Gospel Story Finder

I close with a parable.
Once a man received as his inheritance two keys. The first key, he was told, would open a vault which he must protect at all cost. The second key was to a safe within the vault which contained a priceless treasure. He was to open this safe and freely use the precious things which were stored therein. He was warned that many would seek to rob him of his inheritance. He was promised that if he used the treasure worthily, it would be replenished and never be diminished, not in all eternity. He would be tested. If he used it to benefit others, his own blessings and joy would increase.
The man went alone to the vault. His first key opened the door. He tried to unlock the treasure with the other key, but he could not, for there were two locks on the safe. His key alone would not open it. No matter how he tried, he could not open it. He was puzzled. He had been given the keys. He knew the treasure was rightfully his. He had obeyed instructions, but he could not open the safe.
In due time, there came a woman into the vault. She, too, held a key. It was noticeably different from the key he held. Her key fit the other lock. It humbled him to learn that he could not obtain his rightful inheritance without her.
They made a covenant that together they would open the treasure and, as instructed, he would watch over the vault and protect it; she would watch over the treasure. She was not concerned that, as guardian of the vault, he held two keys, for his full purpose was to see that she was safe as she watched over that which was most precious to them both. Together they opened the safe and partook of their inheritance. They rejoiced, for, as promised, it replenished itself.
With great joy they found that they could pass the treasure on to their children; each could receive a full measure, undiminished to the last generation.
Perhaps some few of their posterity would not find a companion who possessed the complementary key, or one worthy and willing to keep the covenants relating to the treasure. Nevertheless, if they kept the commandments, they would not be denied even the smallest blessing.
Because some tempted them to misuse their treasure, they were careful to teach their children about keys and covenants.
There came, in due time, among their posterity some few who were deceived or jealous or selfish because one was given two keys and another only one. “Why,” the selfish ones reasoned, “cannot the treasure be mine alone to use as I desire?”
Some tried to reshape the key they had been given to resemble the other key. Perhaps, they thought, it would then fit both locks. And so it was that the safe was closed to them. Their reshaped keys were useless, and their inheritance was lost.
Those who received the treasure with gratitude and obeyed the laws concerning it knew joy without bounds through time and all eternity.

Elder Glenn L. Pace of the Seventy told how his youngest daughter helped their family do things the Lord’s way. He said: “She was the one who reminded us to have family prayer. She was the one who tried to get us excited about family home evening. She devised treasure hunts; she fixed treats; she would do anything to try to get the family excited about having family home evening” (“Friend to Friend,” Friend, Feb. l997, 7).

I felt that joy when I heard about the efforts of a brave group of firefighters who fought to save a burning stake center in Southern California in 2015. As the fire raged, a battalion commander called an LDS friend to ask where the sacred relics and sacrament cups were kept so they could be saved. His friend assured him that there were no sacred relics and that the sacrament cups were actually very, very replaceable. But the commander felt he should do more, so he sent firefighters back into the burning building to pull every painting of Christ off of the walls that they might be preserved. They even placed one in the firetruck in the hope that the firefighters might be watched over. I was truly touched by the commander’s kindness, goodness, and sensitivity to the Light during a dangerous and difficult time.

