Gospel Story Finder

During the visit my wife and I had with Wilford and Alice, Alice told us of a similar experience she had had. I share it with her permission.

Last year she was on an internship in Berlin. While attending a Church meeting one Sunday, she was introduced to a Chinese woman who, after shaking hands, said, “Wait—you served a mission a year ago, right? You are the first missionary who taught me the first lesson!”

Alice did not recognize the woman at first glance, but she soon remembered her face, her name, and how they had met near the Hong Kong Temple eighteen months earlier while Alice was a missionary. She remembered how she and her companion had taught this woman the first lesson. It was a powerful lesson, and they gave her a Book of Mormon, but they couldn’t do more because the woman had to return to her home country the next day.

What Alice didn’t know was that after that initial lesson, the woman had returned home, but she wasn’t able to attend church meetings or learn the gospel because the Church is not recognized there. When she later moved to Germany for her graduate studies, she immediately found the Church in Berlin, was taught, and soon was baptized. And there she was when Alice “randomly showed up in Berlin” (to use her words) because of an internship.

The place was Nauvoo in the 1840s. Because the Latter-day Saints had been refused the right to bear arms for protection, a group of boys formed a troop and armed themselves with jackknives and sticks and walked the streets following undesirable strangers. Whittling and whistling, they eventually ran the stranger off the streets of Nauvoo. The name of the troop was “The Whittlin’ Whistlin’ Brigade.”

In Chile, in order to go to college, you have to take a university placement test. I wanted to study engineering at a university that was far from where I lived. It would be very expensive, so my goal was to get the highest score possible on the placement test so I could earn a scholarship for outstanding exam scores.
I knew where and what I wanted to study, and I knew what I would have to do to make it happen. I started preparing for the test. I studied, read, and reviewed the material, but on the practice tests, I still wasn’t getting the score I needed. I turned to my Heavenly Father in prayer and asked Him for greater intelligence and to enlighten my understanding so I could reach my goal. I prayed for this daily for an entire year. I went to special preparation classes at my school, and I enrolled in classes at an institution that was geared toward preparing for the exam.
I kept up my daily scripture study, and I never missed a day of seminary. I fulfilled all my Aaronic Priesthood assignments and never studied on Sundays, no matter how desperate the situation was. I knew Sunday is the Lord’s day, and I wanted to respect it in the way my parents had taught me. I knew I couldn’t afford to deprive myself of the blessings Heavenly Father had for me, especially when I most needed them. Despite all this, I wasn’t getting the score I needed on my practice tests.
My family and I prayed and fasted, and my dad gave me a blessing. With this spiritual preparation and my other preparation, I took the test. Not only did I end up with the score I needed, but I exceeded my goal, scoring one of the highest percentages possible in the math section. I received the scholarships and benefits I needed, and I was able to study at the university I chose.
From the time I was young, I learned that if I did everything I could and took care of my spiritual responsibilities first, then Heavenly Father would bless me. Things might not always work out the way we expect them to, but God will take care of us. I know it’s only with His help that all things are possible.
The author lives in Cautín Province, Chile.

Isaac bounced up and down in his seat. He looked out the car window. They were going to visit Grandma and Grandpa. They were going to see something else special too.
“When will we see the new temple?” Isaac asked Mom.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
Isaac smiled.
Finally Isaac and his family were at Grandma and Grandpa’s house.
The next morning, Isaac got dressed in his Sunday clothes. It felt funny to wear his tie in the middle of the week. Isaac ate breakfast with his family. Then they drove to the temple open house. They were going to see inside the new temple before it was dedicated.
“I see the temple!” Isaac said. He pointed to the white building with the angel Moroni on top.
There was a Church building next to the temple. Isaac and his family went there first. They watched a video. Someone helped put white covers over their shoes.
Finally it was time to go inside the temple! Isaac walked through the temple doors. His heart felt happy.
Isaac saw lots of paintings on the walls. Some paintings showed people praying. Some paintings showed beautiful plants and animals.
Then Isaac saw a painting he liked best of all. It was a painting of Jesus! Jesus was standing with His arms stretched out.
“It looks like Jesus is opening His arms to me,” Isaac whispered to Dad.
“Jesus always has His arms open for you,” Dad whispered back. “He loves each of us.”
Isaac had a good feeling in his heart. He imagined walking next to Jesus in the temple. He imagined Jesus giving him a hug.
Jesus loves Isaac. And Isaac loves Jesus too!

