Gospel Story Finder

While I was teaching early-morning seminary in Eureka, California, USA, I asked my students to think of themselves 10 years in the future. Then I asked them to write a letter with their testimony of the gospel and whatever else they would like to share with the older versions of themselves. I told them I would mail the letters in 10 years.
Time passed and I never got around to mailing the letters. One day 25 years later, my daughter Heidi found the letters and asked about them. After I explained what I had planned, she looked for the addresses of my former students using social media tools.
After she mailed the letters, we received some great responses. One of my former seminary students wrote:
“I need your dad to know that he just now found those letters for a reason. My 18-year-old daughter has been struggling with her testimony and feeling that being a ‘perfect Latter-day Saint girl’ isn’t for her. She doesn’t share her feelings with us. It’s been hard.”
My former student, devastated by some things her daughter had recently written in a blog, added:
“I knew I had to talk to her about it. As usual, when we have these conversations, her face was stony and defiant, and she didn’t say anything. I handed her my letter and told her I wanted her to read it.
“I saw her reread the first paragraph several times. I had written that I didn’t know if I had a testimony, that being a perfect Latter-day Saint was a lot and maybe not for me.
“My daughter started to cry. I needed her to know that I truly understand her struggles. She would never have believed it without that letter! Some of her wall has come down, and I truly feel like the timing of this letter was a tender mercy. If I had received it 10 years ago, I might have thrown it away or lost it! Please thank your dad for having us write the letters and for misplacing them for all these years! Nothing is a coincidence.”
Our loving Heavenly Father watches over all His sheep, and in His marvelous timing, He can work tender mercies and miracles through each of us to bring those who have wandered back to the fold.

It was three o’clock in the morning. My dad had just nailed the final trim on the three-story dollhouse we had built for my little sisters (the trim was not quite dry and the white paint still bears several thumb prints). Mom and I placed inside all of the furniture we had made and gathered, and then sat back and looked with real pleasure on our creation. It had been a hectic three weeks of building, creating, and upholstering, but this year Christmas somehow seemed more real. The small house was beautiful. The furnishings were charming, and the tiny crocheted rugs just fit the decorating scheme we had chosen.
Since that Christmas several years ago we have made a few improvements in our dollhouse—pasted 1-by-1 1/2-inch cardboard pieces on the roof for shingles, added tiny accessories on the tables and shelves, found a potbellied stove for the upstairs bedroom—and with each passing year, and the arrival of each new niece and nephew, the dollhouse has grown in popularity; it has even become the pattern for several others as far away as Michigan.

One sister, shortly after moving to a new ward, suffered a devastating illness that left her nearly bedridden for almost two years. She describes how the sisters of her new ward, working through the Relief Society organization, blessed her life:
“A loving and sensitive Relief Society president visited often, and other sisters checked on me every day of the week. I forged bonds of friendship with each one as we shared feelings of the heart, discussed current affairs, laughed at the small indignities of illness, and generally enjoyed each other’s company. One sister quietly did my laundry, freshened my dogs’ food and water, and brought her grandchildren to visit. Another … made delicious custard for me when I could eat no other food. …
“I rarely was able to attend church during my illness, but I still felt right at home in the ward family” (JoAnn Jolley, Ensign, September 1994, 51–52).

The story is told of a king who was choosing between two drivers for his coach. He ordered each of them to drive his coach down a steep, winding road cut into a high cliff.
The first driver came down slowly, hugging the wall of the cliff. The second driver demonstrated great talent and ability. He raced down the mountain, with the coach so close at times that half the wheel was off the edge of the cliff.
The king was very thoughtful, then wisely chose the first man to drive his coach. It is best to stay on the safe side of things.

In His love for us, God has decreed that any worthy man, regardless of wealth, education, color, cultural background, or language, may hold His priesthood. Thus, any properly ordained man who is clean in hand, heart, and mind can connect with the unlimited power of the priesthood. I learned this lesson well as a young missionary years ago in the South Pacific.

My first assignment was to a small island hundreds of miles from headquarters, where no one spoke English, and I was the only white man. I was given a local companion named Feki who was then serving a building mission and was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood.

