Gospel Story Finder

From a young age Elder Otto Vincent Haleck paid tithing, fasted, and studied scriptures—and then he met the missionaries and was baptized.
Elder Haleck was born in January 1949 in American Samoa. His parents, Otto and Dorothy Haleck, sent him to school in California, USA. At the age of 17, he noticed that some friends in student government were different from other students. “They invited me to Mutual, and the rest is history,” Elder Haleck says.

This terror of performing would follow me into adulthood. When I was still in the early years of my public accounting career and had two small children at home, I was called as the Relief Society pianist.

The first week was a disaster. I lurched through some prelude music from the back of the Children’s Songbook (chosen for its simplicity) and then practiced a little deep breathing to calm down during the announcements. Then it was go time. I began playing the first chords of the opening song, but before I could make it through the intro, I plunked a sour note, and, unsurprisingly, my hands rapidly retreated from the keys. Panicked for a measure or two, I desperately tried to get back into the groove. As usual, the chorister led everyone through all of the verses. The longer they sang, the worse I played, until I was reduced to picking out just the melody line for the last verse.

This little episode played out like an old rerun each week until, fatefully, someone in the presidency asked if I would like a key to the church so I could practice. I politely declined, explaining that I actually had a piano at home. I was released within the month.

To this day, even when I am home alone practicing in complete solitude, I cannot play “Sweet Hour of Prayer” (Hymns, no. 142)—the simplest of hymns—without stopping, unless I have the unlikely good fortune to get through it with no mistakes. For this reason I try not to call attention to my piano training (cat’s out of the bag now, I guess). I am so paralyzed by my mistakes that I am of no practical use at the piano.

I had a hard time finding Sister Gong. I have a quirky sense of humor, and it wasn’t easy finding someone who would laugh with me at my jokes. For example: It is a romantic night at the beach. The moon is full and bright. You are holding hands, strolling through the warm water. Something slithers against her leg. Don’t worry, it’s a moray.

What is this? A tie. In Mandarin Chinese, “wife” is “taitai.” Can you say “tai-tai?” The adjective for someone who lives in Thailand is—Thai. So, his Thai taitai tied tying his tie-dye tie.

Anyway, you get the idea. It’s a miracle I found Sister Gong. Something that helped me may help you. When I prayed, “Should I marry Susan?” I felt peace. But later, I made my own best decision. My prayer changed to one of real intent and commitment. “Heavenly Father, I love Susan and want to ask her to marry me. I promise I’ll be the best husband and father I can be.” It was then my clearest, strongest confirmation came.

When Sister Gong and I were married, Elder David B. Haight wisely counseled, “Always hold a calling in the Church,” he said. “Be wise and don’t neglect your family, education, or profession. But especially when life is busy, hold a Church calling so you feel the Lord’s love for those you serve and for you, as you grow in His service.”

One of the truest examples of the present condition of the world was brought to my attention many years ago when a man by the name of Ray Smith spoke in our sacrament meeting. Brother Smith had been involved over a number of years with the prisoners at the Utah State Penitentiary, and he told us some of his experiences with prisoners. He mentioned that on one occasion as he was speaking to a group of Church members, a woman pled with him, “When you return to the prison, Brother Smith, I wish you would look up my son. He needs help.” And then she said something that Brother Smith found hard to understand: “He was always a good boy.”

Brother Smith soon made contact with this young man, who he said appeared to be anything but a “good boy.” He was one of the most rebellious and defiant of all the young men he had met, and Brother Smith was completely rebuffed. He wondered how the mother could say that this young man was a good boy until he reflected on her experience in bringing him forth into life and tenderly caring for him through his infancy and childhood. So he decided to make other overtures.

He noticed one day on the wall of the old prison a sort of mural that someone had painted. It showed the beginnings of talent, and he inquired who had done it. He was told that it was this same young man. This gave Brother Smith an idea, and he again approached the young man, saying, “I noticed the painting on the wall out there. I was told that you had painted it. I was impressed with it, and I wonder if you would be willing to paint a picture for me.”

