Gospel Story Finder

The same difference was true, too, for the group of approximately 110 teenagers from the Augusta Maine Stake, who were at the Washington (D.C.) Temple. They were there to receive baptism for their kindred dead. The youth themselves had prepared the information for the ordinance work.

For the teenagers of the Augusta Maine Stake, temple activity took on an added dimension, too. Every April the youth of that stake usually made a trip to the Washington Temple to perform baptisms for the dead. This time, as leaders formulated plans for the April 1988 trip, they urged the young people, with the help of their families, to obtain the information on one or more of their ancestors and prepare the records for the temple work themselves.

The response was heartening. Even though many submitted records too late for normal processing, by the time of the trip, the names of about 150 ancestors had been cleared for ordinance work. Virtually every active teenager in the stake—about 110 youngsters—went this time. About sixty-five of them anticipated being baptized for their ancestors.

The group rode for fourteen hours to reach their destination. They spent the next day performing baptisms for the dead. That evening, in a fireside at the Washington D.C. Stake center, many testified that they finally knew what the Spirit was like because they had felt it in the temple. The trip was especially meaningful for those baptized for deceased family members.

A few years ago when we were presiding over the Sydney Mission, I was earnestly seeking a blessing from the Lord. The mission had done well but was pausing on a plateau, and we needed to move ahead once again.
On one particular day I was fasting and praying that the Lord would lead us to a new level of achievement. In the midst of my prayers came the clear impression to seek out my son and give him a blessing. I followed the prompting and found my son, whom I am close to, in another part of the house, attending to his high school studies.
I said, “How are things going?”
He answered, in typical teenage fashion, “Why?”
Not knowing what else to say, I asked, “Do you want a blessing?”
He looked at me in stunned silence for a few seconds and then said, “Yes.”
The inspiration that followed from that blessing proved to be of great importance to both my son and me. It was an experience that neither of us will forget.
Yet this would have been lost had I stopped to question why the Lord was turning me to my first responsibility, my family, when I was seeking a blessing for the mission.

Let me begin with a story familiar to some of you. It goes back to the dedication of another temple, the Salt Lake Temple, which you will recall took forty years to build. President McKay tells of a man who didn’t have money enough even to buy shoes to attend a conference in the Tabernacle. During the conference Brigham Young arose and pied with the brethren that there needed to be more granite brought from the quarry about fifteen miles south. They hauled it mostly by ox team. A man came out from this conference, saw the other brother on the street with a team of oxen. “Why weren’t you there, Brother?” “Uh, my feet. I didn’t feel right about going in.” “Well, Brother Brigham pled for more people to get granite.” “All right,” said the brother, “I’ll go. Whoa, hah, Buck!” And he started.
Man Is a Temple
President McKay’s eyes filled with tears at that simple incident.

One day, the sisters brought us uma surpresa—a surprise that would help me and my sister and brother know the Book of Mormon was true. It was a storybook with colored pictures telling the stories of the prophets in the Book of Mormon. “This is my chance to know if it’s true or not,” I thought to myself. I wanted to read it right away.
After the sisters left that night, I got ready for bed and started reading the storybook. Then I remembered that the sisters told me to pray before I read it. I knelt down to say my prayers and I asked Heavenly Father to help me know that the Book of Mormon is true. I said if I could stay awake until I finished reading the book, I would know that it was true. Then I started reading and was excited about the big trip Lehi and his family took across the waters in the barca [ship], and the wars between the people in the land. I liked reading about the 2,000 jovens guerreiros—the young warriors who fought for their families. I wished I was one of them. Before I knew it, I was finished with the book. And I wasn’t even tired.
Then I knew that the Book of Mormon was true and that everything the sisters taught was right. But the greatest thing to know was that Heavenly Father loved me so much he answered my prayer. Now I knew that if I obeyed his commandments he would answer my prayers. I was ready to be baptized.
Mother and I prepared for our baptisms. My brother and sister were too young to be baptized but they couldn’t wait until it was their turn. When the Elder baptized me and I came out of the water, I was proud and excited to be a new member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—a name I would never forget.