Brethren, our Lord and Savior said, “Come, follow me.” When we accept His invitation and walk in His footsteps, He will direct our paths.
In April of 2000, I felt such direction. I had received a phone call from Rosa Salas Gifford, whom I did not know. She explained that her parents had been visiting from Costa Rica for a few months and that just a week prior to her call, her father, Bernardo Agusto Salas, had been diagnosed with liver cancer. She indicated that the doctors had informed the family that her father would live just a few more days. Her father’s great desire, she explained, was to meet me before he died. She left her address and asked if I could come to her home in Salt Lake City to visit with her father.
Because of meetings and obligations, it was rather late when I left my office. Instead of going straight home, however, I felt impressed that I should drive further south and visit Brother Salas that very evening. With the address in hand, I attempted to locate the residence. In rather heavy traffic and with dimming light, I drove past the location where the road to the house should have been. I could see nothing. However, I don’t give up easily. I drove around the block and came back. Still nothing. One more time I tried and still no sign of the road. I began to feel that I would be justified in turning toward home. I had made a gallant effort but had been unsuccessful in finding the address. Instead, I offered a silent prayer for help. The inspiration came that I should approach the area from the opposite direction. I drove a distance and turned the car around so that I was now on the other side of the road. Going in this direction, the traffic was much lighter. As I neared the location once again, I could see, through the faint light, a street sign that had been knocked down—it was lying on its side at the edge of the road—and a nearly invisible, weed-covered track leading to a small apartment building and a single, tiny residence some distance from the main road. As I drove toward the buildings, a small girl in a white dress waved to me, and I knew that I had found the family.
I was ushered into the home and then to the room where Brother Salas lay. Surrounding the bed were three daughters and a son-in-law, as well as Sister Salas. All but the son-in-law were from Costa Rica. Brother Salas’s appearance reflected the gravity of his condition. A damp rag with frayed edges—not a towel or a washcloth but a damp rag with frayed edges—rested upon his forehead, emphasizing the humble economic circumstances of the family.
With some prompting, Brother Salas opened his eyes, and a wan smile graced his lips as I took him by the hand. I spoke the words, “I have come to meet you.” Tears welled up in his eyes and in mine.
I asked if a blessing would be desired, and the unanimous answer from the family members was affirmative. Since the son-in-law did not hold the priesthood, I proceeded by myself to provide a priesthood blessing. The words seemed to flow freely under the direction of the Spirit of the Lord. I included the Savior’s words found in the Doctrine and Covenants, section 84, verse 88: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up.” Following the blessing, I offered a few words of comfort to the grieving family members. I spoke carefully so they could understand my English. And then, with my limited Spanish language ability, I let them know that I loved them and that our Heavenly Father would bless them.
I asked for the family Bible and directed their attention to 3 John, verse 4: “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.” I said to them, “This is what your husband and father would have you remember as he prepares to depart this earthly existence.”
With tears streaming down her face, Brother Salas’s sweet wife then asked if I would write down the references for the two scriptures I had shared with them so that the family might read them again. Not having anything handy on which I could write, Sister Salas reached into her purse and drew from it a slip of paper. As I took it from her, I noticed it was a tithing receipt. My heart was touched as I realized that, despite the extremely humble circumstances in which the family lived, they were faithful in paying their tithes.
After a tender farewell, I was escorted to my car. As I drove homeward, I reflected on the special spirit we had felt. I experienced, as well, as I have many times before, a sense of gratitude that my Heavenly Father had answered another person’s prayer through me.

Many years ago when at the age of 12 I was ordained a deacon, my father, who was president of our stake, took me to my first stake priesthood meeting. … He walked up to the stand, and I sat on the back row, feeling a little alone and uncomfortable in that hall filled with strong men who had been ordained to the priesthood of God. The meeting was called to order, the opening song was announced, and—as was then the custom—we all stood to sing. There were perhaps as many as 400 there. Together these men lifted their strong voices, … all singing these words with a great spirit of conviction and testimony:
Praise to the man who communed with Jehovah!
Jesus anointed that Prophet and Seer.
Blessed to open the last dispensation,
Kings shall extol him, and nations revere.
(“Praise to the Man,” Hymns, no. 27.)
They were singing of the Prophet Joseph Smith, and as they did so there came into my heart a great surge of love for and belief in the mighty Prophet of this dispensation. In my childhood I had been taught much of him in meetings and classes in our ward as well as in our home; but my experience in that stake priesthood meeting was different. I knew then, by the power of the Holy Ghost, that Joseph Smith was indeed a prophet of God.1

