Gospel Story Finder

When I was younger, I made a lot of mistakes.
In Uruguay, I wasn’t surrounded by many spiritual people or places, so I stepped off the covenant path and looked for happiness elsewhere. But one day, I thought about the choices I was making. I realized the happiness I was experiencing was fleeting—I had always experienced greater joy when I was striving to follow Jesus Christ.
I wanted to change.
I told Heavenly Father that I was sorry for my sins. But I soon became discouraged when the changes I was trying to make didn’t come as fast as I wanted them to. Then I remembered President Russell M. Nelson’s invitation to “discover the joy of daily repentance.”
I had never focused on daily repentance before, but I decided to try to learn more about it.
When I first started repenting daily, I wasn’t sure what the point of it was. I would repent of my sins, but often, the next day I would make the same mistake again. I wondered, “Why should I repent if I can’t change my bad habits immediately?”
I went to Heavenly Father and told Him my concerns and asked why He wants us to repent every day. I felt the Spirit communicate to my mind that each time I repent, the Savior gives me a chance to start over. President Nelson also said: “Repenting is the key to progress. Pure faith keeps us moving forward on the covenant path.”
Repenting is not about getting things perfect; it’s about continuous reliance on Christ to change our natures over time! I realized that even if I make the same mistakes, when I sincerely repent of my sins and try to change, He will help me progress little by little.
Sister Kristin M. Yee, First Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, said: “If you are struggling with a situation you think you should have overcome by now, don’t give up. Be patient with yourself, keep your covenants, repent often, seek the help of your leaders if needed, and go to the house of the Lord as regularly as you can. Listen for and heed the promptings He sends you. He will not abandon His covenant relationship with you.”
Another thing that has helped me focus on daily repentance is attending the temple. I love the power that we receive when we make covenants with the Lord, and I have felt that power in my life as I choose to have faith in what Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ can help me do.
By focusing on Them each day and having patience with myself, I have felt my relationship with Them grow stronger. Kneeling and talking to Heavenly Father every night about what I am trying to change and acknowledging His hand in my life has also helped me feel the joy of the gift of the Savior’s Atonement.
There is a certain joy that comes from being made clean by our Savior through recommitting to our covenants and His commandments. Through our efforts to change and our reliance on Him, we can seek His help to break seemingly unbreakable habits, ask for forgiveness, and forgive ourselves.
Sister Yee also reminds us: “Each day is a new day filled with hope and possibilities because of Jesus Christ. Each day you and I can come to know, as Mother Eve proclaimed, ‘the joy of our redemption’ [Moses 5:11], the joy of being made whole, the joy of feeling God’s unfailing love for you.”
I have felt Heavenly Father’s love more than ever with my deepened testimony of daily repentance. Nothing makes me want to keep progressing more than realizing the Savior always extends His hand to me each time I turn to Him for forgiveness and help. I am far from perfect, but I feel my heart change when I start each new day with a desire to learn and do better.
Knowing that we all sin, I am grateful for the Savior’s grace and for the joy that His mercy brings into my life each day.

One of David’s favorite priesthood responsibilities is home teaching families in his ward. Home teaching taught him that service in all forms is appreciated. For example, when he was first ordained, he and his dad were assigned to visit an elderly couple. “They just enjoyed the company,” he says, “and I enjoyed doing little things to help them out. It’s nice to get out and do something for someone else.”

