Gospel Story Finder

A few weeks after Kayson left on his mission, my stake president visited me. I caught him up on what had happened during those weeks after my brothers had talked with me. I said I would like to get a new temple recommend. He asked if I could answer the recommend questions properly. I confessed, “President, I don’t think I can say I know that the Church is true yet, but I sure hope with all my heart that it is. And I am going to live my life in accordance with that hope. Is that enough?”
He paused for a moment then said, “Travis, that will always be enough.”

Brother Martell D. Adamson was a member of the bishopric when I was an Aaronic Priesthood boy. He was barely five feet tall—shorter than some of the boys in the ward. But we all looked up to him—even those who could look down on him physically.
Brother Adamson lived by the Scout slogan, Do a Good Turn Daily, and he taught us to do the same. He constantly challenged us to help others. He assigned us to chop wood and deliver coal for the widows and the sick. We would go to the coal yard and get big chunks of coal and break them up so that they would fit in the widows’ stoves.
It was seldom just a one-time assignment. Brother Adamson would say, “Now boys, you’re assigned to Sister Williams for the whole winter.” Then instead of just asking if we’d chopped the wood or carried the coal, he would say, “How’s Sister Williams doing?” We learned that we weren’t just responsible for providing fuel; we were responsible for Sister Williams herself. We were to visit her and make sure that she was all right. Brother Adamson made us feel that we were doing something important. Through helping others, we began feeling good about ourselves.
Brother Adamson taught me long ago that my wood chopping and coal carrying were really not about coal or firewood, but about Sister Williams. Your efforts to find out more about your ancestors is not only to provide information so that temple work can be done for them, it is also about their eternal well-being. If your heart has truly been turned to “the fathers,” you won’t just be sending names to the temple. You will be blessing the lives of real people whom you have come to know and love.

On a dusty, hot day in 2014, I visited a camp for internally displaced people in northern Iraq. Located just miles from the borders of Syria and Turkey, the camp was filled with mostly Yazidis women and children driven from their homes and villages by the Islamic State of Iraq and Syria (ISIS).

In this camp the women had found shelter, water and a daily loaf of bread. Still, many had worn the same long white dresses since arriving in the camp; the dresses were a visual symbol of their deep religious identity and their Yazidis faith.

I felt an immediate connection to those women, who had suffered for their faith and refused to take off the dresses that represented their beliefs.

Their physical and emotional suffering was tremendous. One woman told me with the help of a translator that she wondered if she would be better off dead.

The same woman wept when a Muslim surgeon and a Latter-day Saint Charities volunteer presented her — and many other Yazidis women — with a new white dress. Fundamental to helping her through the crisis was learning where she came from and what she believed. She needed more than food, water and shelter to become whole. She needed her religion. And her God – and ours – saw her and sent a surgeon and a volunteer of different faith traditions to bring her a miracle. [25]

Those who feel accountable to God, honor Him by reaching out to His children.

There are other ways. Music is powerful. My older brother taught me that.

When he was flying in the Eighth Air Force, it was terrible. He was shot down twice. But he said finally he got so he was not afraid. He was not afraid because when fear came, he turned on this little orchestra in his mind. He took his favorite hymn and played it over and over in his mind.

I learned something, and I have since lived that way. When some ugly thought from the nether kingdom tries to get into my mind, I move it out with good music, hymns (see D&C 25:12).

In 1988, I went with other British teachers to teach at a school in Sudan. The children were delightful, and we quickly adjusted to the rigors of living in a developing country. Our employer, however, turned out to be an oppressive leader who persecuted anyone he perceived as opposing him in any way. He hated me from the day I stood up for someone he had abused.
One day he called me into his office. For over half an hour, he subjected me to all manner of verbal abuse and threats. I left the room in a state of shock. I have no memory of how I got through the rest of the school day. All evening I could not get his terrible words out of my mind.
At bedtime, I sat on my bed and read the scriptures. Then I knelt and fervently prayed for comfort and relief, but I felt none. I got into bed but couldn’t sleep. Twice more I got up, read, knelt, and prayed, but to no avail.
“Oh, well,” I thought, “Heavenly Father doesn’t always answer our prayers how and when we want.” I resigned myself to a wretched, sleepless night.
But as I lay down again, I thought, “There’s one more thing I can do.” I started to repeat the words of the temple ordinances to myself in my mind. As I did this, a wondrous miracle happened. All the misery and darkness flowed out of me, and the most wonderful peace and joy flowed in and filled my entire being.
I arose and prayed, giving tearful thanks to Heavenly Father. Then I got back into bed and slept. The next day, which should have been full of fear and misery, was the happiest day I have ever spent with a class of children.
I realized that the Lord had wanted me to ponder the temple ordinances. To the Saints crossing the plains after receiving their blessings in the Nauvoo Temple, President Brigham Young (1801–1877) said, “Let the fire of the covenant which you made in the House of the Lord, burn in your hearts, like flame unquenchable.” As our temple covenants burn in our hearts and minds, we also will find strength, peace, and comfort.