Joey watched as his mother opened her big trunk full of cloth. She was going to make new jackets for the boys. The first piece she pulled out was a beautiful red—redder than the apples on the tree outside.
Mother measured the fabric and said, “There’s enough here for one coat.”
Joey hoped it would be his. He held the red cloth against his cheek. It was soft and warm.
Mother searched for another piece. “Here’s a green one,” she said. “Let’s see if there is enough to make a jacket.” She stretched it out between her arms. The green reminded Joey of the grass in his backyard—the color it was when you lay down and looked at it closely.
“There’s plenty,” Mother said with a smile, handing the material to Joey. He took it and sniffed, hoping it would smell like the grass. Instead the material smelled just like the cedar trunk. But that was a good smell too. Joey thought he might like a green jacket almost as much as a red one.
Soon bundles of cloth were piled around Mother. One stack was taller than Joey as he sat on the floor beside the trunk.
“This is a beautiful bright yellow, Joey. Do you like it?” Mother held up some fabric the color of the school bus Joey’s brothers rode.
“Oh, yes. May I have a yellow coat?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Let’s measure you and find out.” She took the measuring tape and held one end on Joey’s shoulder, then stretched it down to the top of the pocket on his jeans. “Fifteen inches,” she said. She measured the yellow cloth and shook her head. “There isn’t enough for sleeves, Joey.”
Joey was disappointed. He sat down and picked up the red and green and yellow fabrics and looked at them carefully. All of them were pretty.
Mother found one last piece of jacket material. This one was blue. Joey couldn’t think of anything as blue as this piece of cloth. He decided that the blue material was the nicest color after all.
Mother carefully packed all the pieces of fabric that wouldn’t be used back into the trunk. Joey was sorry to see the yellow cloth disappear. He gathered the green, red, and blue pieces into his arms and carried them into his mother’s workroom. He wondered which of the bright colors his jacket would be made of.
As he walked past the window, Joey looked out and saw the school bus. His three big brothers were coming up the lane, and he ran out to meet them.
“Hey,” he shouted as he ran toward his brothers. “Mom is making new coats for everybody, and I’m helping!”
Peter grabbed him and swung him around. “How can you help Mom sew?” he asked.
“Well, she’s not sewing yet. She just got the material out. And it’s pretty.”
Tommy laughed. “Boys don’t wear pretty clothes.”
“Sure they do,” Joey said, smiling at Tommy. “Your football shirt is pretty.”
Tommy laughed again.
“We made cookies today too,” said Joey.
Tommy picked Joey up and carried him, upside down, into the house.
“Boys,” Mother said, “I’m making new jackets. Peter, please eat one cookie at a time. Which color would each of you like?”
Mike picked up each piece of fabric. He considered each color. “I really like the blue,” he said. “May I have the blue?”
“Does anyone else want the blue?”
“I do, I do!” said Joey.
