Gospel Story Finder

My grandfather joined the Church in the 1800s in Kirkintilloch, Scotland. As a single, young man he immigrated to the United States with the intent of coming to Utah. When he arrived in New York there was a delay as he waited for a wagon train to be organized that would take him to the Salt Lake Valley. During this time he became discouraged. He evidently had a talent for acting and had appeared in one or two amateur productions in Scotland. However, before he left for the United States, his mother, for whatever reason, made him promise that he would not pursue a life on the stage. Yet, as he spent those discouraging days in New York, he saw an advertisement that an acting company was hiring actors. He decided he would try to join them. As he walked up the steps toward the front door of the theatrical company, the words of his mother came into his heart. He paused for a moment and then turned back. He had only gone a short distance when he met someone who had been looking for him. A wagon train was being organized, and it was going to the valley. My grandfather came to Utah in that train.
Had he not stopped and remembered what he was told by someone who loved him, had he not made the decision to turn back, it is clear that his life would have been totally different and the lives of his many descendants as well. It was all decided when he paused for a moment, thought about what he was doing, what it meant to himself and others, and then decided to turn back.

In May of 1974, I was with Brother John H. Groberg in the Tongan islands. We had an appointment to visit the king of Tonga, and we met with him in a formal session. We exchanged the normal pleasantries. However, before we left, John Groberg said something that was out of the ordinary. He said, “Your Majesty, you should really become a Mormon and your subjects as well, for then your problems and their problems would largely be solved.”
The king smiled broadly and answered, “John Groberg, perhaps you’re right.”
I thought of the Apostle Paul before Agrippa. I thought of Agrippa’s response to Paul’s testimony: “Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian.” Brother Groberg had the courage to bear his testimony to a king.

Jeremy’s latest endeavor will help thousands see. For his recently completed Eagle service project, Jeremy was responsible for collecting over 2,000 pairs of used glasses to send to an optometry school, which would then catalog them and send them to Central and South America.

But just as Jeremy helped many people with his Eagle project, many helped Jeremy complete it. Jeremy created over 3,000 flyers, which the Scouts in his troop helped deliver. Soon both local and national papers picked up the story, and Jeremy was receiving glasses from all over the country. The Los Angeles Temple sent a box of glasses left by patrons over the years, and a car rental company sent a crateful of glasses that had been left in their cars. Encouraging letters accompanied many of the offerings.

“It was so great hearing from all those people,” Jeremy says. “I can’t believe so many would respond. Every time the doorbell rang, Dad would look at me and say, ‘More glasses!’”

I know how real the hooks of mortality can be. One Sunday, as a new convert, I was teaching a priesthood class when an unsettling conversation arose. I struggled to finish my lesson. I took offense and felt that I was the victim. Without saying a word, I headed for the exit with the idea that I would not return to church for a while.
At that very moment, a concerned priesthood holder stood in front of me. He lovingly invited me to focus on Christ and not on the situation we had experienced in class. As I looked back on the experience with him, he shared with me that he heard a voice tell him, “Go after him; he is important to me.”
My dear friends, we are all important to Him. President Nelson taught that “because of our covenant with God, He will never tire in His efforts to help us, and we will never exhaust His merciful patience with us.” Our divine nature and covenant relationship with God entitle us to receive divine help.

In 1952, Elder Benson was astonished to receive a telephone call informing him that U.S. President-elect Dwight D. Eisenhower, a man he had never met, wanted to talk to him about becoming U.S. Secretary of Agriculture. Farm leaders had recommended Ezra Taft Benson as the best man for the job. With Church President David O. McKay’s blessing and President Eisenhower’s assurance that he need never endorse a policy that he did not agree with, Elder Benson became Secretary Benson. The Benson family returned to Washington, D.C., for the eight years of the Eisenhower administration.

