Gospel Story Finder

by Vickie Toy
Early one hazy September morning a large group of teenagers showed up on Main Street in Shelley, Idaho, with brushes and paint cans, determined to paint the town red or whatever color the proprietors of the businesses selected.
In total, the group of youth from the Shelley Idaho Stake cleaned up and painted 11 stores. Even the local bar got a new coat of paint, as well as the police station. They also cleared away rubbish, pulled weeds, and planted hundreds of flowers.
With a population of 4,000, Shelley is largely an LDS community. The cleanup day was designed by caring Young Men and Young Women leaders to give the youth an opportunity to experience the joy of service.
“I thought it looked real neat when we cleaned up the town,” said Norina Cox, 12. “I was proud to say I helped.”
“I liked the feeling I got when we fixed up Shelley. It was worth the effort,” added Kristen Sargis.
The downtown street was deteriorating. Over the years, businesses had closed and storefronts stood vacant. Plans for the downtown cleanup started long before the activity took place. Church leaders met with the city council and the Chamber of Commerce to coordinate plans. Paint was donated, and equipment offered.
At the end of a hard day, the youth gathered to celebrate at a street dance held in a local parking lot.
“I’d been involved in Scout service projects before,” said Shane Thiemann, “but this was a giant one. It improved the way people feel about our town.”

My good friend Don Pearson shared an experience that highlights this influence. One night his four-year-old son asked him to read a bedtime story. Eric had picked out his favorite book: The Ballooning Adventures of Paddy Pork, a story about a family who lived on the isles of the sea and traveled from island to island by hot-air balloon. It was a picture book that had no words, so Brother Pearson made up words to the story.
“Paddy is in a hot-air balloon. He is landing on an island now. He is dropping a line over the side of the balloon.”
Eric stopped him. “Dad, that is not a line. It’s a rope.”
Brother Pearson looked at Eric and back at the picture book, and then he continued: “Paddy is getting out of the balloon and climbing down the tree. Oh no! His coat is caught on a limb!”
Again Eric stopped him. “Dad, that’s not a coat. It’s a jacket.”
By now Brother Pearson was somewhat perplexed. He said, “Eric, there are no words in this book, just pictures. Why do you insist that it’s a jacket?”
Eric answered, “Because Mother told me.”
His father closed the book and said, “Eric, who do you think is the last word, the ultimate authority in this house?”
This time Eric thought carefully before he answered, “You are, Dad.”
Brother Pearson beamed at his son. What an exceptional answer! “How did you know that?”
Eric quickly responded, “Mother told me.”

Back in the year 2000, Christina Jenkins’s family had a grand idea for family scripture study: why not read the whole Book of Mormon in a month?! The family, from Yorktown, Virginia, started the month before the school year started, and her dad calculated they would need to read at least 17 pages a day to meet their goal. To help them feel the true spirit of the Book of Mormon, the Jenkins family also decided not to watch television for that month.

“The events that occurred and the lessons we learned became so much clearer,” Christina says. “Reading the Book of Mormon personally and with my family each year has strengthened my testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Christina’s family enjoyed their month-long reading of the Book of Mormon so much they have done it every year since.

I close with the example of a new friend, someone we met a few weeks ago while visiting the Zambia Lusaka Mission.

Elder Joseph Ssengooba is from Uganda. His father died when he was seven. At age nine, with his mother and relatives unable to care for him, he was on his own. At age 12, he met the missionaries and was baptized.

Joseph told me of his first day at church: “After sacrament meeting, I thought it was time to go home, but the missionaries introduced me to Joshua Walusimbi. Joshua told me that he was going to be my friend, and he handed me a Children’s Songbook so I wouldn’t have to go into Primary empty-handed. In Primary, Joshua put an extra chair right next to his. The Primary president invited me to the front and asked the whole Primary to sing for me ‘I Am a Child of God.’ I felt very special.”

The branch president took Joseph to the Pierre Mungoza family, and that became his home for the next four years.

Eight years later when Elder Joseph Ssengooba began his mission, to his great surprise his trainer was Elder Joshua Walusimbi, the boy who had made him feel so welcome on his first day in Primary. And his mission president? He is President Leif Erickson, the little boy who stayed away from Primary because he was terrified about giving a talk. God loves His children.