After eight seasick days and nights on a small, smelly boat, we arrived at Niuatoputapu. I struggled with the heat, the mosquitoes, the strange food, culture, and language, as well as homesickness. One afternoon we heard cries of anguish and saw a family bringing the limp, seemingly lifeless body of their eight-year-old son to us. They wailed out that he had fallen from a mango tree and would not respond to anything. The faithful father and mother put him in my arms and said, “You have the Melchizedek Priesthood; bring him back to us whole and well.”

Though my knowledge of the language was still limited, I understood what they wanted, and I was scared. I wanted to run away, but the expressions of love and faith that shone from the eyes of the parents and brothers and sisters kept me glued to the spot.

I looked expectantly at my companion. He shrugged and said, “I don’t have the proper authority. You and the branch president hold the Melchizedek Priesthood.” Grasping at that straw, I said, “Then this is the duty of the branch president.”

No sooner had I said this than the branch president walked up. He had heard the commotion and returned from his garden. He was sweaty and covered with dirt and mud. I turned and explained what had happened and tried to give the young boy to him. He stepped back and said, “I will go and wash and put on clean clothes; then we will bless him and see what God has to say.”

In near panic, I cried, “Can’t you see? He needs help now!”

He calmly replied: “I know he needs a blessing. When I have washed myself and put on clean clothes, I will bring consecrated oil, and we will approach God and see what His will is. I cannot—I will not—approach God with dirty hands and muddy clothes.” He turned and left me holding the boy. I was speechless.

Finally he returned, clean in body and dress and, I sensed, in heart as well. “Now,” he said, “I am clean, so we will approach the throne of God.”

That marvelous Tongan branch president, with clean hands and a pure heart, gave a beautiful and powerful priesthood blessing. I felt more like a witness than a participant. The words of the Psalmist came to my mind: “Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? …

“He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart.” On that tiny island a worthy priesthood holder ascended into the hill of the Lord, and the power of the priesthood came down from heaven and authorized a young boy’s life to continue.

With the fire of faith glowing from his eyes, the branch president told me what to do. Much additional faith and effort was required, but on the third day that little eight-year-old boy, full of life, was reunited with his family.

I hope you understand and feel these truths. This was a tiny island in the midst of a huge ocean—with no electricity, no hospital, no doctors—but none of that mattered. For in addition to great love and faith, there was a branch president who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, who understood the importance of cleanliness of hand and heart and its outward expression in cleanliness of body and dress, who exercised the priesthood in righteousness and purity according to the will of God. That day his individual power in the priesthood was sufficient to connect with the unlimited power of the priesthood over earthly life.

When I look into the heavens at night and contemplate the endless galaxies therein, I am amazed at what a tiny dot our little earth is and how infinitesimally small I am. Yet I do not feel afraid, alone, insignificant, or distant from God. For I have witnessed His priesthood power connecting with clean hands and pure hearts on a tiny island in a vast ocean.

Sometimes coaches are convinced that one or two athletes are indispensable to their team’s success. Can we be justified in overlooking flagrant violations of BYU standards in order to protect such athletes? If so, we make a mockery of the values that underpin the university.
Perhaps this can be put in perspective by an event that took place in 1954. BYU’s basketball team was 3-11 in the early season and going nowhere. Our most outstanding player was dismissed from school. When this athlete left the team, attitudes changed, discipline was restored, and another player, Herschel “Bones” Pederson, replaced him. The season was turned around: the team finished second in the conference with a 10-4 record. How could this be? Interestingly, “Bones” was one of those, rare for his day, returned missionaries.
It is clear to me that it is appropriate at times to dismiss athletes who will not abide BYU’s standards, notwithstanding the condemnation of the press. Upholding the Honor Code will not result in unsuccessful seasons. I remember when Coach Clarence Robison dismissed an All-American from our track team. This athlete’s removal from school happened because a coach was committed to BYU standards. Coach Robison asked the young man to leave because his behavior clearly demonstrated he would not change.

In the United States, on the morning of the Fourth of July 1952, as all the three major networks at the time were present with cameras rolling at the eastern edge of Catalina Island off the coast of California, 34-year-old Florence Chadwick waded into the water. She was a celebrated endurance swimmer, who now planned to swim 21 open-water miles to the southern California coast. Twenty-one miles! She had already conquered the English Channel. Now she was determined to be the first woman to swim the California Catalina Channel. She began the solo swim.