This celebration was so special that I traveled more than four thousand miles to return to my Samoan village of Faletele.
The village was already bustling with activity. Crowding in with the few hundred villagers were more than a hundred of my relatives from many parts of Samoa and scores of honored guests from other villages.
I started walking through the malae, heading toward the big, dome-roofed fale. There in that fale, visiting with the most honored guests, sat my beloved cousin Sama. Suddenly I was filled with pride and pain and love as I remembered when I first came to know Sama—Sama the Thumb.
I was a little girl then, just five years old. Sama was ten. His parents had gone to New Zealand for the dedication of the Mormon temple there, and Sama had come to stay with us.
I was sitting on the edge of the malae, watching the young men and boys play Samoan-style cricket, with dozens of players on each side. The spectators were shouting and cheering and singing and dancing to a rhythm beaten out on an old, empty kerosene tin. A bus stopped on the road, and one of my aunts got out, followed by a boy who struggled to carry a heavy basket. When they went to the Tuita‘ua’s fale, I followed them.
Tuita‘ua Ioane was the main matai in our family. Hundreds of relatives honored and obeyed him. Tuita‘ua is one of the great titles in Samoa, and the Tuita‘ua is respected by all Samoans.
“Go get Tofo and Malini,” Tuita‘ua Ioane ordered me.
I ran back to the cricket match to fetch my cousins. They weren’t happy to give up their places in the match, but they obeyed the Tuita‘ua’s orders to fix fried corned beef and baked bananas and lemonade for him, our aunt, and the boy—who we learned was our cousin Sama. They bowed low and showed great respect when they served Tuita‘ua Ioane his food on a leaf-covered tray. But I saw them scowl at Sama when they placed his food in front of him.
In the days that followed, scowls were replaced by smiles and laughs. Sama won us over with his stories and jokes and his sense of humor. Even though most of the cousins were much older than Sama, they soon accepted him not only as a cousin but also as a good friend. I tagged along when they gathered coconuts, chopped the grass with bush knives, played cricket, went inland to plant taro in the family taro patch, and sang songs while strolling through the village after evening prayer services. When Sama was with us, whether we were working or playing, we laughed and had fun.
Then on Saturday the boy cousins went spear fishing in the lagoon. Sama caught an octopus and was treated like a hero.
After the cousins had cooked the evening meal of fish, taro, palusami, and, of course, octopus, two of the cousins grabbed Sama’s arms and held him while another cousin beat out a solemn rhythm on a log. Tofo marched up to Sama carrying a tray of food, including the best parts of the octopus. Tofo’s face was stern.
“We honor Sama, the great octopus hunter,” Tofo said. “As long as you are here in Faletele, you, Sama, will have the honor of serving the Tuita‘ua.” Then Tofo smiled and handed the tray to Sama, and Malini put a necklace of fragrant buds around Sama’s neck and a red hibiscus flower in his hair.
On Sunday morning I couldn’t find Sama. All day I asked the people of the village if they had seen him, but nobody knew where he was.
Finally, in the late afternoon, long after our church services and our after-church meal were over, Sama came walking through the village in his white shirt and white lavalava. Tuita‘ua Ioane called him into the fale. “Where have you been, Sama?” he asked.
“In Fuapa‘epa‘e.”
“You walked eight miles to Fuapa‘epa‘e? And back?”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Why?”
“Because that is the closest village where I can attend my church.”
Tuita‘ua Ioane took off his wire-rimmed reading glasses and laid them on the Bible, which he’d been reading. “Sama, the matai has made a decree that there will be only one church in Faletele and that all the people in Faletele will attend that church. Do you understand? You are part of my family, Sama, but you are also a guest in this village and you are under my protection. You know our rule.” He leaned forward and looked Sama in the eyes. “You do what you have to do.”
The following week none of the cousins mentioned Sama’s trip to Fuapa‘epa‘e. They continued to joke and laugh together as they worked in the taro and helped harvest a truckload of bananas that would go to New Zealand. On Saturday we all hiked to our secret waterfall, where we splashed and swam and lay out on the big rocks to be warmed by the sun. On our way home we caught prawns in the stream for dinner.
Trouble started on the second Sunday. I woke up to the sounds of arguing. Malini and Tofo were chasing after Sama, who was dressed in his white shirt and lavalava.
“Sama, you know what the village rule is!” Tofo shouted.
Malini grabbed Sama’s arm. “How can you show such disrespect to your matai?”
Though Sama was shorter than the two older boys, somehow he seemed taller as he stood boldly in front of them. “Tuita‘ua told me to do what I have to do. And this is what I have to do!”
As he started walking again, Malini shouted after him, “Sama, don’t embarrass your family like this!”
At the end of the day when Sama came walking back into Faletele, a woman made fun of Sama, calling him a bad name. All the cousins were angry at Sama and wouldn’t talk to him—all of them, that is, except me. I was glad to see Sama, and it was the first time that I had him all to myself. It was wonderful as we talked and sang and he told me stories.
In the morning the cousins took their long poles and went up the hills to gather breadfruit. Sama and I hurried after them.
We talked and joked as we knocked the breadfruit from the trees. It was almost like before, and all the cousins were starting to have fun together again. Then a group of villagers came by and called Sama “Mamona” and said mean things about Sama and our family.
There was no more joking among the cousins. For the rest of the week the cousins refused to include Sama in anything that they did. Tofo told me not to talk and play with him, but I did anyway whenever I could find him. Mostly he went off by himself into the forest.
“Maybe tomorrow you will remove our family shame and come with us to the village church,” Malini told Sama on Saturday night.
But on Sunday morning Sama was gone again. Next to each of our sleeping mats was a gift that Sama had made—octopus lures for Tofo and Gutu, a flute for Malini, toy fishing canoes for ‘Ene‘ene and Pisa, and a top and a pale for me.
When Sama returned that evening, I put on my pale and ran out to greet him. He was happy and eager to see the others—until he stepped on something in the grass. He looked down and saw one of the canoes he had made, now smashed and broken. He looked around and saw that his other gifts had also been broken and discarded.
“The villagers got them mad,” I explained. “But I kept mine. I like my presents very much. Thank you.”
Sama smiled at me, then went off by himself until it was time for the evening meal. As Sama got a tray of food ready for the Tuita‘ua, Tofo grabbed the tray away and shouted, “You are a disgrace to your family! You no longer get the honor of serving the Tuita‘ua!”
“And find someplace else to sleep,” Malini yelled. “You’re no longer welcome in the boys’ fale.”
‘Ene‘ene pushed Sama down, and Gutu raised his fists to hit Sama. “Because of you, our friends are calling us dirty names!”
I was afraid that the cousins were going to hurt Sama, so I ran to get Tuita‘ua Ioane. But he had heard and had already come to the edge of the fale. “You boys, stop it now!” he commanded. “All of you, come in here!”
At the sound of his voice, the boys immediately stopped. They walked meekly into the fale and sat down across from the old matai.
“Look at my hand!” Tuita‘ua Ioane held out his hand. “See how these fingers are bunched here together? And how the thumb is out here all by itself?”
We all looked at his hand.
“We have a saying here in Samoa: ‘The thumb stands alone, but it is the strongest of all the fingers.’”
Tuita‘ua Ioane pointed at each of the cousins. “You boys are the fingers. But Sama is the thumb!”
Even though I was very young, I learned many things that night. Tuita‘ua Ioane taught us about integrity, about standing up for what you think is right no matter what other people say, about being true to yourself and valiant in your beliefs. His words and Sama’s example changed my life.
As I stood on the malae thinking back to those days, a small girl came up to me and handed me a pale.
“Thank you.” I smiled at her and put it on. Then I walked up the steps of the big fale and removed my shoes. Sama saw me immediately. I made a thumbs-up sign. That had always been my secret sign to him. None of the other matai in the fale seemed to notice, and even if they did, it wouldn’t mean the same thing to them. They were there for just one reason—to honor the new Tuita‘ua. Tuita‘ua Sama.
But to me he would always be Sama the Thumb.