Let me tell another story from my family. My mother didn't come from a very religious home. She married my dad when they were 19 and 20. My dad had stopped going to church when he was 14 and my mother was not a member of the Church. But in their neighborhood near their small apartment they became friends with another young couple who had both just joined the Church. Keith and Margaret Miller were on fire with the gospel and the scriptures. They loved to talk about how happy they were and what they were learning. They shared these things with my parents as they socialized and finally invited my parents to hear the missionaries.
My parents came into the gospel just before I was born. Keith and Margaret's encounter with the restored gospel and with the Savior created something that did not exist before—a desire on the part of their friends, my parents, to have religion and truth guide their family. It drastically changed my parents' trajectory. Now they have lived more than 50 years in the gospel. And their encounter with Jesus Christ and his gospel changed everything about my own life. How thankful I am that when Keith and Margaret felt joy, they expressed it by creating a friendship that hadn't existed before. They were creators of eternal friends.

As one of 15 prophets, seers, and revelators sustained yesterday by our worldwide Church, I want to share with you one of my experiences sustaining the prophet and embracing his words. It was for me much like the prophet Jacob, who recounted, “I had heard the voice of the Lord speaking unto me in very word.”

Last October my wife, Melanie, and I were in Bangkok, Thailand, as I was preparing to dedicate what would be the Church’s 185th temple. For me, the assignment was both surreal and humbling. This was the first temple on the Southeast Asia peninsula. It was masterfully designed—a six-story, nine-spired structure, “fitly framed” to be a house of the Lord. For months I had contemplated the dedication. What had settled in my soul and mind was that the country and the temple had been cradled in the arms of prophets and apostles. President Thomas S. Monson had announced the temple and President Nelson the dedication.

I had prepared the dedicatory prayer months earlier. Those sacred words had been translated into 12 languages. We were ready. Or so I thought.

The night before the dedication, I was awakened from my sleep with an unsettled, urgent feeling about the dedicatory prayer. I tried to set aside the prompting, thinking the prayer was in place. But the Spirit would not leave me alone. I sensed certain words were missing, and by divine design they came to me in revelation, and I inserted these words in the prayer near the end: “May we think celestial, letting Thy Spirit prevail in our lives, and strive to be peacemakers always.” The Lord was reminding me to heed the words of our living prophet: “Think celestial,” “let the Spirit prevail,” “strive to be peacemakers.” Words of the prophet matter to the Lord and to us.

I was recently going through a really hard time, and I didn’t know what to do, so I prayed for help and guidance. I went to my Young Women class that Sunday, and the lesson that our Young Women president gave was the answer to my prayer. She gave us a piece of paper that read, “Who Am I?” at the top. We had to see how many words we could come up with to describe ourselves. We came up with a few, and then we watched a talk by Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and we had to write down more things about ourselves that we’d heard in the talk.
I liked that so much that I came home and wrote this on a poster and hung it on my wall: “Who am I? I am a daughter of God. I am a friend. I am a leader. I am known and loved by my Savior. I am strong. I stand for truth. I am Camryn.” I also wrote that on a piece of paper and hung it in my locker. Whenever I was feeling frustrated about my situation, I just thought about what I had written. I am so grateful for getting an answer to my prayer from that lesson.
Camryn T., Utah, USA

Bishop Brown’s call to the Presiding Bishopric came in September 1961 while the Brown family was living in Chicago, Illinois. Bishop Brown arrived home late in the afternoon of the 28th. The Office of the First Presidency in Salt Lake City had been trying to reach him for several hours, but he had been out of contact with his home and office. What did they want with him, he wondered? Perhaps with some misgivings, Victor Brown dialed the operator and was connected with Salt Lake City.
“Are you coming to conference?” asked the voice on the west end of the line. General conference was scheduled to begin the next day in Salt Lake City.
“No, I hadn’t planned to,” was the reply.
“President McKay would like to see you. Can you be in his office at 8:00 in the morning?”
Securing plane reservations on short notice was no problem. He was assistant to the director of reservations for United Air Lines in Chicago. Early the next morning Victor Brown was climbing the front steps of the Church Administration Building. While in President McKay’s office, he was called to serve as second counselor to a new Presiding Bishop—John H. Vandenberg.
Victor Brown thought of the future he had anticipated with United Air Lines. He had moved up the executive ladder over a 21-year period and had reason to believe that further promotions lay ahead. Greater financial rewards also were very likely.
He had dreamed of success in the business world ever since the days when he had waited on customers and run errands in his father’s store in Cardston. Now could he give up the career he had worked hard to build and devote his entire time to the Church? He knew there was only one answer. He could.