In that period, controversy was raging about how to stabilize supply and demand in an uncertain farm economy, and Ezra Taft Benson’s face appeared on the covers of national magazines as he dealt with the problem. He spoke forthrightly, without regard for how popular his opinion might be. Speaking to farmers and politicians, he dared to suggest that the solutions to economic and political problems are based on spiritual and moral principles, without which no nation can have prosperity or peace. In Washington, Elder Benson instigated the practice of opening Cabinet meetings with prayer, and the Bensons presented a family home evening program to the Eisenhowers.

When I was 15, my mom was diagnosed with an advanced stage of cancer. In the blink of an eye, our family felt the weight of overwhelming new stresses, fears, and changes. That year, candle time was a profound refuge from the storms of sadness and uncertainty.
A few years later, after my mom passed away, we continued holding the tradition each Christmas. It took on new meaning as we remembered her voice, her touch, and her love.

For example, one missionary, we’ll call her Maria, told of a dream she had at the age of nine or ten about God as an individual person, not three in one, and of a Heavenly Father whose son was Jesus Christ. Maria’s belief in this idea caused problems for her and her family during the time she went to private religious schools. She would ask her school friends and teachers, “Do you believe God is a person who has a son?” After a while, getting no satisfactory answer, she stopped asking.
Years later at work, when Maria was in her early twenties, she started talking with a co-worker about religion. Eventually, the woman asked Maria to attend church with her. “I must ask you a question first,” Maria said, and was thrilled at the woman’s answer: “My church teaches that God is the father of us all and has a son who is Jesus Christ.”
Maria gladly accepted the gospel message, was baptized, and as soon as possible she began serving on her own mission. On her first day at the Missionary Training Center, she recognized her instructor as the elder who had taught her the gospel months earlier.

A reporter for the Washington Post visited one of our Church meetings in Nigeria. The reporter interviewed one new member and told of his conversion. The reporter states:
“[He] said … he jumped off a city bus and walked into the [LDS Church building]. … He immediately liked what he heard inside [the chapel], especially that no one preached that people of other faiths were going to hell.”28 This echoes the feeling of numerous converts to the Church since its organization.