Minute after minute, hour after hour ticked by as Chadwick resolutely swam on, despite bone-chilling cold, unpredictable currents and terribly dense fog. Several times, sharks had to be driven away by rifle shots from the support boats. Ultimately, fatigued and chilled to the bone, an exhausted Florence Chadwick stopped. She lifted her goggles and looked in all directions but could not to see the shore through the fog bank. Disoriented, she lost her perspective and, temporarily, she lost her will.

From one of the support boats, her mother and her trainer pleaded with her not to give up. But from Chadwick’s compromised viewpoint in the water, all she could see was fog. So, after 15 hours and 55 minutes of constant swimming and over 58,000 strokes, she was pulled out of the water into the boat. She was utterly exhausted and was attended to medically. But Florence was even more devastated when she discovered she had tragically miscalculated her effort and distance. Where she had swum to was less than half a mile from the coast!

"I'm not excusing myself," she later told a reporter, "but if I could have seen land, I know I could have made it. I was licked by the fog." The resilient Florence Chadwick had been through tough times before. She immediately and resolutely began training, planning, and preparing again.

Two months later, renewed and indomitable, she once again entered the water off Catalina Island, determined to succeed in what no woman had done before. The networks were missing now but not Chadwick’s resolve.

Again, the same factors were equally present, along with their timing. The thick fog bank again descended and obscured her view at the same critical moment in this daunting endeavor.

But this time, Florence resolutely swam on, knowing that somewhere beyond this fog and ocean was land. I can imagine her repeating over and over, “Just keep swimming; don’t give up.”

This time, she swam directly through the fog bank and emerged on the sunlit, California seacoast. Not only was Florence Chadwick the first woman to swim the Catalina Channel but she beat the standing men's record by two hours!

“Over here!” Miss Karen, the cheerleading camp director, waved Cricket over. “Girls eight and under are in this group.”
“Not again,” Cricket whispered to her best friend, Lauren. She turned to Miss Karen and said, “Actually, I’m 10. I’m just small.”
“Oh,” Miss Karen said. “Well, we need you to cheer with the younger girls for the performance. You’re so much shorter and you wouldn’t blend in with the older girls. Besides, their uniforms would be too big on you.”
“But—” Cricket started to say.
“Of course you can do all the other camp activities with your friends.” Miss Karen patted Cricket’s shoulder. “I know you won’t mind.”
Cricket didn’t say anything. But back in their room, Cricket told Lauren, “But I do mind. I’m always the smallest one at camp.”
“It will be OK,” Lauren said. “We’ll have fun doing everything else together.”
And they did have fun. They learned to do flips and back walkovers on the bar in their gymnastics class. Miss Karen even complimented Cricket on her landings.
They watched every day as the high school cheerleaders practiced their pyramids. Cricket was already good at pyramids, and she couldn’t wait until she was old enough to join a cheer team too.
But none of it quite made up for having to cheer with the little kids. Cricket felt out of place practicing with them. They were so much younger! She wished she were taller so she could cheer with her friends.
“Why don’t you pretend to be sick on Saturday?” Lauren said. “Then you won’t have to be in the show.”
Cricket thought for a moment. “No, I can’t do that. It wouldn’t be honest. And besides, Miss Karen and the kids are counting on me. I’ll just tough it out.”
The next day, Cricket had just performed with her group and left the stage when Miss Karen came running up to her.
“We need you,” Miss Karen whispered. “The girl for the top of the high school team’s pyramid is sick. You’re small enough for the girls to lift easily, and your landing is perfect. Are you willing to try it?”
Cricket nodded slowly. They needed her help because she was small. “I’ll do my best,” she said.
When the high school girls finished their routine and started their pyramids, Miss Karen gave Cricket the signal to join them. Cricket said a silent prayer asking Heavenly Father to help her do her best.
She walked on stage. The girls lifted her up and she grinned, holding her hands high in the air. Cricket flipped down into the girls’ arms and landed perfectly. The crowd cheered.
The rest of the cheerleaders came down from the pyramid smoothly. Cricket couldn’t stop smiling as she listened to the crowd cheering.
At the end of the show, all the cheerleaders came onto the stage for one last bow. Miss Karen walked to the microphone.
If you don’t think faith and attitude are more important than size … just ask Goliath about David!
“Every year we give an award to the most inspirational camper,” she said. “This year we’ve chosen a girl who cared more about the group than about herself. The most inspirational camper award goes to a little girl with a big heart. Cricket Newton, please come forward!”
Cricket hugged the trophy tight. She smiled as she stood on her tiptoes to say “thank you” into the microphone.