“How many pies are we baking?” Jared asked. He pulled a chair up to the counter to help his mother make the pies.
“A lot—one for Grandpa, one for your baby-sitter, one for Mr. Gomez next door, and pies for lots of other people. It’s my way of thanking them for all they do to help us.”
“And we’re going to deliver them tomorrow, on Thanksgiving?”
“First thing in the morning.”
Jared helped his mother roll out crusts, mix and pour fillings, and pinch the crust edges. Soon the kitchen smelled like pumpkin pies.
“There’s someone else I want to make a thank-you pie for,” Jared said.
“Who?”
“It’s a surprise. Can we make an extra pie?”
“Sure.”
Jared rolled out the crust for another pie while his mother mixed the filling.
In the morning, Jared and his mother carried the pies to the car. She drove very carefully to each house.
“Thank you for everything you do,” Mother said to each person as they delivered the pies.
Finally, there was only one pie left.
“Where do we take your pie, Jared?” Mother asked.
“To the fire station.”
Mother looked surprised, but she turned onto the street that led to the fire station.
“I want to thank the firefighters for being there to help us,” he explained. “They work even on holidays, when most people get to be home with their families.”
“That’s a great idea, Jared.”
He carried the pie into the fire station. The firefighters looked up from polishing their trucks.
“What’s this?” the nearest firefighter asked.
“It’s for you.” Jared handed the pie to the firefighter. “I want to thank all of you for being here on a holiday, ready to help everybody.”
“No one’s ever done this for us before,” the firefighter said. “Thank you. We’ll really enjoy it.”
“I think they liked the pie,” Jared told his mother as they returned to their car.
“Yes, but I think that they liked your idea of thanking them best of all.” Mother hugged him. “And so did I.”
“Let’s go home and bake another pie for us,” Jared suggested.
“I think that’s another great idea!”

“It looks like Sarah will need to have an MRI of her back,” said Dr. Frank. He smiled at Sarah. “I’m going to schedule one for tomorrow. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sarah’s back had been hurting for a while. When she woke up that morning, it hurt so much that it was hard for her to stand up straight, and she could barely walk. Sarah and her mom had come to see Dr. Frank to find out what was wrong.
“Another MRI?” asked Sarah, looking up at Mom. She’d had an MRI once before. She remembered how scared she had felt in the big tube that took pictures of the inside of her body.
“I’m sorry, Sarah,” said Mom. “But the pictures will help Dr. Frank learn what’s wrong with your back. I know you can do it. And I’ll be right there with you.” Mom squeezed Sarah’s hand.
“But you can’t come inside with me,” said Sarah. Her head dropped, and a tear slipped down her cheek. Mom could be with her in the room, but once Sarah went into the machine’s tunnel, she would be alone.
Mom put her arm around Sarah. “That’s true, but do you know who can be there to comfort you?”
Sarah remembered a name she had heard for the Holy Ghost: the Comforter. Maybe the Holy Ghost could help her not feel so afraid.
“The Holy Ghost?” Sarah asked.
Mom nodded. “That’s right. You can pray for the Holy Ghost to help you. Dad and I will pray for you too.”
That gave Sarah a great idea. “Can I ask Dad for a blessing?”
Mom smiled. “Of course. I know he’d love to do that.”
That night Dad placed his hands on Sarah’s head and gave her a priesthood blessing. As he blessed her that she would be comforted by the Holy Ghost, a soft warmth filled her body. The feeling stayed with her all night.
The next day Sarah lay on the bench that would slide into the big tube in the MRI machine. She repeated in her head the words Dad had used during her blessing: The Holy Ghost will be there to comfort you. Sarah squeezed Mom’s hand tight. Then the nurse slid her into the tube.
The MRI machine made funny noises while it took pictures of her back. Sarah had to lie very still so the pictures wouldn’t be blurry. She panicked for a minute, but then she felt that warm feeling again. It felt like one of Mom’s hugs. Or a snuggly blanket. She knew that everything would be OK. Before she knew it, the MRI was over!
In Dr. Frank’s office, he showed Sarah and Mom the pictures of Sarah’s back. “You did a great job lying still,” Dr. Frank told Sarah as he knelt down beside her. “These pictures of your back show that you will need surgery to help you walk better.”
Sarah gulped.
“We’d like to do the surgery soon,” Dr. Frank said, looking up at Sarah’s mom. Then he turned back to Sarah. “It might take a few weeks afterward for you to feel like your old self again, but after seeing you today, I know you’ll do great.”
Sarah tried to think about all the things she’d do after Dr. Frank fixed her back. I’ll be able to run and swim—and jump in a big pile of leaves. She missed doing all those things. But surgery was even scarier than an MRI! Then Sarah remembered her prayers and her special blessing. Heavenly Father had sent her the Comforter. He would help her again.
She looked at Dr. Frank. “Then can I jump in a big pile of leaves?” she asked.
He grinned. “Then you can jump in a big pile of leaves.”