The first time it snowed, my best friend, Lou, came to school wearing it. I’d never seen such a crazy-looking creation. It had fat stripes of purple, orange, red, green, and pink. It wrapped around his neck three times, and the ends still reached below his knees. I’d only put that scarf on for Halloween.
“Some strange creature’s eating Lou’s face,” Bobby teased, pulling one end.
“We’ll save you,” Annie joked, tugging at the other end. Together they wrapped Lou up until he looked like a mummy that had rolled in ten different kinds of paint.
“That’s enough,” I said, chasing them off. “Go build a snowman.” I untangled Lou.
“Thanks,” he said, tucking the ends of his scarf into his pockets.
“Why don’t you take that thing off and hide it in your backpack?” I suggested. “The whole school’s going to tease you if you parade around in that.”
Lou shrugged. “They’ll get tired of bugging me. I want to wear it.”
“Whatever,” I said. The bell rang, and five minutes later we were doing fifth-grade fractions, so I couldn’t waste any more brain power wondering about Lou’s scarf.
It snowed almost every day that week, and Lou kept wearing his crazy scarf. He was wrong about the kids getting tired of teasing him. Of course, Lou did look like he’d borrowed that thing from a circus clown.
“Don’t you have another scarf?” I asked him. “One that’s a normal color, like blue, and about three feet long instead of ten?”
“Yes, but I’m wearing this one.”
“I guess you like all the attention,” I grumbled, “but I’m getting a bit tired of the crowd we keep attracting.”
“Ignore them.”
“It’d be easier if you’d just lose that scarf,” I suggested again, less hopefully.
“I can’t.”
I sighed. “Could you at least tell me why? Since I’m the one who has to keep rescuing you, I deserve to know.”
Lou looked at me for a minute. “I’ll tell you on Monday,” he said.
“Monday?”
“Monday. And ask your mom if it’s OK if you’re a little late getting home from school that day.”
All weekend I wondered about Lou’s scarf. Why did he wear that goofy thing to school? Why wouldn’t he tell me until Monday? It was a mystery to me. Lou was usually kind of fussy about his clothes, and he didn’t like stripes.
On Monday, Lou showed up wrapped in that mile-long scarf as usual. The other guys pretended it was a snake from outer space.
“OK,” I told Lou, “I waited. Now let me in on the secret.”
“After school,” he said. “I promise.”
When the last bell finally rang, Lou was waiting for me by my locker.
“Come on,” he said. “I help out in Mrs. Reed’s room for a while on Mondays. They’ll be waiting for me.”
“What about the scarf?”
“I’ll tell you afterward. Come on.”
I followed Lou into Mrs. Reed’s room. She worked with a few kids who were mentally handicapped. It was hard work for them to learn how to do everyday stuff, like telling time and tying shoes.
“Hi, Lou,” said a girl named Jen. She had big brown eyes and soft black curls. She gave him a big hug. I liked her right away. “Please read Black Beauty today.”
“Please, please!” two more kids begged.
For the next fifteen minutes, I watched Lou read to his little fan club. They sure were happy to have him there. When he finished, Jen hopped over to me.
“Are you Lou’s friend, too?” she asked.
“Yes.” I smiled.
“Lou’s my best friend,” she said. “I made him a beautiful scarf.”
“That must have taken a long time,” I said, wondering if it was the scarf he’d been wearing.
“I picked out my favorite colors and made the scarf all by myself,” she reported proudly. “Now Lou wears it every day.”
“I’ve seen that scarf,” I said, looking at Jen’s happy smile.
“I’ll be your friend, too,” she said, patting my hand.
“Thanks,” I said before she skipped off.
“Ready to go?” Lou asked, pulling his scarf up over his cheeks as he waved good-bye to Jen and the others.
“Ready,” I answered with a grin. Lou didn’t need to explain anything now. Jen’s feelings were more important than a little teasing. He knew how proud and happy it made her feel to see him wearing her gift. Suddenly I felt honored to have a friend like Lou.
“By the way,” I told him, “I’ve decided that I like your scarf.”

Many years ago, I moved to a new ward. That week I attended a Relief Society activity and got there early and sat at one of the tables. The sisters kept arriving, but no one sat by me. I was feeling lonely and decided to leave.
Just then, a woman sat down and struck up a lovely conversation. I thought, “I have nothing in common with this woman.” Donna had many children and was older than me. But I thought, “I am so grateful she was friendly to me!”
Here I was—active in the Church and feeling lonely at a Church activity. And there she was—willing to sit by an unknown person. Donna and I are friends to this day. She taught me a lesson that has been seared in my heart ever since: We all need to be ministered to.

We were packing for a short trip to the mountains of northern New Mexico, and I was loading the last of the children and supplies into the car. My wife appeared at the door and said cheerfully, “Well, we’re all set!” As she was pulling the locked door closed, I realized I didn’t have my keys! I yelled quickly, “DON‘T SHUT THAT … door.” Too late.
In an instant I was irritated. I said to my wife, implying she was to blame, “My keys are in the house!”
Fortunately, a forgotten open window allowed us access to the house without the loss of much time, and my feelings dissipated. I “forgave” my wife for having caused me emotional pain.
Later, as I thought of the experience, I realized I had found it convenient to blame my wife because it was a way of justifying my own failure. By my hostile feelings I could make it appear that she was the guilty one and that I was a helpless victim.
The truth is that my irritation was not due to her behavior at all. It was, instead, the product of my own unwillingness to accept the responsibility of my actions, and obviously, she hadn’t needed my forgiveness—but I certainly needed hers.
The real issue was my need to repent of the feelings I had. Had she been in some kind of transgression, then the solution to the problem would have been for her to repent and me to forgive. In this case, however, only my repentance was necessary to restore us to oneness. I understood also that my repentance, my giving up of my feelings of resentment, would have been necessary whether she had been guilty of anything or not. I saw that I could not be both unrepentant (or unforgiving) and compassionate at the same time. These are two incompatible attitudes.