Recently we toured the Tahiti Mission and had several faith-promoting experiences with the Saints on the many small islands cradled by oceans of water.
Tahitian nights are cool and clear, and while most of the islanders were sound asleep, a small group of Latter-day Saints began packing belongings into their suitcases at 3:00 A.M. to catch a small twin engine propeller plane to Makemo, a small island in the Tuomatu group.
The plane with all 16 aboard taxied down the grassy runway and off we flew into the dark sky, where stars shone brightly and a full moon reflected on the water below.
President Stephen L. Graham, the mission president, was eager to tell us about his mission and how the Lord had answered his prayers. He smiled, spoke softly, and we listened. The roar of the engines was constant, and after a few hours, the sky gradually became lighter as the rising sun brightened on the horizon.
The plane gradually descended, and the short landing strip appeared. We slowly glided to a stop on the grass, gravel, and coral runway. As we arrived safely, we recognized that our prayers had been answered. Many people, our own members, were there to greet us warmly and wish us “Welcome, come and stay. We are happy to see you.” Greetings were exchanged as cheeks were kissed in friendly and familiar tradition. Handmade gifts of shells and flowers were hung around our necks. Their generosity and gifts brought tender feelings, and tears ran down smiling faces.
The island has about 60 Latter-day Saint members, and all had come to greet their visitors. We went a short distance to their new meetinghouse, a beautiful new Latter-day Saint chapel. Many had been waiting for the fulfilling of a promise that their prayers would be answered and one would come by assignment from the prophet to dedicate their building. The chapel was filled to overflowing, and each one sat in solemn silence as a prayer was given. Over 187 attended, many of whom were not members of the Church but who had desires to know about its message.
With that spiritual experience placed firmly in our hearts, we moved on to another assignment on a neighboring island. We approached the wharf. There the three small handcrafted, open boats, each about 20 feet in length with only outboard motors to propel them, were waiting. The mission president rode with us and looked after every detail. Ten to fifteen people crowded into each of these little wooden boats. The big surprise came when a 50-gallon drum was placed in the middle of the boat. We gazed, bewildered, and it was explained that that was our gas supply. An ordinary garden hose was dipped into the opening and a piece of Styrofoam, irregularly fashioned, held it in place. Three men had to sit on the bow, and then the signal was given to push off. The engines started effortlessly and all three boats headed out for the open seas as tearful Saints waved good-bye and anxiously asked, “You’ll come back, won’t you?”
When we were a short distance from shore a remarkable thing happened: the boats met, as if by appointment, and formed a small circle. The engines were stopped. Hats, which shielded us from the heat of the sun, were removed. Then, in a very spontaneous and special moment, the occupants looked at the mission president and he invited one to be voice and petition the Lord for safety during our journey. What reverence and what a sweet spirit touched our souls as we felt the hand of the Lord watching over us—a small band of Saints upon the beautiful blue waters of the vast Pacific Ocean.
Then the engines on all three boats were started, and one by one the boats moved out into the open, choppy waters. In a short time we were out of the harbor and the endless waves became larger and the skill of our skipper was felt. The relentless waves, one after another, persistently pounded our small boats. As the waves became more intense, the boat was tossed and rocked and we held on tightly. The salty spray soaked us, and we had to protect the gas barrel with a plastic cover. Flying fish were frequent sights as they swiftly glided past and narrowly skimmed the water. Land was nowhere to be seen. The salty spray was felt repeatedly and the sun was hot at noonday. The relentless waves tossed the beaten boat so forcefully that the boards on the bow broke and would need to be repaired.
After several hours we finally saw a faint irregularity appearing as a silhouette, and our skipper announced that land was in sight. We approached the tiny atoll of Taenga.
As we neared the island the engines were again stopped, hats were removed, and heads again bowed as President Graham called on one to offer a prayer of gratitude for a safe journey. You see, we were on His mission and He had truly answered our prayers.
Excitement was again felt as we disembarked on this lovely island and more lovely people greeted us. Another new chapel was to be dedicated. Heads were again bowed and prayers of thanks were sounded. What a spiritual experience! Our prayers and their prayers were answered.
The greetings of the Saints of Taenga, Makemo, and then Maniki islands, like those of the Saints throughout the Pacific Isles, were warm and wonderful. Shells, leis, flowers, baskets, handshakes, kisses, and hugs were commonplace, and the hearts of all of us were pounding in prayers of gratitude as heavily as the waves on the water.

