Gospel Story Finder

A story from Elder Holland’s life.
When Elder Jeffrey R. Holland was in college, he and his wife, Patricia, were very busy. One day when they were walking to class, Jeffrey felt overwhelmed, like he had too many things to do. He felt worried about the future. He stopped walking and asked Patricia, “Should we give up?” He thought maybe they should just give up on college and go home.
But Patricia wasn’t ready to give up. She looked at Jeffrey and said, “We are not going back. The future holds everything for us.”
Jeffrey and Patricia chose to keep going. They worked hard and had faith.
Years later Jeffrey became the president of Brigham Young University, the same college where he and Patricia had spent so much time and worked so hard. Sometimes he thought about the day he had wanted to give up on college. When he remembered that day, he was always grateful for Patricia’s courage. He was glad that he and Patricia chose to have faith. They kept thinking about the future with faith and courage and never gave up.

A few days later, the Whitmers joined the Smith family at their farm in Manchester. Knowing the Lord had promised to establish His words “in the mouth of as many witnesses as seemeth him good,” Joseph went into the woods with his father, Hyrum, and Samuel, as well as four of David Whitmer’s brothers—Christian, Jacob, Peter Jr., and John—and their brother-in-law Hiram Page.34
The eight men gathered at a spot where the Smith family often went to pray privately. With the Lord’s permission, Joseph uncovered the plates and showed them to the group. They did not see an angel as the Three Witnesses had, but Joseph let them hold the record in their hands, turn its pages, and inspect its ancient writing. Handling the plates affirmed their faith that Joseph’s testimony about the angel and the ancient record was true.35
Now that the translation was over and he had witnesses to support his miraculous testimony, Joseph no longer needed the plates. After the men left the woods and went back to the house, the angel appeared and Joseph returned the sacred record to his care.36

Receiving spiritual guidance is an important step to serving the Lord, and Davide C., 15, knows that it won’t happen without effort on his part. “I need to be an instrument in God’s hands,” he says. “I have to be ready to receive and follow the promptings of the Spirit. To do that, I need to constantly surround myself with the things of the Lord.”
Davide and his family are converts to the Church. Before he was even baptized, Davide learned how important scripture study is. His brother was the first to be baptized, and his parents soon followed. Davide knew that he needed his own testimony. As he studied the Book of Mormon, he felt the Spirit. The good feelings he felt helped him make the decision to join the Church.
Four years later, Davide still relies on guidance from the Spirit. “We have to be constant. We can’t slack off in our scripture study and prayer,” he says.

When I was first called as a General Authority nearly 50 years ago, we lived on a very small plot of ground in Utah Valley that we called our farm. We had a cow and a horse and chickens and lots of children.
One Saturday, I was to drive to the airport for a flight to a stake conference in California. But the cow was expecting a calf and in trouble. The calf was born, but the cow could not get up. We called the veterinarian, who soon came. He said the cow had swallowed a wire and would not live through the day.
I copied the telephone number of the animal by-products company so my wife could call them to come and get the cow as soon as she died.
Before I left, we had our family prayer. Our little boy said our prayer. After he had asked Heavenly Father to “bless Daddy in his travels and bless us all,” he then started an earnest plea. He said, “Heavenly Father, please bless Bossy cow so that she will get to be all right.”
In California, I told of the incident and said, “He must learn that we do not get everything we pray for just that easily.”
There was a lesson to be learned, but it was I who learned it, not my son. When I returned Sunday night, Bossy had “got to be all right.”

I would like to say something about the last wagon in each of the long wagon trains that toiled slowly over the plains, up mountain defiles, down steep, narrow canyons, and out into the valley floor that was to be home—this last wagon: last, because the ox team that pulled it was the smallest and leanest and weakest, and had the tenderest feet of any in the train; it was slow starting, and slow moving; last, because worn and creaking, it took more time to fix and to grease, for young Jimmy generally had trouble in getting the wagon jack under the “ex”; last, because its wind-rent cover was old and patched and took hours to mend and tie up to keep out the storm; last, because the wife, heavy with child, must rest till the very moment of starting; last, because sickly little Bill, the last born, poorly nourished, must be washed and coaxed to eat the rough food, all they had; last, because with all his tasks—helping little Bill, cooking and cleaning up the breaksfast,—Mother was not able to help much—Father took a little longer to yoke his cattle and to gird himself for the day’s labor; last, because his morning prayers took a few more minutes than the others spent—he had so many blessings to thank the Lord for and some special blessings to ask the Lord to grant, blessings of health and strength, especially for his wife, and for little Bill, and for the rest, and then the blessings for himself that his own courage would not fail, but most of all for the blessing of faith, faith in God and in the Brethren who sometimes seemed so far away. For they were out in front where the air was clear and clean and where they had unbroken vision of the blue vault of heaven. The Brethren had really visioned the glory of the Lord, who walked near them, put his thoughts into their minds; his spirit guided and directed them, petitioned thereto by the thousands of Saints who were back in Winter Quarters, back in Iowa, back in the States, and beyond, even across the waters, for the faithful poured out their souls in fervent prayer to Almighty God that the Brethren should be inspired. The Saints buoyed up the Brethren out in front with encouragement, with praise, and sometimes even with adulation. Knowing the Brethren were prophets of God, the Saints gave them full confidence, daily, almost hourly, expressed. The Brethren lived in a world of commendation from friends and the tried and true Saints. Rarely was their word or their act questioned by the faithful Saints. This was as it should be and had to be to carry out the Lord’s purposes.