Abel Seiko was born on Lifou but was living in Nouméa when the missionaries knocked on his door. He and his future wife, Louise, received the discussions for two months and decided to be baptized. However, they faced two serious obstacles. In Melanesia, the tribe is considered an extension of one’s family, and all major decisions must be approved by a person’s parents and tribal chiefs. Abel and Louise had not received permission to marry.
The second problem was perhaps even more difficult. Protestant missionaries from London had come to Lifou in 1842, and Abel’s tribe had been members of that religion ever since. Changing religions was paramount to rejecting the tribe.
Still, Abel had received a testimony. He knew he needed to join the Lord’s Church, and he knew he needed to be married. He gathered his courage and went to Lifou to ask permission of his parents and tribe.
“I first asked permission from my father to marry. He said, ‘No. That is not the custom. You must wait until your oldest brother is married.’
“I said, ‘I can’t wait, because I know I’m not living the law of God, and I want to join the true Church.’
“My father said, ‘I will not give my permission, but you’re free to do as you want. If you decide to marry, I will not go to the wedding.’”
When Abel met with the tribal elders, he felt he was on trial. They told him not to be married or baptized into another church. Abel’s response was that he had received permission from his parents to do as he wished. And he wished to be married and join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
That was when the elders asked for a big piece of wood with which to beat him. Fortunately, the high chief arrived before the beating began. “‘No one will be hurt here,’” Abel recalls him saying. “‘But we don’t want another religion in our tribe. If you want to join another religion, you’re out of the tribe.’”
So Abel returned to Nouméa and was married. He and Louise were baptized in 1977. They had a simple marriage, “not like on Lifou,” he says. “There it is very expensive, and everyone must give the couple whatever the chiefs tell him or her to give. Sometimes people must rent their homes or take out bank loans to come up with the money. We did it the way the Church advises—we had a simple ceremony with friends and family.” Abel’s mother attended the wedding, but true to his word, his father stayed away.

President Hinckley himself is not intimidated by a difficult task. As newlyweds, the Hinckleys moved into the Hinckley farmhouse—a summer home with no furnace. Kathy says, “Dad approached this problem the way we would see him solve many others—head-on. He ordered a furnace and began reading the installation instructions. The furnace worked perfectly. He’s wanted us to take on challenges using the same approach—decide on what you want, follow the instructions carefully, and work at it.”

Latter-day Saint Charities, a humanitarian arm of the Church, worked with another charitable organization to help restore a fishing boat that returned 27 fishermen in Banda Aceh, Indonesia, to the seas, allowing them to provide for their families.
Because of the tsunami in 2004, the fishing boat Bolivia was damaged and sank in the Krueng Aceh River. After the boat had been submerged for two months, the United States Army and the Australian army helped to pull it from the water. There the boat remained untouched for a year.
Latter-day Saint Charities and Austin International Rescue and Relief Operations (AIRO) initiated a restoration project of the large fishing boat. The restoration was completed in November 2006.
Following a short ceremony held at the waterfront, the boat was officially launched.
The original owner of the boat and his spouse perished during the tsunami. Their three children survived and will now receive 50 percent of the profits from the fishing boat.

I started attending my new senior school last September. In a school of over a thousand students, I was the only Latter-day Saint. In my religion class of 30 people, only I and one other girl attend church of any kind. On my first day of class, my religion teacher, Mrs. Johnson*, asked us to name the holy books that are used in different religions. I said the Book of Mormon, and at first she wasn’t sure which church used it. I explained that I was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She asked me to choose my favorite scripture for the following week and also tell the class about my church.
The following week I read Moroni 10:4, which was the first scripture the missionaries shared with me and my mom. I told the class about the First Vision and how Joseph Smith received and later translated the gold plates. I was really nervous because my friends think that you are a geek if you go to church. I was afraid that they would make fun of me. But when I started speaking, the Spirit was with me, and everybody listened with interest. Afterward, they asked questions.
Since then, Mrs. Johnson has started reading the Book of Mormon and the Ensign, although she hasn’t yet come to church. Also, in every religion lesson we talk about my beliefs. And some of my friends are planning to come to church activities.
My prayer is that one day I will be just one of many Latter-day Saints at my school. Everyone deserves an opportunity to learn about Jesus Christ and His Church and return to live with Heavenly Father. If we keep the gospel to ourselves, we are being selfish. We should share it with everyone, no matter who they are. That is what Jesus Christ wants us to do, and I am trying to be like Him.

