Gospel Story Finder

I well recall one of the first anxious and earnest conversations with a temple attender after my service as temple president began in the Salt Lake Temple. A very thoughtful young lady had read through the relevant verses concerning the function of the temple as a house of learning and of instruction. She was perceptive enough to recognize that to know God and Christ, “the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent,” is “life eternal” (John 17:3). She knew also that we learn to know our Father and ultimately return to Him through Christ.
My testimony to her was that, for me, everything in the temple points ultimately to Christ and to our Father. The efficacy of the ordinances and covenants is in His atoning love and delegated authority—the authority of “the Holy Priesthood, after the Order of the Son of God” (D&C 107:3). But she had not yet made a clear connection in her own mind and heart how temple worship can become a critical key to knowing the Lord. …
The temple is of utmost importance in providing the setting for purifying and therefore sanctifying ourselves, which, as we learn about Christ, can lead us to that personal knowledge of Him and witness of Him that lead to the most precious of life’s gifts.
Temple learning and worship can be the university of eternal life through Jesus Christ. In the prayer of dedication at Kirtland, this petition was offered to the Lord: “Do thou grant, Holy Father, that all those who shall worship in this house may be taught words of wisdom … ;
“And that they may grow up in thee, and receive a fulness of the Holy Ghost” (D&C 109:14–15).
Is this accomplished by ceremonies and ritual? Yes, in part, if we understand the purpose, the symbolism, even as Adam and Eve were brought to understand it in the earliest days of mortality. But basically we learn through the substance of the message, the principles of eternal progression, of eternal life. It is around a few simple principles that we make covenants with the Lord. Recall Paul’s statement to the Romans that we are reconciled to God by Christ’s death, and saved “by his life” (Romans 5:10). To me this says that the principles of His holy life lead us to that fulness of salvation known as exaltation—loving, learning, serving, growing, creative life on a Godly level with loved ones and with the Father and the Son. In the temple we can learn to live as Christ lived on earth and as He and the Father live.
What are those principles which are central in His life that are taught in the temple and that relate to the covenants we make with the Lord? …
He loved in a way that perhaps only He and the Father really yet understand. But we are here to learn that, to learn to love enough to give. On battlefields and in hospital rooms and in the quiet heroic circumstances of unselfish devotion to parent or child, it has been demonstrated for me that there are people who have learned truly to love and sacrifice in His way.
As we choose and follow a course of giving, of caring, of graciousness and kindness, we come to understand that this is not an optional element of the gospel; it is the heart of it. Decency and honor, unselfishness, good manners, and good taste are expected of us. What really matters, after all, is what kind of people we are, what we are willing to give. … This we decide daily, hourly, as we learn and accept the direction of the Lord.
After the Crucifixion, Resurrection, and Ascension of the Savior, something happened to the surviving disciples, led by Peter, who in a time of stress had failed Him. Pentecost occurred—the coming of the Spirit—and those who had wavered stood strong in testimony and testifying. Chapters 1 to 5 of the book of Acts tell the story. The last verses of chapter 5 have dramatic impact. Gamaliel has intervened with his associates to give the disciples another chance, a little more time. So they are warned again to cease teaching and preaching Christ, are beaten once more, and released. The record says they departed the premises rejoicing that they were found worthy to suffer for Christ’s sake. Then, “daily in the temple, and in every house, they ceased not to teach and preach Jesus Christ” (Acts 5:42).
In like manner something should happen to us as we depart the temple in the spirit of 3 Nephi 17:3: “Therefore, go ye unto your homes, and ponder upon the things which I have said, and ask of the Father, in my name, that ye may understand, and prepare your minds for the morrow, and I come unto you again.”
A purifying spirit can cause us, acquainted now in a special way with the path followed and lighted by the Lord—and loving Him—to be new persons, practicing love and brotherhood, rallying to the will of the Lord, serving, sharing, loving, loyal to wholesome standards, seeking first the kingdom of God.
We need to purify our family lives and make our homes places where we “teach and preach” Jesus Christ daily but follow Him always. Our homes, our families, our individual lives should become centers of learning, centers of unselfishness and service. In the words of Rufus Jones, “Saints are not made for haloes and for inward thrills. They are made to become focus points of light and power. The true saint is a good mother, a good neighbor, a good constructive force in society, a fragrance and a blessing. The true saint is a dynamic Christian who exhibits in some definite spot the type of life which is fully realized in heaven.”1
Consider what to me is a clear and forceful key to the meaning of temples and temple worship. The Lord revealed to the Prophet Joseph Smith in 1836 the prayer that was offered at the dedication of the Kirtland Temple. The prayer became section 109 of the Doctrine and Covenants. One who sincerely desires to understand basic temple meaning could well read it over and over, especially its first touching, powerful two dozen verses. Verse 5 is a beautiful statement that merits deep consideration: “For thou knowest that we have done this work through great tribulation; and out of our poverty we have given of our substance to build a house to thy name, that the Son of Man might have a place to manifest himself to his people” (D&C 109:5; emphasis added).
How does He manifest Himself to His people in the temple?
Chiefly, I believe, through the beauty and compelling cogency of temple principles, ordinances, and covenants, through temple worship—through the spirit of revelation and other blessings of the Spirit available there for those whose minds and hearts are in tune, and who are patient and anxious to learn and to move their own lives toward Christlike ideals (see 3 Nephi 27:21, 27).
One example may suffice in illustrating the spiritual strength that comes to those who persevere in the service of the Lord in temples. I came into the temple one morning about 4:30 a.m., grateful to have been able to plow through heavy snow from our home to get there. In a secluded room, sitting thoughtfully as he leaned forward on his cane, I chanced upon an older, deeply admired friend. Like I, he was dressed in white, temple workers’ white. I greeted him cheerily and inquired what he was doing there at that hour of the morning.
He said, “You know what I am doing here, President Hanks. I am an ordinance worker here to fulfill my assignment.”
“I do know that,” I said, “but I am wondering how you got here through the snow storm. I just heard on the radio that Parley’s Canyon is closed to all traffic, indeed barricaded.”
He said, “I have a four-wheeler that will climb trees.”
I said, “So do I, or I would not be here, and I live only a few miles away.”
I then asked him how he had managed to get through the barricades that the news announcements had said were in place in the canyon. His answer was not atypical of this rancher and stake president whom I had first seen as a robust, strong man astride his horse when I spent an afternoon with him prior to stake conference meetings. Arthritis and age had literally shrunk him now and would soon take his life. He had much pain in moving about. His answer that morning was, “Now, President Hanks, I have known those highway officers, many of them, since they were born. They know I must get through and that if necessary I might try to go overland! They also know my truck and my experience, and they just move their barricades if they need to.”
He was there, faithful and loyal at that hour of the morning, to begin his sacred work. It is such individuals with such faith and devotion that temples help to develop.