Whether it’s bringing the joy of music to the world, fixing a neighbor’s fence, or teaching the gospel, Chance has discovered the strongest and purest motivation behind it all.

“One of the most important things I’ve learned is the love God has for us,” he says. “I was going through a really tough time, and I was filled with this hatred and was blaming God for my issues. I was saying, ‘Why did you allow this to happen? Am I not worth it?’ And through this experience, I had a great moment at Especially for Youth. I learned that the number-one important thing about this gospel is that God always loves us. No matter how far gone we are, He always, always loves us and wants us to be happy and will do everything He can for us to be happy.”

I remember well the insecurities I felt as a teenager with a bad case of acne. I tried to care for my skin properly. My parents helped me get medical attention. For years I even went without eating chocolate and all the greasy fast foods around which teens often socialize, but with no obvious healing consequences. It was difficult for me at that time to fully appreciate this body which was giving me so much grief. But my good mother taught me a higher law. Over and over she said to me, “You must do everything you can to make your appearance pleasing, but the minute you walk out the door, forget yourself and start concentrating on others.”

There it was. She was teaching me the Christlike principle of selflessness. Charity, or the pure love of Christ, “envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own” (Moroni 7:45). When we become other-oriented, or selfless, we develop an inner beauty of spirit that glows in our outward appearance. This is how we make ourselves in the Lord’s image rather than the world’s and receive His image in our countenances. President Hinckley spoke of this very kind of beauty that comes as we learn to respect body, mind, and spirit. He said:
“Of all the creations of the Almighty, there is none more beautiful, none more inspiring than a lovely daughter of God who walks in virtue with an understanding of why she should do so, who honors and respects her body as a thing sacred and divine, who cultivates her mind and constantly enlarges the horizon of her understanding, who nurtures her spirit with everlasting truth” (“Understanding Our Divine Nature,” Liahona, Feb. 2002, 24; “Our Responsibility to Our Young Women,” Ensign, Sept. 1988, 11).

“CQ … CQ (calling any station) … This is N7NGT, November seven November golf tango. Calling CQ from the state of Wyoming and standing by.”
The static of the radio fills the silence. Then the 16-year-old, red-haired girl, call sign N7NGT, leans over the microphone, presses the button, and repeats her call to the world on her father’s ham radio.
For a moment she wonders, Is anyone out there listening?
Does anyone want to talk to Shauna Richards in Rock Springs, Wyoming?
A moment later a voice answers Shauna’s call. In fact, in a little over an hour Shauna talks to people in Australia, New Zealand, Japan—all over. These people all have amateur radio licenses. They also have their own lingo, called Q signals. Shauna enjoys talking to strangers, who quickly become friends, about what their lives are like and what they like best about their hometowns. And in emergencies, they use their radios to relay messages out of the emergency area to comfort worried relatives and friends when other methods of communication fail. Ham radio is a good hobby for someone who likes to talk. And Shauna likes to talk.

My three-year-old granddaughter illustrated the power of innocence and humility to connect us with God. She went with her family to the open house of the Brigham City Temple in Utah. In one of the rooms of that beautiful building, she looked around and asked, “Mommy, where is Jesus?” Her mother explained that she would not see Jesus in the temple, but she would be able to feel His influence in her heart. Eliza carefully considered her mother’s response and then seemed satisfied and said, “Oh, Jesus is gone helping someone,” she concluded.
No pavilion obscured Eliza’s understanding or obstructed her view of reality. God is close to her, and she feels close to Him. She knew that the temple is the house of the Lord but also understood that the resurrected and glorified Jesus Christ has a body and can only be in one place at a time.3 If He was not at His house, she recognized that He must be in another place. And from what she knows of the Savior, she knew that He would be somewhere doing good for His Father’s children. It was clear that she had hoped to see Jesus, not for a confirming miracle of His existence but simply because she loved Him.
The Spirit could reveal to her childlike mind and heart the comfort all of us need and want. Jesus Christ lives, knows us, watches over us, and cares for us. In moments of pain, loneliness, or confusion, we do not need to see Jesus Christ to know that He is aware of our circumstances and that His mission is to bless.

