Gospel Story Finder

When I was a small boy, my brother and I often walked five miles to the ranch where my father worked. In the summer it was hot and dusty. As we trudged along, sweat dripping from our faces, I prayed that around the next bend we would find two horses with saddles and bridles so that we could ride swiftly to the ranch. My prayers were never answered—or so I thought. Now I realize that they were always answered, but the answer was no.

Elder Renlund and his family lived in Sweden when he was 12. One Sunday another deacon brought a firecracker and matches to the Church building. Before others arrived, Elder Renlund lit the firecracker! He tried to put it out, but it exploded and filled the chapel with fumes. Nothing was damaged, but the smell distracted everyone in sacrament meeting. Elder Renlund felt so bad that he decided not to take the sacrament. After church, he confessed to his branch president what he had done. Elder Renlund felt joy and happiness when he repented and knew he was forgiven.

When I hear about a Church activity, I always invite 10 people who are not members of the Church to attend. I have done this for years. I make invitations and place each in a white envelope and pray for the Spirit to guide me. Then I hand out the invitations. Rarely do all 10 attend, but even if only one attends, I feel I have been successful.
Several years ago, I prepared ten invitations to a fireside for married couples. I handed out nine to people at work and had one left. I didn’t know whom to give it to. Minutes later, Ricardo, a sales representative, passed by my desk. I felt prompted to invite him, even though he had declined an invitation from a co-worker to attend an event at his church. I didn’t think Ricardo would be interested.
But when Ricardo passed by my desk again on his way out, I felt the prompting again. However, he exited so quickly that I didn’t have a chance to talk to him. I prayed that Ricardo would return if I was supposed to give him the invitation.
After I had finished praying, Ricardo came back to ask me a question. Afterward, I said, “Ricardo, my church is having an activity for married couples. We are going to share experiences about how to live happily each day. Afterwards, there will be dancing. If I invite you, will you come?”
“Of course!” Ricardo said, but his answer didn’t convince me.
“At least I did my part,” I thought.
My wife and I arrived at the activity early to greet people as they arrived. Suddenly, I saw Ricardo with his wife, Regina. I introduced them to my wife and the others attending. All evening long, Ricardo and Regina looked like they were enjoying themselves. I was surprised when they said they would come to church on Sunday to learn more.
Ricardo, Regina, and their two children did learn more. Eventually, they joined the Church. Later, they were sealed in the temple. Ricardo once told me that he and his wife had been talking about a divorce, but then the Lord led Ricardo to my office.
I have since asked God to forgive me for thinking that Ricardo would not accept my invitation. I have learned that it is important to invite everyone. You never know who will accept.

Both of my parents learned English when they were in college, and they wanted to raise my siblings and me to speak English in the home. We learned by reading the Book of Mormon in English. At first we’d just read the Book of Mormon and be done, but my mom said she wanted us to read to understand. She told us to pick a verse that stood out to us and explain how it applied to us. This helped me to be confident in speaking and expressing my thoughts in English.
I’m grateful that my parents helped us understand the importance of learning and that they used the Book of Mormon to teach us the gospel and as the number one tool for teaching us English. It was a resource we all had access to, and it helped prepare us to read other materials in English. I know that I’m able to speak English better now because of our family Book of Mormon study. Knowing another language has helped prepare me for school, a mission, and jobs that require English-speaking skills.
Louena H., Tonga