When I reached my teenage years, people started calling me “ugly” and “fat” at school. My confidence and feelings of self-worth were very low. I doubted the Church, Heavenly Father, and the whole plan of salvation. I didn’t want to go to church, Mutual, or firesides. I felt depressed and unworthy.
My mom, wanting me to try and make friends, helped me attend a youth camp when I turned 14. During the first session of scripture study there, I had a prompting to start reading the Book of Mormon. As soon as I read the first few words, I felt peace. The Holy Ghost was with me once again.

Many years ago I worked for a railroad in the central offices in Denver. I was in charge of what is called head-end traffic. That was in the days when nearly everyone rode passenger trains. One morning I received a call from my counterpart in Newark, New Jersey. He said, “Train number such-and-such has arrived, but it has no baggage car. Somewhere, 300 passengers have lost their baggage, and they are mad.”

I went immediately to work to find out where it may have gone. I found it had been properly loaded and properly trained in Oakland, California. It had been moved to our railroad in Salt Lake City, been carried to Denver, down to Pueblo, put on another line, and moved to St. Louis. There it was to be handled by another railroad which would take it to Newark, New Jersey. But some thoughtless switchman in the St. Louis yards moved a small piece of steel just three inches, a switch point, then pulled the lever to uncouple the car. We discovered that a baggage car that belonged in Newark, New Jersey, was in fact in New Orleans, Louisiana—1,500 miles from its destination. Just the three-inch movement of the switch in the St. Louis yard by a careless employee had started it on the wrong track, and the distance from its true destination increased dramatically. That is the way it is with our lives. Instead of following a steady course, we are pulled by some mistaken idea in another direction. The movement away from our original destination may be ever so small, but, if continued, that very small movement becomes a great gap and we find ourselves far from where we intended to go.

When I was 14, my dad left our family, and my mom was forced to flee the country. I was left with my three younger siblings, Ephraim, age 9; Jonathan, 6; and Grace, 3 (names have been changed). Nothing could have prepared us for this sudden change. For the first time, we were alone.
Extended family soon offered to take each of us in, but if we went to live with them, we would be separated. It was a difficult decision. How could we reject their well-intentioned help? But at the same time, how could we give up years of playing, laughing, caring for one another, and watching each other grow?
Initially, my brothers and I turned down their help, thinking I could work to support us and we could stay together. But we knew that we could not provide the care our youngest sister needed, and so, with tears in our eyes, we let her go.
For the next few months, I worked as a building painter to buy food for my brothers and me. My income was insufficient to pay the bills for electricity and water, so we had to live without them.
Despite this trial and the gossip of others that accompanied it, our faith didn’t waver. Every night, I would gather Ephraim and Jonathan around a lamp to read the Book of Mormon. I would trim the wick so that it would produce less smoke, but we would still have to clean our noses that had turned black by the time we finished reading. But it was worth it.
Reading the Book of Mormon brought us closer to Christ. After we read, we would kneel down together and take turns saying our prayers. We asked for comfort for our problem that seemed to be without a solution. We finished reading the book, and our faith in Jesus Christ grew stronger.
One day I came home tired from work and threw myself on our lower bunk bed. Looking up, I saw a paper posted under the bed above me. It said: “I Know That My Redeemer Lives!” My brother Jonathan had put it there. How close children are to the heavens that even a Primary child can be an instrument in sending a message from God to comfort a troubled heart and mind!
This testimony sustained me when I realized I just couldn’t provide for our needs and we had to leave our home. Jonathan was taken to live with my mother’s side of the family, but Ephraim and I chose to stay with our other grandparents because they were members of the Church. In their home we arose early to do chores before school, then cared for our grandfather late into the night. It was exhausting. However, the Lord was mindful of us, and we stayed close to the Church.
Every time I felt like giving up, I was reminded of the special moments I had had with my siblings as we read from the Book of Mormon surrounding a lamp. I know Christ was there beside us in those difficult times. From the moment our family members separated from one another, He did not forsake us. “I know that my Redeemer lives!”
Now, years later, I still have the picture of those words from above my bed in my heart and mind. That message has helped my brother Ephraim and me in our years of service as full-time missionaries and in striving now to live celestial marriages.
I could have missed a lot in my life had I doubted instead of trusting Christ. No matter how difficult life is, it has never been too difficult for the Savior, who suffered in Gethsemane. He can sustain one’s life with one sentence. He knows everything from the beginning to the end. His comfort is more powerful than any heartache this life can bring. Through His Atonement, there is no permanent problem—only constant hope, grace, peace, and love. Believe me, I know! I know that my Redeemer lives!

