brian Seegmiller, age 10Fairfield, California

Eritai Kateibwi is making life better for the people of his homeland of Kiribati.
“People on my island have a strong bond to each other,” he explains. “The word ‘family’ is very important, and it drives me to help my own people.”
Eritai learned about hydroponic sustainability while attending Brigham Young University–Hawaii. He spent hundreds of hours developing that idea into a solution to take to his people.
In 2017, he returned to Kiribati and introduced innovative hydroponic gardening to families and communities in response to the challenges faced in accessing healthier food options. He explained that “it provided a healthy alternative to the processed foods that people were eating.”
Although Eritai continues to work on developing a sustainable hydroponics model on his home island, Marakei, his primary focus changed from hydroponics to construction with the mentorship and support of Jeff and Judy Brock.
They were serving as humanitarian missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Judy said, “Jeff loaded him up with tools and now Eritai is their go-to for all things construction.”
Her description of Eritai fits perfectly for the path his life has taken: “Eritai is now a leading local contractor and is working miracles,” she says.
Eritai says he feels happy and accomplished after overseeing the construction of a solar-powered Church building and missionary housing in Tabonibara, North Tarawa.
“I have never done anything as critical as this,” Eritai explained.
He told of answers to many prayers during the construction. He found it remarkable the way “every detail of the plans came together, and they were able to finish it so quickly despite setbacks with construction and weather.”
He is also working on a desalination project which is funded by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints working in collaboration with the government of Kiribati and the SUEZ Group.
“The mentorship provided by Elder and Sister Brock came full circle, as some years later they became project managers for the national desalination project,” says Ruth Cross, welfare and self-reliance manager for the Church in Kiribati and local coordinator for the desalination project.
“Eritai Kateibwi is a great example of hard work and determination built upon faith in God,” Cross continues. “Eritai’s deep sense of commitment propels the urgency of a shared vision to help people.”

Ghana is a country with great potential for development, yet it is struggling to find the needed financial resources. Although there are too few jobs to go around, the abundance of small businesses shows that Ghanaians are willing to work hard at any available opportunity.
Latter-day Saint businessman Kweku Anno of Accra gestures toward the men working under the metal sheds of his manufacturing enterprise. “Every one of them has a cousin or a brother who needs to be trained.” If he sent out word that he wanted 10 workers, Brother Anno says, there would be 100 outside his gate before the day ended.
A mechanical engineer, he designed the simple, sturdy concrete block- and brick-making machines built in his shop. Brother Anno estimates that each machine will provide jobs for four people. His own business enterprises support 52 people.
Bishop Holbrook Christian MacArthur of the Cape Coast First Ward estimates that 80 percent of the members in his ward are either unemployed or under-employed. Some 30 percent of the men are out of work—mostly younger men who have not yet established themselves in vocations or careers. Like Latter-day Saints elsewhere in Ghana, members of his ward have banded together to organize cooperative businesses ranging from construction work to selling food products made of cassava, an important Ghanaian crop.
Their perseverance in spite of setbacks is a manifestation of the faith of Ghanaian Latter-day Saints, the bishop says. Sometimes in interviewing members, he learns of problems that would be daunting to others. “But just give them a little encouragement, and they will ignite. They will look up to their God. They have a faith that God works in his own due time.”
This kind of faith gives Ghanaian members confidence that their Father in Heaven watches over them. One day, Beatrice Ashon withdrew five million Ghanaian cedis (about US $4,500) from her bank in Accra for use in her business enterprises. Apparently, someone was watching. That night, a gang burst into her home, fired several shots, tied up a relative, and locked a group of visiting children in another room. The gang demanded Sister Ashon’s money and also stole some household goods. But no one was hurt. Police learned later that this same gang had killed victims in other incidents. Sister Ashon believes everyone in the home was protected by the power of God.
After the robbery, her businesses failed because of the loss of the money. “That was a very big test,” she says, “but we are happy.” She is persevering in the gospel and looking for ways to begin again financially.