The young man responded, “I don’t know whether I would or not. What is the picture?”

Brother Smith said, “I’ve never really seen the picture. I’ve just read about it and imagined it in my mind, but I wish you would try to envision the picture and decide if you could paint it.”

The boy asked, “Where is the picture?”

Brother Smith said, “It is right here in the eighth chapter of the first book of Nephi. I want you to read about the picture and try to visualize it.”

A few days later he returned and asked the boy if he had read it. He said, “Yeah, I read it.”
“Did you see the picture?”
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Will you paint it?”
“I don’t know whether I will or not.”

Brother Smith said he then went downtown and purchased materials with which the young man could make a suitable painting and delivered them to him. For the first time the young man was touched. He said, “This is good stuff. I have never worked with this kind of material.” And so, of course, he painted the picture. The reason I remember the story so well is that Brother Smith brought the picture with him when he spoke in our sacrament meeting.

Many of you will recognize that the picture was a portrayal of Lehi’s dream. Lehi, as you recall, was led for a period of time through a dark and dreary wasteland and eventually beheld a large and spacious field where there was a tree whose fruit was desirable and capable of making one happy; and as Lehi went forth and partook of the fruit, he beheld it was most sweet, above all that he had ever tasted. Later on Nephi explained that the fruit was representative of the love of God. As Lehi partook of the fruit, it filled his soul with joy, and he wished that his family could partake of it also. As he cast his eyes about, he beheld a river of water that ran near the tree, and he saw his family standing a little way off at the head of the river. He beckoned to his family, and his wife and two sons came forward and partook of the fruit; but his two rebellious sons would not come. He then beheld that along the straight and narrow path that led to the tree and along the bank of the river was a rod of iron. He saw numerous concourses of people pressing forward so that they might obtain the path that led to the tree. As they came forth, there arose a mist of darkness so great that many on the path lost their way and wandered off, but others pressing forward caught hold of the end of the rod of iron, which I always felt served as a hand railing, and came safely through the mist of darkness until they arrived at the tree. Then after they had partaken of the fruit, they cast their eyes about as if they were ashamed, and looking on the other side of the river they saw a great and spacious building. It was filled with people, both old and young. Their manner of dress was exceeding fine, and they were in the attitude of mocking and pointing their fingers toward those who had come and were partaking of the fruit. Many of the people who had tasted of the fruit were ashamed because of those who were scoffing at them, and they fell away into forbidden paths and became lost.

All of this I saw in the picture that Brother Smith showed us that night in sacrament meeting. I have never in my life seen a better representation of the true conditions on the earth, both in ancient and at present times. Truly the old patterns repeat themselves, and the inhabitants of the earth today are much the same.

Brother Smith, incidentally, pointed to a special item in the picture and said to the young man, “The picture is very descriptive, but where did you find that angel hovering over the chasm of filthy water? I don’t remember reading about an angel in the picture.”

The young man responded, saying, “I know. I put it there. That is my angel. I am sure that God has provided me with a safeguard to turn me about from the direction in which I seem to be going.”

Naturally, the conclusion of the story was the redemption of this young man.

In sacrament meeting one Sunday, I listened intently to a speaker talk about institute. He shared the words of Elder L. Tom Perry of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, saying, “[Institute] has enriched my life, and I know it will do the same for you. It will put a shield of protection around you to keep you free from the temptations and trials of the world.”1 It was then I realized that the truth of Elder Perry’s words had manifested itself to me already. How grateful I was for the blessings that had come to me because I attended institute.
Not long before, I had begun an institute class on the teachings of Isaiah. To this day it remains the most life-altering class I have ever taken. That semester had been a confusing time for me; not all of my goals and priorities were in line with the principles of the gospel. However, I attended institute regularly and participated in numerous one-on-one discussions about Church doctrine with the institute instructor. Over time, as my ideas changed, I slowly and carefully altered my goals to fit the Lord’s plan for me.
It wasn’t until hearing Elder Perry’s quote in sacrament meeting that Sunday that I realized exactly how these new goals were blessing me. My entire life was significantly better when I attended institute. I was much more receptive to the Spirit and succumbed to temptations far less frequently. My attitude and my outlook had improved because of my attendance.