But back in the last wagon, not always could they see the Brethren way out in front, and the blue heaven was often shut out from their sight by heavy, dense clouds of the dust of the earth. Yet day after day, they of the last wagon pressed forward, worn and tired, footsore, sometimes almost disheartened, borne up by their faith that God loved them, that the restored gospel was true, and that the Lord led and directed the Brethren out in front. Sometimes, they in the last wagon glimpsed, for an instant, when faith surged strongest, the glories of a celestial world, but it seemed so far away, and the vision so quickly vanished, because want and weariness and heartache and sometimes discouragement were always pressing so near. When the vision faded, their hearts sank. But they prayed again and pushed on, with little praise, with not too much encouragement, and never with adulation. For there was nearly always something wrong with the last wagon or with its team—the off ox was a little lame in the right front shoulder; the hub of the left front wheel was often hot; the tire of the hind wheel on the same side was loose. So corrective counsel, sometimes strong reproof, was the rule, because the wagon must not delay the whole train.

But yet in the last wagon there was devotion and loyalty and integrity, and above and beyond everything else, faith in the Brethren and in God’s power and goodness. For had not the Lord said that “not even a sparrow falleth unnoticed by the Father, and were they not of more value than sparrows?” And then they had their testimony burning always like an eternal fire on a holy altar, that the restored gospel was true, and that Joseph was a prophet of God, and that Brigham was Joseph’s chosen successor.

When the train moved forward in the early morning sun and the oxen with a swinging pull that almost broke the tongue got that last wagon on the move, the dust in the still morning air hung heavy over the road. Each wagon from the first stirred up its own cloud, till when the last wagon swung into line, that dust was dense and suffocating. It covered the last wagon and all that was in it; it clung to clothes; it blackened faces; it filled eyes already sore, and ears. The wife, soon to be a mother, could hardly catch her breath in the heavy, choking dust, for even in the pure air she breathed hard from her burden. Each jolt of the wagon, for those ahead had made wagon ruts almost “ex” deep, wrung from her clenched lips a half-groan she did her best to keep from the ears of the anxious, solicitous husband plodding slowly along, guiding and goading the poor dumb cattle, themselves weary from the long trek. So through the long day of jolting and discomfort and sometimes pain, sometimes panting for breath, the mother, anxious only that the unborn babe should not be injured, rode, for she could not walk; and the children walked, for the load was too heavy and big for them to ride; and the father walked sturdily alongside and prayed.

When in the evening the last wagon creaked slowly into its place in the circle corral, and the Brethren came to inquire how the day had gone with the mother, then joy leaped in their hearts, for had not the Brethren remembered them? New hope was born, weariness fled, fresh will to do was enkindled; gratitude to God was poured out for their knowledge of the truth, for their testimony that God lived, that Jesus was the Christ, that Joseph was a prophet, that Brigham was his ordained successor, and that for the righteous a crown of glory awaited that should be theirs during the eternities of the life to come. Then they would join in the songs and dancing in the camp, making the camp’s gaiety their own, as much as Mother’s condition would permit.

Then the morning came when from out that last wagon floated the la-la of the newborn babe, and mother love made a shrine, and Father bowed in reverence before it. But the train must move on. So out into the dust and dirt the last wagon moved again, swaying and jolting, while Mother eased as best she could each pain-giving jolt so no harm might be done her, that she might be strong to feed the little one, bone of her bone, flesh of her flesh. Who will dare to say that angels did not cluster round and guard her and ease her rude bed, for she had given another choice spirit its mortal body that it might work out its God-given destiny?

My mother was one of those babes so born in 1848, ninety-nine years ago.

Another morning came, when courageous little Bill, who, with a hero’s heart, had trudged through long days of hot sun and through miles of soggy mud in the rain, his little body drenched, little Bill, weak and wan, must be crowded in to ride with Mother, for he was sick from a heavy cold. Months before, on that cold winter’s night when they had fled Nauvoo for their lives to escape the fiendish wrath of a wild mob, Bill became dangerously ill with pneumonia, which left him with weak lungs. This old illness now returned. He grew worse and worse. The elders came and prayed he might get well. But the Lord wanted little Bill with him. So a few mornings later a weeping mother and a grief-stricken father and that last wagon swung into place in the line, leaving beside the road, under some scrub brush a little mound, unmarked save for heaped-up rocks to keep out the wolves, a mound that covered another martyr to the cause of truth.

So through dust and dirt, dirt and dust, during the long hours, the longer days—that grew into weeks and then into months, they crept along till, passing down through its portals, the valley welcomed them to rest and home. The cattle dropped to their sides, wearied almost to death; nor moved they without goading, for they too sensed they had come to the journey’s end.