“Who wants the red one?” Mother asked.
“I want the red too,” Joey said.
“But you can’t have them both. Besides, I like the red material too,” explained Tommy.
“Hey, Mom,” said Peter, “how are you going to make four coats with only three pieces of material?”
Joey was surprised. He hadn’t thought of that problem.
Mother smiled. “Would one of you like to have a patchwork jacket?” she asked hopefully. “There would be plenty left from three jackets to make one more.”
“Like the quilt on my bed?” Mike frowned. “No, I don’t think I would like that.”
“Peter?”
“No, Mom. I want the green material. It’s the same color as my Sunday pants.”
Mother looked at Tommy who asked, “Why not Joey? He’s the littlest and doesn’t have to go to school and be laughed at.”
Joey thought about it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to have a coat that Tommy, Mike, and Peter thought was funny.
“That’s a good idea,” Peter said. “Joey won’t mind.”
But Joey was beginning to mind. “Peter, why don’t you want a patchwork coat?” he asked.
Peter looked down at him. “Patchwork is made from scraps. I don’t want a coat made from leftovers.”
“Oh.” Joey sat down and thought about it. He looked at Mother. She looked sad. “It’s OK, Mom, I’ll wear the patchwork coat,” he said. He hoped that maybe the patchwork coat would get lost while he was at the playground or at Primary.
Mother smiled and got out her scissors. “OK,” she said, “four coats for four boys coming up.”
Finally the jackets were finished. Joey had watched Mother sew the red one. He had collected the scraps when she cut out the green material. And he had seen her putting the sleeves in Mike’s blue coat. But he had never seen the patchwork coat. He wondered what it would look like and if his brothers would laugh at him.
When the boys finished doing the supper dishes a few nights later, Mother called them into the sewing room. Dad came, too, to see the new coats.
First from the closet came Tommy’s red jacket. He put it on. “Oh, Mom, it’s beautiful,” he said. Joey agreed. It was a beautiful coat.
Next Mother handed the green jacket to Peter.
“Thanks, Mom, it just fits,” Peter said.
Mike was waiting impatiently. Mother gave the blue coat to him. He tried it on and zipped the zipper up and down. “Perfect,” he said.
Joey knew it was his turn next. He stood behind Dad, hoping Mother wouldn’t see him and would leave the jacket made of scraps in the closet.
Mother reached into the closet once more. Joey closed his eyes.
“Joey,” Mother said. “Joey, open your eyes.”
Joey opened his eyes. Mother was holding a jacket that was red in front, with bright yellow stars, one on each side. The sleeves were blue, and on the green back J O E Y was stitched in big yellow letters.
Joey put the jacket on.
Peter said, “Wow, Mom, that’s a super jacket.”
“It sure is,” Tommy agreed.
“Yes,” Mike added. “You’re lucky you’re so little. Otherwise your big brothers would wear your jacket and you’d never see it.”
Joey smiled. “Mom’s smart,” he said. “She knew I’d like all the colors best.”
Mother smiled and put her arms around all of her boys, squeezing them in a big hug. “Just like I like all of you best,” she said.