It wasn’t until after my first business venture broke down and my second one burned to the ground that I wondered if I would be able to take my fiancée, Beny, to the temple. We had heard that getting there would be a trial of faith, but when we made temple marriage our goal, we had no idea how thoroughly our faith would be tested.

Beny and I met in our native Panama after serving missions. Because of the laws in Panama, couples who wanted to start their married lives in the temple were married civilly just before traveling to the nearest temple, the Guatemala City Guatemala Temple. It would be an expensive and difficult trip, but being sealed was a blessing we did not want to live without.

The day after I proposed, I lost my job. Undaunted, I decided to earn money by giving bus tours. My bus broke down the first night. Concerned but determined, I next decided to sell T-shirts. The morning I went to pick up the shirts from the manufacturer, I found that the building had burned to the ground the night before. It seemed that my hopes had gone up in smoke too.

It was only a few months before the next scheduled temple trip, yet to this point, every effort I had made to raise money had ended in abrupt failure. I left the smoldering rubble and went to find Beny.

“I have nothing,” I told her. “Maybe you shouldn’t marry me.”

“If I were marrying for money, I’d be married already,” she said. “But I’m not marrying for money. I’m marrying you because I love you.”

That was a turning point. We felt that we had passed an important test. As we pushed ahead with faith, doors began opening. I found work making furniture, though the pay wasn’t enough to meet our needs. Then a kind bishop offered to help us with our bus fare. As exciting as his offer was, it didn’t feel right. We were intent on being self-sufficient. But seeing that he truly desired to help, we asked him if he could give Beny a job instead. He did.

After earning enough money to travel to the temple, we married civilly and were at last on our way to Guatemala with 10 other Church members. But our test wasn’t over yet.

Widespread transportation strikes stopped us at the border of Costa Rica. After waiting at the border for two days, our driver decided to turn back. But Beny and I, along with two brothers and one other couple, decided not to give up. After watching our bus turn around and leave us, we walked into Costa Rica. We kept walking, sleeping in roadside shelters, until we reached the Nicaraguan border. From there we managed to take a taxi to the capital city, where we purchased a bus ticket to the Honduran border. Two days—and two more buses—later we finally arrived at the temple. We were dirty and tired, and we had spent far more than we had planned, but we were happy.

The next day, after all our trials and delays, we were finally sealed eternally as husband and wife. Our joy—worth the working, the waiting, and the worrying—was full!

Not everyone getting married in the temple will face such challenges, but for Beny and me (and the others who went to the temple with us), these experiences were a refining process. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life.

If our goal to marry in the temple had been only for worldly love, we wouldn’t have made it. But because we believed in the sealing power of the priesthood restored in our day, we didn’t give up, knowing that our temple marriage—for time and all eternity—was worth whatever sacrifice we had to make.

Another thing I learned from my father is gratitude. When I was a child, there was a severe drought in our community. Weeks and weeks passed with no water, and our small farming community was suffering. As the bishop, Father told the ward members to fast and pray for water. He also counseled them to settle any bad feelings among each other so that we could have feelings of love and unity in our ward.
I remember gathering for the special fast and testimony meeting we held to plead for water. During the meeting, it began to rain. It rained so heavily that we couldn’t leave the meetinghouse! We had to wait for it to stop before we could go home.
Our prayers were answered. In gratitude, my father invited the ward members back the next week for a second fast and testimony meeting—this one to thank the Lord for sending the water. I learned at a young age to thank Heavenly Father for the blessings He gives us.

Seventh, we must live our religion. We must each consistently live our religion so that other people will recognize what we stand for. Many years ago now, when I served in the armed forces, I think I never had a close non-Mormon companion who didn’t know that I was a member of the Church and who didn’t know I had been a missionary. They treated me with the utmost respect and admired my standards. I don’t believe that I ever gave my companions cause to think less of the Church in all those years that I served with them.
One of those companions joined the Church. I didn’t preach a word to him about the gospel. Somebody else found him and taught him, but I suppose he remembered a young fellow named Bangerter who was a Mormon and remembered the way I had lived. I hope so.