It felt like just a regular morning as I walked to school. But this seemingly unremarkable day in my 13-year-old life turned into something quite different once I got there.
“Did you hear the news?” my friend asked.
“No,” I replied. “What’s going on?”
When we walked into our first class, the teacher had a TV on. That’s when I saw news about the terrible events of the morning of September 11, 2001, in the United States. Hijacked airplanes had been flown into the World Trade Center in New York City and the Pentagon near Washington, D.C. Another plane had crashed in a field in Pennsylvania. Thousands were killed or injured. It was a frightening and tragic day.
At this time, my dad was a fighter pilot aboard an aircraft carrier on a routine six-month deployment for the United States Navy. In the days that followed, I continued to see news about the attacks. I also heard classmates express fear and anger. All this made me anxious about the future and what might happen to my dad.
Hal Murdock, Captain, United States Navy, in the cockpit of an F/A-18F Super Hornet at Naval Air Station in 2008.
General conference was held three weeks later. As I listened, the prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), said that we lived in perilous times, but “the God in whom I believe … is a God of mercy. He is a God of love. He is a God of peace and reassurance, and I look to Him in times such as this as a comfort and a source of strength.”1
In the last session, President Hinckley closed his address with a prayer. He prayed for blessings of faith, love, charity, and “a spirit of perseverance to root out the terrible evils that are in this world.” He prayed that God would give “protection and guidance to those who are engaged actively in carrying forth the things of battle. Bless them; preserve their lives; save them from harm and evil. Hear the prayers of their loved ones for their safety.” He also prayed for God to “spare us and help us to walk with faith ever in Thee and ever in Thy Beloved Son.”2
President Gordon B. Hinckley offering a prayer during the October 2001 general conference.
I had often heard the prophet say that he prays for many things, but this was a unique experience. I had never heard the prophet say an actual prayer in general conference. Hearing the prophet pray brought me comfort I had not felt in weeks. He prayed about my concerns. I felt that he had prayed for my family. While his prayer was for the world, I was amazed that a prophet’s prayer could also be for me.
Several months later, our family received a letter from my dad. He wrote that on the day of President Hinckley’s prayer, he and everyone aboard the aircraft carrier had begun a mission to stop further attacks from those who had attacked America.
“As I have reflected on the prayer offered by the prophet,” my dad wrote, “I have realized several remarkable things. We suffered no injuries or losses during the entire operation. At times, my fellow pilots and I found ourselves many miles away from the carrier, flying over hostile territory on 12-hour missions. When we would return to the aircraft carrier to land our fighter jets at night, the seas and weather remained calm long past the time the weather normally turns poor in that part of the world. To bring everyone home is a miraculous blessing. I know from personal experience that the prayer offered by the prophet in our behalf was answered.”
When I read my dad’s witness of an answer to the prophet’s prayer, the Spirit filled my heart and these words came to my mind: “Look to the prophet, and you will be OK.”
Commander Murdock and his family the day he safely returned home from deployment.

His humility also brings him close to the Lord. I can tell this experience because he expanded upon it in general conference in 1989 (see David B. Haight, “The Sacrament—and the Sacrifice,” Ensign, November 1989). I had interviewed him at his office, gathered my notes, and had my hand on the door to leave. Suddenly he stood and with a faraway look described the details of the Lord’s Last Supper as if he were there. When he finished, I slipped out, thinking, “I have heard an apostle of the Lord speak as in vision.”

About two years later, I was praying one night when a thought entered my mind: “What about a mission?” I dismissed the idea as impossible. After all, I had signed a contract and was enlisted to serve in the army for a set amount of time. The next night the same thing happened, and I shrugged it off again. But when the thought came back for the third consecutive night, I decided to ask Heavenly Father about it.
“If I really am supposed to serve a mission, help me know what to do,” I pleaded.
About 10 minutes later I was lying in my bunk when someone knocked on the door. It was my elders quorum president, looking a little uncomfortable.
Somewhat sheepishly he said, “I’m not exactly sure why, but for the past three nights the Spirit has prompted me to tell you that you are supposed to serve a mission. Tonight the prompting was so strong that there was no way I could ever think of sleeping without telling you.”
I knew my answer, and so I started to act on it. I knew it’s extremely hard to get permission to take a two-year break from the army, but after much effort and many small miracles, I was finally granted leave for two years to serve a mission. I received my call to the Alaska Anchorage Mission, where I’m now serving.

I have always believed in the power of prayer. When my family first moved to a new city, I had to wait to start school for two months until a new semester began. Although I enjoyed spending time with my family, I wanted a good friend with the same beliefs I have. I eventually met all of my neighbors, and although some were the same age, they didn’t have the same standards. When I was able to go to school, I met a lot of kids my age and made some friends.
One time I went out for dinner with friends. After dinner some of them left, but the rest still wanted to do something and decided they wanted to go drink. They invited me, but I told them no. I felt even more lonesome. I went home that night and prayed to find a good friend.
A few weeks later I went out to dinner with friends again and made it clear that I wouldn’t drink with them. After dinner all but one other person left to go drinking. We started to talk and found that we had the same standards—standards we kept by personal choice. I know that Heavenly Father always answers prayers.

Sister Batson, our Blazer leader, was preparing us to become deacons. She faithfully took us on monthly hikes. One hike was down a dry desert wash toward Lake Mead. Sister Batson stayed with the stragglers while five or six of us forged ahead. We were quite a distance ahead when we heard something. It was a baby rattlesnake, coiled and ready to strike. Rather than giving it plenty of room, we found some sticks and began poking at it. The snake took off across the desert. Naturally we took off after it, running as fast as our legs would carry us, chasing that snake. We cornered it against the side of a gulch where it coiled with its one rattle making as much noise as it could. We formed a semicircle around the snake, and on the count of three, we rushed it.
The first guy in and at the bottom of the pile was Malcolm. Suddenly he exploded out of the pile, throwing us everywhere, and started a panic run across the desert with the snake attached to his hand. We took off after him and succeeded in ankle tackling him. He was screaming and yelling at the top of his lungs, “I’m going to die! I’m going to die!”
We each took a leg and arm to pin him down so we could save his life. We then took out our trusty snakebite kits (which aren’t at all like the ones used today and not to be recommended). They consisted of several suction cups, a shoestring tourniquet, some antibacterial iodine, and a razor blade. The shoestring tourniquet didn’t seem big enough, so we whipped off our Scout belts and placed half a dozen tourniquets up his arm. We then stained his arm brown with the iodine. We decided that the suction cups were not good enough, and we would have to suck the poison out. We were arguing about who got to do the sucking and who got to cut him when Sister Batson arrived. She grabbed Malcolm, threw him over her shoulder, ran back to the van with us right behind her, and got Malcolm to the hospital in time to save his hand.
By the time I got home, my father had found out what happened. He took me to my room, sat me on the end of the bed, and said three words of profound meaning, “Son,” he said, “DON’T CHASE SNAKES!”