The eighteen-hundred-mile trip from Ohio to Idaho would have been OK if only my little sister Michelle hadn’t been poking me all the way. Every so often, Mom would look back at us and say, “Now, Michelle, please don’t bother your big brother. We want everyone in a good mood when we get to Grandma’s house.”
But I was so excited about going to Grandma’s that I really didn’t care much what Michelle did to me. You see, Grandma’s farm has lots of hills and, best of all, lots of snow. I could hardly wait to put on a pair of skis and try the slopes. Even the heavy snow falling on the road now only added to my excitement. I could tell, however, that my dad was more worried than excited about it. He had turned off a ball game just to listen to the weather report.
Suddenly the car skidded wildly across the road. Dad pumped the brakes, but the car was out of control. We spun around and around until the car slowly stopped. It was unreal—we ended up turned completely around. Dad let out a sigh and quickly looked back at Michelle and me. “Are you two OK? I’m glad that you had your seat belts on.”
After we had all assured him that we weren’t hurt, and Dad had turned the car around, Michelle began crying. “I’m scared. I don’t like this weather.”
To tell the truth, I kind of wanted to cry too. I had a sick, awful feeling deep inside.
Mom lifted Michelle into the front seat and buckled my frightened sister in beside her. It was silent except for Michelle’s soft crying. “I think we’d better spend the night in the next town,” Mom said quietly.
“But if we do that,” I argued, “we won’t get to Grandma’s for Christmas. We’re so close that we could be there in another couple of hours.”
“I’m sorry, Jon,” Dad said, “but the roads are really bad. I’d rather get to Grandma’s a day late than not get there at all.”
“But, Dad,” I protested. Then before I knew what I was saying, the words slipped out of my mouth: “We could pray about it.” I knew that I’d said the wrong thing, because Dad doesn’t go to church. It’s Mom who always takes Michelle and me to church. Dad stays home and watches ball games. As we had prepared for this trip, Mom had asked Dad to join us in prayer for a safe journey to Idaho, but he had shook his head and left the room to finish packing the car.
“It’s OK if you say a prayer in your heart, Jon,” my mother said. Dad only grunted a reply. Swallowing my disappointment, I closed my eyes and thanked Heavenly Father for our safety and my blessings, especially for the chance to go to Grandma’s. Then I prayed that we would be able to have a great Christmas—one of the best ever.
As we pulled into a small town several miles down the road, the wind had really picked up and was blowing the snow furiously. A highway patrolman was stopping everyone and telling them that the road was closed. Whether I liked it or not, we were not going to make it to Grandma’s that Christmas Eve.
The only motel that had a vacancy was a small, rundown place at the edge of town. Michelle didn’t seem to care. The second the car stopped in front of our unit, she was out the door. The wind pulled at her small body, thrusting her away from the motel and the car. “Dad! Help!” she cried. Dad hurried after her and helped her into the motel. And even though I’m big for my eleven years, the wind made it almost impossible for me to walk.
What a gloomy, yucky place to spend Christmas Eve, I thought as I looked around. It was a dreadful contrast to Grandma’s roomy house with its cheery fireplace blazing with a yule log. Dad sat on the edge of the bed and turned on the TV. It didn’t work. It was going to be a long night.
We had to eat cold sandwiches and cookies for supper. The town had completely closed down. Not more than sixty miles away lay Grandma’s house, yet we couldn’t get there. This looked like it was going to be the worst Christmas ever, instead of the best. I began to wonder if maybe Dad was right. Maybe Heavenly Father really didn’t listen to prayers.
To pass the time, I told Michelle every story I could remember, played every game I could think of, and made up a few after that. At least one person in our family can be happy, I thought. As for Dad, he just sat and stared out the window, watching the wind-whipped snow. Mom stood quietly beside him, rubbing his shoulders. Even though they didn’t say anything, I knew that Dad was upset about something besides the weather.
Suddenly Dad turned to Michelle and me. I could see tears on his face. “Kids,” he said, “I think I learned something very important tonight out on that road. Remember when our car went spinning out of control?”
We nodded.
“Well,” he continued, “on one side of that road was a drop of several hundred feet. If our car had come any closer, we would have fallen down that mountain and been killed. I see now that I’ve been neglecting the most important things in my life—my wife and you two children. I didn’t realize how much you mean to me and—“ He paused for a few moments. “Well, I want you to know that I realized tonight that the Lord did answer your mother’s plea for protection on our trip.”
And with those words, he gathered the three of us in his arms, and we all cried together. Then Dad kneeled down with us on the floor of that motel room and offered a prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father.
And I realized that my prayer had been answered too. This was going to be the best Christmas ever!