Another hero was my first stake president, John Parker. We moved into his ward when we were newly married and very poor. I remember one morning when we were about to paint our small and very modest home. President Parker and his wife came to the front door very early with paintbrushes in hand to spend the day helping us in this task. He also was totally humble and meek, yet a man of tremendous moral strength.

A teacher from California, who went to Austria to study, made fun of the tales he had heard about the foehn. Years before, he had broken his leg in a skiing accident. When his old wound began to hurt, it was as though the break had just happened, and the pain was agonizing. He soon learned that the weather had changed and that a foehn had descended the mountains into the valley where he was staying. He stopped making fun of the foehn stories.

One day a man came to the offices and said that he was a painter. My father agreed to pay the man to paint our barn. Father called and told the owner of the paint store to give the man some paint and Father would pay for it.
The man painted the barn and left town. Later the paint store owner called and told Father that the man had taken too much paint for one barn. I guess he intended to sell the extra paint to someone else and make more money. Father didn’t become angry or upset. He said, “Well, we have our painted barn, and somewhere that man knows that there is someone who was willing to believe in him.” My father could always sleep at night because his conscience was clear.

The first principle that I will share is to enthusiastically and righteously continue your quest for knowledge. One of my heroes in this category is Paul Cox, an active member of the Church. He received a bachelor of science degree from Brigham Young University in botany and earned other post-graduate degrees. He served a mission in Samoa and later lived with his family in Savai‘i, Samoa, for many years. One of his focuses was ethnomedicine, in which he studied some of the plants that had been used by generations of Samoan mothers to treat health issues. With a coauthor, he wrote Plants, People, and Culture: The Science of Ethnobotany.3

He has made several breakthroughs in treating diseases. While he has done many things in his exceptional career, the one I wish to mention occurred many years ago. Paul and a Samoan chief, Fuiono Senio, conducted ethnobotanical research in the village of Falealupo, Western Samoa.

An account in BYU Magazine reported: “The village had reluctantly licensed its forest to a logging company to raise funds to build a school, because, says Cox, ‘They felt they had to choose between their children and their forest, which was a terrible, terrible decision for them.’ When he learned of the transaction with the logging company, Cox told the chiefs he would personally pay to build the school if they could stop the logging” of the rain forest.4

He did build the school with the help of businessmen who had connections with Samoa.5 Brother Cox has received many honors and awards, including the Goldman Environmental Prize for grassroots environmental heroes. He represents a continuing quest for knowledge to bless mankind. This account exemplifies the love of learning and the synergism of knowledge.

My family had an amazing mystery adventure in a cemetery. We felt like explorers—or detectives! We followed a map, looked for clues, and made it through lots of obstacles.
The mystery started when Grandma found a list of family members who were buried in a family cemetery. She wondered why her own grandpa wasn’t on the list.
Grandma knew he was buried there, but she had never visited the cemetery before because she lived far away.
“I wish we could help Grandma,” I said during dinner. I felt sad that Grandma couldn’t find out about her grandpa.
“I do too,” Dad said. “Maybe we can take a trip to the cemetery and find her grandpa’s headstone.”
I was excited to solve the mystery. My little brothers, Joseph, Hyrum, and Daniel were excited too!
First we had to drive a long way and do some detective work before we even found the cemetery. We stopped to ask a man if he knew where it was. Guess what! It was hidden down a road on his farm!
The cemetery was in the middle of a muddy field. It was surrounded by a cinder-block wall and covered with overgrown plants. We had to cut through vines just to open the gate.
It was like a jungle inside! Big trees filled the cemetery, and thorny vines wrapped around the headstones. We had to clear them off to read the names.
“Who is Marenda Ann Thomas Humphrey?” I asked, pulling plants off a headstone.
Dad ran over. “She’s your great-great-great grandmother!” he said. “Hopefully your great-great grandpa’s headstone is nearby.”
We looked and looked for his headstone but couldn’t find it anywhere. Mom and Dad cut and cleared vines. My brothers and I cleaned off dirt, bugs, and spider webs. It was gross! Some headstones had tipped over because tree roots grew under them. They were heavy, but we worked together to lift them up again.
We worked hard all day. When the sun was going down, Dad said it was time to go.
“I don’t think we’re going to find it today,” he said. He sounded pretty disappointed.
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to find the headstone for Grandma.
“Let’s say a prayer,” I said.
“That’s a great idea. Heavenly Father can help us find it,” said Mom.
We said a prayer and looked one last time. Dad found a long wire and used it to poke the ground. Suddenly the wire hit something solid. Maybe a headstone?
“I think Dad found something!” I said.
We knelt down and cleared away vines and weeds. Under a thin layer of dirt, we found a headstone. The name on it was Rodolph Jackson Humphrey.
“Dad, do you know who this is?” I asked.
When I looked at Dad, he had tears in his eyes. “This is exactly what we were searching for! It’s your great-great grandpa’s headstone,” he said.
“Yay!” we all shouted.
I gave my brothers high fives. “I knew we’d find it! We just needed a little help,” I said.
Mom smiled. “That’s what prayer is for.”
It was tricky and fun searching through the cemetery. We had to overcome walls, mud, thorns, and vines. But it was all worth it to get to know more about my great-great grandpa.
I know that the Holy Ghost helped us and that Heavenly Father answered our prayer. And the best feeling of all was hearing Grandma cheer when we told her all about it.

