Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago, I took the Scouts on a campout in the desert. The boys slept by a large fire they had made, and like every good Scout leader, I slept in the back of my truck. In the morning when I sat up and looked at the campsite, I saw one Scout, whom I will call Paul, who looked particularly rough around the edges. I asked how he had slept, and he replied, “Not very well.”
When I asked why, he said, “I was cold; the fire went out.”
I answered, “Well, fires do that. Wasn’t your sleeping bag warm enough?”
No answer.
Then one of the other Scouts loudly volunteered, “He didn’t use his sleeping bag.”
I asked in disbelief, “Why not, Paul?”
Silence—then finally the sheepish reply: “Well, I thought if I didn’t unroll my sleeping bag, I wouldn’t have to roll it up again.”
True story: he froze for hours because he was trying to save five minutes of work.

The workshop couldn’t have been busier if it belonged to Santa’s elves. From one end to the other, workers were unloading trucks, repairing sleds and furniture, sorting buttons for clothing, sewing, and even stacking skis.
But these weren’t elves at work. They were young men and women from the Ogden Utah Weber Stake. And the workshop wasn’t at the North Pole. It was at the Deseret Industries welfare complex in Ogden, where the youth of the stake converged one Saturday to help the regular employees beat the Christmas rush.
It was part of a month-long program to get the youth acquainted with the elderly and handicapped who form the main part of the labor force at the facility, which repairs and sells used furniture and clothing. It was also part of an effort to help those employees have a merry Christmas. In addition to the day spent working in the warehouse and production areas, the young people also presented a week’s worth of morning devotionals, put in another Saturday collecting reusable items, and just a few days before Christmas, sponsored a party for employees.
“The whole idea was to get in the Christmas spirit,” Paula Watkins of the Uintah Second Ward said. “When you do something for other people, it makes you feel that you’re giving of yourself.”
The following Saturday, however, is when real friendships and close relationships began to grow.
“We have about 30 handicapped workers under the direction of each supervisor, but they don’t all work on the same shift,” Sister Petersen explained. “Handicaps include age, physical impairments, and social and emotional maladjustments. This group of young people moved right in and helped everyone who was there on Saturday. It didn’t take much instruction before they were doing high-quality work.”
It was indeed a sight to see a deacon working side-by-side on a commercial steam press with a woman who could have been his grandmother, but who joked and chatted with him like a schoolmate, or to watch a squadron of young men descend on a carpentry shop and learn under careful tutelage some fine points of cabinet making. Other work assignments included sorting clothing, polishing shoes, shredding rags to make rugs, pricing items for sale and affixing tags, ironing, and a variety of other tasks.
“But,” as Shelley Johnson of the Uintah Second Ward stressed, “the most important thing isn’t what type of work we did. It’s that we were able to help other people.”
About 325 young people participated in the project. They worked in two shifts, one in the morning, one in the afternoon. Each person was given the name of an employee to become acquainted with. Some were then given tasks to perform on their own, others were assigned to work under the direction of an employee, and others worked with supervisors.
“It was something different, something I’ll remember for a long time,” said Nan Brian of the Uintah First Ward. One of the supervisors said Mark Stockset of the Uintah Second Ward was a “real whiz on the steam machine.” Mark laughed. “I’ve never worked with one before,” he said, “but I’m kind of used to it now.”
“I think this whole Deseret Industries idea is a good thing,” said Janean Dickson of the Uintah Second Ward. “It helps people take care of themselves. It teaches the value of work and makes you count your blessings.
“I was especially interested to see the quality of merchandise they sell. The clothing isn’t worn out and run down; it’s nice. They have things for sale I’d be glad to wear.”
“Next time I give things to D.I., I’ll be more aware of what they can use,” said Lisa Fowles of the South Weber Second Ward, “so I’ll make a more meaningful donation.”
Over in the furniture repair shop, three young women from the stake removed nails from furniture being prepared for reupholstery.
“Did you think you’d be doing this kind of work today?” they were asked. “No,” came the reply, “but it’s fun to be able to work firsthand with tools. I don’t usually get a chance to do that, and the exposure will help me.”
“The people who work here have been really friendly to us,” David Jensen of the South Weber Second Ward said. “They seem like they’re glad to have us here.” Laurie Glissman, of the same ward, added, “It helps you when you work along with people; you come to understand them and the way they are. And it sure put me in the Christmas spirit to realize how fortunate I am. I think this welfare program is a good way to help those in need, because they can work and maintain their dignity.”
“Those who have never had a chance to get close to the handicapped don’t understand them.” Gladys Huber, another supervisor, said. “It’s good to see these young folks come out and get to know their brothers and sisters.”
“The workers were a bit wary about it at first,” Sister Petersen added. “But when the young people got here and started working with them, they were delighted. It’s been a perfect show of brotherly love.”
The employees did in fact seem impressed by the youthful volunteers. “They learn pretty fast, and work hard,” Rell Smith said. “It’s good to have them here. We’d like more groups to come. Just let us know when.”

