Gospel Story Finder

Clemmie chuckled. “I remember one time when I was about sixteen. I had a beau, one of the hired hands from a neighboring farm, who had invited me to a barn dance. Shortly before the dance my father noticed that the chicken coop hadn’t been cleaned and reminded me that it was my turn to clean it. I had completely forgotten! He said I couldn’t go out that night until the job was done.”
“What did you do, Clemmie? Did you have to stay home?”
Clemmie smiled as she continued: “No, I talked my brother into doing it for me. I had to promise to take his turn the next three times. If you knew what a hated job it was, you’d know how much I wanted to go to that dance!”

I remember as a child wanting a certain kind of bicycle. My parents were willing to give me a new bicycle for Christmas. My father took me to the store to look at bicycles. I saw the one I wanted, a silver Stingray. It was the fad at that time. My father asked me to also look at the more traditional models; he thought those might fulfill more needs. They were nice, but… they were not the Stingray. I told my dad I wanted the Stingray. Come Christmas morning, I saw the stingray near the Christmas tree. In less than one year, as the fad changed; I remember wishing I had made another choice. It was clear to me I would have benefited more from following the counsel my father had given me.

I had never before used that experience in a talk—never thought of it.
I wanted to fix it in my mind before speaking of it in conference, so I located a daughter of Emery Wight. She agreed to meet me at their old home and show me the field her father would have been plowing that day.
One of my sons took me there early one Sunday morning. He took a number of pictures.
It was a beautiful spring morning. The field was newly plowed, just as it had been those many years before. Seagulls were feeding in the newly turned soil.
That quickened memory, remembering that conversation, is not uncommon to me. It reaffirms the truth of the scripture—one, incidentally, I memorized in my youth—
“Neither take ye thought beforehand what ye shall say; but treasure up in your minds continually the words of life, and it shall be given you in the very hour that portion that shall be meted unto every man.”4
There follows a promise to those who treasure up knowledge:
“Whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for 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.”5

In July 2001, I was able to go to the National Boy Scout Jamboree in Virginia. I am an 11-year-old Scout. I wasn’t old enough to participate as a Boy Scout, but I attended with my family, who performs a Polynesian show. I have two older brothers, two older sisters, and a younger brother. We have performed in Utah, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, Virginia, Japan, and Florida. We have performed at theme parks, hospitals, schools, libraries, rest homes, orphanages, and Scouting functions.
My younger brother, James (wearing yellow in the photo), and I (wearing green) do a Navajo Indian Hoop Dance. We also do the hula, play the piano, and sing. I also play the ukulele and perform yo-yo tricks.
I enjoyed sharing my talents at the Jamboree. It made people happy. It also helped me to make friends with people from all over the world, and it helped me have a special time with my family. By sharing my talents, I know I will become a better person and build my talents. Matthew 5:16 says, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” I am grateful for the chance I had to share my talents at the Boy Scout Jamboree.

When I came home from my mission, my bishop called me to be the priests quorum adviser. He said, "I want you to teach on Sunday and attend mutual every week." I thought at the time that he was asking a lot of a young returned missionary who was working a lot of hours, carrying a heavy load in school and running hard to catch up to his future wife. I soon realized, that my bishop was inspired. The Lord knew that I needed the spiritual balance of a significant calling during those years. I am so grateful today for the gift of that calling. I was engaged and I received so many blessings because of it. Subsequent callings have also been a source of great blessings for me. Church service is a gift given by a loving Heavenly Father who knows where true happiness is found.

Christopher’s heart was heavy as he walked slowly to his family’s car after Primary. Why does everyone but me hear the still, small voice? he wondered.

“How was Primary?” Mom asked as Christopher and his two younger sisters climbed into the car. Jill and Michelle started telling about their lessons and the songs they learned in singing time. Christopher stared sadly at the floor.

“What was your lesson about, Christopher?” Dad asked.

A tear rolled down Christopher’s cheek. “The Holy Ghost,” he replied softly. Sensing that something was wrong, Jill and Michelle quit chattering.

“Maybe we could talk about this a little more when we get in the house,” Mom said as they turned into the driveway.

Later Mom and Dad invited Christopher to come to their room. “Christopher,” Mom said, “can you tell us what’s bothering you?”

Christopher looked down. He didn’t want his parents to know the Holy Ghost didn’t talk to him. They probably heard the still, small voice all the time.