Timmy* had seen the Logan Utah Temple many times when he went shopping in Logan with Mom. He always looked for the temple during the drive. He especially liked seeing it lit up at night. It towered over everything else in the city, as if it was keeping watch over everyone.
Today as they traveled to Logan, it wasn’t for shopping, and he looked forward to seeing the temple even more. He was going there with his family to be sealed together forever. He couldn’t wait until they arrived!
He hummed “I Love to See the Temple,”† one of his favorite songs. Today it meant even more to him. Last Monday, the family had had a special family home evening to talk about what was going to happen when they went to the temple and what it would mean for their family. He knew that after today, his family could be together forever.
He was glad about that. He couldn’t imagine not having his mom and dad and sisters with him always. Even though he didn’t always get along well with his sisters—they sometimes got into his room and into his things—he still wanted to have them forever. All week they seemed especially cute, and he couldn’t help being nice to them.
They were six-year-old twins, and sometimes he felt kind of left out. No matter what, they always had each other, so sometimes he felt a little lonely. After his family had started going to church, though, he realized that he was never really alone. Heavenly Father was always with him, no matter what. He could pray to Him at any time, and He would be there to help him.
Timmy’s mom and dad had been raised in the Church, but it wasn’t until they moved back to Mom’s hometown that they started going to church every week. The missionaries had come and given them the discussions about Joseph Smith and how he had prayed in the Sacred Grove. They said that Heavenly Father had told Joseph that none of the churches were true. He had received the priesthood and restored the true church of Jesus Christ. Timmy liked to listen to these stories about Joseph Smith.
One night, the missionaries brought a video about the Savior visiting the Nephites in America. Timmy really enjoyed it. He thought about what it would be like to sit at Jesus’ knee with angels all around and to hear Jesus speak just to him. His family started to have family prayer every night, and he could tell that the spirit in their home had changed. He knew that the Holy Ghost was with them.
Now as they drove to the temple, he could feel in his heart that Heavenly Father was pleased with them. “Mom, how much longer before we get there?” he asked. He was getting impatient even though they had left the house only ten minutes ago.
“It won’t take us very long. Just watch out the window for the temple,” Mom said.
“I bet I see the temple first,” Sarah piped up.
“I bet I do!” Suzy exclaimed.
They all watched for it eagerly as they came into Logan. Suddenly all three cried out, “There it is!”
Timmy’s heart beat a little faster. Mom and Dad had come to the temple yesterday morning to receive their own endowments. Today they would all be sealed together as a family.
Dad pulled up in front of the temple to let them out while he went to park the car. Timmy’s grandparents were already there. He could see them standing inside the doorway. He wanted to run inside and give them a big hug, but this place seemed too quiet and too special to run. He walked reverently, but he couldn’t help jumping into Grandpa’s open arms.
When Dad came, a woman said that she would take Timmy, Sarah, and Suzy into another room, where they would wait till it was time to be sealed to their parents. Timmy wasn’t sure he wanted to leave Mom, but she said that it would be all right and that they would be together soon. Timmy took his sisters’ hands and followed the woman into a room like the nursery at Primary.
The temple workers had two white dresses for Sarah and Suzy to wear and a white jumpsuit (clothing in which the shirt and pants are attached) for Timmy. Mom and Dad had told him that in the temple they would wear all white, just like when Timmy was baptized.
Finally it was time to change their clothes and go upstairs to one of the sealing rooms. Sister Smith took them in an elevator to the third floor. They stood outside a door until it was opened, and then Timmy and his sisters went into the sealing room.
Their grandparents, some aunts and uncles, and Mom and Dad were in the room. Timmy thought that Mom looked beautiful all dressed in white. She and Dad, also dressed in white, looked really happy, even though she had a tear in her eye.
Timmy felt a warmth like he had never felt before. He felt like he wanted to cry, too. Mom looked at him and smiled. It took only a few minutes, and they were sealed forever.
As they stood up, Timmy’s grandmothers both came and put their arms around him and his sisters. One of them said, “Look in the mirror. See—your family now goes on forever.”
Timmy hadn’t noticed the mirrors, or even what the room looked like when he first came in, but now he could see that there were mirrors lining the walls in front of him and behind him. They went from floor to ceiling and reflected everyone in the room. A big chandelier seemed to cast a spotlight over Timmy, his sisters, and his mom and dad, who were all standing in the middle of the room with their arms around each other. Timmy couldn’t help but cry now. He felt a little silly, but Mom bent down, took him in her arms, and said, “Timmy, now you will be my big boy forever!” and Timmy could see that she was crying, too. Everyone came and gave them hugs and congratulated them.
Later, when Timmy and his sisters changed out of the white “temple clothes,” Sister White gave them each a certificate with their names and a picture of the temple on it for their books of remembrance. The certificate said that on September 11, 1998, they were sealed to their family for time and all eternity.

All his life Matthew had known that his family expected him to go on a mission for the Church. He looked forward to being nineteen when he would be old enough for a mission call—which he felt sure would be to Hawaii. Yet when he was only seventeen, a call came for him to serve as a missionary in New Zealand.
It was a long way from home for such a young missionary. Matthew didn’t understand the language of the Maori people. He didn’t even know exactly how to teach the gospel.
Matthew had been in New Zealand only a short time when a native woman came to him and asked him to go home with her. “Come, please,” she begged. “My boy is hurt. You fix him up.”
One look at the boy lying on the floor told Matthew the boy was badly hurt. “You must get a doctor,” he told the mother.
“The doctor isn’t home. He’s not even in town. Anyhow we don’t need him. You pray and fix up my boy,” the woman insisted.
Her complete confidence amazed Matthew. He had never administered to anyone before, but he could not refuse.
The young missionary got down on his knees. Before offering a prayer for the injured boy, Matthew gave a silent but fervent prayer for himself, that he might be able to do and say whatever was expected of him. Then he administered to the woman’s son.
The boy recovered quickly. This almost miraculous healing through the power of faith and prayer was only the first of many experiences that Matthew Cowley had in the islands of the Pacific.