It was a cool, overcast morning in 1919. Twelve-year-old Howard Hunter sat in the congregation in an aging frame chapel in Boise, Idaho. He had been a member of the Church only a short time, but he loved the gospel with all his heart.
Most of the members had mixed feelings that morning. There was excitement about the announcement of a plan for a new chapel. But there was concern about the cost. Ward members were asked to pledge what they could afford, but these were hard times and there was not a lot of money to spare.
The young boy rose to his feet. “I’m Howard Hunter, and I pledge $25,” he said in a loud voice. Howard had worked years to save that money, a large amount for anyone in 1919. But he knew the new chapel was worth the sacrifice. Others followed his example. The money was found. The chapel was built.

Our first meeting occurred 30 years ago. I was a newly appointed secretary to the stake MIA. She was a board member from one of the wards. My job was to call the roll at our stake leadership meeting. In those days when we had a standing roll call, I remember a particular evening when I was calling out the various wards. I had no difficulty in making an accurate count of the young men in attendance; then I started on the young women’s roll. Suddenly my eyes met a charming, beautiful young woman. I completely lost my ability to count. I confess to the Church Historian today that those records that are in the archives of the Church are not accurate for that particular meeting.
Eight months later I was kneeling at an altar in the house of the Lord, holding her hand, and hearing the most glorious words ever to be uttered on earth, “For time and all eternity.” I realized that I was receiving the greatest gift of God. I was being sealed in marriage by one having the authority to act for the Lord in uniting myself and my lovely companion together for time and all eternity, if I would but live worthy of her. We had only been married a few days before I found out I had married a woman with great empathy in her heart for her fellowmen. All of those wonderful aromas which came from the air around her kitchen were not all intended for me, for when she would find someone in need, she could not rest until she had made an effort to supply a relief.

Mary Hill Peterson, a teacher of at-risk students in an inner-city junior high school, radiated such qualities. Mary, not a member of our faith, was a special colleague and friend. I observed her classroom often. On each occasion I saw patient acts of kindness, genuine words of commendation, and sincere, honest praise expressed to every one of her students. It was obvious to everyone in the school that Mary was having a special effect on difficult students. One experience in particular illustrates this effect and her radiating qualities.

Early in the school year Mary was approached after class by one of her students. He was a ninth-grade boy—unkempt in his appearance, failing in school, frequently disciplined for his inappropriate behavior, and probably involved in a local gang.

He spoke to Mrs. Peterson in a rude, disrespectful manner, saying (in more colorful language than I will use): “You’re a phony. No one goes around praising others. People tell you how bad you are and that you do everything wrong. They don’t praise you.”

Mary paused for only a moment and then simply responded, “I know that not everyone compliments others, but a few years ago I decided that I didn’t care what others did. I want to be the kind of person who looks for the good in others, finds it, and then praises them for it.”

The student muttered some inappropriate remarks as he hurriedly left the room.

The significant part of the experience occurred several months later, in the spring. Again approaching his teacher privately after class, the student, this time very politely, remarked, “Mrs. Peterson, I just wanted to tell you that I have decided that I want to be like you.”

I believe that Mary’s work with those highrisk students has produced thousands of positive marks on her touchstone.

Giving to those in need is important. President Monson tells of a Sunday School teacher who taught him to share.
I express gratitude for a Sunday School teacher [named] Lucy Gertsch. She was beautiful, soft-spoken, and interested in us. She made the scriptures actually come to life.
We undertook a project to save nickels and dimes for what was to be a gigantic party. Sister Gertsch kept a careful record of our progress. As boys and girls with typical appetites, we [imagined] cakes, cookies, pies, and ice cream. This was to be a glorious occasion—the biggest party ever.
None of us will forget that gray Sunday morning in January when our beloved teacher announced to us that the mother of one of our classmates had passed away. We thought of our own mothers and how much they meant to us. We felt sorrow for Billy Devenport in his great loss.
The lesson that day was from the book of Acts, chapter 20, verse 35: “Remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how he said, It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Lucy Gertsch asked, “How would you like to follow this teaching of the Lord? How would you feel about taking your party fund and, as a class, giving it to the Devenports as an expression of our love?” The decision was unanimous. We counted very carefully each penny and placed the total sum in a large envelope.
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Noticeably absent was his mother. Always I shall treasure the tears which glistened in the eyes of each one present as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the delicate hand of our teacher to the needy hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. We [had] learned through our own experience that indeed it is more blessed to give than to receive.