“Listen,” Dad said, putting his arm around Christopher, “we can tell you’re upset, and we’d like to help.”

Christopher felt tears ready to spill from his eyes. “Mom, Dad,” he said in a shaky voice, “why doesn’t the Holy Ghost speak to me? I’ve always tried to do what’s right. I know I make mistakes—like the time I spilled the red punch on the new carpet and said Jill did it so I wouldn’t get in trouble. But I did finally tell the truth. Do you have to be perfect like the bishop or Brother Johnson or Sister Woolett to have the Holy Ghost speak to you?”

Mom and Dad looked a little surprised. “Christopher,” Mom said, “the only perfect person to ever live on the earth is Jesus Christ. Everyone makes mistakes. Why don’t you think the Holy Ghost speaks to you?”

“I’ve never heard the still, small voice,” Christopher replied.

“Hearing a voice isn’t the only way the Holy Ghost can communicate with you,” Mom said. “Often it’s what you feel, not what you hear. Don’t you remember the good feeling you had after you prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive you for blaming your sister for the carpet stain? That feeling was from the Holy Ghost.”

“It was?”

“Or how about the time we were reading the scriptures,” Dad added, “and you suddenly understood what Jesus Christ was talking about in the parable of the wheat and the tares. That was the Holy Ghost teaching you.”

“I never thought about it that way before!” Christopher was starting to feel a lot better.

“And,” Mom said, “remember when you got lost last summer and you prayed for help? After you prayed, you felt calm and knew you should sit on the nearest bench and let us find you. That calm, reassuring feeling helping you know what to do was the Holy Ghost.”

Christopher smiled. Now he understood. The Holy Ghost had been talking to him—even if he didn’t hear the still, small voice with his ears! Now he said excitedly, “What about last week when I gave my talk in Primary? I’d studied it really hard, but when I got up, I had forgotten it. Then I said a silent prayer, and suddenly I could remember my talk. That was the Holy Ghost, too, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right,” Dad said. “Helping you remember is also a part of the gift of the Holy Ghost.”

“All those times the Holy Ghost really was talking to me!” The warm feeling in Christopher’s heart helped him know it was true.

“On the other hand, think of some of our elders coming from the country or the reservation to a larger city for the first time. These new experiences are fun and challenging. Do you remember Elder Descheenie?”
“Sure, I remember him. He was a Navajo elder, dark eyes, black curly hair, and a wide smile that made you wonder what he had been up to. He was a good elder.”
“That’s him all right, and he was a good elder. Let me share this story from a letter I received from him: ‘Did I ever tell you about my first and second day at the MTC? Well, I was the only Navajo speaker that went to the MTC that first day. On my first day there I did all right in finding my apartment and classes, but my second day I got up late and came to find out that everybody had gone to their classes already that morning, so I took a shower and decided to go to class, too, but couldn’t find my class. I walked in every hall and every building but still couldn’t find my classroom, so I just gave up and decided to go back to my apartment and stay there until my companion came back.
“‘So I was headed to my apartment, but I couldn’t even find my own apartment either, so I decided to try the building that was next to me there. I still couldn’t find my own room, so I started toward the rest room when I saw many girls headed into the building that I was in, and I thought to myself, I couldn’t be in the girls building could I? The girls were still headed this way, and I thought to myself again, I must be! I ran out of there flying, and I was so lost I didn’t know what to do so I walked over to the bookstore and there I found my companion. Was I ever glad to see him again!
“‘I told him what had happened to me, and he was about to die laughing at me. Anyway those were the good old days. We had some baptisms last Saturday, and we’ve got some more coming up too. I was going to write you a long letter, but I’m running out of news so I’m going to close here and do some more work. Have a nice day, and thanks for everything, and we’ll see you soon. …
“‘Elder D.’