A long time ago there lived a handsome king in a gorgeous hilltop palace in a beautiful green land. This king had many servants and costly clothes and delicious food to eat. His crown was covered with rare jewels that shone and twinkled as he turned his head from side to side when he rode in parades.
The king was a good man and a kind man, but because he had never been poor, he didn’t understand the problems that poor people have. He had never had to work hard in the fields or take care of sick children, so he didn’t know what it was like to be weary or very worried.
One day as the king was riding through the countryside in his carriage, a carriage wheel began to wobble. A poor laborer who was working nearby saw the carriage stop. He hurried over, bowed to the king, and offered his services. Pleased that the laborer helped so efficiently and willingly, the king removed his cloak and gave it to him. Now, the laborer needed food for his family, not a cloak that he would never wear, but he humbly bowed and thanked the king.
Another day, when some enemies from afar invaded the king’s land, he sent his ablest soldiers to fight them. His soldiers fought for three days and drove the enemy away. The king was so happy about it that upon the soldiers’ return, he had his entertainers put on a show for them. Now, what the soldiers really wanted was to go home and go to bed because they were exhausted. However, they didn’t wish to give offense, so they humbly bowed before the king and smiled as they watched the show.
One spring a sickness spread throughout the land, and many children became very ill. Mothers and fathers stayed up night after night, caring for their sick children and praying that they would get well.
During this troublous time the king, who had no children, decided to have a beautiful ball and to invite the whole kingdom. He had heard that many families had sick children, but he thought that a ball would cheer them up. The parents cried when they received their invitations because they knew that they must attend. They grieved at leaving their sick children, but the king had such a wonderful time at the ball that he didn’t notice that no one else did.
That night, after the king went to bed, a servant put a container of fireplace embers and ashes just outside the palace door. He had been too eager to get home to his children to dispose of the contents properly. Later, another servant was carrying paper decorations from the palace. He saw the container by the door and, not realizing that it contained smoldering coals, piled the decorations on top of the ashes.
Early the next morning a mother trying to comfort her sick child happened to look out the window and see the whole side of the palace on fire. She sounded the alarm immediately, and the king and the palace workers escaped with their lives. But except for the night clothes that they were wearing, they lost all their possessions. The palace and everything in it were destroyed!
The king stood a safe distance from his once-beautiful palace and watched it burn. His face was covered with soot, and he shivered in the crisp night air. One by one his servants slipped away to return to their families in the countryside. They were afraid to ask him to go home with them, because they knew that he was used to the finest of everything.
So the king crept closer to the charcoaled remains of his palace and sat there all night.
The next day his subjects wanted to take something to the king to let him know that they were sorry for his loss. They knew that whatever they took would have to be something splendid, something fit for a king.
The tinsmith and his wife decided to take a beautiful silver tray and pitcher. When they delivered it to the king, he thanked them kindly. But after they left, he wished that they had brought him some water and a loaf of bread instead, for he was hungry.
The tailor and his wife, forgetting that the king no longer had a bed, took him a pair of satin sheets trimmed with gold thread. The king quietly thanked them, but after they left, he thought that some warm clothes would have been more useful, for he was cold.
When a farmer came with a fine horse as his gift, the king was a little more pleased. At least now he could ride to the river and wash. The king humbly thanked the farmer, but still he wished again that the gift had been some food.
The king could have commanded the people to bring him whatever he wanted, but somehow, without a palace, fine clothes, his beautiful crown, and many servants, he didn’t feel much like a king anymore. He didn’t feel like giving commands.
He rode to the river, washed his face and hands, and drank his fill. Then, as he sat there and wondered and worried about what to do, the poor laborer who had repaired his carriage wheel approached him. The laborer bowed as he held out the cloak the king had given him. “This has never been worn by anyone, Your Majesty, since you gave it to me. I have no use for it.” The laborer was immediately embarrassed by his own words, for he thought that he sounded a bit ungrateful. But the king smiled at the laborer and took the cloak and wrapped it about himself. This man would have been more grateful for food, the king thought, just as I would be now.
The laborer had barely left when a group of musicians and dancers came by. There on the banks of the river they put on a show for the king. The king wanted to cry out, “Don’t bring me music and dance; bring me food and a warm place to stay.” Then he thought of his valiant soldiers, tired and dirty, who had had to sit through a palace show when what they had needed was food and rest.
And he thought of the tired and weary parents who had had to leave their sick children in order to attend his ball. What an inconsiderate and foolish ruler I have been, he thought. If only I could have back my palace, I would be truly kind and help my people according to their real needs.
A long time after the musicians and dancers had left, a shepherd boy approached from the hills. He saw a man, tired and with tears in his eyes, sitting by the river. Not knowing that the man was his king, the shepherd boy sat down beside him and shared his bread and cheese with him.
When the boy returned to his flock, the king mounted his horse and rode back toward the remains of his palace. He was astounded to see loyal subjects from throughout his kingdom hewing logs and shaping stones to rebuild his palace.
The king was grateful for the chance that they were giving him. And he vowed that he would be a much better, kinder ruler.
And he was.

