Gospel Story Finder

I can be like Jesus by being nice to my friends. One of my friends has a lot of video games. While I was at his house one day, he kept playing games without giving me a turn. I wanted to play, too, and I felt like whining and complaining. But I remembered that my mom had told me complaining wasn’t nice. So I let him play and waited my turn. I try to be like Jesus so I can live with Him and Heavenly Father again.

When Andrew Christofferson learned that Fia was living in Salt Lake City with the Grants, he wasted no time in calling to court her. Several months later, he asked Elder Grant for permission to marry Fia. Sophia and Andrew were married in the Salt Lake Temple on 14 June 1907 with Elder Grant performing the ceremony.
Andrew took his bride to Lehi to live in a very modest cottage. Circumstances were quite different from those to which she had been accustomed. The adjustments she had to make must have been difficult indeed. But Fia had never regretted giving up a life of ease for the sake of the gospel, nor did she regret giving up life in the comparative luxury of the Grant home for life on a small farm. She was cheerful and pleasant and made the best of her surroundings. She learned many new skills as a farmer’s wife and helped care for her mother-in-law as well.
In time their home was blessed with two sons and two daughters: Grant, Reed, Mia, and Ellen. The first boy was named after Heber J. Grant.
Because the light was very painful to her eyes, Fia seldom went out in public, but people were attracted to her home. She was known far and wide for her warm hospitality. All who came into her home felt her love. They were entertained and fed and, if downcast, were cheered and encouraged.

In 1884 a small group of courageous Latter-day Saints had ventured forth from the comparatively mild, hospitable, and civilized climate of the Territory of Utah to settle the bleak sagebrush plains of the Upper Snake River Valley in the territory of Idaho. It was a daunting and formidable task. Throughout the course of the nineteenth century, a variety of adventurous explorers, rough-hewn mountain men and thousands of intrepid pioneers traveling to the Oregon Country had traversed the Snake River plain, but very few had elected to stay. The reasons for their disdain for this country were abundantly clear to any observer: the land was treeless, characterized mostly by sagebrush and lava rock and suffered from unrelenting wind, persistent cold, and little rainfall. In sum, it was your basic barren, high mountain desert. Early explorers, like Captain Bonneville, described it as a “vast uninhabited solitude that must forever defy cultivation.”
These hardy Mormon pioneers had created homesteads in the Iona area, a small village located just north of Idaho Falls. However, the pioneers quickly became discouraged as their crops were wiped out by numerous killing frosts during the all too short growing season.

It was into the midst of these discouraged members that Wilford Woodruff and Heber J. Grant came to address the first formal Church meeting held in the Iona area on 17 June 1884. This meeting was only attended by some nine to ten adults and a few children. Significantly, one of the adults in attendance was Thomas Ricks, whose name would figure prominently not only in the history of the area, but also in the establishment of a small, Church academy at “Mosquito Bend,” now known as Rexburg. This institution, while bearing his name, would become the largest private junior college in the United States and is now a four year university—Brigham Young University-Idaho. As these Saints had no chapel, the meeting was held outside and the tailgate of a wagonbox served as the pulpit. Pulling himself onto the wagon and looking down on this small fellowship of Saints struggling to survive in a harsh and unforgiving environment, Apostle Woodruff was blessed with a remarkable vision of the future of the valley and announced the following marvelous prophecy:

The Spirit of the Lord rests mightily upon me and I feel to bless you in the name of Jesus Christ. I promise you that the climate will be moderated for your good. I can see these great sagebrush prairies, as far as the eye can reach, turned into fertile fields. I bless the land that it shall yield forth in its strength. Flowers and trees and fine homes shall grace this great valley from one end to the other. Schools and colleges of higher learning shall be built to serve you that you may learn the mysteries of God’s great universe. I see churches and meetinghouses dotting the landscape, where the God of Israel may be worshiped in spirit and in truth. Yes, and as I look into the future of this great valley I can see temples—I can see beautiful temples erected to the name of the living God where holy labors may be carried on in his name through generations to come.

Here was a clear, prophetic and very audacious vision of the future. We do not know what the immediate reaction of this small congregation was to this unusual declaration. However, I doubt that they thought that this vision would happen automatically without their active involvement. Rather, I suspect that the people hearing this prophetic utterance realized that it would take both the ardent faith and the hard, sustained work of a righteous and devoted people over an extended period of time to bring the vision to reality. We do know, however, that the people of Iona were persuaded to stay in Idaho and within a relatively short time established a prosperous settlement with a school, a meetinghouse, and other facilities like those they had left behind in Utah.