I remember going to the Longfellow home, which was the beginning for me of learning something of our past. I also remember making the trip to the old North Church, with little Italian kids hanging on the fenders of the Model T and chanting the story of Paul Revere. I remember trudging the little dirt road to Lexington and Concord, and traveling to Plymouth with a family of RLDS people on their way to a conference. It was on the copy of the Mayflower Compact where I read the signature of a distant grandfather of mine. I’ll always be grateful for that time that gave me an interest in the history of this marvelous land, this land “choice above all others.”

During my second college year on December 7, 1941, the United States was attacked at Pearl Harbor. The entire nation was aroused. Patriotism swelled to great heights. Every person was deeply affected. War was declared by Congress.
Many students at Weber State, myself included, elected to join the military service at once. I decided to join the Navy with the object of becoming a naval officer. An entire day was spent in the Naval Recruiting Office filling out forms for consideration. Little did I know that I would soon face one of the most serious character tests of my entire life. It pertained to my resolution to keep the Lord’s commandments, particularly that of being honest.
One of the last questions on the naval physical fitness questionnaire startled me. It simply asked whether I had ever had “hay fever.” I remember staring at this question for a long time. Why would hay fever be of any consequence at sea? How could pollen affect anyone on a ship? Why was I being asked such a question? It was evident that my answer could affect my being accepted or rejected as a candidate for officer consideration.
The simple truth was that I had experienced hay fever all of my life and sneezed very often. It would be so easy to mark no to this question since it would probably never come up again. However, marking no would be dishonest. It was a little thing, and yet a principle was at stake. With reluctance, I marked the space for yes and handed the paper back.
As suspected, the answer to that question became troublesome. The medical officer, upon seeing my answer, looked up and exclaimed, “Don’t you know that naval officers can’t have hay fever? You will have to take a special allergy test.”
When the results of my allergy test came back, the officer studied the form intently. The test showed that I suffered a considerable number of allergies. He then took my application forms, calmly tore them up, and threw them into a waste basket. I was astonished. I stuttered, stammered, and finally asked, “What shall I do now?” The officer calmly replied that the “draft” would take care of me and not to worry. Sick at heart, I went back to school, transferring to the University of Utah for the winter quarter. My sophomore preparation classes were completed while awaiting to be drafted into one of the services. That summer I began my junior year in the school of mechanical engineering. Then an announcement was released from Washington, D.C., indicating that all upper division engineering students were to be deferred from the draft until graduation. My graduation with a Bachelor of Science in mechanical engineering occurred in December of 1943, two years following Pearl Harbor.
The day following my graduation, I again presented myself to the naval procurement office in Salt Lake City and indicated that I had just graduated from the school of mechanical engineering at the University of Utah and showed them my degree. When they learned I was interested in becoming a naval officer, I experienced “red carpet” treatment. The officer in charge told me that there were naval ships in dry dock because of the lack of engineering officers and technically trained personnel. A direct commission as an ensign was offered that day. This would be followed by a two-month indoctrination school.
Before accepting this commission, I told the officer that something had to be made clear. He was surprised. He asked me what was on my mind. I flatly stated, “Sir, I suffer severe hay fever. What do you think of that?” The officer laughed. He said that at one time it was a consideration, but not anymore. He told me to forget it, and to please sign my acceptance of a commission as an ensign. This I did.
The ship to which I was later assigned with four other officers and 50 enlisted men was the USS LSM 558. It was our understanding that this ship was destined for the invasion of Japan. We prepared ourselves for departure, but orders never came. Instead, we were given orders to patrol on the Atlantic Coast from Boston to Florida. We later learned why. Two atomic bombs were dropped on cities in Japan. The war was soon over. I left the Navy in 1946 to pursue my career, first in engineering and then in architecture.