One morning as my companion and I were leaving our flat for the day, I wasn’t very happy. I wanted to take the car that day, but we have a rule in the mission that we have to “car fast” (walk, not drive) for two days each week—and this was one of those days. I was not happy about having to walk, and as we left I said a prayer asking that I might be able to see the reason why we had to “car fast.”
We walked down the road and talked to a few people. As we turned onto another long road, I noticed a man with two children. I had the distinct impression to talk to him. However, to my shame, I initially thought, “He’s so far away.”
Again the impression came, and again I ignored it. Suddenly the man noticed I was looking at him, and he yelled, “G’day, boys.” I crossed the street and said hello. We chatted for a minute, and I found out his name is Daniel and his grandmother is a member of the Church. He told us we could come to his house and teach him and his boys, and the boys seemed keen.
Three months later I had the wonderful experience of witnessing the baptisms of Daniel and one of his sons. Daniel had grown closer to the Lord in numerous ways. He had changed his life and sincerely repented of past sins, and through great effort and total commitment, he was worthy to be baptized and confirmed.
We recently visited Daniel and his family. He told us his wife is now interested in learning more about the Church. She said that it seems she, too, will be baptized.
It has been a humbling and spiritual experience to see the family progress. It causes me to reflect on the mercy and goodness of God, who would reach down and answer my simple prayer. I know that everything the Lord commands has a purpose. I know that He is preparing people to hear the gospel and that I have to be obedient for them to come to me and for me to be led to them.

Marnie Weintz, 17, of the Copper Hills 12th Ward in West Jordan, Utah, decided to build on a 12-year friendship with Sister Rebecca Mackey, an elderly woman her mom befriended in the temple. When it came time for Marnie to pick her Choice and Accountability project for Personal Progress, she thought to reach out to Sister Mackey in a different way by sending her a thoughtful card each week. She says that sending the cards “takes discipline to be dedicated in doing it every week.”
Marnie and her family aren’t able to visit Sister Mackey too often, but they maintain their relationship through phone calls. Marnie thought that by sending cards, she could show Sister Mackey in another way that she cares. Marnie has learned that even the smallest service can make a big impact. “I’m just surprised that it’s meant so much to her. I didn’t even know if she would really want me to send them to her every week or if she would save the cards at all.”
Sister Mackey looks forward to and cherishes those weekly cards, and for Marnie, her Choice and Accountability project turned out to be more lasting than she ever thought.

“The prophet was our … doctor, and he visited us nearly every day, in fact he was doctor for all the brethren and every day he went the circuit, to all, which took him pretty much all the time through the sickly season. He would lay on hands and apply simple proscriptions. He once ordered me a showering of cold water, and Carlos Smith layed hands on me and my chills turned to the real shaking ague, which was less dangerous.”5

But Katy didn’t become focused on service overnight. It took practice and some good experiences. In her sophomore year at Olympus High School, Katy decided to organize her service efforts. She felt she needed to start the Help Us Give Service club—HUGS for short.
“I knew HUGS club was inspired. I knew it was from Heavenly Father,” she says. The club puts on “un-birthday parties” for homeless children who didn’t get to celebrate their birthdays during the year, takes pets to rest homes so the residents can have company, and raises money for charitable organizations, among other things. Though HUGS started out small, there are now about 20 HUGS chapters from Alaska to Australia.
From her friends at Olympus, who still run HUGS, to her mates in Australia, Katy continues to guide the new leaders of HUGS. Though Katy doesn’t know the exact number of HUGS clubs, she’s always willing to help high school students start another chapter. She said the keys to starting a HUGS club include making the service activities creative and fun, keeping the club student-run and organized, and being committed to helping others.

On March 27, 1836, Joseph dedicated the Kirtland Temple. Only two years later he and other faithful followers were forced to flee to Far West, Missouri, because of persecutions.
When the Saints first arrived at Far West, they were accepted by the local citizens. But as their numbers and political influence grew, mobs persecuted the Saints and burned some of their homes. Governor Boggs sent thousands of troops to Far West with instructions to kill all of the Saints if necessary to restore peace. The Saints were forced to give up their guns, and mobs entered Far West and ransacked their homes. The Saints were then told to leave the state before the next spring or be killed.
Meanwhile Joseph and several other Church leaders had been taken prisoner. After spending about six months in various jails without being legally charged with any offense, the guards allowed them to escape. They fled to Quincy, Illinois, where many of the Saints had gone after being driven out of Far West.

Troy Jackson, Jaren Hope, and Andrew Allan are bearers of the Aaronic Priesthood who were called by an inspired bishop to team teach a family history class in their ward. These young men are representative of so many of you in their eagerness to learn and desire to serve.

Troy stated, “I used to come to church and just sit there, but now I realize that I need to go home and do something. We can all do family history.”

Jaren reported that as he learned more about family history, he realized “that these were not just names but real people. I became more and more excited about taking the names to the temple.”

And Andrew commented, “I have taken to family history with a love and vigor I did not know I could muster. As I prepared each week to teach, I was often nudged by the Holy Spirit to act and try some of the methods taught in the lesson. Before, family history was a scary thing. But aided by the Spirit, I was able to step up to my calling and help many people in our ward.”

In an effort to create replicas of the golden plates for the Museum of Church History and Art, historians have studied and compiled all the accounts from those who saw or felt the plates and then used that knowledge—and some educated guesses—to create three sets of golden plates for display. Each set varies a little in color, weight, and dimensions. The plates were created as part of the celebration of the 200th anniversary of Joseph Smith’s birth.

With all these descriptions, historians have little more than a general idea of what the plates look like. But they’ve done the best they can with the information they have.