Last year I was struggling in school and decided that I needed some additional help beyond tutoring and extra study—I needed to include my Heavenly Father in my study process. The lesson I learned from this decision cannot be found in a textbook, but it’s something I’ll always be grateful I learned.
I started to pray silently at school and vocally at night while doing homework and preparing for exams. I asked Heavenly Father to help me concentrate on my schoolwork and remember what I was learning. By the end of the school year, I’d dramatically increased my grades. But even more important, I’d learned that I should turn to Heavenly Father more when I need help in any area of my life. He does hear our prayers, and especially when we put forth the work, He will help us.

Some years ago I went for the first time to the Salt Lake City Tabernacle for a general conference of the Church. I was awed by the size of the building, but even more by the inspiring presence of the General Authorities who were gathered there.
During my childhood, many of the Brethren had visited our small branch in Montana. We had no television, nor could we receive conference on the radio. So we looked forward to each General Authority visit as a special blessing. They had, it seemed to me, a power and faith above other men.
Then on that April day many years ago, I discovered one source of a General Authority’s strength.
I was attending conference with the six children of Elder Ezra Taft Benson, one of whom was my college roommate. My interest increased when President David O. McKay announced that the next speaker would be Elder Benson. I watched respectfully as Elder Benson, whom I had not yet met, walked toward the microphone. He was a big man, well over 1.8 meters tall. He was a man internationally known as the United States Secretary of Agriculture and a special witness of the Lord, a man who seemed calm and sure, one who had addressed audiences throughout the world. Suddenly a hand touched my arm. One of Elder Benson’s young daughters leaned toward me and whispered urgently, “Pray for dad.”
Somewhat startled, I thought, “This message is being passed down the row and I am to pass it on. Shall I say, ‘Pray for Elder Benson’? Shall I say, ‘You’re supposed to say a prayer for your father’? Sensing the immediate need to act, I leaned over and whispered simply, “Pray for dad.”
I watched that whisper move along the row to where Sister Benson sat, her head already bowed in prayer.

I’ve told the story about the little baby, nine months old, who was born blind. The father came up to me one Sunday and said, “Brother Cowley, our baby hasn’t been blessed yet. We’d like you to bless him.”

I said, “Why have you waited so long?”

“Oh, we just didn’t get around to it.”

That’s the native way; I like that. They just don’t get around to doing things. Why not live and enjoy it?

I said, “All right. What’s the name?”

He told me the name, and I was just going to start when he said, “By the way, give him his vision when you give him a name. He was born blind.”

It shocked me, but then I said to myself, “Why not?” Christ said to His disciples when He left them, “Greater works than these shall [ye] do” (John 14:12). I had faith in that father’s faith.

After I gave that child his name, I finally got around to giving him his vision.

That boy is about twelve years old now. The last time I was back there, I was afraid to inquire about him. I was sure he had gone blind again. That’s the way my faith works sometimes. I asked the branch president about him.

He said, “Brother Cowley, the worst thing you ever did was to bless that child to receive his vision. He’s the meanest kid in this neighborhood, always getting into mischief.”

Boy, I was thrilled about that kid getting into mischief!