Babe never doubted that she would qualify for the Olympics. In 1928, when her father read to the Didrikson children about the Olympics from the newspapers, Babe and her sister Lillie decided to train for the next Olympics. Babe decided to be a hurdler because “I never was too good at straightaway running. I didn’t seem to want to stay on the ground.”
One of the ways she trained was to jump over the hedges between her house and the corner store. One of the hedges was too high for her to hurdle, so she asked the neighbor who lived there to cut it to the same height as the others. He did, and soon she could hurdle the hedges on the way home faster than her older sister could run there with no obstacles.
Babe was good at almost anything she put her mind to. “All my life I’ve always had the urge to do things better than anyone else. Even in school, if it was something like making up a current-events booklet, I’d want mine to be the best in the class. I remember once I turned one in with hand-drawn maps and everything, and my teacher … wrote on it, ‘Babe, your work is beautiful. A triple plus!’”
For a home economics assignment, Babe made a dress that later took a prize at the Texas state fair. And she once won an award for her typing.
Besides schoolwork and sports, Babe had work to do at home. Times were hard during the Great Depression, and “for several years Poppa couldn’t get work regularly. … Momma took in washing. All of us pitched in and helped her. … We’d wash the clothes and rinse them and hang them out, and then while that was drying we’d do another wash.”
Other chores included polishing shoes at night, helping to wash “those twenty-eight windows in the porch” every Saturday, grocery shopping, and ironing her three brothers’ clothes.
“Momma was a good organizer. She’d divide up the work so that everything got done. And we didn’t realize it then, but she was also teaching us. She was showing us that everyone has responsibilities in life. …
“I know [we] kids were a lot of trouble to raise. But I think we realized more than some kids do that Momma and Poppa had it pretty hard, and that we should try to help them.”
When Babe started to work at the insurance company, she sent almost all her earnings home. Later, whenever she could, she’d take her mother and her father shopping and buy them clothes or whatever they needed.
When Babe was about eight years old, she earned money for a harmonica by cutting some neighbors’ grass. It was so high that she had to cut it with a sickle before she could mow it. When she got the harmonica, she practiced for hours and hours. Her brothers played the drums, two of her sisters played the piano, her other sister and her father played the violin, her mother sang, and Babe played her harmonica. Even when she was older and famous for her athletic prowess, she was good enough to play her harmonica in public.
Although most people might consider winning the A. A. U. meet her most incredible feat, for Babe, it was simply her key to the door of the Olympics. She must have been disappointed at being allowed to compete in only three Olympic Games events. And she must have been even more disappointed to win only two gold medals—in the javelin throw and the eighty-meter hurdles, setting world records in both events.
In the third event, the high jump, her last jump was disqualified. The judges said that it was illegal because her head had preceded her feet over the bar. That’s not against the rules anymore, and Babe believed that a photograph taken at the Olympic Games proved that her feet had actually gone over the bar first. But in those days the officials had only their own eyes to judge with, so Babe had to settle for the silver medal.
In later years Babe became famous for her golf playing. She was the first American to win the British women’s championship, and she set a record that has never been beaten by men or women when she won seventeen consecutive tournaments!
After cancer surgery, Babe played golf again. And she made many guest appearances at benefits for cancer research. But at age forty-two she was defeated by a second attack of that dread disease.
Before she died, she related her life story, dedicating her book “in memory of my mother and father, and to my husband, George, without whom there never would have been a life to lead.”
Although Babe participated in only one Olympic Games, that competition was one of the highlights of her life. On pages 24 and 25 you will find a game reflecting some of the features of the original Olympic Games in ancient Greece.
NOTE: Most of the preceding information, and all of the quotations, are from Babe Didrikson Zaharias’s autobiography, This Life I’ve Led.