Dario Gonzalez of Montevideo, Uruguay, understands that there are priesthood callings—specific assignments or “jobs” that come from the bishop and other priesthood leaders. Dario is 16 and a priest, and his callings include home teaching with his dad and serving as first assistant in his priests quorum.
But Dario also understands that there is one calling every priesthood bearer has—the call to serve whenever and wherever possible. It’s a call to follow the Savior’s example in every part of life.
Be dependable.
When it comes to specific assignments, Dario is someone you can count on. “He’s a good home teaching companion and shows real concern for our families,” says his dad. “He always helps remind me when it’s time to go.”
It’s the same with his quorum leadership role. Dario may be the only active priest in his branch. But he realizes a quorum leadership calling means more than conducting meetings and making assignments. He not only visits other priests to encourage them, but he works with the deacons and teachers too, visiting the inactive and offering friendship and encouragement.
Then there’s that general calling to serve, the one every priesthood bearer has. That’s why you’ll find Dario working alongside other priesthood bearers—young and old—to help put a roof on a member’s house, or to build a bathroom for one of the widows, or to help a family move into their new home.
That general calling is also why you will find Dario grocery shopping for the nonmember widow down the street. Or taking care of the children in a family while their mother is in the hospital. All this takes time, but, Dario explains, “I feel good; I don’t feel forced into it. I still have time for study and for my friends. Besides, I go with my friends in the priesthood to do many of these things.”
Follow the Savior.
In many ways, Dario is an ordinary guy. He loves soccer, volleyball, and track. Dario is also quite modest, and getting him to talk about his priesthood service is not easy. Ask him what striving to magnify his callings has done for him, and he searches for words. Then he simply says, “I feel closer to Christ by trying to follow his example.”

Lincoln lived with his family in Santiago, Chile, until his mother died when he was 10. Afterward, he lived with his aunt and uncle. When Lincoln was 18, Elder Barton and Elder Bentley came to his aunt and uncle’s home. Lincoln’s aunt and grandmother immediately accepted the gospel, but Lincoln avoided the missionaries. One Sunday morning, his normally gentle grandmother came to his room, ripped the quilt off his bed, and told him he was going to church with them. Shocked by his grandmother’s unusual behavior and out of respect for her, he got up and went to church. That day he felt something new and powerful within his soul that changed his life. He soon became one of the Church’s first converts in Chile.

Sarah watched in horror as milk raced across her place mat. Just before the white liquid reached the edge of the table, she grabbed the tablecloth and lifted it up. “Mommy, help!” she shouted. Sarah’s anxious tug stopped the milk from pouring off her side of the table, but it tipped her own bowl, sending milk and cereal flowing off the other side.
Mom came running into the kitchen. “Oh, Sarah! Why can’t you be more careful?”
Sarah began to cry. “It wasn’t my fault,” she sobbed. “Adam did it.”
Mom looked at little Adam, who was sitting on the floor, playing with a toy truck. He looked up and smiled.
“You expect me to believe that Adam crawled up onto the chair, dumped your glass and bowl on the table, then crawled down before I got here?” Mom asked angrily. “I know that accidents can happen, but lying about this only makes it worse. Go to your room. I’ll be in to talk to you when I have everything cleaned up. And I want you to think about how you would feel if someone told a lie about you.”
Sarah climbed down. “I didn’t lie!” She muttered as she walked to her room.
Mom looked down at Adam. “Oh, Adam, what do you think I should do?” Smiling a big toothless grin, Adam stretched his arms toward Mom, signaling that he wanted her to pick him up.
“Just a minute, little one.” As Mom started to clear the table, the tablecloth swayed back and forth. Adam was fascinated by it. Reaching up, he grabbed it and pulled. Sarah’s spoon fell to the floor.
“Oh dear,” Mom said, picking up the spoon. “I think I made a big mistake. It was your fault, wasn’t it?”
She picked Adam up and hurried to Sarah’s room. Sarah was on her bed, her face buried in the pillow.
Setting Adam on the floor, Mom sat down beside her daughter and gently stroked her hair. “I think I owe you an apology.”
Sarah sat up.
“Did Adam pull on the tablecloth?” Mom asked.
Sarah nodded. “I tried to stop the milk, but I couldn’t, and it went everywhere. But it wasn’t my fault, honest.”
Mom put her arm around Sarah. “I’m sorry. I should have let you explain. And I shouldn’t have accused you of lying to me. Will you forgive me?”
Sarah nodded again.
Mom reached over to Sarah’s dresser and picked up the picture of Jesus with the Articles of Faith on the back. Turning it over, she asked, “Remember the article of faith that says ‘We believe that men will be punished for their own sins, and not for Adam’s transgression?’”
“That’s the second one,” Sarah announced proudly.
“You’re right. It means that we are responsible only for the things that we do. I scolded you for something the baby did. I was punishing you for Adam’s transgression!”
They both laughed. Hearing his name, Adam looked up and laughed too.