This has been a most unusual year. For me it began with an assignment from the First Presidency to dedicate a holy temple to the Lord in Durban, South Africa. I will never forget the grandeur of the building. But more than the setting, I will always treasure the dignity of the people who were so well prepared to enter that sacred edifice. They came ready to partake of one of the crowning blessings of the Restoration: the dedication of a house of the Lord. They came with hearts filled with love for Him and His Atonement. They came filled with thanks to our Father in Heaven for providing sacred ordinances that would lead to exaltation. They came worthy.
Temples, no matter where they are, rise above the ways of the world. Every Latter-day Saint temple in the world—all 168 of them—stand as testaments to our faith in eternal life and the joy of spending it with our families and our Heavenly Father. Attending the temple increases our understanding of the Godhead and the everlasting gospel, our commitment to live and teach truth, and our willingness to follow the example of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
On the outside of every temple in the Church are the fitting words “Holiness to the Lord.” The temple is the Lord’s house and a sanctuary from the world. His Spirit envelops those who worship within those sacred walls. He sets the standards by which we enter as His guests.
My father-in-law, Blaine Twitchell, one of the best men I have ever known, taught me a great lesson. Sister Rasband and I went to visit him when he was nearing the end of his mortal journey. As we entered his room, his bishop was just leaving. As we greeted the bishop, I thought, “What a nice bishop. He’s here doing his ministering to a faithful member of his ward.”
I mentioned to Blaine, “Wasn’t that nice of the bishop to come visit.”
Blaine looked at me and responded, “It was far more than that. I asked for the bishop to come because I wanted my temple recommend interview. I want to go recommended to the Lord.” And he did!
That phrase, “recommended to the Lord,” has stayed with me. It has put a whole new perspective on being interviewed regularly by our Church leaders. So important is a temple recommend that in the early Church, until 1891, each temple recommend was endorsed by the President of the Church.
Whether for youth or adults, your temple recommend interview is not about do’s and don’ts. A recommend is not a checklist, a hall pass, or a ticket for special seating. It has a much higher and holier purpose. To qualify for the honor of a temple recommend, you must live in harmony with the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
In your interview you have the opportunity to search your soul about your personal faith in Jesus Christ and His Atonement. You have the blessing to express your testimony of the restored gospel; your willingness to sustain those whom the Lord has called to lead His Church; your faith in the doctrine of the gospel; your fulfillment of family responsibilities; and your qualities of honesty, chastity, fidelity, obedience, and observance of the Word of Wisdom, the law of tithing, and the sanctity of the Sabbath day. Those are bedrock principles of a life devoted to Jesus Christ and His work.
Your temple recommend reflects a deep, spiritual intent that you are striving to live the laws of the Lord and love what He loves: humility, meekness, steadfastness, charity, courage, compassion, forgiveness, and obedience. And you commit yourself to those standards when you sign your name to that sacred document.
Your temple recommend opens the gates of heaven for you and others with rites and ordinances of eternal significance, including baptisms, endowments, marriages, and sealings.
To be “recommended to the Lord” is to be reminded of what is expected of a covenant-keeping Latter-day Saint. My father-in-law, Blaine, saw it as invaluable preparation for the day when he would humbly stand before the Lord.
Consider when Moses climbed Mount Horeb and the Lord Jehovah appeared to him in a burning bush. God told him, “Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.”
Putting off our shoes at the door of the temple is letting go of worldly desires or pleasures that distract us from spiritual growth, setting aside those things which sidetrack our precious mortality, rising above contentious behavior, and seeking time to be holy.
By divine design, our physical body is a creation of God, a temple for our spirit, and should be treated with reverence. So true are the words of the Primary song: “My body is a temple [that] needs the greatest care.” When the Lord appeared to the Nephites, He commanded, “Be sanctified by the reception of the Holy Ghost, that ye may stand spotless before me.” “What manner of men ought ye to be?” asked the Lord and then answered, “Even as I am.” To be “recommended to the Lord,” we strive to be like Him.
I remember hearing President Howard W. Hunter in his first general conference address as the 14th President of the Church. He said: “It is the deepest desire of my heart to have every member of the Church worthy to enter the temple. It would please the Lord if every adult member would be worthy of?—and carry?—a current temple recommend.” I would add that a limited-use recommend will set a clear path for our precious youth.
President Russell M. Nelson recalled President Hunter’s words: “On that day, June 6, 1994, the temple recommend that we carry became a different object in my wallet. Before that, it was a means to an end. It was the means to allow me to enter a sacred house of the Lord; but after he made that declaration, that became an end in itself. It became my badge of obedience to a prophet of God.”
If you have yet to receive a recommend or if your recommend has lapsed, line up at the door of the bishop just as the early Saints lined up at the door of the Nauvoo Temple in 1846. My ancestors were among those faithful. They were abandoning their beautiful city and going west, but they knew that there were sacred experiences awaiting them in the temple. Wrote Sarah Rich from the rugged trail in Iowa, “If it had not been for the faith and knowledge that was bestowed upon us in that temple … , our journey would have been like … taking a leap in the dark.” That is what we are missing if we are going through this life alone without the inspiration and peace promised in the temple.
Begin the process now to become “recommended to the Lord” so that His Spirit will be with you in abundance and His standards will bring you “peace of conscience.”
Your youth leaders, elders quorum president, Relief Society president, and ministering brothers and sisters will help you prepare, and your bishop or branch president lovingly will guide you.
We have been experiencing a time when temples have been closed or limited in use. For President Nelson and those of us who serve at his side, the inspired decision to close the temples was “painful” and “wracked with worry.” President Nelson found himself asking, “What would I say to the Prophet Joseph Smith? What would I say to Brigham Young, Wilford Woodruff and the other Presidents, on up to President Thomas S. Monson?”
Now, we gradually and gratefully are reopening temples for sealings and endowments on a limited scale.
Being worthy to attend the temple, however, has not been suspended. Let me emphasize, whether you have access to a temple or not, you need a current temple recommend to stay firmly on the covenant path.
Late last year Sister Rasband and I were on assignment in New Zealand speaking with a large group of young single adults. They had no easy access to a temple; the one in Hamilton was being renovated, and they were still awaiting the groundbreaking for the temple in Auckland. However, I felt prompted to encourage them to renew or receive temple recommends.
Even though they could not present them at the temple, they would be presenting themselves before the Lord pure and prepared to serve Him. Being worthy to hold a current temple recommend is both a protection from the adversary, because you have made a firm commitment to the Lord about your life, and a promise that the Spirit will be with you.
We do temple work when we search for our ancestors and submit their names for ordinances. While our temples have been closed, we have still been able to research our families. With the Spirit of God in our hearts, we are, by proxy, standing in for them to be “recommended to the Lord.”
When I was serving as the Executive Director of the Temple Department, I heard President Gordon B. Hinckley refer to this scripture spoken by the Lord about the Nauvoo Temple: “Let the work of my temple, and all the works which I have appointed unto you, be continued on and not cease; and let your diligence, and your perseverance, and patience, and your works be redoubled, and you shall in nowise lose your reward, saith the Lord of Hosts.”
Our work in the temple is tied to our eternal reward. Recently we have been put to the test. The Lord has called us to work in the temples with “diligence, … perseverance, and patience.” Being “recommended to the Lord” requires those qualities. We must be diligent in living the commandments, persevere in our attention to our temple covenants, and be grateful for what the Lord continues to teach about them and be patient as we wait for temples to reopen in their fulness.
When the Lord calls for us to “redouble” our efforts, He is asking that we increase in righteousness. For example, we may expand our study of the scriptures, our family history research, and our prayers of faith that we may share our love for the Lord’s house with those preparing to receive a temple recommend, our family members in particular.
I promise you as an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ that as you strive to redouble your righteous efforts, you will feel renewed in your devotion to God the Father and Jesus Christ, you will feel an abundance of the Holy Ghost guiding you, you will be grateful for your sacred covenants, and you will feel peace knowing you are “recommended to the Lord.” In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