I was sixteen when my father invited me and my younger brother to work with him on his farm. For us, the main purpose was to save enough money to go study in a distant city. My brother and I knew nothing about farm work and had to learn everything. In the beginning, it was difficult and demanding for young people like us who had never carried out such manual work. Step by step, our father taught us how to do it.
Here is one of the many lessons he taught us: “Only work makes someone independent and ennobles them. When someone is self-sufficient, they have self-esteem, they are respected, and they can accomplish many things for themselves and others.”
With the means that we acquired, my brother and I were able to buy food, school supplies and clothes, and to focus on our studies without too much worry. Being independent, we started to grow.

A few days ago, I visited Florida, USA, after Hurricane Irma hit. I met a group of Latter-day Saints who were helping clean up. They had left Georgia at 4:00 in the morning, driven for hours, worked into the night, and worked again the next day!
As we were leaving, a man walked up to our car and said, “I’m not a member of your church. I can’t believe what you have done for us. God bless you.” Other members of the Church from that part of Florida went hundreds of miles to another part of Florida that was hit even harder.
I have heard that some people have started calling the Latter-day Saints who are wearing the yellow Helping Hands T-shirts “the Yellow Angels.”

Shifting and squirming in his chair, Frankie whispered to Clarissa, “These chairs are hard. I’m bored.”
Sister Peterson, the Primary teacher, asked, “What did you say, Frankie?”
“Oh, nothing,” Frankie answered. He continued squirming.
Sister Peterson smiled. “It’s almost time to go home.”
“Home,” Frankie thought. He had been in so many homes he had to stop to remember which one he was in now.
After the closing prayer, Frankie sprang from his chair and raced into the hallway. As he skidded around the corner, he ran right into Mr. Adams—or “Dad,” as he was trying to remember to call him.
“Hi, Frankie, I was looking for you. Let’s go home.”
There was that word again—home. Frankie climbed onto the back seat of the van. Most of the foster families he had lived with drove vans. If he sat in the back, everyone usually forgot he was there. Then no one asked him questions. Questions made him nervous because he didn’t always know the answers. Then he felt—well, slow. The kids in the other places he had lived had made fun of him and called him names. Even the adults usually got annoyed when he didn’t understand everything right away. So Frankie chose the back row. It was safer that way. The problem was, it wasn’t working with this family.
“How was Primary, Frankie?” Mrs. Adams asked.
Frankie thought hard. He wanted to be honest. “Well,” he said slowly, “I tried to listen, but it was really hard.” He felt his whole body tense up. He was afraid that Mrs. Adams was going to be upset with him for not understanding. What she said surprised him. “What did the teachers say? Maybe we can help you understand.” She sounded very gentle, like she really wanted to help.
She listened patiently as Frankie tried to tell her what he heard in Primary. “Well, it was about God being my father, or something like that,” Frankie mumbled. The idea sounded strange to him. He thought for sure it would sound silly to Mrs. Adams. (“Mom,” he silently reminded himself.) He figured the other kids would tease him for giving the wrong answer, but they didn’t.
“That’s what Sister Robbins said in sharing time,” Taylor said. “She talked about how we’re all children of God, and about how He loves us—just like you do, Dad—and how that should help us to be good and to choose the right. Then we sang ‘I Am a Child of God.’”
Ashley waved her hands in the air and said, “That’s my favorite song!”
Frankie listened closely. They had heard the same thing he did, but they seemed to understand it. And he could tell by their faces that they believed it. Mom must have seen the confusion in his eyes because she said, “Frankie, we’ll talk more later about what it means to be a child of God.”
After dinner, the kids all plopped down on the big rug in front of the couch. Reaching for his scriptures, Dad said, “Let’s talk about what it means to be a child of God. Here is a scripture that might help. It’s in 1 Nephi 17:36, and it says, ‘Behold, the Lord hath created the earth that it should be inhabited; and he hath created his children that they should possess it.’” Dad paused. “What do you think that means?”
Ashley’s hand flew up. “It means that Heavenly Father is the Father of our spirits. He made this beautiful earth for us and sent us here to grow.” She nodded her head, as if agreeing with herself.
“That’s right,” Mom said. “Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to come back to Him, because we belong to Him.”
“Even me?” Frankie asked timidly. “Do I belong to Him?”
“Absolutely, Frankie. He loves you and wants you to come back,” Dad said. “He wants you to come back so much that He will help you in any way He can. One way He has already helped you was by sending you to us, so we can teach you about Him. If you will pray and ask Him, He will bless you and help you.”
Later that night as Frankie snuggled under the covers, he thought, “I have a Father in Heaven.” In all the foster homes he had been in, no one had ever told him about Heavenly Father. It felt good to know that there was someone in heaven he belonged to, someone he could always talk to. He had never felt like he belonged anywhere—until now. In his heart Frankie knew that Mr. and Mrs. Adams—Mom and Dad—loved him.
“Maybe that is why I am in this home,” he thought. “Maybe God wanted me here.” For the first time Frankie slid to his knees and started to pray. It felt funny at first, but he felt like it was the right thing to do. “If He is my Father, I bet He would like to hear from me. I bet He’s missed me,” he thought as he bowed his head.