From the pages of our missionary journal comes an event repeated often throughout the missions of the Church. John and Shirley Withers were successful advertising executives. They were on the fast track, indulging themselves in worldly pleasures. When contacted by our missionaries, they were impressed by their clean, sparkling countenances so unlike other young men they had known.
As the Spirit touched their hearts, the conversion miracle began. Their previous behavior became incompatible with gospel principles. A new set of priorities and values replaced worldly interests. Alcohol and tobacco habits became expendable, although with great effort. Modesty became the dress standard. Prayer, scripture study, and Relief Society and priesthood service became the focus. They were baptized and received the Holy Ghost.
As Sister Clarke and I, with some of our missionaries, assembled in the Salt Lake Temple, John and Shirley Withers, with their children, were sealed together as an eternal family. Their countenances reflected the resplendent beauty of the emancipation of the soul. We witnessed a spiritual rebirth as if from the grave.

Henry and his friends were excited to visit a farm.
First they played in the pumpkin patch. “Look at that big pumpkin!” Henry called.
“And there’s a little baby one!” Adalynn said.
Then they went to see the goats and chickens. “The chicks are so fuzzy,” Peyton said.
Next it was time to ride the train. “All aboard!” Mom said.
The train chugged past horses and apple trees. It chugged past a big roll of hay that looked like a pig.
The train stopped at the corn maze.
“Hooray!” Henry said. This was the best part.
They followed a sign into the corn maze. Trails were everywhere. Some trails led to other trails. Some trails just ended. Henry and his friends walked and walked.
After a while, they all felt tired. “How do we get out of the maze?” Henry asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mom said.
Henry couldn’t see over the corn stalks. His heart beat fast. Maybe they were lost!
“Let’s say a prayer,” Mom said.
“OK,” Henry said. He bowed his head. “Heavenly Father, please help us get out of the corn maze.” After he said, “Amen,” Henry felt warm and happy.
Soon Henry heard someone shout, “Here’s the way out!”
Henry knew Heavenly Father helped them.
At bedtime, Henry said a prayer. He thanked Heavenly Father for helping him.
He smiled. It felt good to know that Heavenly Father loved him. And that Heavenly Father could always hear him pray, even in a corn maze!

At times we may think that no one cares—but someone always cares! Your Heavenly Father will not leave you to struggle alone but stands ever ready to help. Most often such assistance comes quietly, at other times with dramatic impact. Elder Marion D. Hanks, some years ago, related an account of one who received such assistance. He told of a young divorced woman, the mother of seven children then ranging in ages from five to 16. One evening she went across the street to deliver something to a neighbor. She indicated later that as she turned to walk back home, she could see her house lighted up. She could hear echoes of her children as she had walked out of the door a few minutes earlier: “Mom, what are we going to have for dinner?” “Can you take me to the library?” “Mom, I have to get some poster paper tonight.” Tired and weary, she thought of all of those children who were home waiting for her to come home and meet their needs. She said that at that moment her burdens felt very heavy on her shoulders.

She recalled looking through tears toward the sky, and she said, “O my Father, I just can’t handle things tonight. I’m too tired. I can’t face it. I can’t go home and take care of all those children alone. Could I come to You and stay with You for just one night? I’ll come back in the morning.”

She didn’t really hear the words of reply, but she heard them in her mind. The answer was, “No, little one, you can’t come to me now, for you would never wish to return. But I can come to you.”

In Farmington, Utah, there lived a good man named Bob Hasenyager, who was not yet a member of the Church. His wife, Marlene, was devoted to the gospel. She honored her covenants quietly and patiently, never pressuring—only loving. Bob was serving and helping in the local ward. One day the stake president asked Bob, “Are you aware that your wife longs to attend the temple but still waits, not wanting to hurt you?”
Bob wept when he was told this. Then he gave his full support. Marlene received her endowment and began attending the temple regularly. Bob noticed something different: not pressure, not argument, but peace. Then one day a young missionary simply suggested Bob be baptized on a specific date. In Bob’s words: “I felt the Holy Ghost. I felt warmth and joy and peace. I finally had my answer.” Bob was baptized. He was later diagnosed with terminal cancer. He and Marlene were sealed four months before he passed away.