“Got a dollar?” the scruffy young man asked. I had several dollars, but I silently dropped a quarter into his hand and got on the bus. I rested my head against the window and wondered how much money he made in one day. Probably more than I do as an assistant manager at a restaurant, I thought. And he doesn’t have to work for it.
My family had moved to Flagstaff, Arizona, just three months before, but I’d already seen my share of people come into the restaurant to beg for the food we threw away. Sometimes they ordered food and paid for it in change. More often they would just dig through the garbage bins out back.
At first it made me sad, but now it just irritated me. It seemed as if I couldn’t go anywhere without being asked for money or food.
It was dark by the time the bus got to my stop, but I could still identify the familiar form approaching me. They all seemed to look the same—same whiskers, same shuffling walk and oversized shoes. And they always said the same thing. This time I decided to beat him to it.
“Got a dollar?” I asked, searching his face for a reaction. I had hoped he’d be embarrassed, but his expression didn’t change. He reached unsteadily into his pocket, put a dollar into my hand, and stumbled away.
I froze, then panicked. It wasn’t a joke anymore. I caught up with him and pressed the dollar back into his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I said. He hesitated for just a moment and looked me deep in the eyes. Then, his hands shaking, he took the bill.
“God bless you,” I whispered as he walked away.
“Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance …
“But … whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent. …
“For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have?” (Mosiah 4:17–20).
I suddenly realized that I had judged that man, and many others, unfairly. I hadn’t known his situation, his needs, or what was in his heart; and yet I had mocked him. And then it dawned on me. I was dependent on Heavenly Father for everything I had, and he expected me to share what I could.
I wouldn’t let him down again.

In the same talk from which I quoted a statement from President Woodruff, he also said: “After I came to these valleys and returned to Winter Quarters, I was sent to Boston by President Brigham Young. … While on the road there, I drove my carriage one evening into the yard of Brother Williams. Brother Orson Hyde drove a wagon by the side of mine. I had my wife and children in the carriage. After I turned out my team and had my supper I went to bed in the carriage. I had not been there but a few minutes when the Spirit said to me, ‘Get up and move that carriage.’ I told my wife I had to get up and move the carriage. She said, ‘What for?’ I said, ‘I don’t know.’ That is all she asked me on such occasions; when I told her I did not know, that was enough. I got up and moved my carriage four or five rods, and put the off fore wheel against the corner of the house. I then looked around me and went to bed. The same Spirit said, ‘Go and move your animals from that oak tree.’ They were two hundred yards from where my carriage was. I went and moved my horses, and put them in a little hickory grove. I again went to bed.
“In thirty minutes a whirlwind came up and broke that oak tree off within two feet from the ground. It swept over three or four fences and fell square in that dooryard, near Brother Orson Hyde’s wagon, and right where mine had stood. What would have been the consequences if I had not listened to that Spirit? Why, myself and wife and children doubtless would have been killed. That was the still, small voice to me—no earthquake, no thunder, no lightning—but the still, small voice of the Spirit of God. It saved my life. It was the spirit of revelation to me.” (Millennial Star, 53:642–3.)

