Gospel Story Finder

Sister Whang’s work in the camps led her to change her career from nursing to teaching. But after six years, in November 1958, she decided that if she wanted to fulfill her goal to help the poor, she needed more education. Her minister encouraged her to apply for an exchange program at the University of California at Berkeley. She was accepted. Taking the money she had saved from teaching and the promise of a paid sabbatical from her school, she enrolled.
Soon after she arrived in the U.S., Whang Keun-Ok met two Korean students from Brigham Young University who were working at Berkeley for the summer. They encouraged her to go to Provo, Utah. When she visited the BYU campus in the fall of 1959, she fell in love with the mountains and was impressed by the Latter-day Saints’ faith. She spent the next three years there, studying social work. Shortly after she returned to Korea in June 1962, she located the missionaries and was baptized.

Perhaps his thoughts turned to his good friend Porter Rockwell, now 30, who at the last account was still languishing in the Missouri prison where he had been for seven months. Because Porter was being illegally held, it did not seem likely that efforts on the part of the Saints in Illinois would secure his release.
Apparently the 38-year-old Prophet, who had a reputation for hospitality, spent the remainder of the day with his family and associates. That evening a large group also dined at the Prophet’s house before turning to music, dancing, and other festivities in the tradition of Christmas in that day.
Latecoming guests, dressed in their best, arrived during the evening hours on that Monday. The troubles of the Saints, past and present, were temporarily forgotten as the guests enjoyed the festivities. Then the spirit of the evening was disrupted when a gaunt, seemingly drunk, unwashed Missourian, straggly and unkempt hair brushing his shoulders, forced his way into the room.
Efforts were made to throw the ruffian out, but he was too powerful. In the ensuing struggle, Joseph had a good look at the man. It was his friend, Porter!
The atmosphere cleared as friends gathered around Rockwell and welcomed him home. He explained how he had been honorably released after seven months in prison and had worked his way home through hostile territory. Because his feet were injured and men were seeking his life, it had taken him 12 days. He had just arrived in Nauvoo. The trick he’d played on the Prophet and his guests was merely his idea of fun.
Rockwell’s safe return climaxed the day for Joseph on his last Christmas, the Christmas before the summer guns at Carthage.

One winter evening when I was about five or six years old, my father took me for a walk downtown. This was during the depression, when jobs were few and many homeless, hungry people were on the streets. My father and I were looking at all the store windows as we walked, and soon we found ourselves standing in front of the window of a sporting goods store. It was full of bright things that would catch every boy’s fancy—things like fishing lures and pocketknives for whittling.
A shabbily dressed boy was standing near us, looking longingly into the window. I didn’t pay much attention to him, but my father went over and spoke with him briefly, then put his hand on his shoulder and led him inside the store. I watched as he took the boy to a showcase of pocketknives, told him to pick one out, then paid the shopkeeper for the knife.
I didn’t get a pocketknife that day, but I did get a lesson. At the time, I felt let down, as a little boy would feel when the gift he thinks is his goes to someone else. But as my father and I walked away from the store, he said, “You have me. He doesn’t have anybody.” Later I realized how generous and how sensitive to the needs of others my father was.

It wasn’t until months later, when I stood exhausted, hungry, and cold, on the banks of a muddy pond that I began to understand.
I was participating in a pioneer trek, and it was the last day. We hadn’t eaten much for breakfast, and the day before we had hiked for many miles. That morning we had pulled our handcarts to the banks of a very large pond, and we were going to ferry them across in order to experience in a small way what it must have been like to cross a river with handcarts. It had rained that morning, and we all stood in the sun, trying to dry ourselves as we waited for our turn to cross. While we waited, our stake president told us the story of the Sweetwater rescue—how several young men had put their own lives in peril in order to carry the desperate Saints of the Martin Handcart Company across an icy river in the middle of winter. As I stood listening to the story, I felt the love and sacrifice of those boys, and the Spirit swelled in my heart. I felt a desire to be like those great young men and help rescue all those needing spiritual help in our day, including my own family.
In my mind, I uttered one of the shortest prayers I’ve ever said, but it was one of the most powerful: “Heavenly Father, help me to be a rescuer.”
At that moment, I again felt that soft, warm, peaceful feeling of heaven close around me, and I knew through the Spirit that my will and my Heavenly Father’s will were one.