When Walnetta’s family migrated from Fiji to Devonport on Auckland’s North Shore a few years after the Second World War, her father, Oscar P. Broederlow, and his family, were the only known members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in that area. But the missionaries set to work and soon there were enough new converts to hold meetings in the Devonport Labour Hall, arranged by Walnetta’s mother, Hilda E. Lobendahn Broederlow.
Once the Relief Society organisation was established there, the small group of sisters would meet weekly in the home of Sister Norma Roberts. Walnetta’s mum took her along so that she could provide the piano accompaniment for ‘the singing mothers’. “Primary had not yet been formed,” she recalls, “so I always look back bemused at the fact that for me, attendance at Relief Society preceded Primary!”

Betsy Ross isn’t the only one who celebrated the red, white, and blue birth of the United States with a needle and thread and devoted hours of service to a worthy project. Two Laurel classes in different states decided that their special Bicentennial activities would include original quilts.
The nimble thimbles of the Mapleton [Utah] Fourth Ward recruited the boys as well as other young women and went to work on five baby quilts for the state training school for the handicapped. The deacons showed everyone that their square knots weren’t restricted to Scout outings, and the girls showed off their stitching finesse after years of home economics classes.
The finished quilts were presented to the school’s children, and their grins were as big as the young people’s. The Mapleton youth knew that red, white, and blue would continue its popularity with at least one group for years to come.