Haig looked across the hot street. He reached back and closed the door behind him as he dashed barefoot over the blistering cobblestones to the shade of his father’s shop. Father was inside making the candies for which he was known all over Cairo.
“Ah, Haig, you have braved the hot stones to come to see your father,” Krikor said, handing his son a broken piece of candy.
“Thank you,” Haig said, and went into the back of the tiny shop to get the tray his father would need to take the finished candies to sell at the marketplace.
Krikor glanced fondly at his son who had brought the tray, and said, “So, in two days you will begin school. And to think, you will ride on a bus, and it stops only a mile from the school. When I was a boy in my home country I walked to the next village each day to have my lessons from the village priest.”
“But, Father, how am I to walk to the bus with no sandals? The ground is so hot that it is cracked and broken.”
Father looked up from his work, his hands pausing for a moment. “Well, now, I don’t know, Haig. Sandals cost twenty piasters, much more than we can spare right now.” Then more hopefully Krikor added, “But perhaps I shall get such a good price for my candy today that there will be enough extra to buy your sandals.”
Haig looked around the crowded shop at the boiling candy and at the bottles that held flavorings to mix with water for sweet drinks. His father had often explained with pride that in Armenian the family name meant “candymaker.” I wish, Haig thought now, that our family had been sandal makers instead.
That afternoon as Haig’s mother prepared supper, he heard children singing outside. He knew there were few Christians living in Egypt, but from the children’s song Haig could tell they were, like his family, Christians. “Listen, Mother,” he called, “the orphans.”
His mother opened the door and smiled at the ragged children. When they finished their song she handed their leader a small coin. As they passed on to the next house, Haig noticed their feet.
“Look, Mother, even the orphans have sandals.”
“Yes, I see, Haig. They are fortunate for that. But sandals for you are another matter. Your father has saved five piasters to buy some for you, yet it is not enough.” She looked into his eyes and smiled. “When we have done all we can and still need help, what must we do?”
“I know, Mother, and I have prayed.”
“Why then, we pray again. Tonight when you go to bed, ask our Father in heaven to help you get sandals so you can wear them to school.”
After Haig said his prayers that night, he overheard his parents talking in low tones.
“Today I hoped to sell my candy at a good price so I could buy Haig a pair of sandals, but business was no better, worse even, it seemed,” his father said with a sigh. “I had to lower my price in order to sell the candy at all. I may have to take two of the piasters I had saved to buy sugar for tomorrow’s candy. Maybe next week I’ll be able to buy the sandals.”
Next week! Haig agonized. Why, I’ll never, never be able to go to school. I shall never learn to read and write.
Haig dreamed of a room full of sandals that night—all shapes and sizes. As more and more sandals tumbled into his room, he called out, “But I only need one pair!” And suddenly he was awake and it was morning. Hopefully he looked across the room. No sandals. Quickly he climbed off of his bed and searched the room. Still no sandals.
He dressed and went into the other room, sad-faced. There he found his mother talking with a woman. Haig did not remember ever seeing her before, but he heard her say, “Yesterday evening I said to my husband, ‘I feel impressed that I must go to visit Arminé and Krikor; I have not seen them for a long time.’ So I caught the night train from Alexandria and here I am only four hours later.”
His mother saw Haig standing in the doorway. “Son,” she said. “Come meet a special friend of our family. This lady and her husband stayed in our home when you were born. They were refugees from Armenia during the terrible war. It was she who gave you your name.”
The lady smiled at him. “You are indeed a fine boy.”
She turned to Haig’s mother. “My husband and I have wanted to give Haig a gift for a long time. I would have brought one with me but I wasn’t sure what he might like. If you can suggest something, I’ll buy it for him today.”
His mother looked at her son and smiled. “I think Haig would like a pair of sandals very much,” she suggested.
“That is good,” the lady said. “Today we will buy a pair of sandals.”
Haig was excited. “May we go now?” he asked.
“Oh, no,” his mother answered, laughingly. “First, breakfast. Then the shoes. And tomorrow—school!”