“Wow! Imagine living like that!” I’ve thought many times as I’ve traveled and lived abroad. I was 12 years old the first time I lived overseas. I went to Germany as a foreign exchange student, and there I learned that individuals and families in other places lived differently than I did.
Life-styles were different, food was different, transportation was different, languages were different. I was a stranger in a strange place, and I wondered how to respond. A big part of me wanted to surround myself with familiar things which would make the differences feel farther away. But there was also a part of me that wanted to completely submerge myself in the new culture and absorb it. I suppose I found a happy medium, leaning sometimes more towards one culture, and sometimes more towards the other.

I am aware of how one bishop marshaled his resources to assist a man who came to him for help. The man had been happily married for years, but because of a later addiction to alcohol and drugs he was left without a job, home, or family. Hard years of living on the street had degraded and humiliated him. With tears streaming down his face, he pleaded with his bishop for help.

The ward welfare committee discussed this challenge. One man knew a dentist who might be willing to replace the man’s broken front teeth. The Relief Society president suggested that nutritious food from the bishops’ storehouse might improve his health. Another suggested that this man needed someone who could spend time with him daily and help him find the strength to overcome his addictions.

As the suggestions streamed in, the bishop realized that an entire ward of concerned brothers and sisters stood ready to help.

Soon the bishop began to notice improvements. Priesthood brethren gave the man a blessing. A charitable dentist replaced his broken teeth. Food from the bishops’ storehouse improved his health. A faithful elderly couple agreed to serve as special home teachers. They were with him daily to help him stick to his resolve.

Following established principles, this good brother offered to help others in the ward. Slowly his life began to improve. Gradually the look of desperation and misery gave way to one of joy and happiness. Although it was a painful process, he was able to free himself from his addictions. He became an active member in the Church. A life of destitution and misery turned into one of hope and happiness. This is the Lord’s way of caring for those in need.

Snowflakes fell as Sofia stepped outside. Snow usually made her happy. But this year, things were different. She bent down and scooped up some snow in a bowl, then went back inside.
The kitchen was warm, and Mama was at the stove cooking breakfast. Sofia dumped the snow into a pot so it could melt. They would use the melted snow for washing their hands and faces.
“Merry Christmas, Sofia,” Mama said.
Sofia wanted to say Merry Christmas back, but the words stuck in her throat as she walked toward the barn to help feed the animals. The barn was attached to the house by a long hallway, and Sofia was grateful she didn’t have to go outside again.
Papa and her older brother Isak were already in the barn when she got there. A knot formed in Sofia’s stomach as she looked around. Cows, goats, and sheep were chewing their breakfast. Chickens pecked around her feet. But the barn was a lot emptier these days.
A month ago, some of their animals got sick and died. People in the community were afraid the disease would spread to other farms, so Sofia’s family’s farm had been quarantined. That meant no one was allowed to visit or leave their farm until they could be sure the sickness was gone.
Sofia had not seen any of her friends. She could not go to school or church. Her family could not sell their milk or go to the store. They were like prisoners on their own farm.
“Merry Christmas, Sofia!” voices squealed when Sofia returned to the kitchen. Her little brother and sister, Frej and Kaia, were sitting at the table eating bits of bread soaked in milk.
“You won’t have any room in your tummies for dinner!” Sofia said, smiling.
“Not that it matters,” she thought. Christmas dinner was going to be the same food they’d been eating for a month. Bread. Potatoes. Dried vegetables. All things they had stored from summer. They couldn’t even afford to eat one of their chickens. Who knew how long the quarantine would last?
“Hey, everyone,” Isak said, coming in from the barn. “Get your coats on. I want to show you something.”
Isak led them through the pine forest near the farm.
“Are we going to cut down a Christmas tree?” Kaia asked.
“I don’t think so,” Sofia said. “We can’t go to the store to buy decorations. We don’t even have any presents to put under it.”
Kaia and Frej looked disappointed, but soon they were running through the snow, trying to see who was fastest.
“Wait!” Isak called after a few moments.
Sofia peered into the forest. “What’s that?” she whispered.
There was a little click, and suddenly a light flared in the darkness.
“Oh!” they all gasped.
In front of them was a table built from fallen branches. A small stable made from moss sat on top, and inside was their family’s Nativity set. Angels, shepherds, and Wise Men gathered around Mary, Joseph, and the baby Jesus. A small lightbulb in the roof of the stable lit the scene.
Kaia and Frej stared, fascinated. Sofia stared too. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
“Merry Christmas,” Isak said.
And suddenly Sofia knew that it was. There would be no presents, no tree, and no special dinner. But there would always be the precious gift of the Savior. And that was enough.