Jeremy Miller is a lively, 18-year-old priest in La Habra, California, but because of a car accident when he was three, he is also a quadriplegic—paralyzed from the neck down.
Constant care is required for Jeremy. He must have a nurse, a family member, or knowledgeable friend with him at all times. He is usually attached to a small respirator and can move only by maneuvering his wheelchair with a device he activates with his chin. But Jeremy is far from helpless.
As a matter of fact, Jeremy is constantly involved in helping others. And his efforts are not confined to the southern California community where he lives—they’ve even reached overseas. “It’s a blast doing things for other people,” he says in his deep, enthusiastic voice. “It’s just so great!”
Jeremy’s latest endeavor will help thousands see. For his recently completed Eagle service project, Jeremy was responsible for collecting over 2,000 pairs of used glasses to send to an optometry school, which would then catalog them and send them to Central and South America.
Many are surprised that Jeremy is involved in Scouting at all, but it’s a family tradition he refuses to break. His three older brothers earned the rank of Eagle Scout. It hasn’t been easy for Jeremy to work on all his merit badges, and it’s required quite a bit of help from those around him. But everyone involved agrees it’s worthwhile.
“I love Scouting,” says Jeremy. “Besides, it saved my life.” When the car struck Jeremy, his older brother Russell used the life saving techniques he’d learned in Scouting to keep Jeremy breathing until he got professional care.
But just as Jeremy helped many people with his Eagle project, many helped Jeremy complete it. Jeremy created over 3,000 flyers, which the Scouts in his troop helped deliver. Soon both local and national papers picked up the story, and Jeremy was receiving glasses from all over the country. The Los Angeles Temple sent a box of glasses left by patrons over the years, and a car rental company sent a crateful of glasses that had been left in their cars. Encouraging letters accompanied many of the offerings.
“It was so great hearing from all those people,” Jeremy says. “I can’t believe so many would respond. Every time the doorbell rang, Dad would look at me and say, ‘More glasses!’”
“It just shows you that you can do anything if you put your mind to it,” Jeremy says, and then thinks a minute. “Well, maybe not anything. I’d really like to go scuba diving someday, but of course that’s impossible. Still, there are a lot of things I haven’t done yet that I plan on doing.”
Jeremy recently graduated from high school with a 4.0 grade point. His classmates there were always eager to lend a hand, and the school even tried to accommodate his special needs by acquiring a voice-activated computer. “My friends are really supportive,” Jeremy says. “It’s awesome.”
And Jeremy, in his own way, has given something back. At an awards banquet, where the top 100 students were honored, Jeremy received a special award and as it was presented, it was pointed out that Jeremy had provided a great experience for the student body. Not only had he given them an opportunity to extend themselves in service, but he’d provided an incredible example of tenacity, courage, and high spirits.
Ward members have been extremely supportive of Jeremy as well, and in return he serves as the first assistant in the priests quorum. He makes innumerable phone calls, takes his turn conducting Bishop’s Youth Committee meetings, and carries out most of the responsibilities his position requires, but there’s one thing he is still working on. “My goal is to bless the sacrament,” Jeremy says. “Now it’s set up so I can’t get up the stairs to where they bless it. The wheelchair is a problem, but we’ll get around that somehow.”
When Jeremy is not doing schoolwork, church work, or socializing with his friends, you might catch him involved in another rather surprising activity. Jeremy is a painter. His mother, an accomplished artist herself, has been a tremendous help and inspiration to him in this area and many others. With his canvas propped up in front of him, he holds the brush with his teeth and produces some impressive artwork. His favorite subjects are birds, but he created a Christmas scene that the Make-A-Wish Foundation used on their annual Christmas card. Make-A-Wish had previously helped Jeremy by making his lifelong dream of visiting Hawaii come true. By letting them use his painting, he was able to help them in return.
Jeremy is now trying to prepare himself so he won’t be completely dependent on his parents in the future and will have the power to give a little back to them as well. He’s involved in a two-year program that will teach him more about computers and enable him to take an active part in the computer industry. He already works part-time using a mouth stick to type tests into computers.
The Book of Mormon has also done a lot for Jeremy’s life. “It teaches me things I don’t know. One of the neatest things I’ve learned from it is how to get along with family and friends.” Jeremy would like to share the Book of Mormon on a full-time mission, but for health reasons, he probably won’t be able to serve in the traditional way. He’s always eager to tell about the goodness of the gospel, though, and many have heard his testimony.
That testimony includes a major helping of gratitude—for his life, which is a miracle in itself, and for the helpfulness of those around him. People feel good around Jeremy. They like to help him. In return, Jeremy does his best to see that what comes around goes around.
As the New Era went to press, we received word that Jeremy passed away. He did achieve his goal of blessing the sacrament before he died.