The process to create the replicas of the plates was long and a little complicated. First, thin copper plates were created and coated in black acid-resistant paint. More than 150 volunteers, many of them youth, then used sharp metal tools to scratch characters into the black surface, exposing the copper beneath. The museum provided examples of what the characters might have looked like.

“This isn’t as much work as the ancient prophets did,” said April Rowbury, 15, of the Provo Eighth Ward, Provo Utah East Stake. “It was hard, but it wasn’t as hard as it was for them, because they had to engrave on the actual metal.”

“This is all very speculative,” says Kirk Henrichsen, a senior exhibit designer for the Church museum. “We’ve made them as accurately as we could with the information that we have, but I’m sure if Mormon came to look at them he would just laugh!”

After the volunteers engraved the characters in the black paint, the next step was to soak the plates in a copper etching solution. The solution ate away at the exposed copper, leaving the surfaces beneath the black paint intact. The solution was then rinsed off, and kerosene was used to clean off the remaining black acid-resistant paint. Soapy water cleaned off the kerosene, and then the clean copper plates were electroplated.

Electroplating coats the plates in a thin layer of a golden colored alloy of gold and silver, called electrum. Electrum is not as heavy or as precious as gold. Black ink will then be rubbed into the etched characters to make them more visible.

My dad had said that we could go away for the weekend—just him and me. We were going to camp up at Muskrat Bridge Park. Then Dad lost his job.
He had worked for Mr. Stapley at the warehouse on Fulmer Street, but it burned down last month. All the money that Dad had been saving went for my little sister, Elizabeth. She was born the day after the fire. Mom had had to go to the hospital two weeks before Elizabeth was born, because of complications. Then our car broke down, and we couldn’t afford to get it fixed right away. Mom is better now, though, and Elizabeth is just fine.
We had a family council and talked about us not having enough money and about Dad’s not having found another job yet. Dad said that the Church was going to help us with food for a while. Then he stopped talking, and his eyes got all watery. That had happened before, when he bore his testimony one fast Sunday.
I went and got the money that I’d been saving to buy a hamster and gave it to Dad. It wasn’t very much—one dollar and seventy-six cents—but it was all that I had. I told him that I wanted to help.
Dad didn’t say anything. He just pulled me close to him and held me longer than I could ever remember. I think that he was crying again, because my cheek felt wet.
After supper that night Dad asked me if I wanted to sleep out in our backyard. It’s a lot smaller than any campground at Muskrat Bridge Park, but the sky looked just as big in the yard as it did there. And there weren’t any more stars there than there were right here, only these weren’t quite as bright.
We lay in our sleeping bags and looked at the sky. We saw a shooting star. It seemed to go by about as fast as summer did. And that was too fast.
We talked, too, about lots of things. Like Grandma Chaboude’s laughing spells. One time she laughed so long and hard that she cried more tears than most people do when somebody they love dies. We talked about how far dandelions can fly. We wondered aloud about the dent in the blade of the old cavalry sword that was handed down to Dad from his Great-Great-Great-Uncle Wakefield. Had the dent been made during a battle in the War Between the States?
Most of all we talked about something else that was on my mind. I told Dad that I had been praying all week for something to happen so that we could still go to Muskrat Bridge Park. But nothing had happened. And looking up into the night sky and seeing how really big space was and how really small I was, I started thinking that maybe I was too little for God to bother with.
Dad turned his head toward me, his lips turning up into a smile as high as the points of the skinny moon. “God hears everyone’s prayers, Nathan,” he said. “And that includes children’s. Maybe especially children’s. And when a person prays with all his heart, he receives answers.”
“But I didn’t get an answer!”
Dad took a small crawly thing off my pillow and put it on the lawn. I think that maybe he was giving me time to think. I looked over at Dad, and he was staring up at the stars, looking harder at them than I’d ever seen him look at anything before. His eyes were shiny, like the leaves on our cherry tree on frosty mornings. Then he looked at me in a gentle way. “You are a child of God,” he said softly. “That means that you are very special. Heavenly Father loves you even more than I do—and I love you with all my heart and soul.
“The Lord created this whole world for you,” he continued. “Our Elder Brother Jesus gave His life for you—and for all of us. So don’t ever think that you are too small for God to bother with. Heavenly Father is happy when you’re happy. And so am I.”
Now that I think about it, I guess that it isn’t important where Dad and I spend time together. In fact, I’m glad that we camped out in our backyard. I liked it just as much as I would have at Muskrat Bridge Park. Maybe even more—because we talked about some pretty important stuff that night that we might not have discussed at the park because things would have been different. I would have gotten a “yes” answer to my prayer and not wondered about things. But as it was, we had spent a special night together. Just me, my dad, and the stars.