The ongoing family remembrance of our little Patrick began at the time I dedicated his grave on a lovely August afternoon in 1972.
Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.
We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.
In the prayer of dedication at the gravesite, I asked fervently that our family might live to be worthy to join Patrick someday in that perfect place where he now is. Six years later, we still pray often for that same blessing and find that it is a significant family encouragement and challenge to work toward that goal.
We not only pray that we might someday meet and again associate with this special son and brother, but we also feel it is appropriate to pray for his current success and welfare. Nevertheless, we know that all is well with him because of the promise of the Lord that little children who die in infancy are perfect and worthy of his kingdom.
Inasmuch as we are now fortunate to live close to the cemetery where Patrick is buried, we go there from time to time to have family prayer. Sometimes one of our children will say, “Can we please stop at Patrick’s grave to have prayer?” Whenever we do, it provides us with a special teaching moment to talk with the children about things important, sacred, and eternal.
Since Patrick is, we feel, as much a part of our family as any living earthly child, we believe there is value to be gained from remembering his birthday and even in sharing a birthday cake baked in his honor. To have the children thus see our total faith as parents that Patrick is real, that his little body will be resurrected, and that we may be joined again eternally as a family is an advantage that we as parents would not want to lose.
Because four of our children have been born since Patrick died, we are grateful for the white leather book of remembrance we compiled to remember him by. In it we have his certificates, photos from the hospital and of the funeral and burial, related correspondence, and other small treasures. As we show the children this book of remembrance, Patrick remains real to those who knew him and becomes real to the children who did not meet him here.
My wife, Sandy, and I are most thankful for the fact that the Lord allowed the birth and death of this little boy to be one of the most beautiful and spiritual family experiences we have been privileged to have since our marriage. The Lord made Patrick’s presence and even his death sweet to us, and we cherish not only the memory of Patrick himself, but also the memory of those few special and sacred days we spent together. At that time we studied as thoroughly as possible the doctrines and writings of the Church regarding little children who die. As parents and as a family we cannot express how grateful we are for those promises and the future they hold. I want to say that we do not as a family constantly think and talk about Patrick, but we make a conscious effort not to forget him, nor to forget the special family challenge and promise he has given us.

In our early married years we moved to LA to enroll at USC for full-time doctoral studies. I also had a demanding full-time job and was recovering from being hospitalized several times, including for some tough surgery. We were still in our twenties and far from family while we struggled through a fifth very difficult pregnancy, and then the death of a child. While still wondering how we could possibly carry on I was called to serve as bishop.
This calling could not have come at a more difficult time. Of course, we accepted. My doctoral chairman, the dean who was the national president of my profession, was very upset. He said I would never finish my studies and he wrote me off. We grew much in those years and Karen and I witnessed many miracles with our service and studies. I earned the education and credentials on schedule, plus got praise and support from my former critic.

Another example: After I served as president of Brigham Young University for nine years, I was released. A few months later the governor of the state of Utah appointed me to a 10-year term on the supreme court of this state. I was then 48 years old. My wife June and I tried to plan the rest of our lives. We wanted to serve the full-time mission neither of us had been privileged to serve. We planned that I would serve 20 years on the state supreme court. Then, at the end of two 10-year terms, when I would be nearly 69 years old, I would retire from the supreme court, and we would submit our missionary papers and serve a mission as a couple.
Four years after we made that plan I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—something we never dreamed would happen. Realizing then that the Lord had different plans and different timing than we had assumed, I resigned as a justice of the supreme court. But this was not the end of the important differences. When I was 66, my wife June died of cancer. Two years later I married Kristen McMain, the eternal companion who now stands at my side.
How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord—to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do—has carried me through these changes of eternal importance.

I remember standing before the bier of a young man whose life had been bright with hope and promise. He had been an athlete in his high school, and an excellent university student. He was a friendly, brilliant young man. He had gone into the mission field. He and his missionary companion were riding down the highway when a car, coming from the opposite direction, moved into their path and crashed into them. He died in the hospital an hour later. As I stood at the pulpit and looked into the faces of his father and his mother, there came then into my heart a conviction that I had seldom before felt with such assurance. I knew with certainty, as I looked across his casket, that this young man had not died, but had merely been transferred to another field of labor in the eternal ministry of the Lord.