That evening was the last of the great trek, the mightiest trek that history records since Israel’s flight from Egypt, and as the sun sank below the mountain peaks of the west and the eastern crags were bathed in an amethyst glow that was a living light, while the western mountainsides were clothed in shadows of the rich blue of the deep sea, they of the last wagon, and of the wagon before them, and of the one before that, and so to the very front wagon of the train, these all sank to their knees in the joy of their souls, thanking God that at last they were in Zion. “Zion, Zion, lovely Zion, beautiful Zion, Zion, City of our God.” They knew there was a God, for only he could have brought them triumphant, militant, through all the scorn, the ridicule, the slander, the tarrings and featherings, the whippings, the burnings, the plunderings, the murderings, the ravishings of wives and daughters, that had been their lot, the lot of their people since Joseph visioned the Father and the Son.

I love to go sledding. We have the best hill by our house that all of the neighbor kids enjoy sledding on. One beautiful day, Mom asked my sisters and me if we would like to go. Of course I said yes. Just as we were leaving, one of my best friends, Braiden, called to see if I could play. I invited him to go sledding with us. He hurried over to my house, and we took off for the hill.
The hill was just as icy and fast as I had hoped it would be. We were having a lot of fun going down the hill! Then my friend said his hands were freezing. He had forgotten to bring his gloves. I felt bad that he had such cold hands. I quickly took my gloves off and gave them to him. We kept sledding for another hour or so. My hands were probably freezing, but I didn’t care because I was happy about giving my gloves to a friend. I know Jesus Christ would do the same for His friend. I want to always try to do what He would do. I had the best day ever on the hill because I felt warm inside.

I remember specifically making this promise one day as I sat in a chapel waiting for a baptismal service to start. As I sat pondering the doctrine of Christ, I began to have a strong feeling of joy telling me that everything I had learned from the missionaries was true. In that moment I silently committed to God to always trust Him and that I would remain active in His Church throughout my life if it meant I could continue to have the joy that comes from the Holy Ghost. To me this promise included not only attending church every week but also trusting in the Lord’s doctrine, the scriptures, the living prophets, and especially my Savior, Jesus Christ.
It was relatively early in my life that I made this important decision to trust in the Lord’s promises. Since then my decision has proved to be very beneficial to me. Whenever a doubt or a question has come up, I have been able to think back to the commitment I made and have based my life decisions on that commitment. Deciding early on the standards you will live by will help you make correct choices when doubts or problems come.

It was the Friday night before at 9:25 P.M. I remember the exact time because I looked at the clock. It is still vivid in my mind. At 9:25 it was storming with a humdinger of an electrical storm like we get in North Carolina. It was lightning and thundering and raining. The trees were bent over, and it was dark. There came a knock on the door.
Mama, being a widow for so many years and very protective of her children, would never let strangers in the house. It was two young men in suits and trenchcoats, and she let them in. I remember it so distinctly, because I thought, “Who are these guys?” I thought Mama knew them.
She is very respectful of other people’s religions, so she made us come in and listen to them. I had never heard of Mormons before. I had never even heard the word. They started teaching us.
When I heard these two missionaries, I knew that what they were telling me was true. I had come to the conclusion that there was no true church and that’s why I was going to be baptized by the revival preacher. But after hearing the missionaries that Friday evening, I knew that they had something I was looking for, so I didn’t get baptized by the revival preacher the next day.
They taught us for a few weeks, and I really believed what they told me. But Mom was brought up in her religion and thought she was sinful thinking any other way. I don’t know if Mama asked them not to come back, or if the missionaries felt like they shouldn’t baptize an 11-year-old girl without her family, but they stopped coming.
I didn’t know where they had gone. I didn’t know where the church met or how to contact the missionaries. They had given me some books, A Marvelous Work and a Wonder and The Doctrine and Covenants. I sat down and studied these books carefully.
By then I was in seventh grade. I remember my teacher wanted us to give a presentation on any subject we chose, and I picked Mormonism. I remember studying for it so hard. I then got up and gave my presentation in front of all the students and the faculty, and I wasn’t even a member of the Church. I think I answered every question correctly.
About a year and a half after the first missionaries visited us, another set of missionaries knocked on the door. My family wasn’t home, but they gave me a Book of Mormon. They said they would be back in a couple of days to see what I thought about it. I was baptized the next week and have hardly missed a Sunday since.
I remember that I wasn’t very comfortable at church for a while because I didn’t have my family to go with me. I knew the Church was true, so I gave myself a year to get comfortable and see how I fit. By the time that year was up, I never wanted to leave church. Mama used to say, “Honey, why don’t you come home once in a while.” Every opportunity I had, I was at church. I loved it there.
A sister in the ward came up to me, just before I left on my mission, and asked me, “What kept you coming back to church, every Sunday all by yourself.” I really couldn’t give her a direct answer, but something pushed me toward church every Sunday.
I don’t think it was coincidence that missionaries hocked on my door at 9:25 that night during a storm when missionaries are supposed to be in at 9:30. It was their last house, and with the storm they could have easily rationalized going home five minutes early. Those missionaries never knew that the 11-year-old girl listening in the background joined the Church and became a missionary herself.
That thought made me a better missionary. I would say to myself, “One more door. I was the last door, so one more door.”

In a talk given on October 19, 1896, Brother Woodruff said:
“Joseph Smith continued visiting myself and others up to a certain time, and then it stopped. The last time I saw him was in heaven. In the night vision I saw him at the door of the temple in heaven. He came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. … I met half a dozen brethren who had held positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ I said, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said, ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone to the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry in order to accomplish it.’” (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, pp. 288–89.)