Somewhere in the pages of the journal Sharla kept during her junior year in high school, the handwriting becomes difficult to read. It looks a little like Sharla was keeping her journal while riding in a car or making a trip on a plane during a bumpy ride. That year, Sharla did both of those things many times. But it wasn’t the shaking of a car or plane that made her handwriting look funny.
Her hand shook because she was undergoing an intensive round of treatment for acute lymphoblastic leukemia—which was diagnosed just a few days after Sharla discovered an unusual lump on her neck. Her treatment started in El Paso and involved visits to several specialists. Then she and her mom flew to Houston, where she could receive a new kind of treatment not available in El Paso.
Sharla was spending all her time in a hospital bed, too weak to do schoolwork, see friends and family, or even speak above a whisper. It might not seem like the kind of thing that anyone would want to remember. But Sharla wanted to record it, not only to ensure that her journal would be historically accurate, but also because of the many spiritual experiences she has had as a result of her challenge. Sharla received numerous priesthood blessings. Her family held a special fast. She even had the opportunity to give a Book of Mormon to one of the nurses in the hospital where she was staying.
For a time, Sharla was too weak to even pick up a pencil, but she didn’t let that stop her from maintaining her habit of keeping track of important events. Sharla softly whispered to her mother (because she was too sick to speak in a normal voice), who took short notes about what Sharla felt was significant. Later, when Sharla felt a little better, she used the notes to help her remember what she wanted to write.
Sharla says she owes her life, in a very real way, to her family. Her journal is full of stories about how her mother sat by her bedside, helping her eat, dress, and take medications. She has also written about how grateful she is for her father and sister and brothers for keeping things running at home. But Sharla’s not the only one in the family who keeps a journal.
Life is much more normal for Sharla now, but it will be quite some time before she finishes her last treatment. It will be even longer still before her cancer is declared in remission.
Although she is much better than she was, the road ahead could be a difficult one. But if things get tough, Sharla can look back at her journal and remember that she’s made it through hard times before. She’ll also be able to see that, mixed in with the rough stuff, there were moments of happiness and laughter. Times when she could forget herself and focus on others. Days when she felt so grateful for her blessings she could hardly remember what her challenges were.
Because she’s been so diligent about keeping a journal, Sharla will never forget the good that has come from this experience.

During the summer of 2001, 17-year-old Tricia Hale had an idea, or a dream as she calls it, to put on a spiritual Christmas dance program that would portray the life of Christ.
She enlisted the help of three friends and fellow dancers (Anna Woolf, 17; Jill Hendrickson, 16; and Donelle Crandell, 16) at her high school in Mesa, Arizona, to turn the dream into reality.
The dancers were on the school’s dance team but had taken issue in the past with music and costumes they felt were inappropriate or not in keeping with Church standards. They wanted to use their talents to present their testimonies of Christ by dancing to sacred music and wearing modest outfits.
The program that resulted would be an experience that strengthened their testimonies and was well-received by family, friends, and the community. Other young women took over after these girls graduated, making the spiritual experience an annual program.
Other dancers are invited to join them in planning, practicing, and performing. Although some of the dancers are not members of the Church, prayer, devotionals, and sharing testimonies are part of rehearsal time.
The free program, entitled “Let There Be Praise,” portrays the life of Christ from birth to resurrection through scriptures, narration, slides, and lyrical dance to hymns and other spiritual music. It drew more than 500 people the first year, and the audience has since grown.
Clint W. Smith, president of the Mesa Kimball Stake, enjoys the performance.
“Dressed in white, these girls are so modest and pure and are able to share their talents and gifts in a way that is very powerful and appropriate,” he says. “It is a wonderful experience for those who are in it and for those who see it.”
McKenzi Fackrell, one of the group’s past presidents, admits it was a lot of work to organize and head up the program. “But it was so worth it,” she says. “It is such a testimony builder.”
After McKenzie graduated, Kelly Allen took over as co-president and chose a younger co-president, Brianna Barba, to work with her.
“I just love it,” says Kelly, who has danced since she was nine years old.
Even though Kelly keeps busy with the school’s dance group and making straight A’s, she’s able to keep her life organized.
“Being involved in this is a big blessing,” she says. “Somehow there is time for everything.”
Brianna has danced in the program since she was in eighth grade. “It has strengthened my testimony so much,” says the honor student, who is also involved in the school’s dance group and competition cheer squad.
In a devotional she told the dancers, “Christ can turn our shabby gifts into a beautiful miracle and a shining star.”
Brianna has been able to use the program for missionary experiences, inviting a friend to dance as Mary and another to perform a vocal solo for one of the dances.
“I knew they would be able to feel the Spirit and also bring their families so they would be able to share in this, too,” she says.
Brianna’s younger sister, Brittney, who performed for the first time as a sophomore, is one of many dancers who uses the experience as a Personal Progress project.
“I chose Individual Worth, because being in this has helped me learn so much about myself,” she says. “When you learn about Christ, you learn more about being a daughter of Heavenly Father and how much He loves you. My testimony has grown so much.”
The program ends with the song “How Great Thou Art,” and the dancers raise their arms in praise.
“The group has never done a curtain call because we want that to be the last thing the audience sees,” says Tricia Hale Campbell, who is now a dance teacher at her own studio and has continued to help the high school students with the program. “This isn’t about the dancers. We feel grateful to use our talents in a spiritual way to focus on the Savior and we give that glory to the Lord.”
Sisters Kelsey, Kali, and Karissa Jarvis say that there are a lot of opportunities to sing or speak your testimony, but not a lot of places to dance your testimony.
“It lets others know that I do have a testimony,” says Kelsey.
Older sister Kali agrees. “You know how you feel bearing your testimony or having a great spiritual experience with someone? It’s the same great feeling, but you get to share it with all these people in dance.”
Kim Hathcock has returned to perform after graduating. “It’s one thing that makes Christmas meaningful for me,” she says.
During high school she performed as Mary. “It really made my testimony grow,” she says. “I also feel like we’re doing service, because so many people who see it comment that this is what gets them into the real Christmas spirit.”
Christy Quintero is a member of a local Christian church. “I thought it would be a good experience to dance to Christian music,” she says. “I really like being with everybody; they are good examples to be around.”
Don Johnson, whose daughter, Aimee, has performed for several years, says he enjoys the “spirit-filled” program.
“These girls are so busy themselves, but they sacrifice to put this on so we can feel the Spirit,” he says. “That’s very Christlike.”
Drama teacher Sandy Stones of the Mesa Kimball Stake is the faculty sponsor for the club and is on hand when the girls practice.
“It’s an honor and privilege for me to sponsor the group,” she says. “They are a light to the school and community.”