When I was young, my father had a store where he sold and repaired clocks and watches. Our family home was located in the back of the store, so I grew up with the sounds of clocks and watches.
At the end of each day, my father would take some of the wall clocks he had worked on during the day and hang them inside our home on the walls near our bedrooms. I didn’t understand why he did this and why we had to sleep with all that noise. But with time, the sound of different clocks became a familiar part of otherwise quiet nights.
A couple of years later, I began working with my father in the store, learning from him how to repair watches. One morning he said something that opened my mind and helped me understand why he hung the wall clocks outside our bedrooms instead of keeping them inside the store.
“Could you bring me the wall clock that was near your bedroom last night?” he asked. “I was listening to the sound of it during the night, and I realized it is not working right. I need to look at it again.”
That was it! In the silence of the night, he had listened to the sound of the clock in the same way a doctor listens to the sound of the heart of a patient. In the process of repairing various types of clocks and watches over a lifetime, he had trained his ears to determine by a clock’s sound whether it was working perfectly or not.
After that experience, I began to pay attention to the sound of the clocks during the night, just as my father did. By doing so, I learned to recognize whether a clock was working correctly or whether it needed adjustment.
From my father, I learned the lesson of listening in a practical way—working with watches and clocks. Today I treasure the lesson he taught me. The Holy Ghost, in fact, still brings that lesson to my mind and heart, and He gives me a promise of good things to come.
That experience has helped me search for quiet moments when I can listen for the voice of the Spirit. Listening closely to the Holy Ghost helps me determine whether I am walking the correct path or whether I need to change my course so that I can be in tune with Heavenly Father’s desires.

As visiting teaching supervisor in our ward, I felt a particular concern for the less-active sisters. I frequently prayed and asked the Lord to guide me in letting these sisters know we still cared about them. We made sure to inform them of our activities, and we had active sisters write a monthly note to each one.
One night as I was using a ward list to prepare a visiting teaching chart for our Relief Society president, I found an unfamiliar name and address of a sister within our ward boundaries. I thought it strange that I had not seen her name before, and I felt prompted that she should receive letters from a specific sister in our ward.
When I suggested this to our president, she agreed and made the assignment. However, even after several months, there was no response to the letters. Finally, the sister writing enclosed a self-addressed, stamped envelope and asked the less-active sister if she would like to continue receiving letters. When the return letter came, this less-active sister explained that a few years earlier she had committed transgressions, and Church disciplinary action had been necessary. Since then, she had felt hurt and bitter. However, now she would welcome a monthly letter.
Shortly after this happened, as I was typing a new visiting teaching list, I realized this less-active sister’s name was no longer on our ward list. I looked through old ward lists in my desk, but I could not find her name anywhere. I called the Relief Society president and ward clerk, but neither of them had any information. Where had I found her name and address? It became apparent to me that they had come from the Lord.
A few weeks later, I awoke from a deep sleep at 2:00 A.M. with the strong impression that I should write to this less-active sister immediately and tell her of the experience I had with her name and address. I felt the Spirit very strongly telling me what to write.
About a week after I mailed the letter, I received a phone call from this sister. She told me that for a long time she had been convinced that the Lord no longer knew she existed. But then my letter had come and she knew she had not been forgotten. This sister has now returned to activity in the Church.

When Heather decided she wanted to go out for baseball, she didn’t think twice about the fact that there are no girls’ teams in her area. Today the petite 15-year-old with long dark hair and bangs is the only girl playing on boys’ teams in her league, and she’s doing pretty well.
The Drummonds are not the most outspoken kids in the world. They’re doers rather than talkers. But they will open up if you ask. Heather, for example, will tell you that she doesn’t feel short-changed by not growing up with a mother. “I’ve lived with guys all my life, so I do the things they do,” she says. “But I also do girl things. My best friends are girls. I don’t think growing up only with guys has hurt me.” Heather has her own ways of asserting her femininity. In the dugout, for example, even though she tucks her long brown hair up under her cap and wears a bulky uniform like the rest of the players, you can’t miss her because she’s the one wearing pink lipstick. And sometimes, when the other players lose their tempers and start swearing, they’re quickly reminded that a girl is present when Heather tells them, “Hey—watch your language!” And, she says, “They usually apologize.”
“Some of the guys I play with are kind of mean,” says Heather. “They say the only reason I’m on the team is because the coach doesn’t know how to cut a girl. I have to play extra hard to overcome that. I’ve been tempted to quit, but when I am, I just tell myself I have to stick in there, because everyone would think I can’t handle it. I can handle it,” she says with conviction, and you don’t doubt her.

I became friends with Kerstin when I was 14 years old. We went to the same school. I had known who she was for a long time, but I had not known her personally before because she was 12.
We got to know each other better when we both tried out for the school play. We soon became good friends, even though there was a two-year age difference. It wasn’t long before we met together in the afternoons to go on walks and talk. One spring afternoon, on one of our walks, she asked something that would change her life forever.
Kerstin wondered why my brother and I didn’t participate in the school’s religion class like most of the students in Austria. I told her about the gospel of Jesus Christ and about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then I bore my testimony and invited her to come to a youth activity. Later I gave her a copy of the Book of Mormon and the Liahona.
Since then Kerstin has participated in every Church activity and attends Church meetings every Sunday. She has even attended youth conference. Whenever we can, we walk to a little river that is close by to read our scriptures and work on Young Women Personal Progress.
Unfortunately, Kerstin cannot be baptized until she is 18. Her parents don’t want to cause any arguments with her extended family members. Despite this obstacle, Kerstin has already managed to get her mother to attend church.
Kerstin also works with the missionaries. She speaks about the Church with everyone she meets and has helped get her father excited about the family history program, even though he has no interest in religion.
Kerstin is an example to me of how easy it is to speak with others about the gospel and how our Father in Heaven prepares people to hear His word. We need only open our mouths and have faith. The rest will take care of itself.