I have struggled to find an adequate way to tell you how loved of God you are and how grateful we on this stand are for you. I am trying to be voice for the very angels of heaven in thanking you for every good thing you have ever done, for every kind word you have ever said, for every sacrifice you have ever made in extending to someone—to anyone—the beauty and blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I am grateful for Young Women leaders who go to girls camp and, without shampoo, showers, or mascara, turn smoky, campfire testimony meetings into some of the most riveting spiritual experiences those girls—or those leaders—will experience in their lifetime. I am grateful for all the women of the Church who in my life have been as strong as Mount Sinai and as compassionate as the Mount of Beatitudes. We smile sometimes about our sisters’ stories—you know, green Jell-O, quilts, and funeral potatoes. But my family has been the grateful recipient of each of those items at one time or another—and in one case, the quilt and the funeral potatoes on the same day. It was just a small quilt—tiny, really—to make my deceased baby brother’s journey back to his heavenly home as warm and comfortable as our Relief Society sisters wanted him to be. The food provided for our family after the service, voluntarily given without a single word from us, was gratefully received. Smile, if you will, about our traditions, but somehow the too-often unheralded women in this Church are always there when hands hang down and knees are feeble. They seem to grasp instinctively the divinity in Christ’s declaration: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”
And no less the brethren of the priesthood. I think, for example, of the leaders of our young men who, depending on the climate and continent, either take bone-rattling 50-mile (80 km) hikes or dig—and actually try to sleep in—ice caves for what have to be the longest nights of human experience. I am grateful for memories of my own high priests group, which a few years ago took turns for weeks sleeping on a small recliner in the bedroom of a dying quorum member so that his aged and equally fragile wife could get some sleep through those final weeks of her sweetheart’s life. I am grateful for the Church’s army of teachers, officers, advisers, and clerks, to say nothing of people who are forever setting up tables and taking down chairs. I am grateful for ordained patriarchs, musicians, family historians, and osteoporotic couples who trundle off to the temple at 5:00 in the morning with little suitcases now almost bigger than they are. I am grateful for selfless parents who—perhaps for a lifetime—care for a challenged child, sometimes with more than one challenge and sometimes with more than one child. I am grateful for children who close ranks later in life to give back to ill or aging parents.
And to the near-perfect elderly sister who almost apologetically whispered recently, “I have never been a leader of anything in the Church. I guess I’ve only been a helper,” I say, “Dear sister, God bless you and all the ‘helpers’ in the kingdom.” Some of us who are leaders hope someday to have the standing before God that you have already attained.
Too often I have failed to express gratitude for the faith and goodness of such people in my life. President James E. Faust stood at this pulpit 13 years ago and said, “As a small boy … , I remember my grandmother … cooking our delicious meals on a hot woodstove. When the wood box next to the stove became empty, Grandmother would silently … go out to refill it from the pile of cedar wood outside, and bring the heavily laden box back into the house. I was so insensitive … [that] I sat there and let my beloved grandmother refill [that] box.” Then, his voice choking with emotion, he said, “I feel ashamed of myself and have regretted my omission for all of my life. I hope someday to ask for her forgiveness.”

There is a hammock in our backyard. After treatments I sit in that hammock most of the day just feeling sorry for myself. I look up at the trees and think, lucky trees. Trees don’t get cancer. I look up at the birds. Lucky birds. They can just fly away from their problems. I wish I could fly away.
On one of those days after I’d been sitting on the hammock crying and feeling sorry for myself, I went into my house and watched television. The Jerry Lewis Telethon was on. The parents of children who had multiple sclerosis were telling what it is like to have a child with the disease. Most of them talked of the hope they had for a cure for their child’s condition. One woman, however, said she didn’t have any hope that her child would even live much longer, but she said that she was going to love her child as much as she could as long as she could. She also said that her family had grown tremendously from the experience. They’d learned not to let sorrow drown out their happiness.
I was so mad at myself. I was bitter. I had so much to be thankful for, and I was wasting so much of my precious time. That little boy seemed so happy. He was smiling, and his parents also seemed happy. I’m sure they felt pain because they knew they were going to lose their son, but they weren’t letting that get in their way. They were making the most of every minute they had with him.
I realized then that it doesn’t matter how much time I have left. What is really important is what I do with what I have. I decided to fight to the end.