Volleyball season came. We knew we were the best team in the stake. For two years we had been close to winning the stake championship, and this was the year we were going to win. We had the veteran “senior” boys. We had the height; we had the talent. And we even had a mascot—Billie. We even let Billie play. Just hitting the ball was a major achievement, but everyone clapped and encouraged him, so Billie really felt that he was making a contribution.
Being at each game was more important than ever to him. During the regular season, Billie might have cost the team a few points, or even one game in a series, but he played and we all felt good because of our sacrifice.
Finally the stake championship came. It was the same rivalry that had been there for the last two years. This time we would win. We had beaten the other team during the regular season’s games, and we would beat them in the championship. Perhaps as an extra precaution someone “forgot” to tell Billie about the game.
Saturday afternoon at game time some of our players were overconfident and had gone to the store for some soft drinks. The first game started without them, but the substitute players were good enough. Then in came the bishop with Billie. Both teams were well coached. The game was an even match of the teams, but we lost. We couldn’t afford to hold back our best players for the next game. We had to win the next game to give us a chance at winning two out of three games.
Billie had been at the coach’s side the whole first game. “Now? Should I go in now? Do you want me to play now?” His persistence was distracting. The coach spoke firmly but kindly, “Go sit down; I’ll tell you when, Billie.”
At the end of the first game, Billie couldn’t wait any longer. Scores didn’t mean anything. The only thing that was important was playing. The coach looked at Billie; for a long minute he agonized. He had always let all the boys play. Would he change the rules now? Was the principle more important than the game?
This was a unique group of boys. Just weeks before, the coach had told us that sometime in his life every coach should get a chance to work with a group like ours. He felt that we could understand principles. There wasn’t any choice; he had to let Billie play.
The other team served—right to Billie. Another serve—to Billie; and another. Again and again the serve was to Billie. The other coach called time-out; he was talking to his server. Another serve—right to Billie. The score was 11 to 0; no service had been returned. Finally a service went into the net, but it was too late. The final score was 15 to 6. It was our year to win, and we lost.
The other team walked off the court with heads lowered. We were fighting back tears. We didn’t understand. We went outside, and the coach tried to talk. “I thought I knew what was right.” Even he was fighting for composure. “I believe it’s important for everyone to play. I’ve always let everyone play. I hope I’m doing what’s right.” The bishop was there with Billie. He looked as if he wanted to talk but didn’t know what to say. Finally Billie broke in and said, “Well, we won another one!”
Something happened after that. The bishop gave a lesson in priesthood meeting on winning. He said something about an inactive father going to the temple because his handicapped son was loved by our quorum. He said that was winning. Somebody said if Billie could play volleyball he could come to priesthood meeting. All of a sudden Billie was really part of us. We’d invested a volleyball championship in him, and he was important to us.