Becoming a hero was something of an accident for Andrew Scott, a 15-year-old from the Modesto First Ward, Modesto California North Stake. What wasn’t an accident, however, was knowing what to do in an emergency.
While Andrew was getting ready to jump into the pool at his school during his P.E. class, he saw something at the bottom and jokingly called out to his friends that he was going to dive down and make sure it wasn’t a body. When he got to the bottom, Andrew was shocked to find that it was a body. One of his classmates was unconscious at the bottom of the pool. Relying on life-saving techniques he learned in Boy Scouts, Andrew was able to pull the boy to the surface where his teacher and other students administered first aid.
Andrew says he was a little stunned by the experience but is glad he was prepared to do what needed to be done.

While I was serving as the Presiding Bishop, a good sister brought her son to my office to be interviewed for his mission. At that time she had a son in the mission field in Europe and a daughter in another mission field. She looked rather poorly clad, and I said: “Why don’t you wait until your other son comes home before sending this boy?” Her answer was: “Bishop, if you will see that my son gets a call, I will see that he gets the money to keep him in the mission field.”

While I was a bishop in California, I used to admire a good mother who worked in a bakery shop in her clean, white uniform year after year while she kept three of her sons in the mission field. One of them later became president of a mission, and the other two are active in the Church.

We have many wonderful members in the Church who are contributing toward the support of missionaries in the field when they do not have sons and daughters of their own to send. Many have also contributed to the missionary fund at Church headquarters to help young people in foreign countries who are not financially able so that they can fill missions, as well as our boys and girls here in the United States.

I have a number of friends who I know are doing that consistently. One good sister, a widow, has kept many missionaries in the field. I have a relative who aims to keep ten in the mission field all the time, but he daren’t tell his wife about it. I have always felt badly, because she should be able to share that great joy with him.

I talked along this line some time ago in a conference. Following the conference, I received a letter from a schoolteacher enclosing sufficient money for a month’s keep for a missionary and indicating that she would send a like amount each month for two years to keep a missionary in the field.

I was thrilled recently in interviewing a young man for his mission in California to learn that his parents are both Catholics, and yet they were putting up the money for their son’s mission.

In 1971 I wrote an article on missionary work and received a letter from a fourteen-year-old girl from Los Angeles in which she said: “Brother Richards, I want to go on a mission.” I wrote and told her she couldn’t expect to go on a full-time mission at the age of fourteen but that there was plenty of missionary work she could do right at home, that there were so many nonmembers there that if she would invite one of her nonmember friends and his parents to go to Church with her, they could there meet the missionaries and then be taught the gospel.

A few weeks later I received a letter from this girl’s mother, who is president of the Aaronic Priesthood YWMIA in her ward, thanking me for the letter I wrote to her daughter and saying that the daughter had followed my advice. She got one of the families to go to church with her, and they had later set their baptismal date.

Experiences such as this can be related all over the world, for this is God’s restored truth to the earth, never to be thrown down nor given to another people but to prepare the way for the second coming of Jesus when he will reign upon the earth for a thousand years, as the scriptures declare.

At this same time, one by one my children all decided to stop attending church. Two eventually had their names removed from Church records. This has certainly been the trial of both my wife’s and my life. And even though he wasn’t a Latter-day Saint, my father was pained and confused by our children’s choices as well. He was a privately religious man, and he joined us through those years in praying for them.

In 2005 my father passed away after being diagnosed with cancer, and my mother passed away three years later. My wife and I rejoiced in acting as their proxies in providing temple ordinances after their deaths.

I’ve long prayed to understand how best to relate to our children now that they’re adults, some with their own spouses and children, none of whom are LDS. We are emotionally close to all four of our children, and we are grateful that they often reach out in love to us.

I eventually received a very clear answer of how I must conduct myself, possibly for the rest of my life, regarding these adult children. I needed to do what my father had done with me. In spite of the different lives we lived and the different religious perspectives we had, my father was determined to draw closer to me as a father and a friend while I experienced the pain of seeing my children choose different lifestyles and beliefs from mine. I realized I must follow the example of my father, who taught me how to treat children of a different faith: love them completely, just as the Savior would.

Jackson Payne’s life is busy and wouldn’t seem to leave much room for early-morning seminary or priesthood responsibilities, but he knows where his priorities are. Hailing from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, 18-year-old Jackson started participating in artistic gymnastics when he was 6 or 7 and has since made it to several national and international championships. The high bar is his best event, but he’s decided to reach for something even higher.
Instead of spending his time before school at the gym squeezing in extra practice time, Jackson attends early-morning seminary. This daily routine is just as important to him as his gym routines. “I think if I disrupted my routine by not going to seminary for a couple of days, it would really mess up my day. It’s important for me to stick to that routine.” He observes that “if you keep messing up your gymnastics routine, you don’t gain any confidence or consistency for competition. In the same way, if you don’t go to seminary or church, you’re more likely to fail in the real world.”
When it comes to gymnastics, precision is key. “You’re judged on everything you do; everything affects your score,” Jackson says. He also says that the better you perform a routine or skill, the easier it is to execute and the more it becomes second nature. No one can perform a perfect routine in gymnastics, just as none of us lives a perfect life in mortality. But Jackson says that unlike in gymnastics, we have a perfect example to strive toward: Jesus Christ. And in our paths to perfection we’re given commandments like tithing, the law of chastity, and the Word of Wisdom, commandments we can execute with exactness right now.
Gymnastics teaches Jackson about dedication and faith, principles he can directly apply to the gospel. “I go into the gym every day and have certain things I have to do. It gives me a test of my dedication and faith in knowing that if I do all the things I’m supposed to do, I can get better at gymnastics. In the same way, if I do things I’m supposed to do with church and Mutual and fulfilling my priesthood duties, my testimony will strengthen and I’ll learn more about the gospel.”