By 1889, just 10 years after the restored gospel arrived in central Mexico, Church leaders had felt prompted to shift the Church’s limited resources to establishing colonies in northern Mexico. The members near Mexico City, about 1,000 miles (1,600 km) from the colonies, felt like sheep without a shepherd as missionaries left for the north. Though still surrounded by her family, Desideria knew that they would have to practice the gospel in isolation. This meant she would never have the benefit of joining the Relief Society or of receiving temple blessings while alive.
But she recognized that the Lord knew her. Through His servants, the Lord had manifested His desire to minister one by one to His flock. Because of her dream, the priesthood blessing, and the Book of Mormon, Desideria could testify of her absolute assurance that God cared for her spiritual and temporal needs. Though this knowledge did not prevent trials and challenges from occurring in her life, it did give her the confidence that the Lord would always ease her burdens.
In 1903, missionaries returned to southern Mexico for the first time since 1886. They met with José, who summed up Desideria’s endurance to the end and legacy of faith by saying that both his wife and his mother “died in full faith of Mormonism” and that he had “hope of dying in Mormonism.”7

In those days, too, the Church did not have a family home evening program like we have today, but my family did have family nights. One of my fondest memories is of sitting on Dad’s lap during family night as he read us stories from the Book of Mormon. It was the beginning of my testimony of the Book of Mormon, and my love for my father and mother grew as well.
After we spent this time together, we played games like Hide the Thimble, and Button, Button, Who’s Got the Button. We played basketball, too. In the winter, when it was too cold to play outside, we’d bend a metal coat hanger into a circle and wedge it above a door. As a ball, we’d use some wadded up stockings. Of course, we couldn’t dribble the ball, but we could shoot it at the hanger-basket, and we could pass it to each other. We loved playing together.

There are some things that form a common bond between Santosh and other teenagers all over the world. One of those things is the gospel. Santosh was introduced to the gospel via his uncle, Dr. Edwin Dharma Raju, who joined the Church in Samoa when he was on assignment from the government of India.

When Dr. Raju returned to India, he wanted his family to hear the gospel message, and he wrote to Church headquarters for missionaries to be sent to his family. Instead, Dr. Raju and his wife went on a short-term mission to teach the family themselves.

Santosh was eight years old when he and several family members accepted the gospel. The water tank on the roof of his Uncle Henry’s building was scrubbed and painted to serve as a baptismal font. The men and boys who attended the baptism were dressed in traditional white, loose-fitting Indian jackets and trousers. The women were dressed in white saris, the standard dress of Indian women, consisting of a long piece of cloth draped over the shoulder and wrapped around the body. The newly baptized family was to form the nucleus of the branch in Hyderabad.

Santosh is now a teacher in that branch. He and his brother Sanjay, 12, and sister Sunitha, 16, are the only youth there, but they take a very active part. Santosh arrives at the mission home, where church services are held, a half hour early each Sunday to prepare the sacrament. He is always ready to give a talk or teach a lesson to any age group. Sunitha is the branch chorister and teaches a Primary class, and Sanjay takes on various assignments and is often the first one to bear his testimony on fast Sunday.

Santosh is also preparing for a mission. “I have thought a lot about a mission,” he says. “I used to dream of going to a very remote island or a place where I could convert and baptize everyone. Now that they are calling Indian youth to serve in India, I would like to serve a mission here.”

His dreams also include medical school, which is extremely difficult to get into in his country. Of the 50,000 students who take examinations each year to apply, only 2,000 will be accepted. Only those with the highest grades can enter medical school.

Santosh, like many Indian children, has been going to school since he was three. He will graduate from “college,” the equivalent of American high school, at 17. In the meantime, he carries a stiff academic load.

His day starts before 6 A.M., when he hurries off for an hour session with a tutor. Since his classes at the private Christian school contain anywhere from 40–70 students, the time he spends with his tutor and four or five other students is essential.

He then comes home, prepares for school, reads the paper, and hops on the school bus. Once there, he attends eight classes, among them math, physics, biology, and three different language classes.

Santosh is in the 10th class, where it is crucial to be at the top. He has even had to give up most of the sports he likes so well, like cricket and badminton, in order to excel. He has to take major tests every month and exams every three months to determine his position in college.

After school, Santosh does homework and a little recreational reading until it’s time for the evening meal at 8:00 P.M. Then at 9:00 he’s off for another hour and a half with the tutor.

Although school takes up a major portion of his day, he still finds time for the Church and for scripture study. “I have a very strong testimony,” he says. “I thank my Heavenly Father for it. I know that the Book of Mormon, the Holy Bible, the Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price are companion scriptures and the word of God.”

That knowledge, plus the support of his family, are enough to sustain him in his minority status. “I hope I will have the strength to resist the temptations,” he says. “I love this church, and don’t ever want to go away from it.”

Many years after my first mission and while I served as mission president, an elder came to me and said that he did not know the Church was true. Because of that he wanted to return home. I pleaded with him to not do so stating, “You can’t learn the Church is true if in the back of your mind you’re thinking ‘I’m going to go home.’ By such lack of faith you cast out of your heart the very seed that could bring you the answer that you seek. First of all you’ve got to say ‘I’m going to stay. Whether or not the Church is true is beside the point. I’m staying.’” In summary I told him that the seed to plant in his heart was the seed of commitment to stay and serve, and the harvest that would grow was the sweet fruit of testimony.

The answer to your question “How can I be sure?” is simple. You’ve got to dive into the work. The fact that you think the Church is true shows that you’ve got at least your toe in the water. Now to be sure, you must dive completely in. Some want to know that the gospel is true before they dive in. They don’t want to get wet for nothing. But for me, I had to get wet first and then I knew. I believe to get the answers which you seek you will have to do the same thing.