When he was introduced to the Church, eighteen-year-old Lindo Casinillo couldn’t speak or understand much English. But since the Book of Mormon wasn’t available in Cebuano, he read it in English. “I kept reading it, even though I couldn’t understand it,” he says. “I read until I could understand it.” Now, only a few years later, he has read it seven times, from cover to cover. His English is fluent.

When I was a young father, our little son, who was five, came home from school one day and asked his mother, “What kind of work does Daddy do?” He then explained that his new classmates started debating about their fathers’ jobs. One said that his father was the chief of the city police, while another proudly declared that his father was the chief of a big company.

So when asked about his father, my son simply said, “My father works in an office on a computer.” Then, noticing that his answer did not impress his new little friends much, he added, “And by the way, my father is the chief of the universe.”

I guess that was the end of the conversation.

I told my wife, “It’s time to teach him some more details of the plan of salvation and who is really in charge.”

But as we taught our children the plan of salvation, their love for Heavenly Father and for the Savior grew as they learned that it is a plan of love. The gospel of Jesus Christ is centered on the love of the Father and the Savior for us and our love for Them and for one another.

When he was 15, a defining moment came when his older brother, Joe, was deciding whether to go to medical school or serve a mission. The two of them stayed up one night discussing what Joe should do. Elder Cook has said of this experience:
“That evening was one of the most important times in my life. After Joe and I finished talking, I went into another room and prayed about the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I got a very strong feeling that the things Joe and I had been talking about were true.
“Joe chose to serve a mission, and a few years later, I followed in his footsteps, serving in the British Mission.”1 And Joe later did attend medical school.

I think of some of the people who have had to do with the work in some of the areas where I have had responsibility. One able thinker, and I do not remember whether it was Emerson or Carlyle—I took them both the same semester—said that every great institution is but the lengthened shadow of a great man. I have thought, as I have met some Koreans here, of the status of our work in Korea, where today we have two strong missions and a strong stake of Zion. All of this is the lengthened shadow of Dr. Kim and the two young men who taught him the gospel while he was a student at Cornell University—Oliver Wayman and Don C. Wood. They stirred within their associate student an interest in reading the Book of Mormon. Their interest in him, their activities with him were entirely separate from the reasons for their working on an advanced degree that could have consumed every minute of his waking time, but they took time to teach and to learn; and when the Korean Ph.D. returned to his native land, he took with him his love for the Book of Mormon and for the Church whose services he had attended in Ithaca, New York. American servicemen involved in the Korean War had also shared the gospel with some of their associates. And the presence of Dr. Kim, man of learning and man of responsibility in the nation of Korea, became a catalyst that led to the establishment of the work, including the sending of missionaries from Japan. Dr. Kim is dead, but the work lives on in splendor, touching for eternal good an ever-increasing number of lives in the “Land of the Morning Calm.”

For instance, consider my friend Bob and his watchcare over an elder who smoked. Nearly every morning, Bob would see a fellow member of his quorum and pray with him to help him overcome smoking and then give him a pack of Lifesavers or package of gum to help him during the day. Later, Bob would see him and his wife with hands linked across the temple altar, sealed for eternity. What was it that changed and helped to bring this all about? The gospel and “the heart and a willing mind.”

Elder Edward Dube was introduced to the gospel in 1981 by an employer in whose home he worked. The man gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon. He did not read it until 1983 but then was so impressed with Joseph Smith’s testimony of the visitation of Moroni that he responded to an invitation to attend a fast and testimony meeting at the meetinghouse in Kwekwe, Zimbabwe.
He felt uncomfortable at first, feeling that he was in a servant relationship to most of those in attendance.
“But as they bore their testimonies about the Book of Mormon, I felt some connection with these people,” he recalled, “and I was able to share my feelings about the Book of Mormon.”
He would later receive missionary lessons, be baptized, and eventually serve in the Zimbabwe Harare Mission.

About a week later Bishop Santos came to my office. He said, “President Featherstone, we have a request for 200,000 pesos from a branch president down on a distant island. A four-year-old boy has a brain tumor, and they don’t know what to do. They went to a charity hospital, and he was put on a one-year waiting list. They went to the Catholic Church, and they said they couldn’t help him. Then they remembered that two years before they had been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They had only attended Church once—the Sunday they were baptized—and had never been back. But they were desperate, and they needed some help. Their branch president knows that we can’t grant their request, but he needs an answer for them. What do you think?”