President Bruce C. Hafen was the President of Ricks College from 1978 to 1985. To me, President Hafen was something of a Renaissance man. He was a law professor with a national reputation in the field of children’s rights, enjoyed the fine arts, and even participated as a pianist in a faculty quartet. He was also renowned for his polished and insightful speeches to the faculty and student body. One of the things that President Hafen did on occasion was to invite small groups of his Ricks College colleagues to his home for dinner. On one such occasion, my wife, Dottie, and I were invited to attend. During the course of our conversation, I asked President Hafen what he hoped to accomplish while President at Ricks College. (I have to pause here and point out the Forrest Gump-like quality of my personal experiences with these presidents. I didn’t make much of a contribution to the growth and development of Ricks, but I liked to be around those who did.) As I recall his response, he said that he had come to believe that Ricks College was, unfortunately, one of the best kept secrets in the Church and that the public perception of Ricks needed to come up to the actual reality. Also, using a golfing analogy, he indicated that despite the fact that Ricks was a very fine college, there were still areas where it needed to “get out of the rough and onto the green.” I felt that by the conclusion of his term as President, he had gotten the word out to the Church that Ricks College was a first-rate school and that many programs had been markedly improved.

Accept help from others. The next important point is to be willing to ask for help from those around you. Sometimes help comes from unexpected sources. A few years ago I stood in line in Chicago waiting to put my baggage on a plane. Behind me was an older man. After a few minutes he said to me, “Where are you going?” I said that I was heading for Salt Lake City. He said, “I’m going there too. Are you a Mormon?” I responded by saying I was. He said that he had been a Latter-day Saint all his life and had prepared himself finally to go to the temple. While waiting for the plane, he opened his suitcase to show me all the missionary pictures that he had collected through the years. After some minutes, we were on our way and had a wonderful talk as we flew toward Utah. Upon arrival, we left the plane quickly. I made sure he knew where he was going and said good-bye.

Some weeks later I received this card in the mail: “Dear Brother Christensen, I lost your address and then found it. So I’m writing you a card. When I met you in Chicago, it was a prayer answered. I never travel anywhere. I wanted to be with someone. I have thought of you many times. I really enjoyed myself in Salt Lake City at the temple. Hope to see you someday. Thanks many times for the help you were to me.” I wasn’t planning to be useful that day, but I’m grateful for this brother who sought for extra help and I was nearby to assist.

It is the story of Isaac and Rebecca. This is not the biblical account, however. It is about our daughter Rebecca and her suitor Isaac. Our Rebecca was not persuaded to marry her Isaac nearly as easily as was the Old Testament Rebekah. Nor was she readily willing to give up her lifestyle and immediately leave her family to be part of another’s life.

Our Becky was 21. She had signed up to do a summer internship through Brigham Young University in Mozambique, Africa. She wasn’t sure if she should serve a mission, but she had at least started the paperwork by getting dental and doctor appointments. She was also thinking about applying for a master’s program in her field. In short, she was trying to decide what to do with the next phase of her life. We all wondered which would win out of the three Ms—Mozambique, mission, or master’s.

Meanwhile, Isaac came along in pursuit and soon offered a choice of a fourth M—marriage. He was headed for medical school in a few months, and he did not want to go without Becky. He later told us that he had his own three Ms that he hoped she would choose—marriage, medical school, and eventually motherhood. “If she did not,” he said, “I knew I would be the fourth M—miserable.”

Becky was a woman of the 21st century. The world and its many glamorous opportunities were available to her, and it was hard for her to set aside some of her dreams. What finally won her over were Isaac’s intrinsic goodness and his kindness to her. He did the romantic things too, like sending beautiful bouquets of flowers, taking her on nice dates, and so on.

But those things would not have won her over on their own. What was most winning to her was how he continually put her feelings and her needs above his own. He did little thoughtful things, the kind that one friend would do for another. For example, when he learned that her watch was too big for her wrist, he removed a couple of links from it and made it perfect for her. Another time she found her car spotless and sparkling inside and out because he had washed it, a deed unsolicited by her. Another time she found a little list he had made of ways to improve himself; many of his goals were service oriented. These kindnesses promised an enduring friendship; they expressed qualities of character that would last even when physical beauties eventually faded.

Becky realized that he had the qualities that would endure through good and bad times, the very qualities she would seek out in a good friend. So she did marry Isaac. And now she reflects that she was right about his great strengths being a wonderful asset to their relationship. She feels she is married to her best friend. And this is what marriage should be.