I like scary movies. When a certain scary movie came out, I was really sad because it was the kind of movie that the prophet had said not to watch. I had promised myself and Heavenly Father that I would follow the prophet and not watch such movies. Then I had a chance to watch it. I remembered my promise and didn’t watch it, though it was hard not to. But it was worth it. I know that I will get many blessings for not watching that kind of movie. I’m choosing while I’m young to not watch any bad movies, and so it won’t be hard for me when I am older. It makes me feel good inside when I make right choices.

At school there was a girl with a disability. Most people used that as an extra excuse to make fun of her. My friend and I were the only ones who tried to help her. Some days it seemed like the whole class teamed up against her. It was challenging to know how to react. I wanted to just walk away, but I chose to remember that she is a child of God and to think about how Jesus would treat her. I felt the calming effect of the Holy Ghost. I remembered that I could make a difference. Following the Savior’s example helped me a lot, and I knew everything would be OK.
In my baptismal covenants I am promised to always have the Holy Ghost with me if I act as the Savior would. I’m grateful to have felt that comfort and strength from the Holy Ghost.
Alexis L., 13, Kansas, USA

Over on the other side of the camp, teamwork was fully evident as Scouts from the New Orleans Louisiana Stake organized themselves for a firebuilding contest. One team member struck a match as others huddled around to shelter it from the wind. Another Scout raced to a pile of straw to gather fuel, rushed back, and as the initial flame leaped up, carefully nourished it. A string scorched, blackened, untwisted, broke, and a water balloon tumbled down, dousing the fire. “You have to know what each person is going to do before you start,” advised Paul Seager, 15, of the West Bank Ward. “But it feels great when you see what you can do.”

Another time a man came to work on our house. My wife thanked him when he was done. “We’d like to give you a gift,” she said. She gave him a copy of the Book of Mormon.
The man became upset. He didn’t understand what we believe. He thought we didn’t believe in Jesus Christ.
Chris was brave and shared his testimony with the man. Chris said he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He said he believed in Jesus.
Many of Heavenly Father’s children don’t know about the gospel. Others don’t realize that we believe in Jesus. These people need someone who will be kind and talk to them. We can be brave and share our testimonies. We can help others learn about Jesus Christ!

In 1952 the majority of the families in the Rose Park Third Ward were members whose fathers or husbands held only the Aaronic Priesthood, rather than the Melchizedek Priesthood. Brother L. Brent Goates was called to serve as the bishop. He invited a less-active brother in the ward, Ernest Skinner, to assist in activating the 29 adult brethren in the ward who held the office of teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood and to help these men and their families get to the temple. As a less-active member himself, Brother Skinner was reluctant at first but finally indicated he would do what he could. He began personally visiting with the less-active adult teachers, trying to help them see their role as priesthood leaders in their homes and as husbands and fathers to their families. He soon enlisted some of the less-active brethren to assist him in his assignment. One by one they became fully active again and took their families to the temple.
One day the ward clerk came out of a grocery checking line to greet the last of the group to go to the temple. Commenting on his position as the last, the man said: “I stood by and watched as all of that group became active in our ward and went to the temple. If only I had been able to imagine how beautiful it was in the temple, and how it would change my life forever, I never would have been the last of 29 to be sealed in the temple.”

Ryan and I both received the Melchizedek Priesthood about six months after I moved in. I had chosen to wait until after my mission to attend college so I could work to save for my mission. Ryan was already established in a trade, and he decided not to go to college either. After work we often hung out together.
Once, we stayed up most of the night trying to get through the book of Alma as Ryan read the Book of Mormon for the first time. It was exhausting but spiritually energizing. It was also great to see the changes Ryan was making in his life. He gave up old habits, created better ones, and changed some of his friends so he could be with people who shared his standards.
I had been looking forward to my mission since I had started going to church a few years before. Ryan wasn’t sure if he would go. While hanging out, we discussed my mission and my excitement to serve. As I encouraged him and answered gospel questions, I gained more confidence in my own abilities to serve as a missionary. Ryan was old enough to go but struggled with his decision.
“I wasn’t sure if my testimony was strong enough, even though I felt good about the Church at the time,” he said. “I did want to go, but it was really difficult to leave family.”
The day finally came when I could start filling out my mission papers. When I told Ryan, he surprised me by saying he had decided to serve as well. Our mission calls arrived on the same night. Ryan left to serve in Canada a month before I started my mission in France.
When I came home two years later, I looked up all the priests I had worked with. It saddened me to learn that some had stopped going to church shortly after I left, but I was happy to see Ryan again. He had served an honorable mission, and just as with Alma and the sons of Mosiah, I had more joy to see that he was still my brother in the Lord (see Alma 17:2).