I said, “Let me look at the request.” I read it, and then I said, “Bishop, if this was your son, we would do it, and if it was my son, we would do it. We’re going to help this little boy.” And I signed that request.

Bishop Santos, a wonderful Filipino, stood there with tears flowing down his cheeks and said, “President Featherstone, we belong to a wonderful and magnificent church.”

I said, “Yes, Bishop, we do. We belong to a wonderful and magnificent church.”

Now I would like to tell you of a little experience I had in the mission field that illustrates what I think the Lord meant when he indicated that not only would the Prophet bring forth His word, but he would bring men to a conviction of His word that had already gone forth among them.

When I was in Holland, I was invited to talk to a Bible class of businessmen. We met in the home of a prominent furniture dealer. There were about twenty men; each had his Bible. The only woman there was the daughter of the man of the house. They gave me an hour and a half to discuss universal salvation, which includes our work for the dead, preaching in the spirit world, and baptism of the living for the dead. I just gave them chapter and verse and let them read the passages in their own Bibles. Then when I was through, I closed my Bible and waited for comments.

The first comment came from the daughter of the man of the house. She said: “Father, I just can’t understand it. I have never attended one of these Bible classes in my life that you haven’t had the last word to say on everything. And tonight you haven’t said a word.”

The man shook his head and said: “My daughter, there isn’t anything to say. This man has been teaching us things we have never heard of, and he has been teaching them to us out of our own Bibles.”

I could tell you many more stories like that!

Jim and Marian spent much of their time determining who was making the greatest contribution to their marriage. They believed that a marriage would work only if it was a 50–50 relationship. Neither felt that the other was being fair. Each was constantly upset about how little the other partner gave to the marriage.
When Jim and Marian changed their focus from how much they each could receive to how much they each could give, their marriage began to improve. Mormon said that “charity is the pure love of Christ” and that charity “seeketh not her own” (see Moro. 7:45, 47). A principle for making this work is found in the Sermon on the Mount: “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets” (Matt. 7:12).
To make this work, Jim and Marian each needed to find out what the other really wanted. Marian had a romantic nature and valued thoughtful notes, an occasional flower, and frequent verbal reminders that she was loved. By contrast, Jim felt that he best said “I love you” by fixing things around the house, keeping the yard neatly groomed, and providing financial security for the family. Neither of these orientations is superior to the other. Once they learned that the “language of love” was different for each of them, they began to speak each other’s language. As a result, they began to see each other’s contributions to the marriage as fair.

Chance skipped into his aunt’s home after a long drive. He and his mother and younger brother were excited to be visiting her. “Hi, Aunt Barbie!” Chance exclaimed as he hugged his aunt. “Do you have any crayons and scissors?”
Aunt Barbie smiled and got Chance settled at the kitchen table with the supplies.
As Aunt Barbie made dinner, she glanced at Chance’s project. “What are you drawing, Chance?” she asked.
“I’m coloring a picture I got in Primary,” Chance said. He carefully filled in the black-and-white figures with bright colors. “After we eat, can we have family home evening?” Chance asked. “I have a lesson I would like to teach.”
“That would be very nice,” Aunt Barbie said. “Thank you, Chance!”
After dinner Aunt Barbie invited her roommate to join them for family home evening. The roommate wasn’t a member of the Church, and she was curious about the family gathering.
Chance began the lesson by asking, “Where did we come from?” Then he held up a picture he had colored of the spirit world. He asked more questions and showed colorful drawings about Heavenly Father’s plan. Finally, Chance asked, “Does anyone know the name of this plan?”
Aunt Barbie’s roommate said, “I don’t. What is it?”
“It is the plan of salvation,” Chance said, smiling. “Because of it, we can be together forever with our family.”
After the lesson, Aunt Barbie took Chance aside. “Chance, you just helped my roommate learn about Heavenly Father’s plan. Thank you,” she said.
Chance didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he asked, “Why do I feel funny inside? I feel warm and happy.”
“That is the Holy Ghost testifying to you that what you just taught is true,” Aunt Barbie said. “I’m sure Heavenly Father is very happy with you.”
Chance got a big smile on his face. He was glad he could teach someone about Heavenly Father’s plan of happiness.