One night when I was 16, I remember coming back from a Church activity with three friends. We were all in the priests quorum and enjoyed being together. We parked the car in front of my house, and we were talking about the fun we had at church when one of my friends made a suggestion.
Nearby was a club that was popular with teenagers. On Fridays and Saturdays they had dances. He said, “We should go to one of those dances.” He suggested we could even use the opportunity to preach the gospel to the youth there. The other three, myself included, tried to tell him it didn’t sound like such a great idea. The standards wouldn’t be the same as at Church activities. There would be people smoking and drinking. People would be dressed immodestly. Most of the music would be inappropriate, loud in its volume, and heavy in its beat, often filled with suggestive words.
This was a good friend, a very active young man. But he kept insisting that we should go. “As long as we don’t participate in the bad stuff,” he said, “it will be just fine.” The three of us tried to dissuade him but couldn’t. He finally said, “Then I am going to go alone. I am going to show you that there’s nothing wrong with it. And you are going to miss out on some great fun.” He was determined to stick his hand in the cumbuca.
On Friday he went to the dance. The next day, Saturday, he came to Church-sponsored activities bragging about how fun it had been. He invited us to go the next week. We never did go, but he ended up going on a regular basis until finally he began going to the Saturday night dances as well. Then he would be late to church on Sunday because he was tired from being out so late. Finally he began skipping church.
Over time he stopped coming to church regularly. He ended up not going on a mission. A few years ago I contacted him over the phone. He was living in a different town far away from me. When we started talking about the Church, he was totally cold, not the same person I used to know.
Looking back, I think of the four of us in that car. The other three all stayed active in the Church, married in the temple, and have served in priesthood leadership positions. But that one excellent friend fell away, married outside the Church, and today is totally inactive. His children do not know the blessings of the gospel. Even though he can still repent, and I hope he will, he is losing valuable time and opportunities.
That night in the car, the four of us were at a crossroads. I didn’t know the decision was that important at the time. We simply knew that it was not appropriate to go where he wanted to go. I remember he said, “We will go there, and through our good example we will convert some of those youth.” But he was being deceived, and he ended up being the one who was converted to a different path. As I look back, I can see that something that seems small can have a huge impact over the years. I am happy that I was able to choose what was right.

After bouncing down a dirt road in a packed bus for four hours, I finally arrived in Concepción del Uruguay, Argentina, and was met by two other missionaries. I was to play a piano recital that night in the auditorium of the Colegio del Uruguay.
After checking the auditorium’s piano and making sure everything was in order for the recital, we returned to the apartment for a short siesta.
That evening as we left for the concert we heard noise and shouting down the street. One of my companions told me he had heard that an “anti-Yankee” demonstration was scheduled, stemming from the death of Chile’s President Allende that had occurred that very morning. The elder said we did not have to worry because the demonstration was taking place in a plaza on the other side of town. We avoided the crowds by walking an extra block out of the way.
Soon after we arrived at the auditorium we heard a noise through the backstage window. A mob carrying torches, communist flags, and banners was coming toward the auditorium. We barely had time to bolt the backdoor to keep the mob out.
Ten demonstrators managed to get in the half-filled auditorium before the management could lock all the doors. The other half of our audience was unable to enter.
We later learned that the mob had read in the newspapers that a U.S. pianist was presenting a concert. They had planned to drag the yanqui from the auditorium and make him—me—the climax of the demonstration.
Outside the auditorium’s locked doors the mob began to shout and chant, “Fuera yanqui, fuera yanqui!” (Yankee go home!) and “Hallar, hallar, en la lucha popular!” (Become part of the common fight!) They strung up an effigy and set fire to it, and the demonstration continued for an hour and a half before the police could break it up.
The sponsor of the concert came backstage and asked me if I wanted to go ahead and perform, even though half the audience was still outside.
At the end of the evening, after I had finished performing, three of the demonstrators who had come into the hall came up to talk to me and my companions. In our conversation I asked them why they had come.
“We seriously came to kill you,” one answered bluntly. He then asked us who we were.
“We’re Mormon missionaries.”
“I’ve never heard of the Mormons before.”
We asked him the Golden Questions. Later this 18-year-old youth invited us to his house to explain the gospel. A month later he was baptized. His family was converted also. The last I heard, our demonstrator-convert was preparing for a mission.

If it’s Saturday, you’ll find Elvira Guagliarello busily working in the kitchen of her home in Puerto Madryn, located on the shores of Argentina’s Nuevo Gulf in the southern province of Chubut.
She measures out flour and water and then reaches for other ingredients. She says little as she works, her actions speaking louder than her words. After all, she’s on the Lord’s errand.
“I feel good because I know I am doing something good,” says Sister Guagliarello as she mixes the ingredients. She thinks of the Savior as she works, happy with the thought that the product of her service will help other members of the Church remember Him.
Sister Guagliarello, age 82, enjoys serving as a visiting teacher, helps direct the music in her ward, and makes bread for use in the ordinance of the sacrament—a calling she has magnified for nearly 10 years. She prepares a loaf of bread for herself earlier in the week, but on Saturdays she sets aside time to make bread “especially for the Church,” she says. “I say to myself, ‘I have to make bread, and I have to go to church.’ I don’t want to fail.”
“Sister Guagliarello is always happy to serve in every way she can,” says her bishop, Jesús Santos Gumiel. “Ward members know they can count on her. Despite her age, she is faithful in preparing the bread every Saturday and in coming to church every Sunday. She’s a good example.”