Valerie and Mama walked to the market. Valerie saw colorful fruits and silver fish. She smelled the beautiful flowers for sale. Valerie looked around. Where was Mama? Valerie was scared. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She whispered, “Heavenly Father, please help me find Mama.” Valerie waited. Then she heard someone calling her name. There was Mama! “Thank you, Heavenly Father,” Valerie whispered. Valerie was happy she could pray when she needed help.

I recently had the opportunity to visit my home town, Maputo, where I received the Gospel of Jesus Christ as a single adult in 2000. My first calling in the church after a month of being a member was Primary President. At the time, I could not comprehend why I got that calling. Besides the fact that it was to look after the children during church hours, I knew nothing about Primary and the way that was supposed to be run. I was totally unsure what I was to do in this organization. I thought that the branch presidency was mistaken on their choice.
As I think about it today, it was not a choice of the branch president. It was a calling from Heavenly Father and His son Jesus Christ. In my human understanding, there were many sisters in the branch that I could point out as more prepared and capable of fulfilling that calling. Sisters that were mothers and were probably more experienced in dealing with children of different ages. Despite my feelings of inadequacy, I accepted the calling and learned line upon line and precept upon precept.
It was a great and humbling journey of learning and service. I remember many Sundays when I was the only teacher for the whole Primary. On those Sundays I had to teach music, run sharing time, and teach primary lessons. The best thing was that we always had a senior missionary sister that would play piano for our sharing time. I grew to love Primary music timewhere I could teach the gospel to the children through music. Almost every Sunday, we sang the primary songs “I hope they call me on a mission” and “Follow the Prophet” from the children’s songbook at the request of the Primary children. These were our Primary favourite songs. During my service in Primary, I learned the most basic and valuable principles that helped me grow and understand the fullness of the restored Gospel of Jesus Christ. I grew to love my Primary children. My Primary class varied from five to twenty and sometimes even more children on some Sundays. But I strived to know each child by name.
It felt overwhelming at times – trying to coordinate Sunday activities, music, lesson, assigning children for the following Sunday. But as I reflect upon the experience, it was a time that Heavenly Father helped me establish deep roots in the Gospel. I often felt loved and needed by the children. It was hectic, yet very rewarding calling.
I loved seeing them having the desire to come to Primary, and my favourite part was the big hugs that I would get from the children at the end of our time together. I often never knew how I was doing as a teacher, until I would hear from a parent or two that their child or their children speak about me at home. Thinking back, I realize that this was the most rewarding calling in the church – there were great needs and a huge opportunity for service.

I had an experience in the mission field that is very memorable to me. A man came to me after Church—he was twice my age, a very unhappy person—and told me that he had committed a grave sin before he joined the Church, that his wife would not forgive him, would not divorce him, and constantly reminded him that he was a worthless person. He said, “I’ve come to think of myself as she thinks I am. How can I be whole again and pure of heart, clean in my thoughts?” I said, “What have you tried to do for this problem?” He said, “I’ve fought it. I’ve fought it.” I told him there must be a better way than to fight sin. We knelt in prayer together, and afterwards I gave him a book to read—As a Man Thinketh in His Heart, So Is He—and then I put my arm around him, gave him a firm handclasp, and told him that he could overcome his problem. And then by inspiration or coincidence I said to him, “How would you like to prepare the Lord’s supper for Sunday School?” (He was a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.) He said, “Do you think I’m worthy to do this?” I said, “No, I don’t think any of us really are. But I think Jesus would be pleased if you would render him this service.” And so he proceeded to set the Lord’s table each Sunday morning. After about six weeks I met him coming up the aisle before Sunday School. I put out my hand to reassure him. He put his hand behind his back and said nothing. I said, “Have I offended you?” He said, “Oh, no. I’ve just washed my hands with soap and hot water, and I can’t shake hands with you or any man until I’ve set the Lord’s table.” That’s the most beautiful reverence I’ve seen in that simple act of setting the Lord’s table. I was so pleased. In another six weeks he came to me after church again and said, “I’m a new man.”
Then I asked him to give a talk in church on some principle of the gospel of Christ that he really believed in and why. I kept thinking about the Savior. Well, serving the Savior in a simple way and thinking about him during the week, this man became a new creature. It was beautiful. And I realized that I’d never used the Savior in my own life in the same way. I don’t mind telling you that I did after that. I had the wonderful thrill of overcoming what I thought was a weakness in me by thinking of the Savior and making him the center of my prayers and my life.