“Last month our presidency had the opportunity to speak at BYU Women’s Conference on the topic ‘Jesus Christ Is Relief.’ I focused on the emotional relief the Savior provides as the Master Healer. I shared my youngest daughter’s experience with emotional health challenges that began when she was a very young girl. Over the past five years of her healing journey, she has come to understand how the Savior has been with her throughout her whole life, even during the times she felt utterly abandoned by Him and unable to feel the Spirit. She came to recognize that Jesus Christ was there in every good thing that came into her life and in every good person who offered a helping hand.
“Millions struggle with mental and emotional health challenges. One of the very difficult parts of these challenges is the stigma surrounding them and the harsh judgment by some that they are a character flaw or a sign of weakness or laziness. The effects of mental and emotional illness are just as real and just as devastating as a physical illness or injury, but the effects can be less outwardly apparent than a broken leg or cancer. The effects of mental and emotional illness can often make it hard for a person to function or find joy. Some tell those with mental health challenges to just ‘get over it’ and ‘try harder’ or ‘be more faithful.’ We wouldn’t say that to someone with cancer or a broken leg.
“Our Savior, Jesus Christ, is our greatest source of relief. What a blessing it is that we can partner with Him to help bring emotional, spiritual, and physical relief to those around us. Let us be instruments of relief in His hands for those around us, including our own family members. There are so many who need the Savior’s relief!”

One experience in particular strengthened Tina’s testimony of prayer. One day Tina and her younger siblings were playing in the church garden when they accidentally locked themselves inside. “We were just playing, and then we realized the door was locked, and we couldn’t get out. We started panicking because no one was inside the church to hear us,” Tina recalls. Her younger brother, knowing that they needed divine help, decided to pray. “He just said, ‘Heavenly Father, please help someone hear us and open the door.’ And then, not long after, the bishop just walked by and heard us!” she says. The bishop quickly unlocked the door, and they were freed. “That experience made me realize that Heavenly Father listens to us,” Tina reflects.
This experience deepened Tina’s understanding of the power of prayer. She realized that just as Heavenly Father helped them in that moment, He is always ready to provide guidance and comfort when she turns to Him. “That day, I learned that prayer isn’t just for big things. It’s for everything, even the small stuff. Heavenly Father listens,” she shares. Since then she has made prayer a more consistent part of her life, knowing that it is one of the greatest privileges of being a child of God.
Tina’s relationship with her younger brother also grew stronger through this experience. She saw his faith in action, and it inspired her to trust in God even more. “Seeing my brother pray with so much faith reminded me that we don’t have to go through challenges alone. We can always turn to the Lord,” she says. Their mutual encouragement has continued, especially in their efforts to stay active in the gospel. When one of them feels unmotivated to attend church or seminary, the other steps in to encourage and uplift. “If I don’t feel like going, my brother’s like, ‘Come on, let’s go.’ And if he doesn’t want to, I tell him the same thing,” she adds.

In one of my hardest classes, the lecturer taught for two hours without ceasing each time we had class. It was difficult to understand not only the content of the class but also the accent of the lecturer, so with permission, I recorded his lectures for review. One day I received an email from a woman I did not know. She introduced herself as a classmate and asked if I could share my recordings because her work schedule sometimes kept her from attending class.
Of course I was happy to give her copies of my recordings. I thought I was helping her, but I soon found that she was another angel whom God had arranged to help me. To pass the class, we had to submit two assignments and take a three-hour exam. She helped me complete the assignments and prepare for the exam. Without her help, I don’t think I would have passed.