I feel blessed to have been raised in the gospel and to have had many good examples of missionary service within my own family. My family members have served teaching missions all over the world.
I am autistic and serving a mission was something I presumed I would never be able to do. Then an insightful bishop discussed the possibility of a service mission with me and my family. Upon hearing about service missions and what they entailed, I immediately felt that it was something that I wanted to do; it could be such a wonderful blessing in my life.
At times, my life has felt challenging, living with autism can be frustrating and lonely. To be able to represent and serve the Lord as service missionary has made me feel included, valued, and loved. I have made many new friends within the mission and feel a great sense of belonging.
I was set apart as a service missionary in October 2021. I have received much support and excellent training from my service-mission leaders, Elder and Sister Crew.
So far, I have been involved with The Billion Graves Project linked to FamilySearch. With support I have transcribed information from headstones and uploaded this, for other people to access. I have transcribed information from many Commonwealth war graves and uploaded many poignant epitaphs. I have also taken photographs of headstones in local cemeteries and been involved in uploading them to FamilySearch for other people to access and use. Being engaged in this work has led to my greater appreciation of temple and family-history work. I feel a closer connection to my own ancestors.
I am shortly due to begin serving in a local food and clothing bank and look forward to serving and meeting new people in my local community.
My family and I consider it a sacred privilege that I have been called to a service mission in the Lichfield Stake. As I diligently serve and represent the Saviour in this way, other people will feel the love that He has for them. I hope others will want to serve a mission through my example. I feel that I am being blessed with a greater understanding and appreciation of Jesus Christ as my personal Saviour, as I emulate His example and serve people as He did.

Pete Penguin had lived in the zoo all his life. It was a nice place to live. There were flat rocks warmed by the sun, a pool with a sloped back to slide on, and lots of people who came to see the penguins.
Pete liked the visitors. Every morning he groomed his black and white feathers so that he would look beautiful when the visitors came.
“Isn’t he pretty?” people said as Pete strutted by.
Pete never tired of their admiring words. He was very proud.
One day, as he was showing off for the visitors, Pete heard two children giggling. Why are they laughing? he wondered as he moved closer to the fence of his pen.
“Look at him,” a girl cried. “Doesn’t he look funny?” She pointed at Pete.
“He looks like a little old man in a suit,” a boy said, and they both broke into peals of laughter.
“All he needs is a tie,” the girl said, still giggling.
“Silly bird!”
The children moved on toward the lion’s cage, and Pete watched them go. He looked at the other penguins and studied their white breast feathers and sleek black coats. No one had ever laughed before at the way he looked.
We do look silly, he decided. Walking away from the fence, Pete sat in the shadows where no one could see him. He watched the other penguins strut past the visitors. I’ll never act like that again, he thought.
Pete wanted to hide, but even in the shade, his white breast feathers glistened. Finally he waddled to the edge of a pool where there was lots of gooey brown mud. He sat in the mud and used his short wings to splash it all over his white feathers.
“What are you doing, Pete?”
Pete looked up at his friend Paul. “I’m covering myself with mud.”
“Why?”
“Because we look like silly little old men in suits.”
Paul shook his head. “You look awful,” he said and walked away.
But no one will laugh at me now, Pete thought.
Every day, while the other penguins groomed their feathers, Pete covered himself with a new layer of mud. No one laughed at him, but Pete didn’t feel better. In fact, he felt awful. When visitors came, he huddled in a corner.
“Come on, Pete,” Paul called. “Let’s play water tag.”
Pete just shook his head, and soon even Paul left him alone.
One morning, as Pete huddled behind a rock, he heard someone say, “Look at that bird over there. What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s all dirty.”
“He doesn’t even look like a penguin.”
“I guess he doesn’t like himself very much.”
The voices faded away, and Pete thought for a long time about what they’d said.
That afternoon Pete went to the pond and slid down the bank into the cool water. He splashed and swam and splashed some more until all the mud was gone. Then he climbed onto a rock and groomed himself.
“You look great,” Paul said as he passed the rock. “But aren’t you afraid you’ll look silly?”
Pete put one more feather in place, then looked at his friend and said, “I discovered that it’s not what other people think of me that makes me feel good. It’s what I think of myself.”