When she awoke the old woman was immediately alert. From her bed on the dirt floor she looked toward the east window, trying to guess the time by the amount of light seeping through the cracks around the curtain. My sister the sun must be lazy today, she decided, throwing the blankets off. The Two Who Have Something to Say had stayed quite late last night, talking and answering questions, and perhaps she had overslept. At the window next to the door she saw gray clouds sitting where the sunrise should have been. She must get the sheep out soon. Late October was too early for a very big storm, she reasoned as she rolled up the bedding.
Quickly she washed at the washstand below the window, then stoked the potbellied stove, and put a kettle of water on to boil. From a cloth bundle on the metal cabinet near the stove she took a large piece of fry bread and placed it on the warm edge of the stove top.
After changing from her night dress into a long, full-tiered skirt and velvet blouse, anklets and oxfords, she paused by the overstuffed chair to tidy things. The Two Who Have Something to Say had left some small booklets for her to read and a larger, thicker volume with a blue cover. There was a picture of a gold statue on it, a man blowing a long horn. “The Book of Mormon,” the lettering read.
Next to the armchair was an apple-box bookcase, overflowing with her beloved books. Raymond, her youngest son, had promised seven years ago to replace the boxes with real shelves, but he was married now and lived across the wash to the west, about a mile from the highway. He had a demanding wife, and they were both drinking. The old woman knew she would never have another bookcase. She sighed when she thought of Raymond.
The whistling teakettle called her to the stove. From the metal cabinet she took a box of tea bags. Then she remembered the Fair One with Sky in His Eyes had said “Sister Ashton, tea isn’t good for you every day. It should be used only as a medicine.” It surprised her.
“Why should it matter?” she had asked. “I am an old woman. Will God deny a small pleasure?” He had smiled as he replied, “To obey is not a small thing.” She put the box back into the cupboard.
Instead, she put sugar and evaporated milk in the hot water and found that it warmed her just as well. The warmed-over fry bread tasted good. She thought of last night, sharing it with the Two Who Have Something to Say. The Fair One with Sky in His Eyes, whose name was Elder Wilson, told her of a prophet, Joseph Smith, and the book that contained a history of her people. The missionaries she had known as a girl, the Ones Who Wear Long Coats, had told her some confusing things, and the Ones Who Wear Short Coats had baffled her as well, although nothing as curious as this.
These young men, these Mormons, spoke of things that touched her soul deeply. They told her how her family could be together again in another life because of Jesus, why she must learn this new law of health, and that a man who spoke with heaven was at the head of the Church. As they left after the meal and the talk and the prayers, she had said, “You speak of many hopeful things, but I am an old woman, perhaps too old to change my ways.” The taller one, Elder Jordan, had replied, “Sister Ashton, our Father in Heaven loves you and wants you to become as a little child and follow him.” He gestured toward the shelves. “Your many books may bring you great knowledge and the wisdom of this world, but they can never give you peace of mind.” After assuring her that they would return in a few days, they went out into the night. They are only young men, but they are as wise as grandfathers, she marveled as she heard their car move slowly out of her yard.
When the old woman had finished eating, she brushed her hair and wound it into a knot at the nape of her neck, securing it with a piece of silver hair jewelry encrusted with turquoise. Then she placed her bedroll by the loom in the unheated part of the hogan, which was separated by blankets hanging over the poles that supported the thick dirt roof. Hanging on the wall along the south side of the hogan, obscured by the blankets from the rest of the room, were pictures of her family—Alvin in his Army uniform, Evelyn at her wedding, Patrick’s twins, Priscilla’s high school graduating class, even her husband Tom a year before his death.
She lingered over the last picture of her seven children taken three years ago at the Navajo Fair in Window Rock. That was before Jonathan’s death in an auto accident on the Shiprock Road. Her daughter Donna was married to a white man from Holbrook, and he always took pictures. At first the old woman thought it was silly, but now, seeing Jonathan again, she was glad. Beside the picture hung a piece of paper in a metal frame: “This is to certify that Jonathan Ashton has earned the Doctor of Medicine degree and is qualified to practice.” She did not know which was the greater sadness, Raymond’s drinking or Jonathan’s young life wasted. As she took her wool blanket off a hanger dangling from a nail on the wall, she wondered if Jonathan would have approved of the Two Who Have Something to Say.
Outside the door, the woman adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, took the staff she had left leaning against the hogan yesterday, and made her way along the well-worn paths around the clumps of sagebrush and cactus toward the corral. My sister the sun is still hiding, she thought, but in the fall she often plays this game. The clouds in the west looked as if they would soon disperse.
The corral was far enough south of the hogan that the old woman couldn’t hear the sheep until she was halfway there. There were 50 in the herd now, including 15 lambs which would bring a good price at the market next spring. The rest would be ready for shearing by then, too. She was already planning how to spend the money. Some would go to Jonathan’s son, Edward, at school in Phoenix; she had great hopes for him. And some would go for a book about needlework.
The corral, some 20 feet square, was made of poles three to four inches in diameter. There was a gate on the north side. The entire structure looked flimsy and ill-suited to its purpose, but as long as the bellwether was with them, the rest of the sheep stayed, even if the gate was open. A large stack of baled hay stood on the east side, far enough away so the sheep couldn’t nibble at it through the fence.
Now that her own children were grown, the old woman sometimes thought of the sheep as her children, and she greeted them with terms of endearment. Some even had names. The bellwether was Hozhoji—“happiness.” He was sure and dependable, knew where to lead the herd almost before she directed him, and when she was tired at the end of the day, he knew the way home. He made her happy.
As she opened the gate, the bellwether nuzzled her hand, then hurried on to take his place at the lead, his bell clanging with authority. He started north, but she stopped him and turned the herd south. The area near the spring had the best pasture, and it was only a few miles away.