I observed a marvelous display of obedience during a recent visit to a large cattle ranch in Argentina. Early one morning, the gauchos brought forty horses into a corral to select their mounts for the day. Gauchos are like cowboys in the United States. Each gaucho went into the corral and whistled softly like this [whistling]. This established their presence. When the horses heard the soft whistling, they lined up quickly near the fence, facing the gauchos. The horses held their heads high, kept their eyes constantly on their masters, and kept their ears forward in an alert, receptive stance. They gave complete attention and appeared to be anxious to serve. They quickly organized themselves into a line as if for a full military dress inspection or review. The gauchos stepped back out of the way and whistled again. The horses circled quickly to the other side of the corral and lined up facing the gauchos. They looked as if a drill sergeant had called them to attention. Each gaucho chose his mount for the day’s work and walked up to the horse he had selected. The others stayed in line waiting for their assignments.
When I asked how the gauchos taught the horses to be so obedient, I was informed that their training started when the horses were colts. Each one learned from its caring mother and from other mature horses. The gauchos began training the colts when they were young, with kindness, never using force of a lasso or a whip.
Watching this display of obedience, I thought of you Aaronic Priesthood brethren and how you are taught by your mothers, like the two thousand stripling sons of Helaman, and by caring fathers and priesthood leaders. I thought of you following their good example, disciplining yourselves, and keeping yourselves alert—willing to serve your Lord and Master as He chooses and calls you.

Someone told me this story:
“ I remember that one day as soon as I woke up I stayed in bed for a few minutes and suddenly a very bad thought came to my mind, something that I had never thought of before or would have never thought of myself and I immediately aloud said NO. And the thought was gone And I got down on my knees and thanked God for helping me not to entertain that thought, not to allow it to stay and dirty my mind and draw me away from the Spirit of the Lord. That day, I won a battle, but I still have a whole war ahead of me.”

“Invite Mr. Wood* to seminary.” The thought popped into my mind as soon as I heard the announcement, and I immediately thought it was crazy. Why would I invite my music teacher to come to seminary at 5:30 in the morning?
The seminary president had just told our class that we would be having a teacher appreciation day. We were challenged to invite some of our schoolteachers to join us for a morning of seminary where we would thank them for their service. The entire week after hearing this announcement, I thought about inviting Mr. Wood. Every time I went to seminary or saw him in music class, the thought came back: “Invite Mr. Wood to seminary.” After several days of this, I couldn’t ignore the thought any longer.
One morning as all the students in music class were getting out their instruments, I put my trombone aside and approached Mr. Wood. My heart was pounding and my hands were shaking, but when I opened my mouth to extend the invitation, I felt comfort.
To my surprise, Mr. Wood said that he would come! He was curious about why I went to seminary every morning before school and wanted to learn more. After giving him all the details, I walked away full of joy.
During this experience, I didn’t feel a burning in the bosom (see D&C 9:8). But I did feel the Holy Ghost. The recurring thought to invite Mr. Wood (see D&C 128:1), the comfort I felt when I invited him (see John 14:26), and the joy I felt after I invited him (see Galatians 5:22) all came from the Spirit. But if I had been looking only for a burning in the bosom, I might not have recognized when the Holy Ghost was prompting me.

I would like to thank you for your articles “Gold Mine” and “Stephen” in the May New Era. Never before have I been so touched by a magazine. I live in the same ward in which Stephen Farrance lived. A few years ago Steve showed me the story “Gold Mine.” It was his intention at that time to have it published in the New Era. After his death I intended to get the story and send it to you. You can imagine my delight when I discovered it in the May issue. It brought tears to my eyes as I read it again.
Stephen was a fighter. Never did I see him give up on anything that he started. He was a fierce competitor and always put up a strong battle at the scripture chases. Stephen loved life and got the most from it. In the last weeks of his life, he was serving others, directing and producing our roadshow. The week before the performance, we practiced every morning at 5:30 A.M. For Steve this meant getting up at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning to be at the church on time. He was always there.
The roadshow took place on Friday and Saturday nights. On Friday night Steve was cheering us on. That evening he went to the hospital, and the next morning he passed away. That night we were all surprised to see his family at the church giving us encouragement. We gave it our best, and for some reason I could remember my lines, which I had forgotten the night before. I could hear Steve telling me the words. It’s something I shall never forget. Steve was a wonderful person, with as much drive and enthusiasm as anyone I have known. I feel privileged to have known him. He was a good friend and a fine example of a true Latter-day Saint. I hope to meet Steve again. He touched the hearts of all who met him.
Brian BurgessBurnaby, British Columbia, Canada