That happened to Jerry, a Protestant gentleman in his mid-60s who lives in Mesa, Arizona. Jerry’s father was a Baptist minister; his mother, a Methodist minister. One day Jerry’s close friend Pricilla shared with him the pain she felt from the death of her child during childbirth and a bitter divorce that occurred shortly thereafter. Struggling as a single mother, Pricilla has four children—three daughters and a son. As she opened her heart to Jerry, she confessed that she was thinking of taking her own life. With all the strength and love Jerry could muster, he tried to help her understand that her life had value. He invited her to attend his church, but Pricilla explained that she had given up on God.

Jerry did not know what to do. Later, while watering trees in his yard, this man of faith prayed to God for guidance. As he prayed, he heard a voice in his mind saying, “Stop the boys on the bikes.” Jerry, a little bewildered, wondered what this meant. As he reflected on this impression, he gazed up the street and saw two young men in white shirts and ties riding bicycles toward his home. Stunned by this “coincidence,” he watched them ride by. Then, realizing that the situation required him to act, he shouted out, “Hey, you, please stop! I need to talk to you!”

With a puzzled but excited look, the young men stopped. As they approached, Jerry noticed that they wore name tags identifying them as missionaries in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Jerry looked at them and said, “This may sound a little weird, but I was praying and was told to ‘stop the boys on the bikes.’ I looked up the street, and here you are. Can you help me?”

The missionaries smiled, and one said, “Yes, I am sure we can.”

Jerry explained the worrisome plight of Pricilla. Soon the missionaries were meeting with Pricilla, her children, and Jerry. They discussed the purpose of life and God’s eternal plan for them. Jerry, Pricilla, and her children grew in faith through sincere prayer, their study of the Book of Mormon, and the loving fellowship with members of the Church. Jerry’s already strong faith in Jesus Christ grew even stronger. Pricilla’s doubts and thoughts of suicide turned to hope and happiness. They were baptized and became members of Christ’s restored Church.

In another ward, the Relief Society sisters were organized to supplement the time that the husband was out of the home and unable to care for his wife who was a native of Thailand, whose English language skills were limited. She had a disease that attacked every organ of her body. The sisters learned to operate the respirator. They bathed her, combed her hair, brushed her teeth, cleaned her house, and prepared meals as well. I heard this woman cry words of gratitude for the love and patience of those who served her.

I would like to share with you some of the things I have put in my cart.

The third treasure in my cart is our children, each one so special, so unique. Each with value more precious than the riches of the earth. These children have given us wonderful grandchildren. I can truly say that if I did not believe that I could be with my family in the eternities, heaven would hold little interest for me.

The fourth thing I have put in my cart is a piece of wood from a tree in the sacred grove. I know there are signs forbidding taking items out of the grove, but I promise there were no such signs when I took this piece of bark. This bark brings back a sacred memory of the day I spent in prayer in the grove, seeking a testimony, even as Enos so many years ago. I was not going on a mission. I spent the whole day telling the Lord why I didn’t need to serve a mission, but the Lord told me otherwise. The testimony gained that day sent my life in a new direction and on a mission to Ireland. That day with God in the sacred grove is precious beyond words to me. I want to remember it forever.

The first obstacle was finding a place for the trek. “We had no idea how hard it would be to find land that we would be allowed to cross,” said Marlene Meyer, the stake Young Women president. “In some ways it reminded us of the feeling the pioneers had when they were driven out of every place they tried to call home.”

For months the leaders scoured the state looking for a suitable site that could handle 150 people pulling handcarts and camping along the way. Because much of Alaska is covered in wetland, they knew they needed to find an abandoned road with dry campsites every 12 miles. Fourteen days before the event was scheduled to begin, the leaders were contacted about the possibility of passing through some land in a small area called Anchor Point. Miraculously, it had oil pad sites, areas covered in gravel and suitable for camping, positioned every 12 miles along an old road. With only days to spare, stake leaders got the permits and the trek went forward.

Something momentarily caught the light when Grandmother Jo showed Christopher a miniature Eagle Scout pin that she had received from Christopher’s dad when he became on Eagle Scout. “Oh, I was proud of him as he stood so straight and tall to accept the award. Then he gave me the pin and kissed me.”
How happy Grandmother Jo looks, Christopher thought. When pirates found their treasures, they were very happy, but not in the same way that Grandmother Jo is right now.