You could reply, “I’ve tried all that.” I’d respond, “Well, try it some more.” There’s no other way. Dive in and ask the Lord if it is right. Make an effort to learn the truth. Don’t “sit” and ask the Lord for a testimony. Instead, “do” and ask the Lord for a testimony. Thrust in your sickle, and you’ll find some spiritual wheat to cut. Don’t expect the wheat to appear before you begin to cut. Have faith and be believing.

Don’t make a headlong confrontation out of your spiritual quest to know that the Church is true. That is like trying to pull a tender plant to its mature size. Let it grow naturally and surely. Don’t expect to reach the mountain peaks without being willing to climb the foothills. Life is like a cloth, and you can’t just sit and weave spirituality without weaving the rest of the fabric of daily life. You don’t have to go out of your way or say endlessly long prayers. You don’t have to travel to a distant land to find a service project. You just pray as you go and serve as you go and commit yourself to seeing how you can make yourself a better person and whatever part of the world you happen to be in a happier place. It’s how you treat your parents, how you treat your associates, how you serve them that creates the warm soil in which spiritual seeds can grow.

Walk forward into life. Hold your head high enough to see ahead but not so high that you can’t see those who need help. Say your prayers often and include among your statements of gratitude, thanksgiving, and devotion a simple request for spiritual confirmation to your questions, hopes, and desires. Keep a prayer in your heart always.

Make a commitment to serve, to love, to study, to pray. God will reach down and touch you, and the Holy Ghost will testify to your soul that Jesus is the Christ, that Joseph Smith did see him and the Father, that the Book of Mormon is true, that the gospel has been restored. Then you’ll know that Jesus Christ atoned for our sins and that through the holy ordinances administered by the priesthood of his restored church we can become clean and thus candidates for the celestial kingdom.

It’s that simple. It really is. If you make it more complicated, you’ll be ever learning but never come to a knowledge of the truth. It’s simple, but it is difficult in that it requires a whole soul effort. Where much is given much is expected.

Dive in. Plant the seeds. Nourish them. Then someday, someday soon, you’ll know the truth and you’ll be free to know and be all that you and God, our Heavenly Father, desire you to be. The answer to your question is indeed the key which will open the door to your eternal future. What you seek is worth all you have, for it is indeed the pearl of great price.

I told the sisters this experience: A young man and young woman who were going together were killed in a car accident, and when the father of the girl arrived at the scene, he saw these two lying dead and a whiskey bottle nearby. He was enraged, and he said, “I will kill the man who gave them that whiskey!” On returning home he opened his liquor cabinet, and he saw a note which read: “Father, I hope you will forgive us for taking your whiskey tonight.” You can imagine how he felt.