Manassas Virginia Stake
They came with square pillows and round pillows, plaid pillows, flowered pillows, and frilly pillows.
But it wasn’t a giant slumber party. Women throughout the stake sewed special pillows for the 175 young women who would attend girls’ camp as a visual reminder that “someone in their stake family loves them.” Accompanying each pillow was a personal letter from the pillow’s creator.
Rebecca Patten keeps her letter in a special book where she saves all of her spiritually uplifting things. “My letter was so perfect for me. It was all about something I needed to hear. I loved the pillow, but when I read the letter it made the pillow all the more special,” she said.
Later, the young women met with the women of the stake who wrote the letters and made the pillows. As they headed home after the reunion, they realized that not only did they have families that love them but people throughout the stake family loved them too. It was a nice thought to sleep on.

Photographs by Richard M. Romney
This whole family from Alberta, Canada, loves sports. “Name a game and a time,” says 15-year-old Halle, “and we’ll be there.” For example, during baseball season, you’ll find the whole family at the ball field. That’s where the oldest brother, Ty, 18, helps coach the team his 10-year-old sister, Skye, plays on.
But when the family is at the ballpark—or anywhere else for that matter—you’ll notice something that sets them apart from a typical sports-oriented family. At least one family member is always watching over the youngest sibling, seven-year-old Grady. It’s not just a matter of keeping an eye on him; he requires constant attention.
Grady was born with a condition that still defies medical diagnosis. He can’t form words but continually cries out and makes loud noises. He wears a bib because he constantly drools. And he likes to touch and feel everything, often placing dirt or other foreign objects in his mouth. So he has to be watched, closely and constantly, for his own safety.
“Whatever we do as a family, Grady comes along,” says Halle, 15. At the baseball game, for example, Halle and Kamree, 13, take turns watching Grady while Mom and Dad cheer for Ty and Skye.
“Grady loves the playground by the ball field,” Kamree says. “We stay with him while he has fun, and Mom and Dad are right there if we need help.”
“Our family is a team,” Ty says after the game. “So we take turns helping Mom and Dad with Grady. It brings us closer together to know we’re helping them and helping him.”
At a recent home evening, the family challenged each other to make a list of “Seven Ways to Win as a Family.” Here’s what they came up with:
Give lots of assists. “Whenever you can help, then help,” says Halle. “It isn’t about whose turn it is. It’s about, ‘What can I do to make things better?’”
Listen to the coaches. “Mom and Dad give you good advice,” says Ty. “So do Church leaders. They’re all cheering for your success, and they can help you to avoid or recover from spiritual injuries.”
Be a good sport. “Everybody makes mistakes,” Skye says. “So learn to forgive each other and move on.”
Play together. “Find things you like to do together,” says Kamree. “For us, it’s sports, but for your family it could be board games or videos. The point is to have fun so that there’s less stress.”
Pray together. “It’s a great way to work on your game plan for life,” Mom says. “You feel more like a family when you kneel together, thank Heavenly Father for each other, and ask for His help.”
Call a time out. “If there are fights or disagreements,” Dad says, “sometimes the best thing is to take a break. Cool down and remember you’re all on the same side.”
Practice, practice, practice. Just like in sports, success comes with sustained effort over time. “Talking about the gospel, reading scriptures together, going to church together—it all helps,” says Kamree. “Each of us brings something to the team effort,” says Mom. “And each of us helps carry some of the weight,” says Dad.
They also have some fun talking about what MVP might mean for a family. Maybe it’s Most Valuable Parents—that’s what the children think of Mom and Dad. Maybe it means Most Valuable Prayer—that’s what family prayer feels like sometimes. But they finally decide that for them, it means Most Valuable Person—and they all agree that for their family, that is Grady.
“I love being with my family,” says Halle. “And I love being with Grady.” She says her little brother has helped all of the family to see from a more eternal perspective. “Someday,” she says, “when we meet Grady in heaven, he will be in perfect form. He’ll be strong and healthy and he’ll know so many things. I will want to ask him what he was thinking during his time on earth.”
“Brothers and sisters are like built-in friends,” Kamree says. “We’re here to help each other. I think Grady is here to remind us of that.”
Mom, Dad, Ty, Halle, Kamree, Skye, and Grady. This family is like a lot of other families—most of the time they get along great, and occasionally they have to work their way through a squabble or two.
But there’s one thing they never disagree about, and that’s their love for each other. And that makes every member of the team a winner.