Yet we had still another problem: no podium. As we prayed to know how to get one, I learned that a local elementary school had some wood we could use. For days I searched for a carpenter who could build a podium from the wood, but I couldn’t find one. Finally, on a Saturday, I decided to build it myself. I had never carried such heavy objects, and I would never have believed I could finish the podium in one day, but God helped me. The podium was ready for church the next day. All the members were amazed, but not as amazed as I was. It seemed a miracle to me.

Yet, thanks to divine providence, an ember of hope for Koreans began to grow in New York, USA. Syngman Rhee, president of Korea, sent Kim Ho Jik, director of the Suwon Agricultural Experimentation Station, to the United States to learn how to improve nutrition in the Korean diet. Ho Jik chose Cornell University, which had an excellent graduate study program in nutrition. In 1949 he started to pursue a doctoral degree—as well as attend various church meetings around Ithaca, New York, to find the “true church.”1
Ho Jik made friends with a man named Oliver Wayman. Unlike Ho Jik’s other acquaintances, Oliver did not drink or smoke and never swore. He also never worked on Sundays. One day Ho Jik asked Oliver, “What makes you live that way?” In answer to that question, Oliver gave him a book titled The Articles of Faith by Elder James E. Talmage (1862–1933) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
Ho Jik read The Articles of Faith within a week and then read the Book of Mormon. He believed both books and told Oliver the Book of Mormon was “more complete and easier to understand than the Bible.”2 Ho Jik accepted the gospel message like dry ground receiving long-awaited rains. His faith grew day by day. He started to receive the missionary lessons and decided to be baptized.
On July 29, 1951, 46-year-old Kim Ho Jik was baptized in the Susquehanna River—he wanted to be baptized near where the Prophet Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery were baptized over 100 years before. When he was coming out of the water, he heard a clear voice saying, “Feed my sheep.” That impression led him to devote the rest of his life to helping the gospel take root in Korea.

I recently visited my optometrist for an annual eye exam. My exam took longer than usual, and afterward he told me that I wasn’t seeing very well out of my right eye. At first, I was bewildered and frustrated. I thought, “These are my eyes! How does he know how I’m seeing?” You would think that I would not need someone else to tell me how I was seeing things out of my own eyes!

But once he informed me of this, the recent headaches and eye strain I had been experiencing came to mind. I could tell that he was right. It had happened so gradually that I hadn’t noticed I wasn’t seeing optimally. My doctor had helped me catch this early, so the fix was fairly easy, and my vision improved in the course of a few weeks. Some light intervention and a new prescription later, and I can see all of you again.