Because World War II was just over, I was very happy. We had recently married and our first-born child had arrived. I love my husband very much and felt myself growing in the warmth of his love for me. Then, in the fall of 1946, a drastic change occurred. My husband came home, beaming, and told me that he had found a treasure more precious than all others—the gospel of Jesus Christ.
I was miserable. I would not listen to his explanations. When he was baptized on 7 January 1947, I felt that an impassable gulf had opened between us. The next nine months were almost unendurable.
Then, one morning, I woke up particularly unhappy. Somehow I knew that I had been wrong, that my husband had been telling me the truth, and that I must join his church. Despite my confusion, I knew I must be baptized, and on 8 November 1947, my husband brought me into a new life. It was the happiest day of my life, filled with a joy I cannot describe.

And his dedication is exemplary. One Sunday, he was in a lively conversation with other young men.
“We’ve been asked to clean up the meetinghouse grounds this Saturday.”
“But we have a better activity than that,” another replied.
“But let’s do what we’ve been told to do first,” Alvin said.
Well, Saturday came, and while the other young men were yet to arrive, Alvin was already in his work clothes. And he brought his nonmember cousin, too.
Seeing all this, you can’t help but make the connection between him and his favorite scripture: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7).

In November of 2015, from the comfort of my warm bed, I watched a video about the devastating refugee crisis going on in Greece. By the time the video was finished, my heart felt like it was going to explode out of my chest. I knew what that familiar feeling meant. I’d had a prompting, and a few short weeks later, I found myself stepping into the eerie heart of the biggest refugee camp on the island of Lesbos.
As Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Seventy stated in general conference, “The reality of these situations must be seen to be believed.”1
I can testify that this is true.
After witnessing the unbelievable conditions for myself and upon learning how dangerous it had been for the refugees in the camp to even make it there alive, I asked one Syrian man why he would risk so much to come there. His answer ended my naive bewilderment:
“Either we stay and die, or we go and maybe die.”
My time at the Moria refugee camp was one of the most difficult experiences of my life, but it also quickly became one of the most inspirational. At first I didn’t think that the small tasks I was given were even making a difference for anybody, but I experienced firsthand the true, indisputable power that love really has.
One afternoon I was talking with Ebrahim, a new friend from Iran. He wanted to know how much I got paid to help in the camp. I smiled and told Ebrahim that I was a volunteer. He had never heard of this word, so I explained. He was shocked and then asked how much money my team leader made. I laughed and told him that everyone in that camp was a volunteer.
I guess word got around, because more of my new friends began commenting on it, saying how surprised they were that we would help them for nothing in return. They had never seen anything like it.
After the horrible, inhumane ways they had been treated, they were justified in thinking that no one would help them—especially strangers. Many told me they hadn’t had any idea what would happen to them once they reached European soil. What a great surprise it must have been to be welcomed off the raging sea into open, caring arms and emergency blankets.
It wasn’t long after these conversations about us volunteers had begun circling the camp that I noticed something very interesting. The refugees began to help me with my tasks! They started picking up trash. They asked if they could help make hot drinks and serve them throughout the freezing nights. They helped with folding, sorting, and distributing donated clothes and setting up and taking down tents. And to my amazement, by the end of my service, there were hardly any jobs left for me to do.
I couldn’t carry a heavy water jug without a man offering to carry it for me. I couldn’t wash dishes without refugees happily telling me they would do them. And not only could I not fling open a garbage bag without a herd of boys rushing over to help, the refugees had almost stopped throwing their trash on the ground altogether!
The changes I witnessed inside the camp were undeniable.
When the somber day arrived that I had to leave the people I had grown to love so much, a man recognized me on the ferry. He approached to thank me for what I had done, when he saw that I held only a coach ticket. He insisted that I switch my ticket for his first-class one for the long, 14-hour ride. He told me that seeing the volunteers’ examples changed him. He wanted to help someone else too, and switching his ticket was the best he could do right now.
“Please,” he begged. “Please.”
Tears filled my eyes as I witnessed once again the ripple effect that genuine service and love can cause.
I had been so naive thinking that the little cups of tea I had been serving weren’t really making a difference for anyone.
Thanks to this experience, I’ve realized that these people truly do need us. They need our time, they need our donations, they need our love, and they need our examples. And we also need them.
What a beautiful world it would be if instead of turning our backs or leaving them to navigate their new circumstances alone, we could just embrace them as our Savior would—showing them love, belonging, and gratitude, and instilling in them a desire to serve others when they are able to themselves.
With the ongoing refugee crises around the world and the different beliefs about how to handle them, I am often reminded of the principle in Mosiah 4:19: “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, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?”
It is my prayer that we someday come to realize that we are all beggars. We all need assistance in this life, and I now firmly believe that Heavenly Father expects us to learn from the inevitable suffering that happens around us in mortality. We can learn to love and serve those in need.
Experiences like serving at a refugee camp allow us the chance to be humbler, more understanding, and more compassionate humans. And they give us the sacred honor and privilege of extending a hand to our brothers and sisters and developing true, perfect Christlike love for one another.
I already knew that God loves those refugees enough to have sent others to help them. But now I understand that He loves me just as much to allow me to learn from them too.
At the beginning of my service, I felt discouraged and useless and wished so badly I could fix every problem, or at least do more than just serve tea to those deserving people. But I eventually witnessed the much bigger effects of what I was actually doing there. What my calling there actually was—to spread hope, goodness, and light in a darkening world.
We are all children of heavenly parents, and there is much we can do to help one another, wherever we may be.