Mimi tried not to squirm, but it was hard to sit quietly in church. The pew (bench) just wasn’t the right size for her body. Mimi remembered Mom saying that reverent behavior in church shows love and respect for Heavenly Father. Mimi loved Heavenly Father very much, but sitting still for so long wasn’t easy. Mom also said that sitting quietly in church was less difficult if you really paid attention to the meeting, so Mimi tried.
It was fast and testimony meeting. Sister Richards was just saying how grateful she was to work in the nursery. After she finished, Jason stood to bear his testimony. Jason was only a little older than Mimi, about her brother, Ben’s, age. Mimi listened as Jason said, “I know the Church is true. I know we have a true prophet. I love my family. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Jason sat down. His little sister Ava stood up. Mimi was surprised. Ava was in her own Primary class. Wasn’t she scared to speak in front of so many people? But Ava stepped right up and said, “I love my mom and dad and Grandma and Grandpa and my brother, Jason. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
After a few more grown-ups spoke, Tyler, another Primary child, bore his testimony. He also said that he loved his family, adding, “and I try to be good. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Then the closing hymn began.
After church, Mimi said, “Next fast Sunday, I want to bear my testimony.”
“That would be fine,” Dad answered. “Have you thought about what you would like to say?”
“Oh, yes,” said Mimi. “It’s easy. I’m supposed to say, ‘I love my family. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.’”
“Well,” said Dad, “Those are very good things to say in a testimony, but they are not necessarily what you are supposed to say. Do you know what bearing your testimony means, sweetheart?”
Mimi nodded, then stopped. Maybe she wasn’t exactly sure what “bearing testimony” meant. She knew it had nothing to do with the animal kind of bear or with a bare wall that needs a picture.
Dad noticed her puzzled face. “Bearing testimony,” he explained, “means telling people what you believe or know is true. It’s not just repeating words you’ve heard others say. It is saying what you have faith in, or what spiritual things you have learned, or what the Holy Ghost tells you in your mind and heart.”
“Do you mean that Ava was wrong to stand up and say what the others said?” Mimi asked.
“No,” answered Mom. “She wasn’t wrong. She’s learning to bear her testimony, and that’s wonderful. She’s learning to speak in front of people, too, which can be scary. And she’s learning the kinds of things people have testimonies about. But as she grows, she will have special spiritual experiences that will help her testimony to grow. Then when she bears her testimony, she will have some very personal things to say.”
“Mimi,” Dad said, “if you want to bear your testimony, that’s great. But first, think about the things you feel deep inside you. What do you really know or have faith is true? And why do you feel that way?”
The next day started like any other Monday. But after school, Mimi was greeted at home by her neighbor, Mrs. Martin. “Your mother isn’t here, dear. She took Ben to the hospital. I’m staying with you and your little sister until she or your dad can come home.”
Mimi’s eyes widened, and a scared feeling filled her stomach. “What’s the matter with Ben?”
“The doctors at the hospital said that his appendix ruptured.”
“Ruptured?”
“That means it burst, dear,” Mrs. Martin explained. “It was all full of infection, and it burst, letting the infection out into his tummy.”
Mimi gulped. “Is it dangerous?”
“Well, it’s pretty serious, but they operated quickly to take it out. And your dad and grandpa hurried to the hospital to give him a blessing. He should be just fine. There’s nothing to worry about now, I’m sure.”
But Mimi did worry. The scared feeling in her stomach became a sick feeling. She went to her room and knelt by her bed. “Heavenly Father,” she whispered, “please help Ben be all right. I know we argue sometimes, but I really love him. Please bless him to get better. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” As Mimi finished praying, she felt warm all over, and the sick feeling faded away.
Later, when Mom came home, her tired face looked white, but she smiled at Mimi and her sister and hugged them tightly. “Everything is going to be all right,” she said. “Ben is very sick, but his blessing promised him that he would heal quickly and without too much pain. He’ll have to be in the hospital for a while, and I’ll go back tonight to be with him.”
Before Mom left, she prayed with the girls. Again Mimi felt a warm, peaceful feeling all through her body. Before she went to sleep, she carefully read the scripture on a card her Primary teacher had given her; “Whatsoever thing ye shall ask the Father in my name, which is good, in faith believing that ye shall receive, behold, it shall be done unto you.”* Mimi slipped out of bed onto her knees and prayed once more. Then, full of the warm, peaceful feeling again, she crept back under the covers and went right to sleep.
After several days, the doctor said that Ben could leave the hospital. “I expected him to need to stay longer, but there’s no sign of infection now, and I’ve never seen anyone heal so quickly.”
The doctor may have been surprised, but Ben wasn’t. “Of course—didn’t my blessing say I would get well fast and without too much pain?”
Mimi just smiled.
Before long, life was back to normal—school, playing, and, of course, church. On fast Sunday, just as she had said she would, Mimi bore her testimony. When she stood to speak, her knees trembled and her tummy did flip-flops. She never knew so many people could fit in the chapel, and they were all looking at her! She almost wanted to sit down again. But then she saw her family smiling at her.
She took a deep breath and began, “I know that Heavenly Father is really there and that He listens to our prayers. I know that because when I talked to Him about something really important, I felt all warm and calm inside. And I believe in the priesthood and in blessings, because everything my dad promised in Ben’s blessing happened just the way he said it would. And I believe in the scriptures because they promised that Heavenly Father will answer our prayers.” She looked at Ben. “I know that He answered mine. And I love Him. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Mimi felt an even greater love for Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ as she walked back to her seat. She saw tears in Mom’s eyes, but she was smiling. Daddy slipped his arm around her and whispered, “Now that, sweetheart, is what bearing testimony is all about.”

There was a young couple who found themselves deeply in love with each other, or so they thought. He was not living the standards, and they decided they would not at that time qualify for a temple recommend. Their marriage was a civil one when it could have been an eternal one. The years passed and children graced their home. There was no religious activity and little spiritual comfort when death stalked the premises and the marriage and sweet family relationships were terminated by the grim reaper.

There have been those who have finally found great joy in the gospel after having resisted it for years. Invariably they have said, “All these years we’ve spurned the missionaries. Why didn’t we listen sooner? We could have had many years more of the happiness we now enjoy.”

In 1992, while serving as bishop of our ward in the Philippines, my father had a heart attack. He was rushed to the hospital from his office. When news came that he was in intensive care, my family was in great shock. Fear gripped our hearts. My father’s chances of survival were only marginal. My mother wept and asked all of us to pray.
I lost track of time after that—so many memories came flashing back. With tears on my face, I knelt to pray. My heart was so heavy, and my chest was ready to burst. I wanted to shout to ease the pain and remove the fear gripping me that day. Instead I simply prayed, “Please save my father.” It was a sincere prayer, meant to be heard.
That night I was allowed into the intensive-care unit. My father had slipped into a coma, and my mother and my siblings and I had to brace ourselves for the worst. It was a painful experience for our family. The future looked bleak and uncertain. As I silently bade him good-bye, I remembered our first family home evening. We had watched a Church film, Families Are Forever.
Before I went to bed that night, my earthly father silently returned to his Heavenly Father.
My father’s death, when I was 22, marked the beginning of hundreds of changes in my life. In his absence I learned that I had strengths I was unaware of. I’ve done more with my life than I otherwise might have because change and growth were thrust upon me.
When Heavenly Father didn’t grant my prayer, it never occurred to me that He hadn’t heard me. I know He was listening. He knew exactly what I was going through. He knew exactly what our family needed at the time, and that was what He gave us—strength to overcome the challenges of life, strength to face reality. He taught us how to face our trials with faith.
More than 15 years have passed since that painful day. I am still learning, and I am still growing in the gospel. I now have my own family, and I am so happy that we are sealed in the temple. I never take my eyes off the road my father marked for us.
Through the Atonement and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, I know that someday our family will be together again. I still have a long journey to go, but I’m happy to think that I will see my father at the end of that journey.