I had been on my mission for little more than a year when I hit a particularly difficult time. We were right in the middle of a dismal, gray season—just coming out of a cold winter and moving into spring. And no matter how hard my companion and I worked, everyone we spoke to rejected our message outright. When we met with other missionaries, we learned that their work was going strong. I couldn’t think of any reasons why we were so unsuccessful. I had been out long enough to speak the language well, my companion and I were good friends, we had established trust with the members, and we tried to follow the Spirit and obey the mission rules with exactness.
But no matter what we did, we faced rejection at every turn. After weeks and weeks of this, I let my sour attitude get the better of me. During one planning session I finally exclaimed, “What’s the point? Nobody will listen to us anyway.” My companion, having a better perspective than I did, simply said, “We set goals to show our faith. We follow up on goals to count our blessings.”
As I pondered her insight, I realized that I had been using the wrong measuring stick to judge my success as a missionary. Preach My Gospel: A Guide to Missionary Service provides a list of behaviors of successful missionaries,1 and I realized that all those behaviors are within the missionary’s control. I could not control whether or not the people in my mission would accept the gospel message, but I could control the type of missionary I chose to be. My companion showed me that greater faith in Jesus Christ and gratitude for His blessings would allow me to recognize the ways I already was a successful missionary.
It was humbling to realize that my faith was lacking. I looked for areas where I could strengthen my faith and found that when things hadn’t gone according to plan, I had let myself become discouraged. Preach My Gospel says: “Discouragement will weaken your faith. If you lower your expectations, your effectiveness will decrease, your desire will weaken, and you will have greater difficulty following the Spirit.”2 I realized that I had allowed our setbacks to weaken my faith.
I began by praying for a change of heart and more faith. I also relied on the promise given in Mormon 9:21: “Whoso believeth in Christ, doubting nothing, whatsoever he shall ask the Father in the name of Christ it shall be granted him; and this promise is unto all, even unto the ends of the earth.” This promise led me to pray more fervently for the blessings and miracles my companion and I felt we needed, always adding, “Thy will be done.” These prayers helped me to accept changed plans and setbacks with greater faith, knowing that Heavenly Father always answers prayers of faith—even when the answers come in ways we don’t anticipate. I became more able to recognize the ways the Lord was guiding us throughout our day.
As I worked on strengthening my faith, I found the positive form of the statement from Preach My Gospel to be true: if you raise your expectations, your effectiveness will increase, your desire will grow, and you will be able to follow the Spirit better. Additionally, I was more optimistic about missionary work and my missionary service when I could recognize and appreciate the miracles that happened daily.
The Lord began to show me that He worked miracles for us each day—but I had been unable to recognize them until I made a conscious effort to be genuinely grateful. Expressing gratitude is more than just a good habit or nice manners. When I expressed gratitude to the Lord and to others, I was empowered. I found myself being excited for other missionaries when they had success instead of being jealous (see Alma 29:14, 16). I was more able to focus on what I had and what went right rather than what I lacked and what went wrong.
I learned that gratitude is the antidote to comparing ourselves to others. Those times when I didn’t feel like a successful missionary usually came because I told myself, “I’m not doing as well as they are,” or, “They are better at this than I am.” I also learned that while it is the Lord’s pattern to give us righteous examples to emulate and follow, it is Satan’s counterfeit to tempt us to compare ourselves with them in order to determine our worth or success. But Preach My Gospel is clear on this: “Avoid comparing yourself to other missionaries and measuring the outward results of your efforts against theirs.”3 Ultimately, gratitude helped me avoid pride and reminded me that the Lord is in charge of His work. I did not need to be jealous because my fellow missionaries appeared to be having more success.4
Before I had this change in perspective, I had been so focused on a specific type of blessing that I had forgotten to leave my eyes open to the other ways the Lord was answering our prayers and blessing our missionary work. Eventually, the Lord began blessing the missionary work in our area in beautiful and unexpected ways. We did find people willing to accept our message, but I had learned by that time not to measure my success by the choices of others.
President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) shared one mission president’s counsel about missionary work: “Do your best, your very, very best. Say your prayers and work hard and leave the harvest to the Lord.”5 Preach My Gospel teaches something similar about successful missionaries: “Do your very best to bring souls to Christ, and seek earnestly to learn and improve.”6
As long as I was willing to repent, as long as I could honestly account to the Lord that I was doing my best, I could feel confident that I was a successful missionary—regardless of whether people accepted our message. In many ways, the measure of my success as a missionary could be judged by my willingness to repent and my determination to keep working.
I have many miracles recorded in my journal from this time of my mission. As I strove to be more faithful and grateful, I had a better perspective, I avoided discouragement, and I felt the Spirit more abundantly in the work. I found that what Preach My Gospel teaches is true: “When you have done your very best, you may still experience disappointments, but you will not be disappointed in yourself. You can feel certain that the Lord is pleased when you feel the Spirit working through you.”7 And when I felt the Lord was pleased with me, I could endure any trial.

One day Sam went for a walk with his big brother Eric.
“Don’t go too far,” called Mother as she waved goodbye.
Sam ran ahead. He came to a speckled toad in the road. He waited for Eric.
“Toad,” said Eric. “Toad,” repeated Sam. The toad hopped away.
Sam ran on. A long gray thing wiggled in the dust. “Snake,” said Eric.
“Snake?” asked Sam. He watched it slither away.
A big bird flew over the trees. Sam pointed a fat finger.
“Hawk,” Eric said. “Bird!” said Sam. He laughed and laughed. He knew a bird when he saw one.
The boys came to a pasture fence. Curious cows came to stare at them. The cows liked the grass the boys pulled and threw through the fence.
“We’d better start back now,” said Eric.
“No!” said Sam. The road went over a brook. Sam looked at the water on one side of the bridge; he looked at the water on the other side. Then he ran up the hill beyond the bridge.
“Stop!” shouted Eric. “You are going too far. You can’t walk back.”
“Can too!” called Sam, and he walked up, up the hill. He began to walk slower and slower.
“Come back,” begged Eric.
Sam stopped. He turned around and looked down the hill and over the bridge. Home was a long way off. He was tired.
“I can’t walk home,” he whimpered. “My legs won’t go.” He sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry.
“How would you like a horse to ride home?” Eric asked.
A horse? Sam stopped crying.
Eric stepped over to a tall bush beside the road. He broke off a stout branch. He stripped off the twigs and leaves. He tied his handkerchief to one end of the stick. It made two funny ears.
Eric handed the stick horse to Sam. “This is Twiggy. He is a fine horse. He’ll gallop and trot. You’ll be home in no time.”
Sam got up. He threw one leg over Twiggy. Then away he rode.
He almost beat Eric home.