“Are they here yet?” Tanner called. He had run all the way home from the park.
“Not yet,” Mom said. “But they’ll be here soon.”
Tanner’s grandma and grandpa were coming to visit. He couldn’t wait to see them! Papa always made Tanner laugh. Nana always made him a yummy treat.
Tanner ran to his room. He found his new green racecar.
“I’m going to show this to Nana and Papa,” he told Mom.
“That’s a great idea,” she said.
Vroom! Tanner raced his car back to his room.
Mom came in. “Nana hasn’t been sleeping very well lately,” she told Tanner. “Can you help by being super quiet for her at night?”
“Sure!” Tanner wanted to help. Sometimes he had a hard time sleeping too. A while ago Mom and Dad gave Tanner a special CD. It had nice, soft music on it. It helped Tanner fall asleep at night.
Knock, knock, knock! Tanner jumped up. Nana and Papa were here! He ran to the door and pulled it open. Papa hugged Tanner. Nana hugged him even tighter. They played racecars. Then they colored. Tanner had fun all day.
Soon it was bedtime. Papa read a story. Nana sang a song. Then Tanner went to his room to say a prayer. He told Heavenly Father about Nana. Tanner asked Him to help her sleep better. After his prayer, he looked up and saw his CD player.
Tanner knew what to do. He got his special CD and went to find Nana.
He held out the CD.
“Here, Nana. This music helps me sleep sometimes. Maybe it will help you too.”
“Thank you!” Nana said. She smiled big. “I know this will help.”
Nana gave Tanner a hug. He went back to his room. He was happy he had shared.

When Elder Marcos Antony Aidukaitis’s oldest son was eight, he drew a picture of his family for a school assignment. At the time, Elder Aidukaitis was putting in long hours as general manager of a company in São Paulo, Brazil. “I was working a lot and was traveling to many places around the world,” he recalls.
Elder Aidukaitis was noticeably absent from his son’s illustration. “Where is your father?” the teacher asked the boy. “Oh, he’s working,” he replied.
For Elder Aidukaitis, the experience was a wake-up call. “I changed jobs and fixed what had to be fixed,” he says, renewing his efforts to put family first.

I had planned to go to the temple in December 2017 but ended up postponing the trip. My husband was not ready to go without someone else to go with us. I fasted everyday but after a few months I became sick. All reports were normal, but the doctor recommended complete bedrest. I couldn’t understand what was wrong. I felt that perhaps I was not worthy. I continued to read the scriptures and prayed, but still felt bad. One Sunday I felt especially alone and even left church after taking the sacrament.
At last I met with my stake president and he said, “Sister Mahana you are a strong pillar; you never give up because you have a treasure of miracles.” I realized that he was right, I was fighter and I was a daughter of God. So, I read the scriptures more than before. In October of 2017, I accepted President Nelson’s 85-day challenge to read the Book of Mormon. As soon as I started reading the Book of Mormon, one by one my problems were solved. One month later I received a new calling. I fulfilled that calling faithfully and finished reading the Book of Mormon too. I met with the stake president on 27 January 2018 and we decided that I would go to the temple in April 2019. It felt so good to hear that I was finally going to the temple. This time I felt I couldn’t wait. I realized that what the stake president said was true, that I did have a treasure of miracles because I am totally changed. I have received many blessings, both spiritual and temporal. On 21 April 2019 we left for the temple. I am grateful for this trial. It has taught me more patience and given me more knowledge of spiritual things.

One day when President Hinckley was about five years old, he was sitting on his front porch with some friends. A family of another race walked down the street. Young Gordon and his friends made some unkind remarks. His mother talked with them and told them that all people are sons and daughters of God. That day he learned we must respect and help one another, regardless of race, religion, wealth, or anything else.