I am thrilled when I hear the many stories of deacons quorum presidents who have caught the vision and occasionally are teaching all or part of the lesson in their quorum meetings. Several weeks ago I attended a deacons quorum class. A 12-year-old boy gave a 25-minute lesson on the Atonement. He commenced by asking his fellow deacons what they thought the Atonement was. Then he shared some meaningful scriptures and asked thoughtful questions, to which they responded. Realizing, however, there was more time than remaining lesson material, he had enough presence of mind and perhaps some forewarning from his father to ask the leaders who were present what questions they had been asked about the Atonement on their missions and their responses. He then concluded with his testimony. I listened in awe. I thought to myself, “I don’t recall ever giving a significant part of a lesson when I was an Aaronic Priesthood youth.” We can raise the bar and vision for these young men, and they will respond.

Dear Libby,
I guess you don’t know me, but I’m Kevin’s brother. I don’t know if he ever mentioned me or not. Did he? My name is Rick. I’m 15.
I don’t know if you know anything about me, but I know plenty about you. Are you worried? (That’s a joke.)
Kevin wrote a lot of neat things about you. I kept all his letters. I was reading them this morning. I like to go to his room and wrap his sleeping bag around me and read his letters.
In one of his letters he said your real name is Elizabeth, but you like Libby better. I do too. Except it reminds me of canned green beans. He said you were the first Mormon he’d ever met.
I’m 15 now. I was 13 when Kevin joined the Marines, and 14 when he was killed guarding the American Embassy in Rome.
Kevin and I were really close. Even my parents said so.
You probably didn’t know it, but he told me a lot of things about you. He told me things he didn’t even tell my parents. For instance, once he wrote and said that your hair is the same color as our dog. Now before you get mad, you should know we have an Irish setter named Lady, and the color of her hair is my favorite color. So if what Kevin said about your hair is true, then I think that when you get a little older you could be Miss America or even that lady on TV’s “Wheel of Fortune.” I like her because she doesn’t talk much. Mainly she points at the prizes and smiles.
Kevin told me a lot of things about you. Are you worried? I know you’re a dental assistant, and that’s how he met you, when you were cleaning his teeth.
Personally if I were a dental assistant I’d never fall in love with one of my patients. In the first place, how can you stand to put your fingers in a stranger’s mouth? And second, how can you respect somebody after you’ve scraped away all that crud from their teeth? I mean, it’s like you know the absolute worst thing about them.
He said he looked up at you, and that you had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen in his life. Do many guys fall in love with you when you’re scraping gunk off their teeth? I never would. No way. Of course Kevin always was a little different.
He also told me that on your first date you went jogging together. That sounds like Kevin. He was always looking for ways to save money. And that you didn’t drink or smoke, but you were a lot of fun anyway. He said that made him curious about you. I guess that’s why he agreed to go to your house and let those ministers from your church talk to him about God and stuff like that.
You must really be something to get him to change religions, because I thought he was pretty good the way he was. And I guess it’s no secret that it set my parents off. Mom said she thought you probably sweet-talked him into it. She says things like sweet-talk all the time because she’s from Georgia. She has all these strange sayings that none of the rest of us have ever heard before.
But about you sweet-talking him into becoming a Mormon—I don’t think so, because Kevin could be pretty stubborn sometimes, and if it’s true what Kevin said about you not kissing him for a long time after he started dating you, then I don’t think anybody can say you sweet-talked him into anything.
I didn’t mind Kevin joining your church if that’s what he wanted to do.
By now you’re probably wondering why I’m writing this letter. Actually it’s mainly because Dr. Nelson asked me to do it. He’s the psychologist assigned to my case. I told him about you, and he told me to write you a letter. He gave me a week to do it, and the week’s up tomorrow, and I have to go back to him then, so I’m sitting here in Kevin’s room, with his sleeping bag wrapped around me, writing you. It’s very early in the morning. Actually it’s three-thirty. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night.
I was 14 when he was killed. I wonder sometimes what was so valuable in that embassy. A bunch of old men. Was any of it worth Kevin’s life?
He sent me pictures of Italy. I’ve got one of him standing by an old boat. He’s smiling in the picture, and there’s this beautiful blue water behind him. The picture was taken just a month before he died.
It makes me wonder if at the same time the picture was taken, somebody was meeting in some little room, maybe in one of those houses in the background of that picture, working out a plan to bomb the American Embassy.
Besides being my brother, Kevin was my best friend. Some people said they’d never seen two brothers so close. Even when he was away from home, he wrote to me about things that were happening to him.