In my years of service as a Relief Society visiting teacher, I have had many spiritual experiences. One of them, several years ago, continues to be gratifying.
My companion and I were assigned to visit the widow Anderson (the name is fictitious) and her two children who were grown but who were both at home because of mental retardation. After several months of pleasant visits with the widow, we had met her son but not her daughter, Laura, who we learned was very shy. We were told that whenever Laura would see or hear anyone coming, she would go to her room.
One Saturday afternoon, after attending a Relief Society seminar, I decided I would stop by the Anderson home for our monthly visit, since earlier calls had not found anyone home. I had been touched deeply by one comment in the seminar. One of the speakers had said, “When you do your visiting teaching, do you make a real effort to serve your sisters or are you just eager to check their name off your list each month after you have been in their home?” That struck me forcefully because after several months of visiting the Anderson family, we had made no real effort to get to know Laura. I had a prayer in my heart that I might find Laura at home that afternoon and have a chance to talk with her.
When I rang the doorbell, Sister Anderson answered and invited me into the living room. Then she quickly excused herself to check something on the stove. There was Laura! She was sitting in a rocking chair with her leg on a footstool.
At first she seemed startled by my presence, but after I stooped down and inquired about her foot, she was calmed.
I felt the Holy Spirit touch me in a quiet, humbling way, and as thoughts came to my mind, I would speak them to Laura. “I wish you would come to Relief Society,” I said. “It would be special for all of us to feel your beautiful spirit.”
“I would love to come,” she replied, “but I have a large growth on my foot. I have hardly been able to wear shoes for months, and I have real pain when I try to walk.”
I looked at her foot again. Yes, there was a large growth. I could see it now, and I could see the difficulty of her going to church or anywhere else without a great deal of help.
Then the Spirit prompted, “Her foot problem is your problem now. What are you going to do about it?”
“Should I take her to the doctor?” I thought, and the Spirit urged, “Yes; now.”
“This moment?” I thought.
“Yes,” was the prompting.
“Laura,” I said, “can I help you with your foot? My husband’s uncle is a doctor. He’s off today, and he lives just across the street from our house. Will you go with me to his home so we can ask him if he can help you?”
Laura looked at me for a few moments with trust shining from her yes. “Yes,” she said. “It will take me a few moments to get ready. Will you help me?”
I helped her get up and walked with her into her room. I was touched by the simple beauty I saw there. How many hours and how many years had Laura sat on that bed, alone with her thoughts and feelings? As I stood in the doorway watching her gather some things together, I felt the power of the Holy Ghost more powerfully than before. I felt as if the Master were standing by me.
Tears came to my eyes. The Lord was actually aware of this act on behalf of Laura! In a flash, the Savior’s life and teachings took on a great simplicity. “Feed my sheep,” he had said. “Love one another.” (John 13:34.)
I checked with Laura’s mother, who was pleased that I would take such an interest in Laura. She had thought the growth an inalterable result of the polio Laura had when she was thirteen.
We went to the doctor. Yes, Laura’s foot ailment was a consequence of her polio, but it could be resolved. He put me in touch with a foot doctor, a member of the Church, who agreed to see Laura in a few days.
After the specialist examined Laura’s foot, he came out to the waiting room. “Are you Laura’s sister?” he asked.
“Well, she calls me Sister Hinze. I’m her sister in the gospel,” I said.
He smiled, understanding. “She told me to come and talk to her sister who was waiting here for her.
“She needs immediate surgery,” he continued. “with that done, Laura should walk almost perfectly for the first time in twenty-five years.
“And Sister Hinze—if there’s any problem with finances, I’ll gladly do the surgery free.” He smiled again, and I knew the Spirit had affected him as well.
Laura had the surgery. Everything went well. My visiting teaching companion and I went to see her the next day in the hospital. Laura looked radiant. She was up and walking around and thrilled at the new prospect of mobility.
Her foot healed rapidly. It wasn’t very long until all the bandages were off and she was free to go anywhere she wanted. By this time we were making almost weekly trips to Laura’s home to check on her progress. One morning as I was talking with her, the Spirit prompted, “Now that her foot is better and she is able to walk properly, you need to help her find something meaningful to do with her time.”
I wasn’t surprised by that prompting, but I was a little overwhelmed, realizing as I never had before how the Lord desires us to strengthen one another and care for one another.
I talked about Laura with her mother. She seemed grateful for my concern and asked for my help. After praying, I discussed the promptings I received with my visiting teaching companion and with my husband. Then we did our homework on this assignment.
There was a special school for the handicapped in a nearby community, and my psychologist husband suggested we ask a friend of his there for help. This friend made an appointment for Laura and me at the school.
When I picked up Laura that afternoon, her mother had bought her a new outfit. The clothes were simple and humble, but Laura looked beautiful. She was also nervous. This was a special day for her, a day of new adventure. She wasn’t sure she could cope with school, yet she wanted with all her heart to succeed.
The school administrators treated Laura royally. She was thrilled as they escorted us around the school and told us about their two-part program: classes part of the day and a work opportunity the other part. Laura would actually earn money! Something beyond her furthest dreams just a few months earlier.
As we sat at the desk to fill out the papers, the director said, “Mrs. Hinze, we are thrilled that Laura can join us here at our school. May I put your name and address on the form to keep you informed of her progress? However, I don’t know what to call you on the form—friend? supporter? advocate? Yes, I think I’ll call you advocate. Laura’s advocate. Is that all right with you?”
Tears of gratitude filled my eyes. “Advocate would be just fine.”