A modern parable portrays a farmer who had a wheat crop that surpassed any he had known before. According to the account, he could think of nothing but the treasures he could buy with the money from his crop. Every day he would visit his fields, gloat over the wonderful sea of golden grain, and then come home and proudly tell his family how rich he would be.
This farmer had a little boy who was ill and who begged his father to take him to the fields so that he could see this vast expanse of ripening wheat. The father consented, bundled his son up, and took him out. Absorbed in the treasure that lay before him the father did not immediately notice that his son was no longer by his side. Some time passed before he noticed the child missing and began searching about in the wheat, which was taller than his boy. Not finding him, the frantic father rushed to the village to summon the help of his neighbors. All rallied to his call, formed a huge circle by joining hands, and walked slowly forward, trampling the dense stalks until the body of the boy was found. Brokenhearted, the father mourned over the death of his son who was so dear to him. He realized the greater worth of one individual over the worth of monetary possessions. (Sidney H. Alexander, Jr., “Today’s Crises,” Vital Speeches, 1 Jan. 1963, pp. 185–86.)

A friend of mine helped his son set goals in this manner. Don asked his son what he wanted to be, whom he would want to be like. His son named a member of the ward who lived nearby, a man he had admired for some time. Don drove his son to where the man lived.
As they sat in their automobile in front of his home, they observed the man’s possessions and his way of life. They also discussed his kindness and generosity, his good name and integrity. They discussed the price their neighbor had paid to become what he was: the years of hard work, the schooling and training required, the sacrifices made, the challenges encountered. The affluence and seeming ease with which he now lived had come about as the result of diligent toil toward his righteous goals and the blessings of the Lord.
The son selected other men whom he deemed models of successful and righteous living and learned from a wise father the stories of their lives. Thereupon at an early age he set his own goal of what he wanted to become. And with his goal before him as a guide by which to make other decisions along the way, he was prepared to stay on his chosen course.

As a fifth-grade teacher at a private school in Massachusetts, USA, I had been meeting with administrators to discuss the school’s diversity curriculum, which opposed the principles in “The Family: A Proclamation to the World.” My efforts to stand for truths about marriage and family and to promote objectivity, respect, and understanding, however, resulted in a storm of misunderstanding, ridicule, and persecution.
At times I felt like the Apostles crossing the tempest-tossed Sea of Galilee while Jesus slept. I felt that my faith, like theirs, had begun to falter, and I too wondered, “Carest thou not that [I] perish?” (Mark 4:38). I believed that Jesus had indeed rebuked the raging wind and waves long ago, but as my trials intensified, it became hard for me to trust that He would calm my storms.
One day a school administrator asked me to explain my concerns to the entire faculty and staff at a diversity-training meeting. As I prepared for this presentation, my personal prayers, scripture study, and temple attendance became increasingly sincere, and I felt the Spirit guiding me to know what to say.
When the time came to address my colleagues, I took courage from the words of the Prophet Joseph Smith: “Let us cheerfully do all things that lie in our power; and then may we stand still, with the utmost assurance, to see the salvation of God, and for his arm to be revealed” (D&C 123:17).
As I spoke, I felt the Spirit fill me with peace and power. I bore witness of God’s great love for His children and of their divine nature, amazing potential, and eternal worth. I taught that God’s commandments demonstrate His love because they provide the path to the greatest happiness. And I declared that Jesus Christ can heal wounds of both nature and nurture.
Before I knew it, my 30 minutes of allotted time had passed. I backed slowly away from the podium, gathered my papers, and looked up. A sacred stillness filled the room. Some people were smiling and others were crying. Teachers who held opposing views thanked me for my courage and conviction. One colleague confessed that she had been touched by a “special spirit” as I spoke. Others told me they had never heard such a sensitive and respectful articulation of such beliefs and that my words had helped them see that the school’s curriculum needed to change.
The Master, who had calmed the raging tempest by commanding, “Peace, be still” (Mark 4:39) had done it again—this time for me!
Through this experience, I learned that we are never alone when we stand for truth. The Lord’s help is ever near. As He promised, “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).
With my whole soul, I testify that He is a God of deliverance. I know this truth because He rescued me. He calmed my storms.

When my husband and I were dating, there was a time that we chose to break up. I remember feeling so discouraged, and I wanted to feel close to Heavenly Father for His reassurance and guidance. So, I attended back-to-back endowment sessions. I did not hear any audible voices or see a vision, but after those two sessions, what I did feel was peace, and I received this clear thought: Jennifer, be patient, trust the Lord and His timing. I needed to press forward with my life and be open to future possibilities.