My great-grandparents, Orla and Roger, died in their 20s, leaving my grandfather and his brother in the care of Roger’s family. After Orla’s death, her father, Robert, died of appendicitis. A short time later, her mother fell, cracked her skull, and suffered several strokes, becoming bedridden. Orla’s oldest sisters, Thelma and Ena, then carried the full burden of supporting the family—a difficult task for two young, unmarried women in the late 1920s.

It was all so fascinating to learn about people I felt connected to but had never met. I was amazed by the trials my family had faced. Hearing it all made my own problems seem so small in comparison.

Several months later, with my mother’s story crowded into the recesses of my mind by school and work, I received an assignment in one of my classes at Brigham Young University to find 8 to 10 primary documents containing the name of one of my ancestors.

My genealogical training to that point consisted of singing the Primary song “Family History—I Am Doing It,” but grades weren’t negotiable in my mind, so I began at the only place I could think to start—Orla’s family. I looked her up on a pedigree chart and traced her line back until I found her grandfather, Joseph Argyle Jr.

One afternoon, I made the trek across the BYU campus to the library and into the family history library. I explained to a worker who Joseph Argyle was and the little information I knew about him.

For the next two hours, that worker guided me through a treasure hunt, which took us all over the library. We searched records of Mormon passengers on emigrant vessels, discovering that Joseph and his family crossed the Atlantic on a ship. Later that year, he traveled to Salt Lake Valley with the Ellsworth handcart company, which we found in a record book of handcart companies. We looked through the Endowment House records (found where he received his temple ordinances), the Utah death index (he lived to 84), and old Church membership records (there he was).

In an online database of Utah newspaper archives, I found a front-page obituary for my great-great-great grandfather. Published in the Davis County Clipper in February 1927, every sentence contained an interesting fact, such as Joseph’s contribution to the building of the Salt Lake Temple.

“He has the credit of having hauled the largest stone put in that building which weighed 13,000 pounds,” the article read.

I began to get a glimpse of the impact we can have on future generations when I discovered he had 88 descendants at the time of his death, a number which increased exponentially in the past 79 years.

Every time I found another document with my ancestors’ names on it, I felt a little tingle of excitement run through my body. It was like a mystery novel, putting all the pieces together, little by little beginning to understand who this man was. I became so immersed in learning about my ancestor, I didn’t leave until late in the afternoon, almost missing work!

I completed the assignment and received an A, but even more importantly, I created a tangible connection with one of my relatives. Joseph Argyle left his home, sailed across the ocean, traveled to Utah and helped build the temple, all because he believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ, a legacy which I inherited and which gives me the strength to fight my own battles in the 21st century.

I am a link in the chain of Joseph Argyle, and I can pass on his example to strengthen my children and their children. There are others I can help as well. The temple work for the vast majority of my ancestors has yet to be completed, and hundreds, even thousands, of my ancestors are waiting for me to do my part.

For more information on how to get started on your family history, visit your local family history center or go to www.familysearch.org.

While listening to a presentation on family history, stake president David Pickup in Chorley, England, felt an impression that indexing could help the members of his stake increase their desire to worship in the temple. But he wondered, how would something that looked like common data entry lead people to the temple?
He decided to try indexing and found that it brought an added measure of the Spirit of Elijah into his life. For him, indexing has become a “refining” work. “You cannot index without thinking about not only the names being indexed but also your own family names,” he says.
President Pickup challenged the members of his stake to use indexing as a way to participate in family history work. Within a short time, he and other stake leaders noticed a significant increase in temple recommend worthiness and sacrament meeting attendance. They noticed that the members who participated in indexing were developing a desire to take their own family names to the temple.
Indexing helped the members of the Chorley stake by bringing an added measure of the Spirit into their lives and by giving them the tools they needed to take their family names to the temple. “You don’t need to be temple worthy to index,” President Pickup says, “but when you index, it will refine you, and you will want to be temple worthy, and you will want to go to the temple, and you will want to do work for your ancestors. … I know this because it happened to me.”