Not long ago I attended a dance at a stake that was not my own. The friend who invited me began introducing me to a group of girls standing near the door as we entered. Since I didn’t know anyone, I was anxious to make some points with the ladies, so I said, “Wow. There sure are a lot of beautiful girls in your stake.” My friend looked around the group and, trying to be funny, said loudly, “Where? Where? I don’t see any.” Needless to say, we were not the most popular guys at the dance that night.
If the above experience had been a scene on a TV show, my friend’s “clever” comment would have been followed by laughter. In real life, the girls were offended and avoided us the rest of the evening. What many don’t realize is that those producing TV shows use a laugh track—prerecorded laughter that can be turned on and off at the touch of a button. That’s why laughter always follows sarcastic put-downs or mean jokes. It sounds like everyone enjoys the negative humor. In real life, there is no laugh track. People might put up with put-downs and manage a chuckle for the sake of saving face, but deep down, negative humor hurts. No matter how perfect the timing or how smoothly executed the joke, usually the only ones laughing are those who are afraid they may be your next targets.

We have found Shulin’s family on both the 1910 and 1920 censuses. In 1910, Schaindle and Morris and their two children were living with Shulin and Pesse in a group of 13 people in a Yiddish neighborhood in Chicago. The census records that Shulin was a peddler, and his product was listed as “rags.” He and Pesse spoke only Yiddish. He could read and write, but Pesse could not.

Two of the older children, Max and Ida, were listed as working in a tailor shop. Max could neither read nor write, but Ida could. They all labored to support the extended family. Ten years later, on January 7, 1920, the family was enumerated on the next census. The household had shrunk to nine. Max was dead, having never married. He died in 1919 at age 24 or 25. Golda and her husband were living with Shulin and Pesse. They had a two-month-old baby named Max.

As I studied the census record, I pieced together a probable story. I suspect that Max probably died in the influenza epidemic that ravaged America from 1918 to 1919. Living in close quarters spread the disease quickly. I imagine how many other members of the family were fevered and near death. I imagine Golda, pregnant and cramped in a small tenement, fearful for her coming baby and for her family. In January 1920 the baby was two months old, and they named him Max. It is typical of Yiddish families to name children after a dead relative who was beloved. Mordche, called Max, was the big brother, the 10-year-old helper from across the ocean, the presser in a tailor shop who never married whose wages were contributed to supplement the earnings of a father who spoke only Yiddish and peddled rags for a living. Mordche, who never learned to read or write, who never enjoyed the blessings of education but who cared for the family, had died in 1919, and Golda, six years younger, delivered her baby safely and named him Max as a memorial to her beloved older brother who had sacrificed so much to care for his father’s family.

Schaindle and Mordche sacrificed for the sake of liberty. Look at how far-reaching have been the benefits of their sacrifices. For example, while my ancestors toiled under very limited education, I have been blessed by their sacrifices and have received an excellent education and serve as a faculty member at a precious university. I am grateful.

I have a friend named Jake, who, although he is not LDS, is a strong Christian. This past year we often chatted on Facebook. Jake often asks me questions about our religion, and I will use the scripture masteries to help him understand our beliefs. Jake believes in the Bible, so I often share a Bible scripture mastery and then share a Book of Mormon scripture that goes along with it.
One time he asked a question about our view of heaven. I was able to share the plan of salvation with him and refer to 1 Corinthians 15:40–42 to help him understand. By using the scripture mastery verses, I helped Jake to understand that we believe in the Bible.
Through the Internet I’ve shared the gospel and my own personal testimony of the Church. Jake often posts religious videos on Facebook and asks me to watch them. Afterwards, we discuss it, and a few times I’ve linked him to the Mormon Messages channel on YouTube.
Computers can be used for harm. However, we can and should use computers to share the gospel with friends and family.

The present chapter in my book of life, which also began in the month of May five years ago, brought a significant change in my life. It happened on May 21, 1980—almost five years ago to the day. It started with a telephone call to my architect office. A lady’s voice asked for me and then referred me to Arthur Haycock, President Kimball’s executive secretary. We exchanged pleasant greetings, and then Brother Haycock indicated someone else wanted to talk with me.