My father could remember the very day, even the very hour, that his family—father, mother, and four children—left the Church, many never to return again in this life. He was 13 years old, a deacon, and in those days families attended Sunday School in the morning and then sacrament meeting in the afternoon. On a beautiful spring day, after returning home from Sunday morning worship services and having a midday family meal together, his mother turned to his father and asked simply, “Well, dear, do you think we should go to sacrament meeting this afternoon, or should we take the family for a ride in the country?”
The idea that there was an option to sacrament meeting had never occurred to my father, but he and his three teenage siblings all sat up and paid careful attention. That Sunday afternoon ride in the country was probably an enjoyable family activity, but that small decision became the start of a new direction which ultimately led his family away from the Church with its safety, security, and blessings and onto a different path.

When I was young, my grandma often had get-togethers for my cousins and me. There were about 14 of us, and we were always excited when Grandma invited us over for dinners, sleepovers, game nights, and holidays. Grandma’s house was the place to be!
Every activity at Grandma’s house was fun. But I never thought about all of the time and work that went into each activity. I just thought that was what grandmas did, and I loved it!
After years of fun cousin memories at Grandma’s house, our family moved away. Later my grandma came to spend a special day with us in our new home. My family thought long and hard to find the perfect gift for her. She has more stuff than anyone I know. What could we get the grandma who has everything?
I asked my dad for ideas, and he told me the same thing he says every year: “Why don’t you write her a really nice letter?” I was out of ideas, and so early the next morning, before anyone else was awake, I sat at the kitchen table with my feet on the cold tile and wrote my grandma a special letter.
At first I wondered what I could write besides, “You are so wonderful. Thanks for everything.” As I looked out the kitchen window at the palm trees and the sky, I thought of the many things Grandma had done for us over the years. I remembered that I had never told my grandma how much those times spent together as a family meant to me.
In my letter, I told my grandma that I love her, and I thanked her for all of the special memories. I let her know how important they still were to me, even years later. Then I put the letter in an envelope, tied it with a red ribbon, and went back into my warm, carpeted room.
When the time came to give Grandma her gifts, I slowly pulled out my letter. I didn’t know how to feel about my gift to her.
She looked surprised when I gave her the envelope. I watched closely as she carefully tore off the end of the envelope and pulled out the letter on narrow pink paper. As she read it, she started to smile and tears filled her eyes. I had never seen my grandma cry before. She slowly looked up and turned toward me with warm, brown eyes. She whispered, “Thank you, thank you. I didn’t think anyone remembered.”
Grandma, who had done so much to build strong family relationships, had no idea that I remembered or was grateful for those times together. She wiped her eyes and said, “Kimberly, thank you. That was the best present anyone could ever give me.”
I gave Grandma a big hug, feeling her soft skin against my cheek and smelling her “grandma” smell that was a mix of baby powder and musk. I was so grateful for my dad’s idea to write her a letter. I didn’t know that words of gratitude and love would mean more to my grandma than all of the knickknacks, perfume, and fruitcakes that money could buy.