During my high school years my name began to appear each spring in the Bay Area sports pages. A newspaper columnist wrote that I might be the best high school middle-distance prospect in the last ten years in northern California. Letters from college track coaches began arriving. It was exciting.
Late one Saturday afternoon near the end of my sophomore year, I found my father sitting in his chair upstairs, reading.
“I’m going to a party tonight,” I said nonchalantly.
“That’s nice. Some of your friends from church?”
“No. New friends. Guys from school.”
“I see.” He continued reading.
“They’re some very popular kids.”
“Oh.” He laid his book down. “How long have they been paying attention to you?”
“Since track season, I guess.”
“Maybe they saw you in math class handing in your homework and thought, He’s someone we need to get to know.”
“Maybe.”
“It wouldn’t be that they saw your name in the paper, I’m sure. What are Chuck and Ricky doing tonight? And the guys from church?”
“The church guys are going to a stake dance. Chuck and Ricky were talking about going to a Giants game. Ricky’s dad is going.”
“Oh. How long have you known Ricky and Chuck and the guys at church?”
“Chuck and Ricky, all my life. The guys at church, seven or eight years.”
“Before anyone knew you could run fast, right?”
“Right.”
“You have fun with your new friends tonight. Remember priesthood at nine tomorrow.” He picked up his book. He was leaving the decision to me.
I made two phone calls. One to my new friends who had invited me to the party, a gathering at which I could easily guess what would be going on. The second call was to a friend from church, to see if he would pick me up for the dance.
My senior year in high school came, and my life and the lives of my friends and family were again changing. I had less than a year left in our blue house. Chuck talked about joining the military after graduation, while Ricky hoped to play professional baseball.
Paula had married the year before, to a guy who reminded me of the tall missionary from Massachusetts a decade earlier. In November, she and her husband came from school to our home for Thanksgiving. Paula handed my mother a jar of peanut butter with pink and blue ribbons tied around it. Mother looked sharply at her, and Paula nodded. Then Mom burst into tears. It seemed that my mother had craved peanut butter when she was expecting me. Paula’s present was her way of announcing that a new arrival would be born to the family in the spring.
I took my college entrance exams, filled out applications, and sorted through the letters offering track scholarships. A mission was only two years away. I took a part-time job at a restaurant to help save money for it.
Mom was doing great and Dad landed a promotion at work, one that took him off the dock and into an office. He was almost 50, and I was happy to know that his days of heavy physical labor were over.
On the track, my times kept improving. I hadn’t lost a race in two years, but my streak was in jeopardy. At an invitational meet in Sacramento, I was going to race the top runners from California, including Michael Banks, a senior from Los Angeles.
I had never met him but knew his reputation. On Mondays at practice my coach kept me apprised of Michael Bank’s achievements. “You were good on Friday, Tom. But Banks was two seconds faster.”
“Tomorrow’s the big race?” my father asked innocently the night before the meet.
“It is. I’ve never been so nervous about a race in my life.”
“You run in a circle four times; then it’s over. What’s so tough about that?” he kidded. “You’ll do fine, Tom. I’ll leave work and drive up to see you.”
My father was a stake clerk and went to a meeting of the stake presidency that night. I was asleep when he got home, yet he had already left for work when I arose just after six.
“Couldn’t Dad sleep?” I asked my mother at breakfast.
“No. He met with the stake president last night. He has something to tell you, but I’ll let him do so in his own way.”
I couldn’t imagine what he wanted to tell me, and I didn’t think of it again. Michael Banks and his fearsome times were crowding out everything else.
“Good luck. We’ll be there to watch and we’ll be proud of you whether you win or not.” She kissed me on the cheek, and I left for a half-day of school before driving to Sacramento with my coach.
Almost 11 hours later I stood at the starting line in the fifth lane. A half-dozen other boys stretched and shook their arms, preparing for the race. Tension was thick, a very real presence. My stomach was wound tight and I felt a little sick. Michael Banks stood two lanes away, looking confident, hands on his hips, staring down the track. We had met in the tunnel on the way to the track. He nodded in my direction and I murmured hello. That was all.
My coach gave me a few last-minute instructions. “Take the lead early in the fourth lap. If you don’t, Banks will out kick you down the stretch. You have the better stamina, but you can’t match his kick. Good luck, Tom. You’ll give it your best, I know.”
We were called to our marks. I scanned the crowd, but I couldn’t see my parents. I tried to block the worry from my mind. Concentrate, I must concentrate, I repeated softly. Your parents are in the stands. Don’t worry. The starter raised his pistol, and it cracked into the air. Arms and legs rushed, and there was a jostling of elbows as we started around the first corner. I began talking to myself in my mind.