He liked to kid around even in his letters. In one letter he’d give me a puzzle, and in the next letter he’d answer it. It used to drive me crazy sometimes. But he was like that. Always fun.
I saved all his letters. I read them every night.
If a guy could have any kind of brother, he’d be the one to choose. To me he was the kind of guy who can do anything. He made me a kite once after I’d broken mine. He just made it out of newspaper and some branches from a tree. Did you know he got freckles on his face in the summer? He was never ashamed to tell people I was his younger brother. Once he even took me along on one of his dates. We went to a carnival, and he let me ride with him and his girl friend on the Ferris wheel, in the same car. It was a little crowded, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Once he took me camping, just the two of us. During the night there was this heavy thunder storm. It didn’t last long, but my sleeping bag got wet. His was dry because he’d remembered to put down a ground cloth. He told me to do it too when we set up camp, but I said it was too much bother. The reason I said that was because the sky was clear then.
Well, after the storm, and my sleeping bag was wet, he didn’t get mad and tell me it was my fault anyway for not putting down a ground cloth. Instead he got out of his sleeping bag and asked me to get in it instead. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said he thought he’d go build a fire and think.
I let him do it because I was too young to realize that it was only two thirty in the morning and nobody in their right mind goes out and sits by a fire for four hours in the middle of the night to think.
He did things like that for me all the time.
All the girls loved him. They really did. In high school for sure, because I was around and saw what was happening around our house. I wish I had a dime for every girl who came over to our house with a batch of cookies for Kevin. It was good for me too, because he’d always share with me.
Did you love him? A lot? I hope you did.
I asked him once why girls liked him so much, and he said it was because he treated them right. I asked him what he meant, and he said you’ve got to remember one thing about girls and that is that they’re people too. And I said well of course they are. Everybody knows that. So he named this really foxy movie star, and asked me if I thought anybody knew what her favorite color was. And I said no. And he said, that’s because people don’t treat her like she is a person. What do they treat her like, I asked, and he said they treat her like she’s a toy.
You can’t do that, he said. You’ve got to find out interesting things about them, like if they ever had measles, or when’s the last time they used crayons to draw a picture, or if they’ve ever baked a pecan pie, or if they play the piano, or if they know how to change the oil in a car.
This is really getting to be a long letter, isn’t it? Well, I’m almost through.
I have a question I want to ask you. I read all his letters this morning. And mostly I understand them all, except the last one, the one he wrote just before he was killed.
And that’s the main reason why I wanted to write you. I’ll copy down part of his last letter for you. I’ll skip the parts you wouldn’t be interested in.
I heard yesterday that an embassy in Germany was bombed. I hope they stay away from ours. Sometimes I get scared.
Rick, here’s a puzzle for you. Ready?
When things get bad and I’m afraid, I turn to another brother of ours. He’s faced it all before. When I get to a place in my life where I need help with a certain thing, then I read his words and they help me.
You and I are real close, and I’ve never really preached to you much, but I wanted to tell you about this older brother of ours. He’s someone I can go to for advice, and he will be there for you too. Because he’s been here on earth before us, and he knows the best way for us to live. And he loves us, even more than I love you.
In my next letter I’ll tell you who this brother is. And where you can find the things to read he wants to tell you.
Love, Kevin
That’s what he wrote. And it’s the thing I can’t understand.
Here I am, after he’s dead, reading his letters over and over again, trying to understand more about him. And then to think that he was doing the same thing about a brother of his.
But the thing that doesn’t make sense is that there is no other brother. There’s just the two of us in our family. So what did he mean? When the army sent all his belongings back to us, I went through everything, hoping to find what he said he had from this other brother that he talked about. But there weren’t any other letters except the ones from me and my parents and you—just that, and an old beat-up copy of the Bible and the book of the Mormons.
What I want to know is—who is this other brother he talked about? And where are the letters from this other brother to Kevin that he said he read all the time? I need to know because I really need help now too, at least that’s what my parents and Dr. Nelson think.
My mother just came in and told me it was late and I should go to bed. I told her I was writing a letter to you. She told me that you came to the funeral. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you then. I’m sorry I ran away and caused my parents more worry. But I’m all right now.
If you have any ideas on my question, please write to me. And would it be all right if we wrote to each other once in a while? Kevin loved you, so you must feel bad too. Maybe we can help each other for a while, and then I won’t have to keep going back to Dr. Nelson.
Your new friend (I hope),Rick