Walking out of the Jordan River Temple that day, I crossed paths with my former Stake Relief Society President, Sister Wendy Watson, who you may recognize as Sister Wendy Nelson. I had not seen her in years. She was my earthly angel and greeted me with a big smile and hug as genuinely as ever. She was a great example to me of living a faith-filled life. I do not know what she came to the temple pondering that day, and she did not know about my heartache, but that brief encounter was as if the Lord Himself was reassuring me that all would be well. Incidentally, the following year, I married President Meredith, and a few years later, she married President Nelson!

“Hey, do you want to dance?”
I turned around to see a guy I vaguely recognized looking at me quizzically. The lights were dim and the music was loud, but I thought he was in my English class.
“Sure,” I said, and we made our way through the crowd to the dance floor.
“So, what’s your name?” he yelled. I couldn’t hear him very clearly above the music and voices surrounding us, but I knew what he said anyway. The dance conversation at BYU is always the same. It goes: “What’s your name? What’s your major? Where’re you from?”
I know this seems like an innocent conversation and nothing to complain about, but that third question is a real problem for me. I know my name, and I’ve known my major since I was a freshman, but to answer “Where are you from?” is practically impossible.
You see, my dad was in the U.S. Air Force the whole time I lived at home, and we lived in nine different places before I turned 18. So you tell me—where am I from?
Sometimes I give my origin according to my mood. Do I feel like I’m from Nebraska today, or is it more an Alaska day? Maybe I feel Southern and I’ll say Georgia, but then there’s always Colorado, Arizona, or California, if I feel like being from the West.
Of course, this method can get dangerous if friends start comparing notes, so I generally stick to a more honest answer. Lately I’ve taken to saying where my parents live right now. It saves time and gives curious people the definite answer they crave. It’s especially useful for loud and crowded dance floors.
One day I spent a lot of time thinking about where I was from. I tried to imagine a house I would call home, streets that would bring back childhood memories, and friends that could remember elementary school with me. And I realized that for me, home is not any of those things.
For me, home is my family. My two brothers, my sister, and my parents are what I think of when I think of home. Sure, I remember the houses we’ve lived in, but after my family left, the houses weren’t home anymore. I’ve gone back to look at some of them, and there always seems to be something missing.
I remember places I played when I was a child, too, but I don’t have any reason to go back to them now that my family is gone. And the only people who have known me since childhood are the members of my family.
I remember certain pieces of furniture that have been in our different houses, and I admit that I associate those with home. But they could change, just like the houses and towns and states have changed, and I would still have a home. Everything about a house can change, and as long as the love of the family that once lived there stays the same, there is still a home.
At times in my life I have craved a hometown and dreamed of one house to call home.
Now that I’m on my own, I know it’s not a house that I miss but my family. They are my home. Maybe I did miss out on some traditional aspects of home-town America. But I think I gained something beyond the memories of a particular house on a particular street. Instead, I know that no matter where my family happens to be, I can always go home.

Of course there are examples of these serviceable individuals in our dispensation as well. Oliver Granger is the kind of quiet, supportive individual in the latter days that the Lord remembered in section 117 of the Doctrine and Covenants. Oliver’s name may be unfamiliar to many, so I will take the liberty to acquaint you with this early stalwart.

Oliver Granger was eleven years older than Joseph Smith and, like the Prophet, was from upstate New York. Because of severe cold and exposure when he was thirty-three years old, Oliver lost much of his eyesight. Notwithstanding his limited vision, he served three full-time missions. He also worked on the Kirtland Temple and served on the Kirtland high council.

When most of the Saints were driven from Kirtland, Ohio, the Church left some debts unsatisfied. Oliver was appointed to represent Joseph Smith and the First Presidency and return to Kirtland to settle the Church’s business. Of this task, the Doctrine and Covenants records: “Therefore, let him contend earnestly for the redemption of the First Presidency of my Church, saith the Lord” (D&C 117:13). He performed this assignment with such satisfaction to the creditors involved that one of them wrote:

Oliver Granger’s management in the arrangement of the unfinished business of people that have moved to the Far West, in redeeming their pledges and thereby sustaining their integrity, has been truly praiseworthy, and has entitled him to my highest esteem, and every grateful recollection. [Horace Kingsbury, Painesville, 26 October 1838]

During Oliver’s time in Kirtland, some people, including disaffected members of the Church, were endeavoring to discredit the First Presidency and bring their integrity into question by spreading false accusations. Oliver Granger, indeed, “redeemed the First Presidency” through his faithful service. In response, the Lord said of Oliver Granger: “His name shall be had in sacred remembrance from generation to generation, forever and ever” (D&C 117:12). “I will lift up my servant Oliver, and beget for him a great name on the earth, and among my people, because of the integrity of his soul” (HC 3:350).