Later that summer, Nate attended a large scout camp. The final event of the camp was an obstacle course several miles long.

I was so excited to watch him run because now he was fast. I kept watching and watching, but I never saw him, and another boy won. The winner happened to be a good friend of my son. His friend was fast, but my son was really fast.

When I caught up with Nate, he said, "Sorry pops, I got so stressed before the race that I simply chose NOT to run." I told him, "It's alright. It happens."

Does this sound like any of us? Perhaps we hear about a great professor, but they are a hard grader, so we choose not to take their class. The only one that really loses is us.

My son's lack of participation was a great learning experience for both of us. We have had many discussions about that moment. We concluded to never let fear influence our decisions. You never know until you try, and if you don't try, you will never know.

Here's my boy gearing up to jump off a cliff in Africa. His mom was NOT happy. Perhaps, we had taken the fear discussion a little too far.

In 1989 Brother Wirthlin was called to preside over the Germany, Frankfurt Mission. The three years that we were there turned into a unique time in the history of Germany. It had been a divided country since World War II with East Germany under Communist rule and West Germany under a democratic government. The Berlin Wall divided the two sectors. Who could have predicted that as the wheels of history turned, in one year, with no blood shed, East Germany would be freed from Communist rule, and the country would become a united free people. It all began in September of 1989 with student demonstrations for freedom in Leipsig, East Germany. Prime Minister Honeker asked Premier Gorbechev of the Soviet Union for support in putting down the demonstrations. The answer came back "no". The students began walking down through Czechoslovakia, into Austria and into West Germany. This became the prelude to the fall of the Berlin Wall on November 9, 1989. With the barriers down, refugees began pouring into West Germany from Eastern Europe and Africa. When Elder Nelson combined the East and West Berlin stakes, he said, "Germany will become the seeding ground for the church in Eastern Europe." And that's exactly what happened. Missions opened up in East Germany, Russia, Bulgaria and Albania. The number of missions in Germany grew from three when we arrived to six when we were released. The final miracle event occurred the third year of our mission when the entire Soviet Union dissolved.

Some would say that history turns on the fulcrum of political events, but we know better, history turns on the timetable of the Lord. It was clear, the time had come for the light of the gospel to be taken to a people who had lived for so many years in spiritual darkness.

We sent the first missionaries from Frankfurt into Bulgaria and Albania. I remember how anxious those two Elders and two Sisters were to go into those countries without the language and no established church to receive them. But the Lord had opened the door and they were prepared because they had the Holy Ghost, even the Spirit of Truth with them. One day I was reading the Parable of the Tame and Wild Olive Tree as recorded in Jacob 5. I realized that we were seeing the fulfillment of another prophesy. The parable tells the story of the gathering of Israel in the latter days. The Lord of the vineyard visited the vineyard 4 times, and on the last visit, he said to His servants:

What an eye opener that was for me; we were seeing it happen. Through the power of the Spirit, the Lord was moving people and nations so that the kingdom of God could roll forth in the earth.