Can you imagine how I felt when President Spencer W. Kimball came on the line and said: “Brother Wilcox, you haven’t been in to see me recently.” I responded that I would like to drop in but didn’t think I ought to take his time. He thought it would be well if I did come in, so we arranged for a meeting on Friday at 2:00 p.m.

When I walked into the Church Administration Building, I really received red carpet treatment as soon as it was learned that I had a date with President Kimball. After entering his office, he came around the desk and embraced me. He kissed me on both cheeks and asked me to sit in a comfortable chair next to his desk. He expressed his interest in my practice as an architect and wanted to learn more concerning the design of the Washington Temple and the Missionary Training Center. President Kimball had dedicated these buildings and had a great interest in both projects. This led to a very interesting conversation. He then asked me whether I had wondered for what purpose I was visiting with him. I let him know that this had occurred to me. He replied, “We would like you to serve as president of the Ogden Temple and your wife to be the matron. Can you both accept?” I did as you would have done. I let out a little gasp, thought for a moment, and then replied, “Yes, we are prepared. We can accept. When do you wish us to begin?”

The reason that I could be so prompt in responding to this call is that my wife and I had each received a witness a few months before that this would happen.

My wife and I love to go to the temple. We usually attend at least once a week. One afternoon we were sitting in an endowment session, enjoying it fully, when it was as if a voice spoke to me to let me know that I was to be the next president of that temple. I was startled. I couldn’t concentrate on anything after that. On the way out of the temple I asked how long the current president had served and was told that it had been four years. This relieved me somewhat. I thought that temple presidents served for five years. Later, I found out these calls were from three to five years. I did not sleep well that night. The impression would not leave my mind.

The next day my wife, Viva May, and I went for a drive up to our Ogden Valley cabin. On the return trip I had an impulse and pulled over to the side of the road. I told Viva May that I had something to share with her and said: “I believe that we are going to be called into the temple as president and matron.”

Her response was different. In fact, she laughed. Then I found out why. At the same time I had received my impression of serving there, she also had been given a gift in her mind’s eye of traveling all through the temple. She saw places she had never seen before, even though we had worked together very closely some years before when I served as general chairman of the public showing and dedication services for that temple. Because we had both received these experiences, it helped us to prepare to serve.

We had recently returned from presiding in the Indiana Indianapolis Mission. Instead of searching for new work in my newly re-opened practice of architecture and committing myself to projects I wouldn’t be able to complete, we had taken steps to close the practice even before President Kimball’s call because of the witness we each had experienced.

One question I asked President Kimball before leaving his office concerned my continuing to serve as a legislator in the Utah House of Representatives. I had filed for re-election and was unopposed. I told President Kimball I knew I could win. Did he have any suggestions for me? With a twinkle in his eyes, he said, “Yes, I would suggest you give your full time to this new calling.” And that we did for nearly five years. It became another wonderful and spiritual chapter in my book of life.

During what was to be the last year of running my business, the church approached me about coming to work for the church as an architect. After working in the Southwest Area office for a couple of years, I had the feeling that I should submit my resume to the head of the Architecture and Engineering Department. The feeling wouldn’t go away. So, I finally sent my resume to the director of the department. He said they were going to be posting for a job opening, but they just hadn’t got around to it. I was hired near the end of 1996.

When I was a young man, I couldn’t have dreamed of the experiences that yet lay in waiting for me. The Lord had greater things for me to do than what I was qualified for.

A few months later the surprise of surprises happened when we heard about the now-well-known story of the development of the small temple concept. President Hinckley told of his coming home from a trip through northern Mexico, conversing with a stake president in Colonia Juarez on what more could be done to help the saints in the colonies, and was inspired to have our department work on ideas for a small temple. He handed the sketch he had drawn of a small temple plan to our managing director, Brother Little. Everyone in the office was asked to sketch their ideas of what it could look like. The President attached some criteria to the idea. It wasn’t to be larger than 6,000 s.f. and cost no more than a million dollars. We accomplished one of those criteria.

I was privileged to develop a floor plan with two other architects, that divided the temple into two areas, one was the Aaronic priesthood side for the baptismal font and the other was the Melchizedek priesthood side for the other ordinances. I was then asked to develop the exterior elevations for the concept. I had never designed anything close to a temple in my private practice, yet here I was designing a temple. I was not qualified. I had no experience. I didn’t really know what it should look like. But, as I was drawing lines on the computer, I remember having ideas come to my mind that I knew were not mine. The Spirit gave them to me. I kept drawing lines and completed this idea for the first small temple, which became the Monticello Utah Temple. I prepared elevations for the other floor plan concepts as well. However, we forgot to develop a scheme based on the President’s sketch. So, we quickly completed this option as well. Brother Little presented the options to President Hinckley. We might think, “I did this” or “I did that,” but if we have the Holy Ghost with us always and pray with faith to receive inspiration and expect to be inspired, the Lord will inspire us. I was only the pencil. But in our digital day, I was the computer mouse being pushed around to create lines on a screen.