Last summer a group of young women from Alpine, Utah, decided that they would become “more fit for the kingdom.” They determined to focus on the temple by walking from the Draper Utah Temple to the Salt Lake Temple, a total distance of 22 miles (35 km), just as one of the pioneers, John Rowe Moyle, had done. Brother Moyle was a stonemason who was called by the prophet, Brigham Young, to work on the Salt Lake Temple. Each week he walked the distance of 22 miles from his home to the temple. One of his jobs was to carve the words “Holiness to the Lord” on the east side of the Salt Lake Temple. It was not easy and he had many obstacles to overcome. At one point, he was kicked in the leg by one of his cows. Because it would not heal, he had to have this leg amputated. But that did not stop him from his commitment to the prophet and to work on the temple. He carved a wooden leg, and after many weeks he again walked the 22-mile distance to the temple to do the work he had committed to do.
The young women in the Cedar Hills Sixth Ward decided to walk that same distance for an ancestor and also for someone who was their inspiration to remain worthy to enter the temple. They trained each week at Mutual, and as they walked, they shared what they were learning and feeling about temples.
They began their walk to the temple early in the morning with a prayer. As they started out, I was impressed with their confidence. They had prepared well, and they knew they were prepared. Their eyes were set on their goal. Each step they took was symbolic of each of you as you too are preparing now to enter the temple. Your personal training has begun with your daily personal prayers, your daily reading of the Book of Mormon, and your working on Personal Progress.
As these young women continued to walk, there were distractions along the course, but they stayed focused on their goal. Some began to feel blisters forming, and others felt knees starting to protest, but they kept going. For each of you, there are many distractions, hurts, and obstacles along your path to the temple, but you too are determined and keep going. The route these young women took was mapped out by their leaders, who had walked and driven the course and determined the safest and most direct way to go. Again, your course is marked, and you can be assured that the Savior has not only walked the course but will again walk it with you—every step of the way.
Along this journey to the temple there were fathers, mothers, family members, and priesthood leaders acting as guardians. Their job was to ensure that everyone was safe and protected from danger. They made sure each young woman stayed well hydrated and had enough nourishment to maintain her stamina. There were aid stations provided by their priesthood leaders, with places to rest and to drink water. Young women, your fathers, your mothers, your bishops, and so many others will be your guardians as you walk your path to the temple. They will call out cautions and direct your course, and should you become injured or hurt or get off course, they will help you.
I was impressed that in the final miles of their walk, brothers, other young men, and friends came to support these determined young women and to cheer them on. One brother lifted his sister, who had large blisters on her feet, and carried her on his back the final distance to the temple. As these incredible young women reached their goal, tears were shed as they touched the temple and made a silent commitment to always be worthy to enter there.
The temple walk is a metaphor for your life. Parents and priesthood leaders stood guard along the route. They provided support and aid. Young women guarded and encouraged each other. Young men admired the strength, commitment, and stamina of the young women. Brothers carried sisters who had been injured. Families rejoiced with their daughters as they ended their walk at the temple and took them safely home.

At work, Francisco Lopes (who has since married) was subjected to frequent spiritual tremors. “Some of the people I worked with were skeptical of my beliefs and criticized me for what I believed in,” he says. “They often questioned me, using science that seemed to conflict with our faith.”

Brother Lopes recalls discussions about evolution, DNA, and more. “They did their best to convince me the Church is false,” he says of the questions for which he had few answers. “I had to rely upon my testimony of God and His gospel. I am grateful for that foundation.”

Sometimes, as with Brother Lopes, members are faced with questions to which they don’t have answers. But he didn’t let something he didn’t know shake his faith in something he did know.
“There are things that I don’t know yet. But I don’t question those things because I know that in time God will reveal what I need to know,” Brother Lopes says, “not in my time or when I want it, but when He thinks that it needs to be revealed.”

What does one do when faced with tough questions that don’t seem to have answers?
“Most of our answers are in the scriptures,” says Brother Lopes, who has faced questions not only from friends and co-workers but from his parents, who questioned his decision to join the Church at age 14. “But finding and understanding those answers depends on personal revelation. I can also go to my Church leaders or ask God directly. I’m grateful for the Holy Ghost and a caring Father in Heaven.”

My first assignment in the Air Force was with the F-111 Fighter development program, to do economic analysis and trade-off studies. This was a prestigious assignment in an important national defense program. This position was a real opportunity for young Lieutenant Russell "to shine."

This was in the days when the Air Force glamorized alcohol. All social events in the Air Force seemingly focused on alcohol. My commander was Colonel Darwin E. Rasmussen. And Colonel Rasmussen was a great promoter of the Air Force social scene.

Shortly after my arrival, Colonel Rasmussen announced that the F-111 Program needed to throw a cocktail party to welcome the Russells. Oh, dear! I knew well that military officers had social responsibilities and that my advancement through the ranks required that we support the Air Force social agenda. Here I am, a brand new Air Force Officer, assigned to the nation's highest priority national defense program, trying to make a good impression in my first position, and I am to be the guest of honor at a drinking party.

We went to the Rasmussen home on the appointed evening. We were apprehensive. How would we decline cocktails at a cocktail party held in our honor? Colonel and Mrs. Rasmussen greeted us at the door, took our coats, and graciously guided us to seats. Then Colonel Rasmussen started taking orders around the room. Far to my right was Fred Sills, the senior program manager. "What are you drinking tonight, Fred?" asked Colonel Rasmussen? "I'll have a Manhattan," was the response. Next to Fred, Captain Walker asked for a Martini. Then we heard orders for other alcoholic beverages with strange and unfamiliar names. As Colonel Rasmussen approached us, I knew we would decline his offer. But how would we do it without offending him? I just knew that this social fiasco, only two weeks after entering active military service, was about to torpedo my career. Then Colonel Rasmussen stood before the Russells. He looked at me and my wife and said, "For you dear people, we have orange juice, Seven Up, or ginger ale."

I have no idea how Colonel Rasmussen knew that we were Latter-day Saints. But he did know, and he showed great respect for our standards.