Let me ask each of you to picture two crystal goblets in your mind. They differ in size and shape. They are both of good quality and have been well used. One has been carefully kept in a china cupboard. It is clean and polished. It is warm and inviting in appearance. It sparkles in the light and is filled with clear water.
The other glass is coated with grime. It has not been in the dishpan for a long time. It has been used for purposes other than those for which it was made. Most recently it has been left outside in the weather and has served as a flowerpot. Although the flower is gone, it is still filled with dirt. It is dull and unbecoming in the light.
Is not each of us like a crystal glass? We vary in size and shape. Some of us radiate a special spirit. Some are dull and uninviting. Some fill the measure of their creation. Others do not. Each is filled with the accumulated experiences or debris of a lifetime.
Some contain mostly good things—clean thoughts, faith, and Christian service. These hold wisdom and peace. Others enclose dark and secret things. Over time they have filled with unclean thoughts, selfishness, and sloth. They often hold doubt, contention, and unrest.
Many know they are not living up to their potential but for various reasons have procrastinated making changes in their lives. Some long for they know not what and spend their lives in a haphazard pursuit of happiness.
These, in a way, are like the crystal goblet which spent part of its existence filled with dirt. They sense that there is a higher purpose to things. They become dissatisfied and begin to search for meaning. First they look outside themselves. They sample the pleasures of the world. As they do they discover, much as did the snail who set out to look for its house, that after arriving at wherever they were going, they are no closer than before to the object of their search.
Ultimately, they look within. They have really known all the time that this was where to find peace. Sin, you see, is not just a state of mind. Wickedness never was and never will be happiness. (See Alma 41:10.) They discover that if they are not righteous they can never be happy. (See 2 Ne. 2:13.) They resolve to change. Then they are confronted, figuratively, with the problem of how to turn a weathered flowerpot into a sparkling crystal goblet. Questions are asked: Can I ever be forgiven? Is it really worth the effort? Where do I begin?
In the case of the glass it is easy to understand what to do. We begin by recognizing a better use for the crystal. A convenient place for dumping the unwanted contents is selected. The dirt is left there. The goblet is carefully washed with high quality detergent to remove the stains and residue. It is lovingly polished and placed once again in the company of other crystal glasses in the china cupboard. It is put back into use and cared for regularly.
There is a similar process whereby men and women are purified. The misuse of their lives is forgotten, and they are renewed and changed. This principle, of course, is repentance. When accompanied by authorized baptism, it provides not only an initial cleansing but an ongoing remission of sins as well. Participating in this purifying process is perhaps the most thrilling and important thing we can ever do. It has far-reaching, even eternal, consequences. Of more immediate interest, however, the rewards of repentance are peace and forgiveness in this present life.
Let me illustrate what all of this means. A few years ago I was asked to speak to a group of young men. I don’t remember now exactly what was said, except that near the end I made the statement that no one, but no one, present had done anything for which he could not be forgiven.
After the meeting was over one of them came up to me and said, “I just have to talk to you.” Inasmuch as I soon had another appointment, I asked if it could wait or if someone else could answer his question. He replied that he had already waited many years and that it was very important to him.
So taking advantage of the few minutes available, we found a little unused classroom, went in, and closed the door. “Did you really mean it? Did you?” he asked.
“Mean what?” I said.
“The part about how none of us had done anything that could not be forgiven,” he replied.
“Of course I did,” I said.
Through his tears his story came. He was of goodly parents. All of his life his mother had told him that he was going on a mission. Before he turned nineteen he was involved in serious transgression. He didn’t know how to tell his parents. He knew it would break their hearts. He knew that he wasn’t worthy to serve a mission. In desperation, he began to look for an excuse not to go. He decided to take up smoking. He felt that his father could understand that better and would not probe for the real reason. Smoking would hurt his parents, he rationalized, but not as deeply as the truth.
He soon found, however, that the bishop wasn’t put off by his use of tobacco. The bishop told him to just stop it and go on a mission anyway. So to get away from the bishop, he entered the military service. There he fell under the influence of some good Latter-day Saints. He stopped smoking. He was able to avoid major temptations. He served his time, received an honorable discharge, and returned home.
There was only one problem. He felt guilty. He had run away from a mission. He had run from the Lord and sensed somehow that gnawing discontent which comes when men do not live up to the purpose of their creation.
“So there you have it,” he said. “I have not sinned again. I have attended my meetings. I keep the Word of Wisdom. Why is it that life seems empty? Why do I feel somehow that the Lord is displeased with me? How can I know for sure I have been forgiven?”
“Tell me what you know about repentance,” I said.
He had obviously done some reading on the subject. He spoke of recognition, remorse, and restitution. He had resolved never to sin again.
“Let’s see just how those principles apply to you,” I said. “Let’s begin with recognition. What is the best indicator that someone recognizes he has done wrong?”
“He will admit it,” was his reply.
“To whom?” I asked.
He was thoughtful. “To himself, I guess.”
“Men sometimes view themselves in a most favorable light,” I said. “Wouldn’t better evidence of awareness of wrongdoing be to tell someone else?”