As she walked, she noted the condition of the sky, listened to the jays chatter and scream at each other from the junipers along the way, and laughed at the clumsy lambs trying to catch their mothers immobile and get a few gulps of milk. After two miles they crossed the rutted road, continued another mile till they came to a slight incline. From the top she could see the spring in the valley below. The sheep could smell the water and hurried down to drink and then feed on the succulent greenery nearby. A rock outcropping about halfway down the hill made a perfect vantage point for watching all the sheep as they grazed. My mother the earth is very generous, the old woman thought, as she made her way to the rock. The spring and summer had brought more rain than usual, and the pasture was rich.
Sitting there, the old woman could see south toward the dry river bed, wandering aimlessly, following the path of least resistance. It was probably three miles across the valley floor to the red clay cliffs on the other side. The few cedars growing in the valley seemed lonely. The scene was still as an oil painting, but the old woman knew this high desert land was teeming with jackrabbits, small rodents, snakes, and even deer and antelope who crept down to the spring from their hiding places in the thick undergrowth higher up. Three miles northeast, hidden behind the end of the mesa, was a trading post. The old woman could hear the wind and the faint bleating of the sheep, but nothing else.
She found herself thinking again of the Two Who Have Something to Say and anticipating their next visit. The young men seemed so certain of what they said. Whenever they spoke of the book with the blue cover they said, “I know,” as if the knowing were a secret waiting to be discovered. But they told her how they could be so sure. “I have prayed, Sister Ashton,” Elder Jordan said, “and the answer came with such power I can never deny it.” Elder Wilson added, “Our Father knows what we need, but he waits for us to ask before he gives it.”
She could not explain why she was so moved by what these young men said. She had studied other religions before. Many years ago when she attended a Christian boarding school near Ganado, nothing any of the priests or ministers said ever affected her this way. Now she was an old woman, sure of herself, wise, experienced. Being a grandmother satisfied her; her opinions were always sought, always important. If she went the way of the Mormons, it would be like starting all over again in many ways. Her children and grandchildren might think that her mind had slipped away from her and that she had become foolish. Anyway, she hadn’t even read their book yet. And she was an old woman. Perhaps …
A sudden gust of strong wind broke the old woman’s reverie. She stood to judge the northern sky and saw black, puffy clouds billowing over the hill behind her, almost near enough to touch. Never had she seen a storm move so fast. Fearful for the lambs, she hurried down the hill, calling for Hozhoji as she went. He was obedient, but some of the other sheep were reluctant to leave and had to be prodded on their way. By the time she had disengaged the last lamb, the bellwether was at the top of the hill and setting a brisk pace. Anxious and panting, but not daring to stop and catch her breath, the old woman hurried on behind the sheep. As snowflakes began to fall, the wind got stronger. Some of the sheep stopped here and there to graze, but she scolded them like a mother with naughty children, and they scurried on.
The flakes thickened, the wind began to howl, and the old woman’s anxiety grew. Then suddenly she was within sight of the corral, and Hozhoji was leading the herd inside. Now they were safe. A quick head count told her all were there. She counted the lambs twice to be sure and closed the gate. Before she had taken three steps she realized that if the storm were to last very long, she might not be able to get out to feed them. She dragged a bale of hay from the stack, opened the gate and pushed it into the corral. The sheep were settled and quiet now, huddled together for protection. By the time she had struggled the second bale into the corral, the storm was directly upon her, snowflakes pelting her face and stinging with the force of the wind. She counted the sheep once more, made sure the gate was closed securely, and began her journey to the hogan, planning carefully as she made her way through the swirling flakes.
The south side of the corral was no longer visible. She tried to remember small landmarks along the way, but one clump of sagebrush soon began to look like another and she was no longer sure. Hoping to reorient herself, she turned toward the corral, but in turning she stumbled and fell. When she recovered she was alone in the blizzard, unable to see beyond the length of her arm. She knelt there trying to think clearly. She knew she was on the north side of the corral, and if she went straight north she would come to the hogan. But which way was north? A little to the left? Slightly to the right? Too much one way or the other and she might miss the hogan and wander for hours, perhaps in circles, perhaps passing near a sheltered place but not being able to see it.
In a subtle flash, the face of the Fair One with Sky in His Eyes came into her mind. “Our Father in Heaven loves you … become as a little child,” he was saying. But I am a grandmother, she thought. “Little child … little child,” his voice echoed again. She bowed her head.
“Oh Lord,” she whispered through the furious gale, “I am lost. Never have I been lost before. Only you can see through this storm. I know you love all living things, but if you want me to live, you will have to guide me home. You are the only way I can get there.”
Suddenly, in the midst of the storm, she was calm. It was as if a hand had touched her shoulder, for an overwhelming warmth ran through her. Then there was a sound at her side, and she turned to find the bellwether.
“Hozhoji!” she cried. Puzzled for a moment, she hugged the ram’s woolly neck. She distinctly remembered locking the gate. He tossed his head restlessly and nudged her hand. Then she understood.
“He sent you!” she whispered.
She got to her feet, fixed her fingers firmly around the bell strap, and patted the sheep. “Take me home, Hozhoji.”
Carefully, instinctively, the sheep led her to the hogan door, then disappeared into the storm.
Once inside, the woman dropped the blanket from her shoulders. The deep lines of her wrinkled, leathery face seemed to lift and brighten. Never had she felt so loved. Briefly she saw the face of Elder Wilson saying, “Our Father knows what we need, but he waits for us to ask.” Sinking to her knees, she whispered a prayer of thanksgiving.
“Oh God! Praise God! I feel you near me, my Father! Jesus, my Brother, I know you now!” And she put her face in her hands and wept.
Presently the weeping ceased. The old woman dried her tears. Then she arose, went to the old overstuffed chair, and sat down to read the book with the blue cover.