I thought I met the missionaries by accident. When I agreed to hear the first discussion, it was out of curiosity only. Now I realize the Lord led me to them so I could understand many things I did not know before.
The missionaries taught me how to pray. I had never prayed, but I decided to pray with all my heart. When I did, the Lord revealed the truth to me. I know Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and our Redeemer. I know Joseph Smith is the prophet through whom Jesus Christ restored His Church—the only true church on earth. I know the Book of Mormon is the word of God.
Since I joined the Church, my family and I have received many blessings. My heart is full of love and faith. Going to my Sunday meetings and feeling the Holy Ghost make my faith grow even stronger.
I want to share the great gifts my Heavenly Father has given me, gifts which fill my life with joy.
Tatiana Silaeva,Engels Branch, Saratov Russia District

There is a woman who suffers with a debilitating, chronic illness that persists despite medical attention, priesthood blessings, and fasting and prayers. Nevertheless, her faith in the power of prayer and the reality of God’s love for her is undiminished. She presses ahead day by day (and sometimes hour by hour) serving as called in the Church and, together with her husband, looking after her young family, smiling as much as she can. Her compassion for others runs deep, refined by her own suffering, and she often loses herself in ministering to others. She continues steadfast, and people feel happy being around her.

Have you ever found yourself at a crossroads in life? That is where I found myself more than 10 years ago. As I look at the blessings I am enjoying today, I realize that my life would be quite different had I made a different decision at my crossroads.
During my years in junior high and high school, I was a fence-sitter. I didn’t really do bad things, but at the same time I wasn’t nurturing my testimony and seeking out the Savior. So, shortly out of high school, I found myself at a crossroads. I made friends with some people who weren’t living gospel standards. They all liked to drink, especially on the weekends. I was spending a lot of time with these friends. In fact, I started dating one of the guys. We were spending a lot of time together.
I then had an experience I will never forget. I went to church with my family to my grandma’s ward. She was performing a musical number, and we went to support her. As I sat in sacrament meeting, I looked around at all of the families. The Spirit then gave my mind an impression I will never forget: “If you marry this man you are dating, he will never bring you and your kids to church.” I knew I had to make a decision. I had to decide what I wanted for the rest of my life. I knew what I needed to do—stop dating him. I also knew that I needed to stop hanging around my friends who were negative influences.
It was hard to make this decision. I gave up a boyfriend and all of my friends. The following days, especially weekends, became very lonely, but I knew what I did was what I needed to do.
I am so grateful that the Spirit whispered to my mind that day at church. It was indeed a tender mercy that the Lord guided me. I have since married a worthy priesthood holder in the temple, and we have four wonderful children. My husband faithfully takes us to church each week. My life has been blessed beyond anything that I ever could have imagined. I feel so much joy and happiness in living the gospel.

On a recent trip to New Zealand, I met with a mission president who wore a beautiful tie tack with the inspiring CTR, or “Choose the Right,” emblem. I had the impression that there must be a story behind this unique pin. When I returned home, I wrote him a thank-you letter and asked him about his tie tack. I received this answer:
“You are very perceptive. Yes, there is a story. I have a number of tie tacks I really prize. They have been gifts from my children, my wife, and friends. However, I choose to wear this silver shield inlaid with lovely blue turquoise, with the inspiring CTR emblem of our Primary.
“Why? I suppose it started back when I was a bishop. I had an interview with a good-looking young man who was to receive the Aaronic Priesthood. He told me a special story. One day after school, he and some of his friends found a package of cigarettes. They lit up, and the young man said as he was looking down at the smoldering cigarette he held between his fingers, he saw his CTR ring. He quickly put the cigarette out and made a very wise choice never ever to do such a thing again. He chose to choose the right, as he remembered what the emblem stood for. From this story I gained a special love for the CTR emblem.
“Now for the story of how I received the CTR tie tack. A few weeks before coming to New Zealand as a mission president, I was in the Kayenta Ward in Arizona. As I was saying some tender farewells to many of my Navajo friends, a remarkable young Navajo bishop gave me a big hug, then removed his tie tack and pinned it on my tie. He asked me not to forget him.
“Now here in New Zealand, the last thing I do every morning as I dress for this great calling is to pin my tie with this beautiful silver and turquoise CTR emblem. I love it! It helps this old boilermaker make the right choices throughout the day. I know it also helps fulfill the prophetic promise made to my wife and me by President Gordon B. Hinckley as he set us apart.
“He said words to this effect: ‘You will have an instant bonding of love for every missionary in your mission.’ I can’t tell you how many times a missionary, during a visit, has said something like this: ‘President Gardner, I love your tie tack.’ And then he or she will show me their CTR ring.
“I believe that Navajo bishop was inspired to give me the tie tack and that I make the right decision every day when I choose to wear it. And the beautiful blue and silver CTR pin is helping bond me to a royal army of missionaries in the New Zealand Wellington Mission.
“I appreciate the opportunity of relating to you my special experience associated with this great Primary children’s motto, ‘Choose the Right.’”