During Mutual, we were given an assignment to become missionaries by getting a companion, sharing our testimonies with a nonmember, and giving our nonmember friend a copy of the Book of Mormon.
After Mutual, I asked my mother for some advice. She promised me that if I prayed in faith and asked Heavenly Father, He would surely answer.
It took me two weeks to find someone who would accept the Book of Mormon. At first, I was rejected again and again. I was so tired of getting hurt that I was about to give up.
One night, I had a dream about a woman who was a close friend to my family. As I dreamed, I realized that she was the one for me and my companion to visit. When I woke up, I thanked the Lord for helping me.
At the next Mutual, my companion and I wrote our testimonies on the front page of the book and made a fruit basket for the woman. We went to her house, knocked on her door, and waited. Even though I was scared that she might reject it, I told myself to have a little faith. She finally came outside with a happy face and accepted the Book of Mormon.
Through this experience, I learned that when you have a little faith and you know that Heavenly Father is there, you can easily feel that the impossible is possible.
Rapunzel L., American Samoa

Kevin watched as his older brother and sister got ready to go to the temple to do baptisms for the dead. Kevin wanted to go too.
Dad, can I go?
You’re not old enough yet, but I’m glad that you want to go. When you turn 12, you can go too.
Kevin helped his sister pack her bag. Then he helped his brother pick out a tie.
They left, and Kevin stayed home with Mom and his baby sister, Erin.
When Erin cried, Kevin gave her a teddy bear.
I know Heavenly Father is happy with the way you are serving Him today.
But I didn’t go to the temple.
Yes, but you helped your brother and sister get ready. And you are helping me take care of Erin.
When you help other people, you serve Heavenly Father.

There may be a time when a person would have doubts concerning the ability or qualification of someone being called to a position in the Church. One brother in my acquaintance once learned a great lesson in this regard. Years ago, as a ward teacher supervisor, he had a problem motivating a particular ward teacher to perform his duties. The supervisor found it necessary to do this man’s ward teaching for six consecutive months. One night in a sacrament meeting, my friend was called upon to sustain this man to be a member of the bishopric. He struggled within himself to know whether he should sustain a man who had not performed his duties as a ward teacher and whom he felt did not have the qualities necessary to be a good member of the bishopric. Reluctantly, he finally voted in the affirmative. In the ensuing months the slothful ward teacher took hold of his position in the bishopric and moved the work of the Lord forward. He served successfully as a member of the bishopric and later as a bishop, a high councilor, and eventually as a counselor in a stake presidency.

Each student in my kindergarten class gets to be a VIP (Very Important Person) for one week and bring in their family to meet the class at the end of the week. When my family came, I was telling the other children about us and mentioned that my mom and dad were going to the temple the next day. When it was time for the class to ask questions, one girl asked what a temple was. I did my best to explain that it is where people get married forever and where people are baptized and do ordinance work for people who have died. The whole class listened, and I was glad I got to share something that is special to my family and me.

Another experience illustrating his love for family occurred at the death of his firstborn, a little daughter, Mercy Josephine, whom he affectionately referred to as “Dodo.” Little Dodo died when she was three. After watching over her night after night, holding her, and encouraging her, Elder Smith grieved when she went sleepless one entire night. The next morning when she said, “I’ll sleep tonight, papa,” the words “shot through my heart.” Shortly thereafter, she died.
He expressed the sorrow of his heart in a letter: “I scarcely dare to trust myself to write, even now my heart aches, and my mind is all chaos; if I should murmur, may God forgive me, my soul has been and is tried with poignant grief, my heart is bruised and wrenched almost asunder. I am desolate, my home seems desolate and almost dreary … my own sweet Dodo is gone! I can scarcely believe it and my heart asks, can it be? I look in vain, I listen, no sound, I wander through the rooms, all are vacant, lonely, desolate, deserted. I look down the garden walk, peer around the house, look here and there for a glimpse of a little golden, sunny head and rosy cheeks, but no, alas, no pattering little footsteps. No beaming little black eyes sparkling with love for papa; no sweet little enquiring voice … no soft dimpled hands clasping me around the neck, no sweet rosy lips returning in childish innocence my fond embrace and kisses, but a vacant little chair. Her little toys are concealed, her clothes put by, and only the one desolate thought forcing its crushing leaden weight upon my heart—she is not here, she is gone! … I am almost wild, and O God only knows how much I loved my girl, and she the light and joy of my heart.”
Forty-six years later, just two years before his own death, President Smith wrote in his journal, “This is the 49th anniversary of the birth of my firstborn child, Mercy Josephine. A most beautiful and intelligent little girl. She died June 6, 1870, nearly three years old, leaving but the memory of the sweetest, happiest, loveliest three years of my whole life up to that time. O how I loved and cherished that little angel of love and light.”