Similarly, as we move through life, the effects of sin and living in a fallen world creep in gradually. Before we realize what has happened, we are working from a disadvantage that we can’t recognize without some self-examination or the intervention of the Spirit, Church leaders, or loving friends and family. The sooner we are made aware that we are wandering from the covenant path, the easier it is to be restored to the path with minimal effort on our part and a lot of grace and mercy through the power and Atonement of Jesus Christ.

I recall just a few years ago seeing a drama enacted at the Salt Lake Airport. On this particular day, I got off an airplane and walked into the terminal. It was immediately obvious that a missionary was coming home because the airport was full of conspicuous-looking missionary friends and missionary relatives.
I tried to pick out the immediate family members. There was a father who did not look particularly comfortable in an awkward-fitting and slightly out-of-fashion suit. He seemed to be a man of the soil, with a suntan and large, work-scarred hands. His white shirt was a little frayed and was probably never worn except on Sunday.
There was a mother who was quite thin, looking as if she had worked very hard in her life. She had in her hand a handkerchief—and I think it must have been a linen handkerchief once but now it looked like tissue paper. It was nearly shredded from the anticipation only the mother of a returning missionary could know.
Two or three younger brothers and sisters were running around, largely oblivious to the scene that was unfolding.
I walked past them all and started for the front of the terminal. Then I thought to myself, “This is one of the special human dramas in our lives. Wait and enjoy it.” So I stopped. I moved to the back of the crowd to watch. The passengers were starting to come off the plane.
I found myself wondering as to who would be first to breakaway from the welcoming group. A look at the mother’s handkerchief convinced me that she would probably be the one.
As I sat there, I saw the returning missionary start to come down the stairs from the airplane. I knew he was the one by the squeals of excitement from the crowd. He looked like Captain Moroni, clean and handsome and straight and tall. Undoubtedly he had known the sacrifice this mission had meant to his father and mother, and it had made him exactly the missionary he appeared to be. He had his hair trimmed for the trip home, his suit was worn but clean, his slightly tattered raincoat was still protecting him from the chill his mother had so often warned him about.
He came to the bottom of the steps and started out toward the airport building and then, sure enough, somebody couldn’t wait any longer. It wasn’t the mother, and it wasn’t any of the children, or even the girlfriend standing nearby. It was father. That big, slightly awkward, quiet and bronzed giant of a man pushed his way past an airline attendant and ran out and swept his son into his arms.
The missionary was probably 6?2? or so, but this big father grabbed him, lifted him off the ground, and held him for a long, long time. He just held him and said nothing. The boy dropped his briefcase, put both arms around his dad, and they just held each other very tightly. It seemed like all eternity stood still, and for a precious moment the Salt Lake City Airport was the center of the entire universe. It was as if all the world had gone silent out of respect for such a sacred moment.
And then I thought of God the Eternal Father watching his son go out to serve, to sacrifice when he didn’t have to do it, paying his own expenses, so to speak, costing everything he had saved all his life to give. At that precious moment, it was not too difficult to imagine that Father speaking with some emotion to those who could hear, “This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” And it was also possible to imagine that triumphant returning son, saying, “It is finished. Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.”
Even in my limited imagination, I can see that reunion in the heavens. And I pray for one like it for you and for me. I pray for reconciliation and for forgiveness, for mercy, and for the Christian growth and Christian character we must develop if we are to enjoy such a moment fully.
I stand all amazed that even for a man like me, full of egotism and transgression and intolerance and impatience, there is a chance. But, if I’ve heard the “good news” correctly, there really is a chance—for me and for you and for everyone who is willing to keep hoping and to keep trying and to allow others the same privilege.
I marvel that he would descend from his throne divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine. …
I think of his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt!
Such mercy, such love, and devotion can I forget?
No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat,
Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet. …
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!
(Hymns, no. 80.)
In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

The missionaries did reap an important harvest in Ohio. En route west, they had visited Sidney Rigdon, a former Campbellite preacher and friend of Parley P. Pratt. At first skeptical, Rigdon studied the Book of Mormon, invited the missionaries to address his congregation, and soon asked for baptism. So did about 130 other persons in the area. Rigdon would not be satisfied until he met the Prophet. In December, he and a young hat maker, Edward Partridge, traveled together to the Smith home in Waterloo, New York, to meet Joseph Smith. The Prophet was impressed by Rigdon’s abilities and soon received a revelation stating that the Lord had prepared him “for a greater work” (D&C 35:3). The former preacher soon employed his oratorical skills in explaining the gospel to others. He soon began to serve as scribe to Joseph Smith in an inspired revision of the Bible and served as a counselor in the First Presidency.