An outstanding example of perseverance is Madame Marie Curie, who worked together with her French physicist husband, Pierre Curie, “in an old abandoned leaky shed without funds and without outside encouragement or help, trying to isolate radium from a low-grade uranium ore called pitchblende. And after their 487th experiment had failed, Pierre threw up his hands in despair and said, ‘It will never be done. Maybe in a hundred years, but never in my day.’ Marie confronted him with a resolute face and said, ‘If it takes a hundred years, it will be a pity, but I will not cease to work for it as long as I live.’” She was eventually successful, and cancer patients have benefited greatly from her perseverance.

Sometime after the war was over, the missionaries returned to Germany, and one Sunday morning a new missionary from America who couldn’t speak our language came to our home for dinner. My parents spoke some English, since they had lived in Liverpool, England, for four years. In the evening we all went to sacrament meeting, and the new elder was asked to speak. I remember feeling sorry for him, knowing that he knew no German, and I wondered what be would say. He didn’t have time to copy a talk from one of the other elders who had been there awhile.
But he spoke for over an hour. He told the Saints to go to America because another world war would come which would be worse than the one we had just been through. This was a terrible thing to hear, because the suffering of the recent war was still vivid in our memories. On the way home from the meeting I asked my parents what language the missionary spoke. I knew it wasn’t German and I knew it wasn’t English, although I didn’t understand English; yet I understood every word he said. My father said I should never forget that experience for I probably would never hear anything like that again. This elder had spoken in tongues.

Near my home in the north woods of upper Michigan, there once stood an old turn-of-the-century home. For years it had been abandoned, its black, weather-beaten frame cracking with age and crawling with snaky tendrils of ancient vines that wrapped and coiled themselves across the windows and around the doors. Various out-buildings were scattered here and there, but they were barely distinguishable beneath the creeping tangle of brush and brier. The house towered three stories high and cast a forbidding shadow on the bleached and withered ground. This shadow had spread throughout the community and entered the fearful heart of every child around.

When I entered the ninth grade, however, I decided it was time to get over being frightened of the old place. I wondered if perhaps I couldn’t use it for a party. Now, being the only Latter-day Saint in my high school, I had heard and tolerated some pretty cruel things. I figured I could stand up to jokes and criticism for not smoking and drinking, but what I couldn’t take was hearing over and over again about how Mormons just didn’t know how to really have fun at parties. Because of that, my bishop (who was also my dad and a biology professor at the nearby university) came up with an idea to prove my friends wrong. On Halloween night he would temporarily move into the local neighborhood haunted house. But by then—thanks to the efforts of my dad, brother, and missionaries—it would be transformed into a terrifying realm of horror and fright. According to plan I invited about 20 of my closest nonmember friends. Since all of them lived in town, about six miles away, I assumed none of them had ever heard of the old Sutinen home. I assumed correctly.

At 7:00 the party began at my house; and after about an hour of games, pizza, and root beer, I suggested we visit a poor old man named Toivo. I explained he lived alone but always had treats ready for any trick-or-treater who dared venture down the lonely, overgrown trail that led to his home. My suggestion was enthusiastically received until they saw Mr. Sutinen’s home. Even I, who knew my dad waited within, felt a shiver of fear creep along my spine, like a spider on a web of nerves. We approached cautiously toward where the house loomed up, outlined starkly against the moonlit sky. To add to the eerie effect, a single light flickered from behind the drawn curtains. Ghostly wisps of fog clawed at our legs, and branches whipped wickedly against our faces. We were considering bravely marching on, when shrill laughter split the tomblike quiet. Some of the group turned, running wildly for home, while the rest huddled near and bombarded me with questions. “Are you sure this is the right house?” “How long have you known this man?” “Are you positive he’s harmless?” and finally, “If this is a joke, you’re gonna be sorry!”