When he died in 1841, even though there were but few Saints remaining in the Kirtland area and even fewer friends of the Saints, Oliver Granger’s funeral was attended by a vast concourse of people from neighboring towns.

Though Oliver Granger is not as well known today as other early leaders of the Church, he was nevertheless a great and important man in the service he rendered to the kingdom. Of course, if no one but the Lord had his name in remembrance, that would be a sufficient blessing for any of us.

You can also be an influence for good so that the gospel message will shine through your countenance. I recently heard of a young woman who invited a group of her friends to bring their dates to her home after a dance. One couple stopped on the way to pick up a videotape to watch. As they played it, the group realized it was an R-rated movie. This young woman became disturbed and excused herself to talk to her parents. They reminded her that R-rated movies are not shown in their home and suggested that someone should turn it off. The young woman said she would do it, and she did. Everyone seemed relieved. This is a simple incident, but it illustrates a point. A young woman who wanted to be good acted on her desires, and a whole group of youth were spared a little bit of evil. Repeated many times over, until they become a pattern, such actions can be an influence that will spread through the Church and through society.

by Karen Blaisdell
In the rugged terrain of the coal fields of southern West Virginia, a small branch of the Church rests snugly against the side of a mountain. The Welch Branch of the Bluefield Virginia Stake has set standards of excellence in several areas. One in particular is the writing, producing, and performing of winning road shows.
Branch President Albert Chappell said, “That first year we lost miserably because we didn’t know what a road show was. However, we learned quickly and we came home and went to work. There was so much love and excitement you could feel it. The members wanted to do their best and have fun trying. Everyone did his part, from children to parents to the elderly, all working toward a common goal of excellence.”
If not acting or working backstage, members helped by making costumes or working with scenery. We have developed our talents in this area and have been tremendously blessed from our experience. Our shows serve as an excellent missionary tool and fill a great need for fellowship among our branch members. This year makes the fourth consecutive year the Welch Branch has won the Bluefield Virginia Stake road show competition.

They chat on the school bus, during breaks and lunch hour, between classes, and walking home. Sharline Niblett first heard the gospel this way. “I was invited to another Grice sister’s (Wendy’s) 21st birthday at their home, stayed the weekend, went to church meetings Sunday, and have been attending nearly every Sunday since,” she laughs.
So she kept in touch with the Grice girls. “I attended church with them on and off for three years,” she admits. Then came Sharline’s baptism. “I had such a good feeling inside,” she recalls. “During the testimony time, I sat next to Rachael and could clearly hear the Spirit whispering to me, ‘Go on up there.’ I tried to explain to Rachael, asking her to come with me. Rachael hesitated, so I told Sarah I had to go up. She was really surprised. Eventually we walked up to the stand together, and I was just able to say, ‘I know this church is true,’ before bursting into tears.”

Once, I sat in a temple sealing room where I saw a young man and young woman sealed for time and all eternity. I knew the young man, and I knew of the path he had traveled. It was a hard path, full of pain and heartache, but the path was also filled with the Lord's tender mercies and His grace. I looked across the room at the young man's mother. I knew of the pain she had felt for her son, and I could see on her face pure joy as tears flowed down her cheeks. I knew also the path the young woman had walked. I knew of her goodness and her great faith that had sustained her in difficult hours.

As I watched this beautiful scene, there came into my mind a thought I knew was from the Holy Ghost. These are the words I felt: “This is why He did it—this is why Jesus went into the Garden and hung on the cross. This is why He suffered crushing agony and gave His life. This is why Jesus descended below all things—so that this young man, so precious in His eyes, and this young woman, so choice, so beloved of Him, could be clean and worthy, healed and whole, sealed forever by His power as husband and wife in the new and everlasting covenant, heirs to all the promises and all the blessings a loving Heavenly Father could bestow.”

I want you to hold in your mind for just a moment the image of the young man and young woman in the temple of the Lord. Everything about that scene that matters comes from Jesus Christ. They are in the Lord’s house; the ordinance was given by Him; it is His priesthood, His sealing power that joins them forever; the keys of the priesthood that authorize that ordinance are His; it is His atoning sacrifice that cleansed the couple from sin and made possible their entrance into His house.