After hearing the stake patriarch speak in sacrament meeting, I felt inspired to ask my bishop for a recommend. Then the patriarch and I set a date. As I entered his house that morning, I knew I was on the right path. We told each other a little about our lives. After that, the patriarch laid his hands upon my head and began to prophesy about my life. I could feel that it was all true and that it was really God that was speaking through the patriarch. I wept. I learned many things about myself that day.
Jared Edge, 18Layton, Utah

As to what extent that difference is, let me quote to you a letter. It was written a few months ago by a person who had a friend who thought enough of him to do exactly what we have been talking about. That is, the writer is a convert to the Church. He had a friend who brought him the gospel of Jesus Christ.

A few years ago, after this person became a member of the Church and received the priesthood, he took a girl to the temple. He was married for time and eternity. A few months ago a terrible tragedy struck. His wife died suddenly. There was no warning. This is the letter that he wrote while in the depths of his sorrow. He has given me permission to share this with you.

I am so miserable and lonely. I loved her so much, and the separation is so painful. I know the gospel is true. I know she is alive and working on her new assignment, but I do not find as much comfort as I thought I would.

I see good in all this. I see that my character can be strengthened. I see that my testimony has increased. I am grateful that I am a Latter-day Saint. I am appreciative that I have a knowledge of the truth and that I hold the priesthood.

If I did not have my testimony or my temple marriage, life would be so cumbersome. But the gospel is true, God lives, and Jesus the Christ, his Son, lives. Because he lives, she lives; and I will live. Because of my priesthood and the sealing powers of that priesthood, we will be reunited. That I know with a certainty tested in the flames of sorrow. But I miss the girl, my sweetheart. We were one, and half of me is beyond the veil.

Case in point, in 1955, on a bus in Montgomery, Alabama, Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat to a White man. Rosa Parks was arrested. During that time, African Americans were relegated to sit at the back of the bus. If the bus was full and a White person entered and wanted to sit, an African American individual would have to stand. Shortly after her arrest, Black church leaders, exemplifying wisdom and bravery, started a boycott of the bus system to encourage more just public transportation policies. Scores of individuals in the Black community chose to walk and carpool instead of ride the bus. This action had major economic consequences on the bus line because African Americans represented 75 percent of their customers.
In response to the collective action of the Black community, two leaders of the boycott—Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and Reverend Ralph Abernathy—had their homes firebombed. A White Lutheran reverend named Robert Graetz, who served a Black congregation in Montgomery and who strongly supported the bus boycott, also had his home firebombed. Moreover, the city sued Martin Luther King Jr. and eighty-nine others in state court on the grounds that it was illegal to boycott the busing system. Dr. King was found guilty. Shortly after his guilty verdict, in 1956, 381 days after the start of the boycott, the United States Supreme Court upheld a district court’s ruling that Alabama’s racial segregation laws for buses were unconstitutional. The next day, Rosa Parks rode an integrated bus.

His declaration of hope turned my mind to another experience I had as a young missionary in the New York area. After a long and tiring day of being rejected at one home after another, we finally came to a house where we were invited in. It was apparent that the lady of the house was grieving. She began the conversation by explaining that she was Jewish and that she had just lost her husband. She wanted to hear our belief about life after death. She wanted to know every detail. Would her husband be resurrected? What would he be like? Would she be resurrected? Would they see each other again? Would there be suffering? Would there be happiness?

The situation offered us an opportunity to teach and bear witness of Jesus Christ and the hope that comes from His sacrifice that was given to all mankind. We were able to explain from the Book of Mormon that Christ broke the bands of death, that all shall be raised from the dead, and that spirit and body would be reunited in its perfect frame. While we were never invited back to this lady’s home, I believe we gave her some hope. It was also a great reminder to two young missionaries of the love Christ has for us and the power of His infinite, eternal sacrifice that gives us eternal hope.