Shortly before the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, a group of us stood in an unfinished room. Building materials and tools were scattered over the floor and craftsmen were busily engaged in placing finishing touches on the walls and ceiling. Though the room was untidy and a beehive of activity, we were subdued by the emerging beauty of the temple.
I asked Brother Henry Haurand, the construction supervisor, “Do the workers appreciate the significance of this project?”
“No,” he answered, “they are not members of the Church and they don’t understand the sacred nature of temples. To them,” he added, “this is just another job.”
My wife inquired of Henry, “Do you always feel the Spirit of the Lord when you come here?”
“No, I do not,” he responded. “When I enter the temple during the working day, I do so as a building supervisor and I look with a critical eye for flaws in the construction. In this inspective mood, I feel nothing special about the place. But,” Brother Haurand continued, “when I come here in the quiet of the evening and the place is free of noise and confusion, and I am able to reflect upon the holy purposes of the temple, I am overwhelmed by the Spirit of the Lord.”
I have pondered Brother Henry’s words many, many times. I’ve concluded that he taught us two profound truths: (1) sacred things are seen and appreciated only through “the eyes of faith,” and (2) things of the Spirit can only be discerned by “purer eyes” (Alma 5:15; D&C 131:7).

The first story is about someone I will call Ethan. He had recently started his job in a career he had longed for, and he wanted to make a good impression. He came early to work and stayed late. He picked up extra projects and did excellent work. He was well liked by many of his colleagues and was enjoying his job. One day at lunch with a couple of coworkers he felt comfortable telling them that he was gay. An awkward silence developed because no one knew how to respond and the work environment was quite conservative. Ethan was disappointed by their cold response and felt hurt and rejected. He began to feel vulnerable at work and less valued.

After that lunch meeting, things became increasingly awkward for Ethan at work. He found himself excluded from large projects and social activities after work, and his productivity began to suffer, as he felt he did not belong and was not wanted. After a few months he was let go because his boss felt he was not keeping up. Despite all the claims to the contrary, Ethan knew he had been fired for being gay.

My testimony that this is the true Church began in my childhood. One of my earliest memories is of a conference meeting. A man was speaking whom I did not know. I knew only that he was someone sent to our little district in the mission field by someone who held the priesthood. I do not know what he said. But I received a powerful, certain witness before I was eight, even before I was baptized, that I was hearing a servant of God in the true Church of Jesus Christ.
In my teen years, I felt the power of priesthood quorums and of a loving bishop. I still remember and can feel the assurances that came when I sat in a priests quorum next to a bishop and knew that he had the keys of a true judge in Israel.
That same witness came early in my life on two Sundays. In each case I was present on the day that a stake was organized. Seemingly ordinary men whom I knew well were called as stake presidents. I raised my hand on those days and had a witness come to me that God had called His servants and that I would be blessed by their service and for sustaining them. I have felt that same miracle countless times across the Church.
I saw that those stake presidents were lifted up to their callings. I have seen the same miracle in the service of President Monson as he received the call to preside as the prophet and President of the Church and to exercise all the keys of the priesthood in the earth. Revelation and inspiration have come to him in my presence, which confirms to me that God is honoring those keys. I am an eyewitness.
I bear you my solemn witness that this is the true and living Church of Jesus Christ. Heavenly Father will answer your fervent prayers to know that for yourself.

When I was young, a neighbor gave me a newborn calf.
Raising a calf was hard work. I took care of it and fed it.
The day Dad sold the calf was a day of mixed feelings. I was going to miss the calf, but I looked forward to being rewarded for my hard work.
When Dad came home, he dropped 20 silver dollars into my hands. I felt like I had all the money in the world.
I counted, polished, and admired each coin.
On Sunday I put two of the silver dollars into my pocket before I went to church so I could pay my tithing.
It was hard for me to give my tithing to the bishop, but it felt good to be obedient to the Lord.
My mother told me she was proud of me. She told me I would be blessed for paying tithing and that it was the best investment I could ever make.

Another young woman in England is developing her gift for being a peacemaker. She says:
“I love making and listening to music, and it is one of the best ways I know to calm down. If I am in a rotten mood, I quite often go to the piano and take out my anger on it. This isn’t very good for the piano, but soon I feel fine again, and usually I will end up playing a hymn. This puts me in a better humour, and everyone else responds to the music as well, so we get harmony in the home for a while at least.”