I am reminded of a little village called Panacaxtlán, situated where the coastal plains meet the mountains of central Mexico, just a few kilometers off the Vía Corta (the short route) between Mexico City and Tampico, Tamaulipas. The village is situated in a lush, green, humid area known as the Huasteca, and the inhabitants are sons and daughters of Lehi. In 1979, while I was serving as president in the Mexico Mexico City North Mission, missionaries began proselyting in the Huasteca. Fifty-two people joined the Church in Panacaxtlán, along with about 400 others in nearby communities that formed the new Tempoal Mexico District.
A short time later, a meeting was called in Panacaxtlán at which Church members were given the following options: denounce the Church, leave the village, or be killed (not an idle threat).
The members, particularly the women, said they knew the Church to be true and would not denounce it. They also indicated they had worked just as hard as the rest of the community to secure their homesteads, and they would not leave. Boldly stepping forward, they told their taunters if they were going to kill them, to get on with it. The moment grew tense as machetes were raised, then finally lowered while the Latter-day Saints stood up for that which the Spirit had testified to them to be true.
These Saints eventually learned, as most of us do, that it is harder to live the gospel day by day than to die for it in an instant, but their early commitment came because the Spirit had touched their hearts and changed their lives. Their conversion had taken place as the Book of Mormon helped build their faith in Jesus Christ, the Son of God. They learned that Christ had visited their ancestors in the Americas after His Resurrection, and they were grateful for the blessings available to all our Father’s children because Heavenly Father had sent His Son. Like the Saints of New Testament times, those members in Panacaxtlán had developed faith sufficient to withstand the persecutions of people whose minds were closed.

Chris may not have believed it, but I really hadn’t planned to teach him about the gospel that day. He was just a neighbor boy who used to hang around. He happened to be over at our house when the missionaries stopped by to use the phone.
“Who are they?” Chris asked as the two elders walked past us, their dark suits and white shirts a strong contrast to my friend’s T-shirt and tennis shoes.
“They are missionaries from our church,” I responded. One of them overheard us and grinned at me as if to ask permission to join the conversation. I nodded enthusiastically.
“We’re missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Is that your church?” Chris asked me.
“Yes!” I said proudly.
“Would you like to know more about our church?” the elder asked.
“Well, I don’t know,” Chris said, looking down at his shoes. “Guess it won’t hurt anything,” he finally answered. “My grandpa always said it’s good to learn new things.”
The elders then began to talk about Jesus Christ and His love for us. They asked Chris to read a scripture from the New Testament, which he did with great sincerity. They established that he already had a basic testimony of the Atonement, helped him define Christ’s role in our lives, and then moved on to talk about the First Vision.
Again, they had Chris read scriptures. They bore their own testimonies, and then asked him how he felt about the message they had just shared. This time he was a little more unsure. The story of Joseph Smith was something altogether new to him.
“Well, I don’t know how I feel about that,” Chris said quietly. “It was a long time ago. You seem to know, but I don’t. It could have happened. I don’t know.” Then he paused for a moment, and his voice came through bold and bright. “But here’s something I do know. I know that what this world needs right now is a prophet. That’s what we really need. We need a prophet who’s alive on this earth today!”
By this time, a few of my family members had joined us in the living room, and as Chris spoke, we all looked at each other. An electrifying bolt of energy burst through us, but I was the first to speak. Okay, it was more like a shout of joy.
“We have one! We have one!” I grabbed his arm so quickly he was startled. “We do have a living prophet! His name is Gordon B. Hinckley, and he is the leader of our church.”
The elders began scrambling in their bags, searching for a picture. Chris smiled at my outburst and actually backed a few feet away in case I attacked him again. He gladly accepted a Book of Mormon and scheduled another appointment with the missionaries.
His family moved away very soon after, and I never heard whether Chris accepted the gospel. But I do know that everyone in the room that day felt the yearning of a young man wishing the world had a modern-day prophet.

Throughout my life, I have been blessed by such women. My departed wife, Dantzel, was such a woman. I will always be grateful for the life-changing influence she had on me in all aspects of my life, including my pioneering efforts in open-heart surgery.

Fifty-eight years ago I was asked to operate upon a little girl, gravely ill from congenital heart disease. Her older brother had previously died of a similar condition. Her parents pleaded for help. I was not optimistic about the outcome but vowed to do all in my power to save her life. Despite my best efforts, the child died. Later, the same parents brought another daughter to me, then just 16 months old, also born with a malformed heart. Again, at their request, I performed an operation. This child also died. This third heartbreaking loss in one family literally undid me.

I went home grief stricken. I threw myself upon our living room floor and cried all night long. Dantzel stayed by my side, listening as I repeatedly declared that I would never perform another heart operation. Then, around 5:00 in the morning, Dantzel looked at me and lovingly asked, “Are you finished crying? Then get dressed. Go back to the lab. Go to work! You need to learn more. If you quit now, others will have to painfully learn what you already know.”

Oh, how I needed my wife’s vision, grit, and love! I went back to work and learned more. If it weren’t for Dantzel’s inspired prodding, I would not have pursued open-heart surgery and would not have been prepared to do the operation in 1972 that saved the life of President Spencer W. Kimball.9