In graduate school we had struggled along with loans and working part time but with just a couple of months before graduation there came a day when there was the embarrassing and humbling episode of having no money and nothing to eat. Our own parents were struggling to make ends meet and so I went and talked to our Branch President. We received the food we needed and I graduated shortly afterwards. I was embarrassed by my circumstances and upset with the Lord that he had not spared me that affliction and that humiliation.

Three years later I was called to be a Branch President of that very same branch. A lady and her teenage daughter came to see me a few months afterwards and started to tell me about the embarrassment and humiliation of opening cupboards and finding there is nothing there to eat. She looked up to me with her teary eyes and she knew that my reaction was more than just sympathy; she sensed that I knew exactly what she was going through. I have come to appreciate what Elder Hugh B. Brown has said, "I am thankful for the experiences I rather not have had."
I was so upset at the Lord for not sparing those experiences that I missed the point of what he was trying to teach me. That experience has remained with me for the rest of my life and has enlarged my capacity to share the burdens of others.

Genesis 5:3 records, “And Adam . . . begat a son in his own likeness, after his image.” Here is where the fun begins, as Heavenly Father has given us the privilege of creating these children in our image as well. The results can be both spectacular and comical. When we first held our babies, we would greet each new spirit with wonder, and then we would begin to note the distribution of the genes from our families. As we raise our children in the image and likeness of God, we are shocked as they assume our image and likeness as well. One morning, a few days after I finished a grueling two years working on my dissertation, we were lying on our bed when our darling two-and-a-half-year-old son raced into the room and began jumping on the bed, gleefully shouting, “I am sure glad that darned dissertation is done!” But he didn’t say “darned”!

“You win.”
I had just come out of the hotel’s elevator with my date. It was my high school senior prom—the day I had been looking forward to for months. The dinner and accompanying dance were held on the top floor of a local hotel in my hometown in upstate New York. Balloon arches and a long, red carpet led the way into the ballroom where the dance was being held.
“Excuse me?” I asked, looking around for the source of the voice. It was my science teacher, Mr. Keenan.
“You win,” he repeated.
Laughing, I asked him what it was I had won.
“You have the most beautiful dress I have ever seen,” he responded. “I want that dress for my daughters when they go to prom.”
“Oh, I’m sure he tells every girl that,” I thought, smiling.
Continuing, he said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but not many of the dresses I’ve seen so far tonight cover very much.”
I was a little taken aback by his comment. It was obvious that my dress was modest, but I didn’t think that others would care. I thanked him and continued into the dance.
Later in the evening, my date and I went to the photographer for pictures. When it was our turn to pose, the photographer looked at me and said, “Wow, what a gorgeous dress.”
“I’m sure you tell every girl that her dress is gorgeous,” I said, voicing my earlier thoughts.
“Oh no,” his voice was serious. “I rarely tell a girl her dress is gorgeous.”
Rewind eight months to the previous fall. I knew my senior prom was going to be at the end of that school year, and in my excitement I started searching for a prom dress in September.
My friends and I spent several Saturdays shopping at local stores and trying on their selection of formal dresses. But in my hometown, finding a formal dress that went to at least the knees, wasn’t cut too low in the front or back, had sleeves, and was cute was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
I could have rationalized wearing an immodest dress—it was just one night, only immodest dresses were available, and all of my friends would be wearing them. But I felt uncomfortable just trying them on, and I knew I would be uncomfortable the whole night of prom if I did wear one.
I started looking harder. I knew it would be difficult to find something in local stores, so I turned to the Internet. It took a bit of searching, but after a while, I found the dress of my dreams.
It was a little more expensive than the immodest dresses I had tried on, and I had to get a job to pay for it. But when I received it in the mail and tried it on, it fit perfectly and I felt comfortable. I knew I had made the right decision.
When I walked into prom that night, I never once felt uncomfortable. And I was grateful that I had chosen to stay modest. As my teacher said, I had won.

With the theme “a love of God and of all men” (2 Ne. 31:20) for their values night, the young women of the Glasgow Scotland Stake were asked to bring at least one toiletry item to help with a service project. The results far outstripped the expectations of their leaders. With 28 girls in attendance, they filled 29 small boxes to overflowing. The young women decorated boxes with wrapping paper and stuffed them full of toiletry items. Then they donated the filled boxes to several charities.