On a quiet morning last week I left my office in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and walked over to the Sao Paulo Temple site. There was a soft morning mist beginning to clear away. As I walked up the gentle rise in the street onto the site, I noted with great interest and pleasure brush being cleared away and the new pegs recently driven into the ground. These pegs in the ground mark the dimensions of a new temple soon to be erected for the glory of God and the endless blessing of his children in South America. This temple will be different from any other building now standing in South America.
As I stood where the entrance of the temple will be, I recalled how thirty-six years ago my companions and I landed by ship in Santos after twenty-one days at sea and went by train to Sao Paulo. There were other missionaries on the same vessel going to Argentina and Uruguay, which were the two other relatively new missions on the continent.
In all of South America there was but a mere handful of members of the Church, mostly emigrants from Europe, many of whom were converted in Europe. As I stood last week on this site where this new, special, multimillion-dollar building will stand, I recalled how difficult and unpromising the future of the Church appeared in South America thirty-six years ago. In all of our mission we had only three baptisms in one year, despite the conscientious labors of over seventy missionaries. We did not have the Doctrine and Covenants, the Pearl of Great Price, or the Book of Mormon translated into Portuguese. We held our meetings in rooms that were small and unfit for the lofty message we were trying to teach. We often had to sweep out these rooms before meeting to remove the empty bottles and trash from the revelry of the night before. It was always difficult and often discouraging.
In comparison, last year in South America there were over 8,000 convert baptisms. There are now twenty-two stakes and seventeen missions of the Church with over 152,000 members on that vast continent; and the work has only begun. Our great first generation of South American Regional Representatives and stake and mission presidents are men of affairs, including bankers, businessmen, factory owners, and professional men. They are men of great ability and faith.
I marveled at how through the Spirit of God this has all come about. Surely it is a fulfillment of what Jesus said to his early apostles: “And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt. 16:19.) Having seen it all from close range, I cannot doubt that this is the work of God.
What has happened in Brazil has also happened in the other countries as well. The day I was at the temple site, President McAllister of the Bolivia La Paz Mission wrote, “We are still amazed at the growth of the Church since we were here before. When we left in 1967 there were fewer than 300 members compared to our current 8,500.” President Bradford, sustained yesterday as a General Authority, writes from Chile, “For as young as the Church is in Chile, I marvel at the strength and ability of many local leaders.” Surely the keys of the kingdom have been given to our present prophet and to the modern apostles, even as these were given by the Savior anciently.
Last week at the temple site, after much brooding and pondering, I stepped farther back to where the inner rooms of the temple will be. The morning mist had now cleared so that in the distance I could see part of the great city of Sao Paulo. I recalled how as a young missionary I presided over the work in that city, with thirteen missionaries and about 300 members. There are now four stakes of the Church and about 100 missionaries laboring in that city. There are also neighboring stakes in Campinas and Santos.
This great progress in South America has come about largely through the sacrifice and dedication of hundreds of missionaries and their families, as well as dedicated mission presidents from the United States and Canada. This is changing. In the Brazil Porto Alegre Mission there are now 136 missionaries of which fifty-eight, or 43 percent, are native-born Brazilians. All of the four mission presidents in Argentina are native South Americans. How can anyone who has seen what I have deny that this is the work of God.
That morning last week I walked farther on the holy templegrounds. I tried to establish from the ground pegs where the sealings will be. Already it seems to be hallowed ground. In my mind’s eye I could see young couples clean and pure, hand in hand, and with smiles on their faces, many with brown skins handsomely contrasting their white clothing, who will come to this sacred spot to be married under the power of the holy priesthood of God for time and for all eternity. It was easy to imagine the great joy of whole families who will come to that spot to be sealed and bound together under the same authority into an eternal family association through their worthiness. They will come from elevated passes and high plains of the Andes; they will come from the sea coast; they will come from the great cities. On that spot the doors will also be opened to the kingdom for those who died without an opportunity to accept the blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ on this earth. In addition, worthy members will receive the ordinances relating to mankind’s eternal journey and to the endless potential and development of each human soul. This has been provided by a gracious, just, and loving Father for all of mankind, and permits those who have participated in these enlightening ordinances to raise themselves to their highest potential in this life and for all eternity, with an endless association with their families in the presence of their Creator.
With this in mind and with eyes wet with tears, I remembered being told by one of our great South American stake presidents that when he comes to general conference in Salt Lake, he and his wife will have to decide which two of their five children they will bring to be sealed to them in the Salt Lake Temple. It takes forty-three soles to make one dollar. Now their plans have changed. They are planning to take all five children to the first temple in South America. His brother stake president in the same city has never had the privilege of being endowed and of being sealed to his wife and family in a temple.
That morning a week ago on the Sao Paulo Temple site, I walked farther back, still inside of where the temple will be. Having looked at these plans many times, I knew where I was. I have had goose pimples and felt tears almost every time I have looked at those plans. I was now standing where the baptistry will be. Thanks to President Kimball, as in all other temples since Nauvoo it will be a font borne on the back of twelve lifelike oxen representing the twelve tribes of Israel. Here will come the children, full of the mirth and excitement of youth, to perform the sacred ordinances of vicarious baptism for those who have not had that opportunity in their lifetime. It was easy to imagine the pleasure of those coming to be baptized and the great joy of those who have waited so long for this saving ordinance in their eternal journey. I was grateful that Jesus had said to his apostles: “And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven.” Contemplating all of this I could not doubt that this is the work of God upon the earth.
It was now time to walk on the outside of the pegs in the ground marking the dimensions of that long-awaited temple. I tried to imagine how high the front spire will be. At the same time I tried to contemplate the time when the short, stoic Indians from Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, and Paraguay will also come to that spot and gaze up at the same spire. I wondered if some of the men might not admire the fine craftsmanship in the building and compare it with the quality of the workmanship in the walls of the sacred buildings of their forbears, still standing in Cuzco, and Machu Picchu, and many other places in South America. They had their temples also.
These descendants of the Lamanites and others are people with a great past, and with the enlightening power of the gospel of Jesus Christ, they are people with a great future. One of them was sustained yesterday as a General Authority of this church. Recently there were over 8,000 of them assembled in the Plaza de Armas in Cuzco, Peru, to hear the Lamanite Generation from Brigham Young University. Their day is coming soon.
What does this new temple soon to be built in South America mean to the people there? It means great and endless blessings. It also means great sacrifice. President Kimball said recently in Tokyo as he announced the building of the first temple in the Far East, “No temple has ever yet been built that did not require sacrifice and hard work.” (Unpublished, untitled talk delivered by President Kimball, Aug. 9, 1975, p. 12) It takes many pesos, escudos, soles, and cruzeiros, to make one dollar. For instance, last month the faithful members in Chile raised 1,902,178 escudos toward the construction of the Sao Paulo Temple, which is $387.90.
The Spirit of God has been distilled and has rested mightily upon the countries in South America since the time of my youth when missionary work there was so difficult. How does the work of God go there now? Problems—there are many; challenges—they are great, but the progress is almost unbelievable. What I have said about South America can be said of many other parts of the whole world. This is a great worldwide Church, and so far we have only seen the beginning. Having seen what I have seen in South America, I cannot deny that this is the work of God. I invite any who may have doubts, but who are sincere and honest in heart, to inquire further as to what is the generating force behind this great movement. It is the power of love—the love of God, the love of family, and the love of our fellowmen. And because Jesus has again given the keys of the kingdom to a living prophet and modern apostles, this love of family and others can be as eternal as the human soul. Said Jesus to his apostles of old: “And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” (Matt. 16:19.)
I testify that it is by these same keys and these same powers that this marvelous work goes forward throughout all of the earth, in the sacred name of Jesus Christ. Amen.