The first time I went on a date with the man who would eventually become my husband, I didn’t feel a spark.
And I reacted how you’d probably expect—I assumed that meant we were incompatible, and I moved on.
But years later, after a series of events that I can only describe as divine intervention, we reconnected. And this time, we fell in love and got married.
So what happened? I’d heard from all my married friends and family members that I would “just know” when I met the right one, and I clearly didn’t on that first date.
To give you a little bit of background, my future husband and I met when he served his mission in my ward. Years later, he reached out over social media. We talked through texting and video calls, but he lived on a different island than me, so it was hard to meet up in person.
When we finally did meet to go on an official date, we’d been talking for about a year, and we had a lot of expectations for how this first date would go.
But we hadn’t seen each other in person for years, and truthfully, we both felt awkward.
Things didn’t feel as amazing or exciting as we’d been anticipating. So after I got back home, as I was busy with a new job and he was juggling life as a medical student, our communication just fizzled out. There was no magical connection, so why should I bother?
Three years passed, and he ended up doing his medical residency within a couple hours of where I lived—close enough that we were now in the same boundaries for YSA conferences.
I know this sounds crazy, but as I sat in the back of one of the conference events, I looked over and saw him. And suddenly, all I could see was him, and I felt this impression from the Spirit:
“He’s the right one.”
What?
I sat there, stunned. Why was I getting this answer now—after years had passed? And what was I supposed to do about it?
Turns out, even with an answer that clear and miraculous, we still needed to get to know each other. He asked me out again; I accepted. Then we kept going on more dates. And as we gave ourselves time to get to know each other instead of relying on an instantaneous connection, we developed something deep and real.
So what about that elusive spark?
Why wasn’t it there the first time?
If you don’t feel one on a first date, does that mean that any potential romantic relationship is doomed?
These are all good questions. And I don’t have the answers to all of them. But here are a few more questions to consider when you’re interested in someone but don’t necessarily feel an immediate connection:
Does this person motivate and inspire me to be the best version of myself?
Do I know what I’m truly looking for in a spouse?
Do I know my true worth as a child of God? And does this person recognize my worth?
Have I sought confirmation from the Spirit that this is a good person for me to date?
Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Become that which you seek. Look for someone with whom you can grow together. Grow together means each of you grows as an individual spiritually, intellectually, socially. But grow together also means you fulfill your full potential as you grow together as a couple and as a family.
I don’t want to downplay the desire for attraction and compatibility with your spouse. Of course you should seek someone you think is interesting, kind, attractive, funny, whatever attributes you feel will make life on the covenant path more joyful and wonderful.
But if you find yourself anxiously analyzing a first date, wondering if you felt the “right” things and what they all mean, remember that “God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” (2 Timothy 1:7). If you trust that you have a sound mind and can receive personal revelation, you can slow down, fully understand your feelings, and take the time you need to decide if you can see a future with someone.
Real, true love is so much more than just a spark.

The article “CTR Rings in the Principal’s Office” (Mar. 2007), which tells of a girl who told her school principal about the Church when the principal asked about the girl’s CTR ring, inspired my five-year-old son and other Primary children in our branch to always wear their CTR rings.
My son and another child had their first missionary experience when their schoolteachers asked about the rings and the children were able to tell them about the Church.
Aleksey Dobrovolskyy, Ukraine

I am a first-generation university student. I am almost finished with my second certificate, and then I will finish my associate’s and bachelor’s degree. With every certificate or milestone, my self-esteem increases and my fear of the future decreases because I feel I am one step closer to securing a better future. Because I know I am nothing without God and this inspired program, I have learned to be humble and kind. I have extended helping hands to many other PathwayConnect students to give back. I created a WhatsApp group for PathwayConnect students around the globe to help them through tips and video demonstrations each week. Now, whenever I think about what lies ahead, I can’t help but smile and be eternally grateful for an inspired program called PathwayConnect.

Those walls are very significant to me. My grandfather John F. Anderson, a skilled stonemason from Aberdeen, Scotland, was called to dress the white granite stone for this holy temple. In 1915 at the laying of the cornerstone, he had the honor of acting as the chief mason under the supervision of Elder David O. McKay. In 1923, before the temple was dedicated, my grandfather laid the very last stone. Then, in his journal he recorded, “It was not the capstone, but a small stone at the front gate entrance.”