From the pages of our missionary journal comes an event repeated often throughout the missions of the Church. John and Shirley Withers were successful advertising executives. They were on the fast track, indulging themselves in worldly pleasures. When contacted by our missionaries, they were impressed by their clean, sparkling countenances so unlike other young men they had known.
As the Spirit touched their hearts, the conversion miracle began. Their previous behavior became incompatible with gospel principles. A new set of priorities and values replaced worldly interests. Alcohol and tobacco habits became expendable, although with great effort. Modesty became the dress standard. Prayer, scripture study, and Relief Society and priesthood service became the focus. They were baptized and received the Holy Ghost.
As Sister Clarke and I, with some of our missionaries, assembled in the Salt Lake Temple, John and Shirley Withers, with their children, were sealed together as an eternal family. Their countenances reflected the resplendent beauty of the emancipation of the soul. We witnessed a spiritual rebirth as if from the grave.

But I learned an important lesson from an argument I had with a family member. In this situation, we both felt strongly that we were in the right. I quickly got frustrated with how the discussion was going. I’m not a good debater, and he presented his points with a confidence that was hard to contradict. I did my best to state my points respectfully, but it didn’t seem to matter.
My words felt weak.
I felt weak.
I tried not to let my frustration get the best of me, but when he left, I broke down in tears. I felt discouraged and humiliated.
A couple of hours later, he came back. I braced myself for another frustrating argument, but his words surprised me.
“Thanks,” he said. “Thanks for listening.”
He told me how much it meant to him that I’d heard him out, even though I didn’t agree with him. In the end, neither of our opinions had changed, but we understood each other better.
What I had thought was a disastrous conflict turned out to be an opportunity to build a stronger relationship. That simple exchange made me think a lot about how I relate to others during conflicts and the importance of simply listening.

It was quite late. The missionaries had just finished their scripture reading and turned out the light as an anxious knock at the door broke the silence. Elder Franklin swung the door open to find Steve, one of their fine young converts of nine months, standing there without his usual smile and holding a rolled up paper in his hand.
“Elder Franklin,” he said. “I have come to give you my priesthood certificate of ordination. Please hold it for me until I can work out a problem. I don’t feel worthy of the priesthood right now, but I know I will be back to pick it up real soon.”
As it turned out, what Steve did was not necessary—except perhaps for his own peace of mind until he was able to sort things out to his own satisfaction. But peace of mind is the key. He had no peace while a conflict existed with his priesthood calling. We all need peace—peace of mind.

In 1901, he was called to open and preside over a mission in Japan, and he was given one year to prepare and put his affairs in order prior to his departure. At that time, Heber was still recovering from financial difficulties. After the meeting in which he was given the assignment, a fellow Apostle told him that the President of the Church would never have given him the assignment if he had known of his difficult financial situation. Elder Grant agreed. And at that moment, he put himself completely in the hands of the Lord. Every morning, he prayed: “Please help me today to do something to help me get out of debt.” Within the year’s time, all of his creditors had been paid. He was not only completely out of debt, but also had sufficient means to sustain himself in the mission field.

Nirina J-Randriamiharisoa of Madagascar currently lives in France while she pursues her education. When she first arrived, she struggled with loneliness and homesickness. “I sought for solace through prayer, scripture reading, and the gentle whisperings of the Holy Spirit,” says Nirina. “These things brought me closer to Heavenly Father and the Savior, and I felt peace.”

In time Nirina made friends and participated in activities within and outside the Church and found happiness. But then some tragic news from home shook her world. “One morning I received a message telling me that my brother had died. I had no idea I could feel such sadness. In the days and weeks that followed, I struggled through moments of loneliness, anger, and despair. Doing even the most basic things became serious challenges.”

A few months later, a close friend also passed away. The added sorrow increased Nirina’s already-heavy burden. For just a moment Nirina considered not attending church, but then she remembered that the same things that had buoyed her in her earlier difficulties could bolster her now.

“As I had when I first moved to France, I sought comfort in prayer, scripture reading, and the Holy Ghost. Through this I discovered more strongly that the Spirit and the doctrine of eternal families can bring us comfort and that the Atonement of Jesus Christ has a real effect in our lives,” she says. “Whatever trials we face, there are no ‘dead ends’ with the Lord. His plan is a plan of happiness.”