“Nothing in this world, not even a T-bone steak, could taste as good as it will feel to wear a missionary name badge. Nothing tastes that good.”
That thought gave Neil Bridenstine constant motivation to stick to a demanding weight-loss program. He had one goal in mind: serving a mission.
Just before his 19th birthday, Neil, then weighing about 400 pounds, learned he’d have to lose more than 120 pounds to drop to the recommended maximum weight for a missionary his height. The weight requirement from the Missionary Department helps ensure that young men and women will be able to live the physically challenging lifestyle of a missionary.
At first Neil felt the weight requirement would be impossible for him to meet. After all, his previous attempts to lose weight had been unsuccessful.
“I was a little discouraged when they said I needed to lose 120 pounds. I was feeling pretty down, and I thought, ‘Well, I’m not going on a mission then.’”
After a month of feeling discouraged, Neil came to an important realization. His current weight was unhealthy, and he did need to make a drastic change.
“Being 400 pounds, I was at the end of the rope. I needed to lose the weight anyway.”
To lose weight, Neil enrolled for six months at a full-time weight-loss center in St. George, Utah. Once he got there, he began to realize that his goal of a mission might not be impossible after all. “I went there with the wrong frame of mind, that I was going just to lose some weight, but then I turned around and said: ‘I’m going to do this so I can go on a mission.’”
Because Neil needed to lose so much weight in a short period of time, he needed to be monitored and advised by professionals during the entire process. Neil, along with his parents and doctor, decided that a health center was the safest option. There he was supervised and learned the basics of healthy living so that he could maintain his weight when he returned home and while on his mission.
The center’s weight loss regimen put Neil on a 1,200-calorie-per-day diet. His meals were carefully balanced to make sure he got all the nutrients he needed. “My diet was straight out of the Word of Wisdom—whole foods, whole grains, fresh vegetables, fruit, and meat, but very sparingly.”
On weekdays, Neil’s day began at 6:30 a.m. with a three-hour hike. “We would hike between four and six miles, depending on our hiking ability. My first hike I went about two miles in three hours. That was as far as I could go.”
But during his stay Neil built up his physical endurance. He spent part of each day in the gym doing strength training, aerobics, stretching, and cardiovascular exercises. In the evening, he attended lectures on how to maintain a healthy diet and lifestyle. Over the course of six months, Neil hiked a total of 600 miles and lost an average of five pounds a week.
As Neil’s body slowly began to change, he underwent a rapid change of heart. “Being there tested my faith because if I didn’t go to church on Sunday, my parents weren’t there to baby me, and my roommates didn’t care. I very quickly felt tested to see if I was there for the right reasons. It really made me understand that I did want to go on a mission and that I would deeply regret it if I didn’t.”
Several counselors at the health center who are members of the Church befriended Neil. He attended a young single adult ward with them, and through their example, his testimony grew. He also used the free time between workouts and lectures to study the gospel. He read Preach My Gospel, other Church books, and the Book of Mormon, with the goal of sharing his testimony with others.
“That’s what I was really trying to do—to really know the Book of Mormon, more than just reading the words to say I read it.”
Neil’s gospel study, coupled with his intense weight-loss program, paid off. “I was losing weight physically, but I was gaining so much spiritually—spiritual knowledge through the Book of Mormon and Preach My Gospel.”
The spiritual strength he was gaining carried him through difficult periods in his training. “Some nights there were times when I would cry myself to sleep because I dreaded waking up and going on a six-mile hike, or I dreaded having to eat another piece of tofu. But I said my prayers every night. Some mornings I would go on a hike, and it would feel like someone was pushing me. I was amazed that I was able to do what I did.”
Not only was Neil preparing physically and spiritually for his mission; he was also getting a lot of practice in missionary work. Most of the guests at the health center were not members of the Church, so Neil found opportunities to introduce them to the gospel and share his testimony.
“I gave out 12 copies of the Book of Mormon, told the Joseph Smith story a handful of times, and bore my testimony literally hundreds of times. When I was hiking I would try to pick a guest for that week and bear my testimony about the Church. It was the best missionary preparation ever because I got to do real missionary work.”
Now Neil has the opportunity to put all that practice to the test as a missionary in the Armenia Yerevan Mission. Almost six months to the day after Neil began his weight-loss program, he weighed in on the doctor’s scales at 280 pounds.
“It was a lot of work, and it was difficult, but it paid off. To get the doctor to sign off, to get the missionary papers in, and to get my mission call—the whole thing, every minute of misery I thought I was in, was well worth it.”
Neil says he is grateful for the weight requirement because of everything the experience taught him. But he gives the credit to Heavenly Father for helping him accomplish his goal.
“I can honestly say that I’ve been very blessed, spiritually and physically, to be able to do what I’ve done. The physical results are out of this world. Those came from heavenly help, and I can take very little credit for that. I know that there’s a reason I was supposed to go on a mission.”
Elder Bridenstine is now discovering what that reason is. And his weight loss not only got him there, it also taught him an important lesson he now uses as a missionary.
“Anything is possible with the Lord on your side. If you’re doing what you’re asked and living righteously, the Lord will bless you.”
Whether those blessings come in pounds lost or in souls found.