How do I feel? Legs are tight, relax. Who’s on my shoulder? Don’t get boxed in. Breathe, breathe, relax. Keep your arm motion smooth. Glide, not too fast. Where’s Banks?
Glide, glide. Move outside when you can. Was that Banks in the lead? No. Maybe neither of us will win. Wouldn’t that be something. Don’t make your move yet. Do I have enough left in me to even make a move? You’ll die by the fourth lap. Remember what the coach said.
The second lap was nearing an end. My head hurt and I could taste blood in my mouth. I guessed I was in fifth place. My legs were rubbery. I didn’t have much.
Maintain, just maintain. Let your mouth go slack. Glide a lap … Oh, what’s the use? You don’t have it today, Tom. Banks has this one.
My pace slowed a bit. I was on the inside lane. I turned my head slightly and saw a familiar face, hands cupped to his mouth, standing on the infield. It was my father.
Quick strides brought me within hearing range. What was he shouting?
“Tommy … !”
Yes, Father.
“… Paula—you’re an uncle.”
What? An uncle? A boy or a girl? Get this race over, Rosa. You’re an uncle!
I forced my arms to pump faster. I moved to the outside and fought past two runners. Third place now and Banks clearly in the lead.
Paula, she isn’t due for two more weeks. But … But … a new baby in the family!
My pace quickened. I took over second place. Only Michael Banks loomed ahead. My lungs burned and my legs ached. Still, I managed to pull even with him. In unison, Michael Banks and I ran, leaving the others behind. We came around the bend again. There was my dad, shouting jubilantly.
“Tommy …”
The crowd was going berserk as Banks and I matched strides. Could I hear my father? I drew nearer and heard only two words: “You will!”
I will … I will … Now!
I moved inches ahead with a half-lap to go. Now! My fists rammed forward; my legs pounded the track. The lead grew to a foot, then a yard. I heard Michael Banks’ strained breathing behind me. Never had a race been so hard for me.
A baby!—Paula was a mom. My mom was a grandmother. And my father, a grandfather, who somehow made his way to the infield because he knew I needed to hear him.
I rounded the last corner, now in a dead sprint, my chest heaving.
Remember Banks’ kick. Don’t hold anything back. Pump your arms, run on your toes.
The tape loomed ahead. I frantically ran toward it. A few yards away, I stumbled, fought to keep my balance, and broke across the finish line. Michael Banks whisked in behind me. I turned and we threw our arms around each other. “Great race, man,” he gasped. “You ran inspired.”
“You’ll never know,” I panted.
I walked to the grassy infield. I knew that I should keep moving, but my legs refused. I sat down, then leaned back. I looked up into the clear, blue sky. A face filled it, the face of my father.
Some boys, they say things about their fathers. They say they aren’t friends, that there is too much of a difference for them to understand each other. They say they don’t know if their fathers love them. I feel an emptiness for those boys and their fathers. When thousands were shouting in a very tough race, it was my father’s voice that I listened for and heard.
On the way home, my parents told me why they were late. They got a phone call from Paula’s husband just as they were leaving. When they arrived at the stadium, the race had just started. One look told Father that I was struggling. Before he stopped to think about it, he was at the edge of the stands heading to the infield. He said he thought it was the only chance for me to know he was there.
“What a day,” he sighed. “And I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. I suppose that’s what happens when the stake president asks you to serve as the bishop.”
He said it so casually that the impact didn’t hit me for a few seconds. My dad was going to be the bishop of our ward!
I went off to school that fall. I was on the track team, and though I was not a star that year, I ran straight and hard. When I came home that summer, I had an interview with my bishop to begin the work of serving a mission. It didn’t take place in a bishop’s office, but in a blue, two-story home in south San Francisco. I sat on the edge of a bed, and the bishop pulled close his favorite old chair. He seemed a little hesitant. His eyes were wet.
“Tom, you are a Rosa,” he began. “And you are a Latter-day Saint.”
“Yes.”
“If you honor your family, you will honor your church. If you honor your church, you will honor your family.”
“I understand that.”
After asking me the normal missionary interview questions, he concluded, “You will do good. You will be a fine missionary.”
Then he told me to go help Mom in the kitchen. I looked back at him as I left. His hair was mostly gray now, and his arms were not as thickly muscled as before. He sat in his chair and stared out the window at ten thousand sparkling lights on the hillside across the bay from our home. I wondered if he knew how proud I was to be his son and how much it meant to me to share his good name. I walked downstairs realizing that all those years I had been running, my father had been growing, and I would never lack for someone to look up to.