I learned this formula in my own life. I started working for a big oil company shortly after I was baptized. These truths about work came into my life and led to my progress in the company.
One manager in particular at the company had a lot of power. He requested that each department send two people to help him do an inventory. And he said the only requirement was that the people knew something about accounting.
I had studied at a trade school, and I had a certificate from my accounting classes. My department boss said, “Go tell him that you are going to help with the inventory and that you are an accountant.” He wanted to see the reaction of the other man because I was so young.
When I arrived, the manager asked what I wanted. I answered, “I’m going to help you do the inventory.” I did as I was instructed by my boss and told him I was an accountant. He laughed.
Then he said, “Well, Mr. Accountant, come to my chair. Take this adding machine, and add everything in every column as fast as you can.”
I started with one finger, very slowly. He pushed me out of the chair and said, “You don’t know anything; you are going to be punished. You are going to sit there in a chair in front of me for two weeks, watching how I do the work.”
I moved to another chair. He said, “Watch me.” He started adding so fast, not even looking at his hands. I was amazed. I thought he was joking about having me watch him work for two weeks, but he wasn’t.
That first day I sat there for six or seven hours. That evening I stayed after work and waited for everyone to leave the building. Then I went to his office and changed the roll of paper in the adding machine and started practicing adding the same columns he did. For hours I worked and got faster and faster and faster. When I felt I was doing it as fast or faster than he did, I went to sleep for an hour or two.
The next morning I just washed my face and went out the front doors when they opened early, then walked in again after the manager arrived. I knocked on his door. He said, “OK, you sit there and watch what I’m doing.”
When he started on the adding machine, he seemed slow to me. I had practiced for seven hours straight. I gently pushed him aside and asked him to sit in my chair. I started adding so fast. He was surprised.
He said, “What did you do?” He forced me to tell him. He said, “From now on, because you learned this, you will work with me, and I’m going to teach you everything I know.”
I switched departments. After a few years he resigned, and I was able to take his place because of his recommendation. I used effort and concentration, and I was happy in what I was doing. I was not angry because he punished me at first.
You can do any good thing. You just need to put forth the effort, the concentration, and be happy.

As seniors in high school, several of us had decided to sub for Santa. We had been given the name of a single mother who had three little children. They lived in a rather dismal apartment house with dirty walls, steps, and hallways. The whole building needed a coat of paint and a scrubbing. The doors didn’t fit very well.
We gathered food, toys, and clothes. Excitedly we ascended a rickety staircase to the door with the number on it that we had been given.
A tired woman invited us in. There were no warm lights or even a tree to greet us. Her little children seemed too frightened to speak. As we placed the gifts around a tree we had bought and did some decorating, we observed a large, quite new television set. Our gifts were soon distributed, signaling that it was time for us to leave. The little family said very little as we slipped out of that dark place to go home. Father greeted me as I arrived home.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“Fine, Dad, except,” I sputtered, “they had this large TV set.” That was a time when many families could not afford a big television or even a small one.
My father said something like, “What does that have to do with it?”
I stammered, “Well, why didn’t the lady buy Christmas toys, decorations, and food for her family instead of the big TV?”
“Maybe that is all they have for any happiness in their lives,” Dad said.
I realized that what he said was true. We had observed how little else they had. Suddenly my whole immature attitude spun around. We had blessed four people and that was all that mattered. We are never quite the same after an experience like that. Some of my own pettiness evaporated that night as I realized how much we had enjoyed giving those gifts.