You’re going to say I should have arranged housing in advance. But if I had, where would I be now?
After filling out a mountain of forms at registration, I drove around Provo looking for a place to stay. Finally I picked out one of the new apartment units near the campus. The office girl told me they had a vacancy in number 33.
The apartment complex is in the shape of a big C, with a swimming pool and frisby field in the middle. I walked across the lawn to number 33 and knocked on the screen door. Nobody came, although I could hear voices inside. I knocked again.
...
We finished the dishes and sat down around the kitchen table. I took out a sheet of notebook paper and wrote at the top "Operation Engagement."
"We’ll make a list of the things a fellow looks for in an LDS girl. First: testimony. Second: a nice face, a good figure. Third: common interests. Fourth: sense of humor. Fifth: a supporting attitude."
"Let’s go down the list," Cher said. "Testimony. I’ve got one, Tony. I really do."
"Okay," I said. putting down a check on the paper.
"Face." She held out her hand, rotating it to the right and then to the left in a gesture familiar to Easterners. "I don’t know. What do you think?"
"It’s very good. Like a Greek goddess. Do you have many cavities?"
"Our water had fluoride—53% fewer cavities."
I put a check beside "Face."
"Wait," she said, "except for the glasses."
"You have to see."
"I’ll get contact lenses."
"I like you the way you are."
"It’s not you we’re trying to impress," she said coolly. Then, quickly, "I’m sorry, that wasn’t kind."
"No problem."
"Figure?"
I cleared my throat. "Fine."
"You don’t think I’m too skinny?"
"No, ma’am."
"Aren’t you going to say anything more about the figure?"
"No, ma’am."
"Do I dress modestly enough?"
"You dress like a lady."
"Maybe I should dress less modestly to get B.J.’s attention."
"If he noticed you that way, I’d punch him out."
"Okay. Common interests." she said.
"I think B.J.’s biggest interest is himself. So you have a common interest."
"You don’t know him very well. Be constructive."
"Okay," I replied. "Boys from the West are crazy about deer hunting. Do you know anything about deer hunting?"
"What’s there to know?" she asked.
"Do you know how to clean a deer?"
"Do they get dirty?"
"I will ignore that. Probably your biggest common interest is the Church. Maybe that’s enough. Let’s see, sense of humor."
"I don’t think B. J. has a sense of humor."
"If you marry him, you’re going to need one. A supporting attitude. That means you help him on his campaigns. Or you try to do nice things for him, like cooking his favorite food to show him that he’s special to you. You’re doing fine, Cher."
"Tony, there’s one other thing. I have some of that Eastern cynicism. I’m not like your average coed. Maybe I seem too cynical. I need to be more sincere." She wrote down another word at the bottom of the list, sincerity.
The next afternoon when I came in after my lab, she was already working on supper.
"Tony, look what I picked up in the bookstore today. You’re not going to believe this. It’s perfume in a time-release capsule. You just open this little pill and scatter the tiny beads on your hair with this little can. The beads are programmed. The aroma starts out kind of mild, but in about three hours it’s really something. I’m going to put some on."
She applied the contents of one of the small capsules.
"Do you want to smell?"
"In the interests of science," I said.
"Let’s see. It’s 4:30 now. We’ll eat at 6:00. So if I can get around B. J. by 7:00, I’ll give him the full dose."
She started peeling potatoes. I sat at the table and thumbed through a book I was supposed to be reading. The perfume did change aroma as time went on.
"I pick up my contact lenses on Monday, Tony. And I’ve really worked at being sincere. Look at me."
She was standing with her head up, looking at the ceiling.
"What are you looking at the ceiling for?"
"I’m looking at the clouds as the sun breaks through."
"We’re in a room. There are no clouds," I said.
"I know. But you’ve seen those movies where they close with someone looking at the clouds. Now that’s a sincere look, right? Well, I’ve got it, right?"
I stood up, grabbed a dish towel, and draped it over her sincere face.
...
"That’s really great, B.J.," Cher said as she leaned down by him, ostensibly to look at his appointment book but really to allow him a whiff of "T + Three Hours and Counting" perfume.
It was at that moment I realized I loved Cher and didn’t want her to be around B.J.
Monday when I came in, Cher had her contact lenses.
"So how do you like me now?"
"You can really see me?"
"Sure."
"But why are you crying?" I asked.
"My eyes are just watering a little. It’ll clear up once I get used to the lenses."
"I can’t even see them on you. Let me get a little closer." I moved very close to her and looked into her eyes.
"How’s that?" she asked.
"Fine."
"I mean, can you see them now?"
"I’ll have to get closer."
"That’s close enough," she said, moving away.
"Are they hard to take out?"
"Not at all. You just put your finger here on the corner of your eye and blink." She put her other hand below her eye, but the lens missed her hand and fell to the floor.
"Just stay there, Cher. I’ll look for it." I got down on my hands and knees and started looking for it. I soon found the small, green, plastic lens. "Cher, can you see anything?"
"No. Why?"
"Nothing." I put the lens in my shirt pocket.
"Cher, maybe if you get down and help look for it."
She got down on her hands and knees also. "I think we should both concentrate our efforts over here where you were when you dropped it." I moved over by her.
We looked and looked. Finally we decided to take it one tile at a time.
"Tony? You have your hand on top of my hand," she said, looking down at our hands.
"Oh, I do. Do you want me to move it, Cher?"
"I don’t know. I can’t decide."
"Cher, you are really good looking."
"With contacts, I’ll look better. Maybe that’s been my trouble all along."