Reassuring them that everything was fine, I boldly knocked upon the blistered door. Like something out of a horror movie, the door slowly creaked open, and I gazed into the red-rimmed eyes of a madman. With a start I realized this white-haired maniac was my father!

“Trick-or-treat,” my friends whispered as Toivo Sutinen ushered us into his parlor. This room was dimly lit by two flickering candles perched on large polished skulls. Nice touch, Dad, I thought as I gazed at the skulls, the cobwebs, and the coffin set back in a corner.

“Wall now, ain’t dis a surprise. Ten purdy gerls cum ta visit ol’ me,” muttered Mr. Sutinen in a slurred drawl. “Ah was jist gunna eat ma supper. Join me, hey?”

Carol, the Good Samaritan of our group, slapped “old” Toivo on the shoulder and heartily agreed. The rest warily glanced around. And Mary, still hovering near the door, asked the question on everyone’s mind. “Uh, Mr. Sutinen, what were you planning to eat?”

“Why, ma favorite,” happily responded Mr. Sutinen, “barbecued bat wings!”

Too late we noticed the dozens of murky specimen bottles crowding the counters and shelves of the kitchen.

“Unless, of course,” finished Mr. Sutinen, whacking something near him, “you want ta wait until Mabel here thaws out.”

Looking up, we saw a row of frozen cats hanging stiffly from the rafters!

This, of course, made sense when one remembered my dad was a professor of biology and used such things in his labs. But to my friends it was a ghastly spectacle and required a hasty exit by the nearest door—which was locked! Mary promptly began to cry, and several others looked like they wanted to. I begged my friends to stay and humor this crazy old man a little while longer, and they agreed.

“Wall, ah kin see yer not hungry,” cheerfully said the old man, picking up one of the candle skulls. “Why don’t ah take you on a tour of ma home?”

Happily accepting any excuse to leave the kitchen and its occupants, we followed Toivo Sutinen up the rickety, wooden steps and into a narrow hall.

“First room on the left here was ma dear Mildred’s” explained Toivo opening the door wide and allowing us to enter.

Except for a dusty end table on which lay a bloodstained knife, everything in this room was covered with enormous sheets. Avoiding eye contact with the knife, we halfheartedly listened to Mr. Sutinen reminisce about his dear departed wife. Uncomfortably we began to realize he was talking about Mildred as if she were still alive.

“Yep, ma heart was near broke, couldn’t stand it no more. So went out late one night and brought ma Mildred back home.”

With a flourish, Mr. Sutinen pulled back the bed sheet. And there, in all her skeletal beauty, lay the former “Mrs. Sutinen”!

That was too much; my dad had gone too far! Screaming frantically we ran from the bedroom and down the stairs. We must have triggered something because as we ran ghosts in Victorian dress swooped past, bats squeaked, and howls echoed through the empty corridors. The door was now wide open, but as we bounded down the steep steps, something huge and hairy jumped out from behind a nearby tree.

I don’t remember much after that except a lot of screaming and running. Within minutes we were safely back in the security of my home, breathlessly reliving each terrifying moment. My mother insisted I tell my friends the truth, but it took some doing to convince them crazy Toivo was not only my father but the “minister” of my church.

Later, when my dad, brother, and the missionaries returned, everyone wanted to ask them questions. I’m not sure that much gospel doctrine got discussed that night, but all in all the experience had a positive effect on my friends. Two of them later joined the Church and four others seriously considered it. The greatest result, however, was that from then on there wasn’t a single Church activity that wasn’t attended by as many nonmembers as members.

There are times in our marriage that require a stellar dose of patience.
On our 25th wedding anniversary, Kathy and I were in Philadelphia speaking to missionaries. I received a call from President Boyd K. Packer of the Twelve. At the end of our conversation, I commented, “President Packer, today is our 25th wedding anniversary. Don’t you think that is a great accomplishment?” Without pausing, he responded, “It is for Kathy!” With your hope and faith in Christ, allow the Lord to expand your spiritual gifts of understanding and patience.