I have been blessed to witness some of the gifts of God upon His prophets. May I share one such sacred experience with you? Prior to my current calling, I assisted in identifying and recommending future temple sites. After September 11, 2001, crossings along the U.S. borders became more controlled. As a result, it took two to three hours for many Church members to make the crossing from Vancouver, Canada, while going to the Seattle Washington Temple. President Gordon B. Hinckley, President of the Church at that time, suggested that a temple in Vancouver would bless members of the Church. A site search was authorized, and after we examined several Church-owned properties, other sites not owned by the Church were also investigated.
A beautiful site with religious zoning adjacent to the Trans-Canadian Highway was found. The property had excellent access, was dotted with beautiful Canadian pine trees, and enjoyed a prominent location which would make it visible to thousands of passing motorists.
We presented the site with pictures and maps in the monthly Temple Sites Committee meeting. President Hinckley authorized that we place it under contract and complete the necessary studies. In December of that year, we reported back to the committee that the studies were complete, and we sought approval to proceed with the purchase. After hearing our report, President Hinckley said, “I feel I should see this site.”
Later that month, two days after Christmas, we left for Vancouver with President Hinckley; President Thomas S. Monson; and Bill Williams, a temple architect. We were met by Paul Christensen, the local stake president, who transported us to the site. It was a little wet and misty that day, but President Hinckley jumped out of the car and began walking all over the site.
After spending time on the site, I asked President Hinckley if he would like to see some of the other sites that had been considered. He said yes, he would like that. You see, by looking at the other sites, we were able to make a comparison of their virtues.
We did a large clockwise loop around Vancouver looking at the other properties, ultimately arriving back at the original site. President Hinckley said, “This is a beautiful site.” Then he asked, “Can we go to the Church-owned meetinghouse about one-quarter mile [0.4 km] away?”
“Of course, President,” we responded.
We got back into the cars and drove to the nearby meetinghouse. As we arrived at the chapel, President Hinckley said, “Turn left here.” We turned and followed the street as instructed. The street began to rise slightly.
Just as the car reached the crown of the rise, President Hinckley said, “Stop the car, stop the car.” He then pointed to the right at a parcel of ground and said, “What about this property? This is where the temple goes. This is where the Lord wants the temple. Can you get it? Can you get it?”
We hadn’t looked at this property. It was farther back and away from the main road, and it was not listed for sale. When we responded we didn’t know, President Hinckley pointed to the property and said again, “This is where the temple goes.” We stayed a few minutes, then left for the airport to return home.
The next day, Brother Williams and I were called to President Hinckley’s office. He had drawn out everything on a piece of paper: the roads, the chapel, turn left here, X marks the spot for the temple. He asked what we had found out. We told him he couldn’t have picked a more difficult property. It was owned by three individuals: one from Canada, one from India, and one from China! And it didn’t have the necessary religious zoning.
“Well, do your best,” he said.
Then the miracles happened. Within several months we owned the property, and later the city of Langley, British Columbia, gave permission to build the temple.
In reflecting upon this experience, I am humbled by the realization that while Brother Williams and I possessed formal education and years of experience in real estate and temple design, President Hinckley had no such formal training, but he had something far greater—the gift of prophetic seership. He was able to envision where God’s temple should stand.

When our son Eli was in fourth grade, his class set up a mock government where he was elected by his peers to serve as class judge. One day a sitting judge from the Utah 2nd District Court visited, put his official robes on Eli, and then administered an oath of office for their class. This ignited in Eli’s young, impressionable soul a passion for studying law and the Lawgiver Himself, Jesus Christ.
After years of diligent effort, Eli received an invitation for an interview with one of his top choices for law school. He pronounced, “… The final question was, ‘Where do you derive your moral compass?’ … I stated if all of humanity abided by the teachings of Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount, the world would be a better, more peaceful place.” Then the interview ended, and he thought to himself, “There go my childhood dreams. No one in secular academia wants to hear about Jesus Christ.”
Two weeks later, Eli was admitted with a scholarship. Before committing, we visited the campus. … Remarkably, as we walked through the magnificent library and stately corridors, we found on banners and carved in stone attributes from the Sermon on the Mount.
The Sermon on the Mount is decisively the most noteworthy discourse ever delivered, pioneering in its teachings. No other sermon can help us better understand the character of Jesus Christ, His divine attributes, and our ultimate purpose to become like Him. …
We need to infuse the Light of Jesus Christ into every corner of our lives. …