"No, I mean with glasses, and without the time-release perfume, and without the forced sincere look. You are beautiful. You don’t need any improvement."
"No, I’m not beautiful."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not," she insisted.
"Yes, you are."
"No, I’m not."
"Well, maybe not beautiful. But definitely pretty."
"So you don’t think I’m beautiful!"
"Yes, I do. But you wouldn’t accept it, so I figured I’d compromise. And Cher, you are sincere. In fact, you are just about the most sincere person I’ve ever met. Truly."
"Thank you. I try to be sincere. And Tony, you’re the only person I’ve ever been able to talk to without wondering what I’m supposed to say. With you I’m just myself."
"Cher, you have a nice hand."
"We shouldn’t be here alone like this."
"We’re not alone, Cher. Boris is on the couch, and Enrico is looking at the chalkboard."
"I know," she whispered, "but it’s like being alone."
"Cher, you are very special to me."
"I don’t want to hurt you, Tony."
"Who’s hurting? My knees are a little sore, that’s all."
"That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you to fall in love with me."
"It’s too late. I already have. I want to marry you, and I’m asking you."
She started crying.
"If you want to wait before you give me an answer, that’s okay."
I got up to get her a box of tissues. When I returned, she was sitting on the chair in the kitchen. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and sat there.
"Tony, I really like you, but I’ve been thinking about B. J. for so long there’s no more room for anyone else in my heart. Can we be good friends?"
The next day I paid a visit to B.J.’s office in the Wilkinson Center. "B.J., I want to talk to you."
I told him about Cher and the way she felt about him. "The poor girl," he said. "I had no idea she felt so strongly about me."
"What are you going to do about it?" I asked him.
"I guess I’ll have to take my shirts to the cleaners and tell her to buzz off."
I slammed my hand down on his desk, breaking his plastic, desk name plate. "No, B.J., that’s not what you’re going to do. You’re going to take that girl out and try to fall in love with her. You are going to treat her like a queen, or some morning you’re going to wake up with your head shaved."
"Perhaps I should go out with her," he said quietly.
For the next several weeks, I stayed clear of Cher. I spent my late afternoons watching the Foucault pendulum swing, or listening to music, or taking long walks. Then I would go home around 8:00 and eat whatever was left. Cher was cooking for B. J. now. She made homemade wheat bread, beef stew, meatloaf—the things that B. J. liked.
It was especially bad when I knew they were going out, and I stayed away from campus for fear I’d see them together. Every couple seen from a distance looked like them. Every time I saw a girl with her head on some boy’s shoulder, I got cold chills. I wished I had never met her.
One weekend B. J. took Cher home with him to meet the family. That was the Saturday I ran. I got up early and put on sweat pants and sweat shirt and drove out to a country road. After parking the car I started running. Soon there was just the road, the pain in my side, and the crunch of my feet against the gravel. But the pain in my mind diminished as the pain in my side increased. So I kept on. Finally I collapsed on the side of the road. It was a long time before I could make myself get up and walk back to the car.
A couple of weeks later B. J. had to go to a conference of student leaders in New Mexico. That Tuesday night I entered the apartment at 8:00 expecting to see the usual empty kitchen with a plate of food in the refrigerator.
Cher was in the kitchen cooking. "I thought you were never coming," she said. "Sit down and get started."
She sat down across from me, and we said the blessing.
We got through the salad in silence. Removing the salad plate, she replaced it with a plate of lasagna and garlic bread.
"Why are you cooking with B. J. gone?"
"I get paid to cook here, remember?"
"But why did you wait for me? I’m two hours late."
"Your name Tony Versalino? Of Italian ancestry? You like Italian food?"
"Yes."
"That’s what it means."
"Cher?"
"Item five, a supporting attitude. ‘Like cooking his favorite food.’"
I put down my fork and held her hand. "What about B.J.?"
"He was a dream in my mind for all those years, but a dream with no reality. Besides, it finally occurred to me that it wasn’t necessary for all members of the Church to walk and talk and live like they came from Panguitch, Provo, or Parowan. I can’t fit the Utah-Mormon mold. I like the East, and I want to go back and help the Church grow there."
"You mean, the West is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there?" I caught the aroma of her perfume in the last stages of its time-release cycle. "Lady, what you need is a nice Mormon boy from Pennsylvania."
"I don’t want to push you, Tony."
"I’m your man."
"You know what Daddy is going to say?" Cher said. "‘Queens? He’s from Queens? I send you by plane across the country, you live in a desert for years, and you find a husband from Queens? For Queens, I could pay subway fare. Now you tell me you want to get married in a temple in Utah? We got plenty of temples in New York, and I know a rabbi …’"
For dessert we had a dish of Italian ice.

My name is Erika Z., and I live in the city of San Salvador in El Salvador, and I love to prepare names for temple ordinances.
The Relief Society sisters in my branch asked if I could learn to index names using the FamilySearch program. I wanted to help. My mother also wanted me to help, so we began learning how to index together.
When I first started, it took me a whole day to index nine names. But now after working hard and practicing, I can index 300 names in a day.
After finishing my homework, I spend time indexing names. For me, indexing is as fun as playing or watching TV. But I know that it has a greater purpose.
I know that Heavenly Father blessed me with the opportunity to help prepare names for temple ordinances for more than 2,000 Salvadorian ancestors in the spirit world.