One Sunday, while serving in the Fifth Quorum of the Seventy, I was invited with my quorum to meet with Elder Richard G. Scott for training. It was a powerful experience, as he indicated that his purpose in bringing us together was to bear his witness of the Savior. He taught us to respect inspiration. Inspiration is always grounded in truth. My notes from his remarks closely paralleled what he said in general conference at about this same time. In conference, he spoke of how to study scriptures:

When I am faced with a very difficult matter, this is how I try to understand what to do. I fast. I pray to find and understand scriptures that will be helpful. That process is cyclical. I start reading a passage of scripture; I ponder what the verse means and pray for inspiration. I then ponder and pray to know if I have captured all the Lord wants me to do. Often more impressions come with increased understanding of doctrine. I have found that pattern to be a good way to learn from the scriptures. [3]

On that Sunday, he taught us that this same protocol is also fruitful whenever we feel the Spirit or have an impression that has come under the influence of the Holy Ghost. He urged us to write such impressions down, then to pray about whether we had captured them correctly. Make corrections. And when it is right, we should ask if there is more. He said that in his experience, “Often, there is.” And if so, write it down, repeating the process until you have it right, and then ask what else you might learn.

My testimony to you, independent of Elder Scott’s, is that in this way, treasures of truth can come to us that we may never access without displaying this level of diligence and respect for the impressions we receive. It goes without saying, that to gain this benefit to our studies, we must live faithfully, repenting, and keeping the Spirit close.

As Elder Scott concluded, he said he wanted to share aspects of his testimony that he had learned through this process. He wanted to be helpful to us in our ministries, called as we were as members of the Seventy to stand as especial witnesses. He spoke in slow, deliberate phrases, his eyes often focused on some middle distance. It seemed to me that he was imploring the Spirit for permissions to say more than words might say, negotiating with the Spirit, wanting to share everything that he knew and had experienced as a special witness, but without offending the Spirit by crossing into understandings too sacred for expression. It was a time I think, worlds without end, that I will not forget.

As I drove home from that meeting down the I-15 corridor, fairly aglow with the spirit of what I had just heard and felt and experienced, my eyes fell upon a scene of singular drama. To the east, nestled in the cut of a mountain, was the Draper Utah Temple, glowing incandescently in an almost supernal way, lit as it was by a shaft of sunlight bursting from the west between jostling cumulous summer clouds that were shadowing the rest of the mountain side. Towering above the temple, the divided sunlight reflected off of an enormous summer thunder head pulsating 5 miles and more up into the air and, at its base, sending shoots of misty strands of fog down the canyons and escarpments of the mountain range below. Brilliant white at the top, it was nearly black with moisture at its powerful base, flashing lightning and rumbling thunder as it dwarfed and closed in on the luminous temple on the hill. I thought absently, “Look out, little temple. You are in for a pounding.” I don’t often talk to temples, and when I do, they never talk back—until then, when I heard a response deep inside of my soul. The temple didn’t talk to me. But I seemed to see its vertical walls round slightly as it leaned it’s shoulders toward the roiling menace in its approach. And I thought I heard it say, “Bring it. Bring your winds and your rain, your violence and your tumult, your confusion, your chaos. Gape open the very jaws of hell. I will not be moved. This is what I was built for. I am consecrated to this very purpose, to stand as a sanctuary from this and every storm. Holiness to the Lord. The House of the Lord.”

The temple has been for me that place of shelter from the storm. Each temple is, in its way, the very axis mundi, the center of the world, the centering of things. Connect the dots that comprise your connection to the purposes of life. Draw a line through every commandment, every calling, and every ordinance, every act of service, every work of salvation and exaltation of the gospel, and you will form a line that runs directly through the altars of the temple.