“Katie, time for family home evening!” Dad called.
Katie jumped off her bed and ran to the living room. She could smell the pine tree and see the lights sparkling on the shiny ornaments. Her little brother, Seth, was examining the gifts under the tree.
The family sang “The First Noel,” and Seth said the opening prayer. Then Dad told them about the Thomas family. This year they could not afford presents or a nice dinner for Christmas.
“No presents on Christmas? We have to help them!” Seth exclaimed.
“That’s what we were thinking,” Mom said. “But that means we won’t be able to afford as many gifts for you. You will only get one present each.”
“They’re my friends,” Seth said. “I want to help them!”
“What about you?” Mom asked, putting her arm around Katie.
“I want to help too,” Katie said.
Mom smiled. “We have a lot to do. We’d better get started.”
All week, the family worked to fill the Thomas family’s Christmas basket. Mom made the food. Katie went to the toy store with Dad to pick out toys for the three Thomas children.
The Saturday before Christmas, it was time to put the basket together. Katie carefully placed in the gifts she had wrapped. She felt warm inside, knowing she was helping the Thomases have a nice Christmas.
Just then, Seth came in carrying some other presents.
“These are for Jake and Ryan,” he said. “Can you wrap them for me?”
“Sure,” Katie said. Seth handed her a little crane, one of his old toys.
Katie frowned. “Why are you giving them this? I don’t think they’ll like your old stuff.”
“Yes, they will,” Seth insisted.
Katie wrapped the crane as neatly as she could. “At least I can make it look like a nice present,” she thought.
Then Seth handed her a jar filled with pennies, nickels, and dimes. Katie sighed as she wrapped the jar. Seth was just too little to pick out gifts for his friends.
Later that night, Katie’s family dropped off the Christmas basket. Dad set it on the Thomas family’s doorstep, rang the doorbell, and ran back to the car. “Mission accomplished,” he said, catching his breath.
Katie was so excited. She wished she could see the children’s faces when they unwrapped their gifts. Except for Seth’s gifts.
The next week at church, Katie and Seth went to the Relief Society room after Primary to find Mom. Sister Goldman, who lived next door to the Thomases, was telling Mom about the Christmas basket someone had mysteriously left on the Thomas family’s doorstep.
“I gave Jake the crane,” Seth said proudly.
“Seth, you weren’t supposed to tell,” Katie scolded.
Sister Goldman turned to Seth. “Jake loved the crane,” she said. “That was the only thing he had wanted for Christmas.”
Seth beamed.
Sister Goldman continued. “Ryan has been trying to save money for his mission. His mom told him that if he paid his tithing he would be blessed. And then he got a jar full of money.”
Katie couldn’t believe it! Jake and Ryan had loved the gifts that Seth picked out for them. She put her arm around Seth. She was proud of him. His gifts hadn’t looked like much, but Heavenly Father had known what they would mean to two boys.

My first brush with the priesthood was when I was baptized. I was baptized in an irrigation canal in the little town of Oakley, Idaho. I was with my friends on the bank of that irrigation canal. We had on our bib swimming suits, which consisted of bib overalls with the legs cut out so you wouldn’t sink and holes cut in the pockets. We had never seen a swimming suit made out of knit or of other fabric. My father came out from the First Ward meetinghouse with his counselors. He was carrying a chair, and he put the chair on the side of the irrigation ditch. My father said, “David, come on over here; we’re going to baptize you.”
I dove in the canal and swam over to the other side, shivering. It was in September and a little cold, and young boys get the shivers, you know, when you have only bib overalls on. My father got down into the canal. As I remember, he didn’t take his shoes off or change anything but was just in his regular clothes. He showed me how to hold my hands, and then he baptized me. After I came up out of the water, we both crawled up on the bank of the canal. I sat in the chair, and they put their hands on my head and confirmed me a member of the Church. After that I dove in the canal and went over on the other side and joined my friends.
This was my first experience, really, with the priesthood.

I recently had the opportunity to travel with Elder Donald L. Hallstrom to visit five cities in the great central area of the United States. In each city we visited, we would hold a meeting with the full-time missionaries, followed by a meeting with the stake and ward leaders regarding missionary work. Between each of the two meetings, the stake Relief Society would prepare a light dinner for us to afford us time to meet with the stake presidents. When we reached Milwaukee, Wisconsin, two young families appealed to the Relief Society to let them prepare and serve the dinner. The two husbands manned the kitchen. The two mothers supervised the table arrangements and the serving of the food. Three young children handled the table setting and the serving of the food under the supervision of their mothers. This was an opportunity for the mothers to have a teaching opportunity with their children. It was very special to watch the children respond to every detail as they were taught by their mothers. They carried out their assignments completely and fully.

When we were struggling as students and living in a micro-mini apartment in Makiki, our Relief Society President brought us a Thanksgiving basket of goodies. We felt bad accepting it because we didn't really feel that we were in need compared to other families, but we appreciated the love and the fellowship of our ward members as we ate the delicious food that was given to us for our Thanksgiving meal. We knew that the Lord was watching over us.