“Yes, of course,” he answered.
“Who else?” I insisted.
“Why, the person wronged,” he said, “and … and maybe the bishop.”
“Have you done this?” I asked.
“Not until now,” he replied. “I’ve never told it all to anyone but you.”
“Maybe that is why you have not ever felt completely forgiven,” I responded.
He didn’t say much.
“Let’s look at the next step,” I said. “What does it mean to feel remorse?”
“It means to be sorry,” he answered.
“Are you sorry?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” he said. “I feel as if I had wasted half my life.” And his eyes filled again with tears.
“How sorry should you be?”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
I said, “Well, in order to be forgiven, a transgressor must experience godly sorrow. (See 2 Cor. 7:10.) He must have anguish of soul and genuine regret. This sorrow must be strong enough and long enough to motivate the additional processes of repentance, or it is not deep enough. Regret must be great enough so as to bring forth a changed person. That person must demonstrate that he is different than before by doing different and better things. Have you been sorry enough?” I asked again.
He hesitated. “I’ve changed,” he said. “I’m not the same as I was before. I keep all the commandments now. I would like somehow to make it up to my parents. I have prayed for forgiveness. I apologized to the person I wronged. I realize the seriousness of what I have done. I would give anything if it hadn’t happened. Maybe I haven’t been as good as I could be, but I don’t know what else to do. But I didn’t ever confess to anyone.”
I said, “I think after this meeting we can say you have even done that.”
Then he said, “But after all of that, how can I ever know the Lord has really forgiven me?”
“That is the easy part,” I replied. “When you have fully repented, you feel an inner peace. You know somehow you are forgiven because the burden you have carried for so long, all of a sudden isn’t there anymore. It is gone and you know it is gone.”
He seemed doubtful still.
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said, “if when you leave this room, you discover that you have left much of your concern in here. If you have fully repented, the relief and the peace you feel will be so noticeable that it will be a witness to you that the Lord has forgiven you. If not today, I think it will happen soon.”
I was late for my meeting. I opened the door and we went out together. I didn’t know if we would ever meet again. The following Sunday evening, I received a telephone call at my home. It was from the young man.
“Brother Howard, how did you know?”
“How did I know what?” I asked.
“How did you know I would feel good about myself for the first time in five years?”
“Because the Lord promised he would remember no more,” I said. (See Heb. 8:12.)
Then came the question: “Do you think the Church could use a twenty-four-year-old missionary? If they could, I would sure like to go.”
Well, that young man was like one of the glasses we spoke about. He had been out in the world and was partially filled with the wrong things. He was not content. Sin had clouded his vision and interfered with his potential. Until he could find a way to repent, he could never become what he knew he should be. It took time to change. It took prayer. It took effort, and it took help.
My young friend discovered that repentance is often a lonely, silent struggle. It is not a once-in-a-lifetime thing; rather, it lasts a lifetime. As President Stephen L Richards once said, it is an “ever-recurring acknowledgement of weakness and error and [a] seeking and living for the higher and better.” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1956, p. 91.)
This young man came to know that repentance is not a free gift. Just as faith without works is dead (see James 2:17)—so repentance, too, demands much. It is not for the fainthearted or the lazy. It requires a complete turning away from wrongdoing and a set of new works or doings which produce a new heart and a different man. Repentance means work. It is not just stopping doing something. It is not just recognizing the wrong or knowing what should be done. It is not “a cycle of sinning and repenting and sinning again.” (Hugh B. Brown, Eternal Quest, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1956, p. 102.)
It is not only remorse; rather, it is an eternal principle which, when properly applied over sufficient time, always results in renewal, cleansing, and change.
The young man we have spoken about discovered that where sin is so serious as to jeopardize one’s fellowship in the Church, the sinner must be willing to submit to the jurisdiction and judgment of the person who holds the custody of his Church membership and request forgiveness of him as well.
Most important of all, he learned that repentance is an indispensable counterpart to free agency. Free agency in the plan of salvation contemplates that men and women are free to choose the direction of their lives for themselves. Repentance means that as imperfect beings sometimes make imperfect decisions, they may correct their course. By following the rules of repentance, and through the atonement of Jesus Christ, mistakes don’t count. The Lord agrees to “remember no more.” (Heb. 8:12.) Because of the miraculous gift of forgiveness, transgressions are forgiven—and forgotten. Men can be cleansed and return to the path of purpose and progress and peace.
By repenting, my young friend became a new person. He was born again of the Spirit. He came to understand for himself, and that is the important thing, the meaning of the Savior’s words: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 11:28.) I so testify, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

I carried my patriarchal blessing with me during service in the United States Navy in World War II. I had grown up in Taylorsville, Utah, sheltered and shy, the product of a tranquil pioneer community. I now entered a harsher life, where oaths and profanity were common, where some men made bragging about sexual exploits part of their daily ritual. But again, my patriarchal blessing served as a beacon. Its promises gave me hope that I could stay clean, that I could survive the conflict and live to serve in our Heavenly Father’s kingdom.