The San Diego Temple
In August, 1977 shortly after being called as a Regional Representative of the Twelve, I recorded the following experience in my journal:

"while driving on Interstate 15 into downtown San Diego, I passed La Jolla Village Drive, and looked to the east at a beautiful vacant parcel of ground, and had the impression that a temple should be located there. It was a profound thought that I could not shake off. I reasoned to myself that a temple in San Diego was none of my business - my regional representative assignment covered the Anaheim and Palm Springs Regions, not San Diego. Still, the thought persisted, and on August 6, 1997 I sent a letter to Elder Royden G. Derrick suggesting the Church might want to consider purchasing a site in San Diego as a future temple site. I included information on the site on I-15."

That led to a meeting in Salt Lake City with The First Presidency in President Kimball's office. Some weeks later I was asked to begin a search for a future temple site in San Diego.

Of course the first property considered was the one I had first seen driving down the freeway, but it was not for sale. In the 5 years that followed many sites were looked at. None seemed to be the right location.

In September 1983 President and Sister Hinckley flew to San Diego to look at potential temple sites and to speak to 14,000 Seminary and Institute students in the Long Beach Convention Center. My wife and I picked them up at the airport and drove by several possible temple sites, including the one first seen from the freeway.

During the April 1984 General Conference of the Church five new temples were announced, including one in San Diego, and still we had not found a site.

Within a few months, however, a beautiful site was identified overlooking Mira Mar Naval Air Station in Tierra Santa with views to the Pacific Ocean and the Mexican Border on the south.

President Hinckley, accompanied by Bishop H. Burke Peterson of the Presiding Bishopric, flew to San Diego to see the Tierra Santa site. We drove onto the property and he liked it. Then he said, lets drive over to the other site by the freeway - the very first site considered and the one I had shown him nine months earlier, the one not for sale. As we stood on the land, with cars racing by on the freeway below he asked, "Which of the two sites we've seen today is the best for the temple?" All those present said the one we were standing on. President Hinckley then said, "I agree. Don, please proceed with the purchase of this land."

It seemed an impossible assignment one that I had tried to do several times in the past. But on the following Monday I made a call and miraculously, within a few days, the property became available. Within days we had a purchase contract to buy the property. It seemed a miracle that only a Prophet of God could accomplish.

In retrospect I realized that my feelings in 1978 while driving to work were, in fact, a prompting from the Lord and His way of setting in motion the process for purchasing a temple site He had chosen long before.