On a crisp autumn Saturday, I went to spend a day with my grandfather. He lives in a small town, in a small house on Sixth Street.
There are a lot of things I like about Grandfather, especially his twinkly eyes and merry laugh. He has an interesting house, and he tells the best stories. I like to have him all to myself sometimes. I was really happy to spend that day with him all alone.
He had called on the telephone and asked if I could come help him do something special. Mom and Dad said I could. They always let me go to Grandfather’s when he has something special to do. I get to help him with all sorts of things. I like to help out!
On this particular Saturday, my mom dropped me off at his house in the morning. He welcomed me, and we waved good-bye to Mom. Then he told me in a cheerful voice, "Grandson, today you are going to help me build a bridge—one that’s been wanted on both sides of it for a long time. Does that sound OK to you?"
"Oh yes! I like to build things!"
"Good!" he said, and we went into his house.
Well, the more I thought about it, the more excited I became! I imagined myself erecting a great bridge that would span a raging river or a gorge of great depths. Then the thought popped into my mind that there were no rivers around. In fact, there weren’t any gorges or even ravines around. So I asked, "Where are we going to build our bridge, Grandfather?"
"Not very far away."
"But there isn’t any place to put a bridge, is there?"
He just looked at me and said, "You’d be surprised, Grandson!"
Sometimes he says things like that, and I don’t understand what he means. But Grandfather is wise, and I believe him when he tells me things.
"Will we need tools, Grandfather?"
"Indeed we will! I think we should go get them right away. Follow me!"
He led me to a tiny shed behind his house. He took a key out of a pocket in his overalls and unlocked the door. We stepped inside, and it was very dark. When he turned on a single light bulb, the shed seemed sort of yellow and gray and fuzzy combined.
"Now, let’s see." Grandfather began rummaging through the clutter. "Here, Grandson, hold these!" He handed me two pairs of gloves.
Yes, I thought, we will certainly need gloves when we are building our bridge!
"And, of course, we will need these." Grandfather handed me two big metal buckets.
As he handed them to me, I accidentally dropped them. Clang! Clang! Clong! Oh, they made a dreadfully loud noise! I picked them up and tried to be more careful when Grandfather handed me a garden rake.
"What will we need this for?" I asked him.
"Oh, that’s a most important tool!" he exclaimed. He smiled at me and said, "Come, my wondering grandson. Let’s go build our bridge."
"But we don’t have any wood!"
"We won’t need any," he said.
"We don’t have a hammer and nails, either."
"We’ll not be needing any of those things. Come, young man. Let’s go build that bridge."
Grandfather walked out of the shed and into the cool, clean morning air. I followed him, still wondering how on earth we were going to build a bridge without supplies.
Soon I discovered that we were in the neighbor’s yard. I remembered the yard well, and I did not want to be there one bit! It was old Mr. Jenkins’s yard. I thought back to last year at Thanksgiving time. My whole family was at Grandfather’s, and after the meal, we children played behind the house.
During an exciting game of hide-and-seek, some of us had gone into Mr. Jenkins’s yard to hide. His house looked empty and lonesome, and we were sure that nobody was home. But he came out, waving his cane in the air and shouting for us to leave! He even called me a scalawag!
"Grandfather," I asked now, "why are we in this yard?"
"Why, this is where we will build our bridge!" When I looked at him with questioning eyes, he said, "Do you trust me, Grandson?"
"Yes," I answered.
"And if I ask you to do something, will you do it?"
"I will, Grandfather."
"Good!" He handed me a pair of gloves and asked me to go down to Mr. Jenkins’s big garden. "Do you see those pumpkins?"
Of course I saw them! There were lots of bright orange pumpkins scattered all over the ground, surrounded by their withered vines from the last frost.
"I would like you to pick them and put them in a pile over by the house. Be very careful, and don’t carry them by the stems!"
"OK, Grandfather." I went to the task. I had never seen so many pumpkins! Some of them were skinny and tall. Others were round and fat. They were all heavy! I worked very hard for a long time. After I got that done, Grandfather asked me to rake the fallen leaves in the yard.
I told him I would, but when I looked around, I was stunned! There must have been thousands of leaves surrounding me! The huge cottonwood trees in the backyard had certainly had a lot of leaves that year! It took me two hours to rake them. All the while, I kept thinking, Maybe when I’m done with this, we will build a bridge.
Grandfather was busy too. He had brought a shovel, and he dug up all the potatoes in the garden, put them into the buckets, and carried them to the porch. When he noticed that one of the stairs leading to the porch was sagging, he set to fixing it. Then he helped me bag the leaves.
Well, when we were finished with Mr. Jenkins’s yard and garden, it looked great! It felt nice to look at it and see what a good job we had done. I knew Mr. Jenkins saw what a good job we had done, too, because once I saw him peeking through a window—and he wasn’t scowling!
By this time, I felt hungry. I was glad when Grandfather said, "How would you like it if we went home now and made some of my famous potato soup?"
"Hurrah! I love your potato soup!"
We went into the house and made a great big batch of it. And as we were cooking it, I thought that maybe after lunch we would start building that bridge.
The soup was delicious, and we had a fun time eating and talking. Grandfather told me interesting stories that made me laugh. When we were all done, there was a lot of soup left. Grandfather put it in a big bowl and said, "Now, Grandson, I want you to take this over to Mr. Jenkins."
"What?" I exclaimed. "I can’t do that! He’s mean, and he doesn’t like me."
Grandfather just looked me in the eyes and said, "Please."
So I got all my courage together and walked over to Mr. Jenkins’s front door with a bowl of warm soup in my hands. I rang the doorbell and waited a long time. Finally he came to the door. He had a broken leg and was on crutches!
"Hello, young man," he said. He didn’t look mean at all—in fact, he even smiled at me!
"My grandfather asked me to bring this over to you."
"I thank you for it. Tell me, could you carry it just a wee bit farther and put it on my table?"
"Sure." As I walked through the house, I noticed that it was very messy. I suspected that he couldn’t get around well enough to take care of it. I put the soup on the table and told him I had to go. As I was leaving, I thought I saw tears in his eyes.
"Young man, you don’t know what you and your grandfather did today means to me! Thank you, from the bottom of a cranky old man’s heart!"
I smiled big and said, "You’re welcome!" Then I went back to Grandfather’s house. When I told him what had happened, he seemed very pleased. Then I asked him if we could build our bridge.
"Why, Grandson, we have already built it!"
"We have? Really?"
"Yes indeed! We built a very wonderful bridge today: the bridge of friendship, my boy. Mr. Jenkins may be a cranky old fellow sometimes, but as you could see, he needed some help. And he was glad to get it. All it took to warm his old heart was just being a good neighbor and friend. Our helping him showed him that we were his friends. Building bridges between people and making friends is one of the strongest bridges we could ever build!"
Well, it took me a minute to understand what Grandfather had said. But once I realized that we actually had built a bridge, I couldn’t help but smile. Then I remembered how Mr. Jenkins’s house was so messy, and it gave me a great idea. "Grandfather? Do you think we could add a little bit to that bridge today?"
Grandfather smiled, winked at me, and said, "Yes, Grandson, I believe we could!"

It happened in the days when stake conferences consisted of two sessions during the day and a stake fireside in the evening. The visiting general authority always attended the 10 A.M. and the 2 P.M. sessions and occasionally remained as the speaker for the evening fireside. On one particular day it was our good fortune in the Wasatch Stake (Heber City, Utah) to have Elder Spencer W. Kimball as the guest for the day. Our family had been somewhat acquainted with Elder Kimball and were overjoyed when he accepted our parents’ invitation to have dinner with us and remain at our home until time for the evening meeting.
My eight sisters and I did a great deal of singing during the time we grew up and were accustomed to invitations that didn’t give us a great deal of time for preparation. However, on that conference afternoon, the telephone rang and I heard the voice of our stake president, H. Clay Cummings, on the other end. He told me that the person previously asked to sing the musical number for the evening fireside couldn’t perform and wondered if our family would provide some music. I placed my hand over the phone while I relayed the message and asked the others for their opinion. I mentioned to them that it was extremely short notice and that perhaps we should tell him no. While a short discussion ensued, our guest taught us all a great lesson: “Tell President Cummings we’d love to,” Elder Kimball remarked. “Your father and I will do the men’s parts and two of you girls can do the others, and we’ll sing them one of the beautiful hymns.”
I sheepishly gave the message to President Cummings and hung up the phone. Immediately, we gathered around the piano and prepared our presentation for that evening.
Can you imagine the thrill of singing that number with a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, the future President of the Church? It was an experience I shall never forget.

My freshman year in high school, however, I chose not to take seminary. I thought I didn’t have room in my schedule. I didn’t understand how important seminary was. My friends could say nothing but good about seminary, so I decided to adjust my schedule so that I could take it.
Seminary gave me a fresh outlook on the gospel. Through seminary my testimony of the scriptures developed. I read the entire New Testament and learned about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. My testimony grew at an overwhelming speed. Once again I felt the peace and love the gospel provided me, and I wanted my family to feel it as well.
I began to urge my family to come with me to sacrament meeting. I told them I wanted us to be an eternal family. To encourage them, I would wash everyone’s church clothes on Saturday night so that the excuse “I don’t have anything to wear” was no longer an option. I told them that I had a testimony of the gospel and that I wanted to share it with them. Most important, I prayed. I prayed that my family could know the Spirit the way I did. I wanted them to go to church so that we could someday be sealed in the temple.
It started slowly and took some time, but one warm August morning, my prayers were answered as we were sealed in the Portland Oregon Temple. I felt the Spirit stronger at that moment than ever before. I knew my family could be together forever. To this day I cannot thank my Heavenly Father enough for this wonderful blessing.
Now I am trying my best to be a good example and friend to everyone around me so that perhaps I can do for them what was done for me.