Elder Monte J. Brough of the First Quorum of the Seventy tells of a summer at his childhood home in Randolph, Utah, when he and his younger brother, Max, decided to build a tree house in a large tree in the backyard. They made plans for the most wonderful creation of their lives. They gathered building materials from all over the neighborhood and carried them up to a part of the tree where two branches provided an ideal location for the house. It was difficult, and they were anxious to complete their work. The vision of the finished tree house provided tremendous motivation for them to complete the project.

They worked all summer, and finally in the fall just before school began for the new year, their house was completed. Elder Brough said he will never forget the feelings of joy and satisfaction which were theirs when they finally were able to enjoy the fruit of their work. They sat in the tree house, looked around for a few minutes, climbed down from the tree—and never returned. The completed project, as wonderful as it was, could not hold their interest for even one day. In other words, the process of planning, gathering, building, and working—not the completed project—provided the enduring satisfaction and pleasure they had experienced.

Let us relish life as we live it and, as did Elder Brough and his brother, Max, find joy in the journey.

Julie was sad. Nana—Grandma Marilyn—was in the hospital, and Mother had gone to visit her.
“What’s wrong, Julie?” Angie, her older sister, asked. “Are you having trouble with your math homework again?”
“No,” Julie replied. “Math is OK. I’m worried about Nana. Is she going to get better?”
“I don’t know,” Angie said. “The doctors aren’t sure what’s wrong with her.”
“Why aren’t you as upset as I am? Won’t you miss her if she doesn’t get better? What if she dies? Don’t you love Nana?” Julie had tears in her eyes.
Angie gathered Julie into her arms. “I think Nana will get better, and of course I love her,” Angie said. “But even if she dies, we can be together forever.”
“I thought that meant that Nana would always be with us, that I’d always be able to go to visit her, that none of us would ever die,” Julie said.
“No.” Angie smiled. “We’ll all have to die sometime. Being together forever means that because our family has been sealed together in the temple, after we leave this life, we can be together forever as a family in Heavenly Father’s kingdom.”
Julie sighed. “I don’t understand.”
“Let me see if I can help. Next month Mark and I are going to be married,” Angie said. “Do you know where we are being married?”
“Sure, that’s easy. You’ve been planning for months to be married in the temple.”
“Actually, for as long as I can remember, I’ve planned on being married in the temple. The reason is that when we are married in the temple, we will also be sealed together as an eternal family unit. The brother who will perform our marriage has the priesthood authority to join us as husband and wife not just for this life, but for forever. Because we will be sealed in the temple, if we live righteously, we and any children we have will be sealed together as a family for eternity. Because Nana and Grandpa John were sealed in the temple, and Mom and Dad were sealed in the temple, we are all sealed together as a family even after this life.”
“And that’s all there is to it?” Julie asked.
“No. We also have to live as an eternal family. For example, we need to try to live the gospel, love one another, have family home evening, pray together, help each other, and be kind to one another.”
“Thank you for helping me feel better today,” Julie said as she hugged Angie. “I’m glad you’re my sister forever.”
“So am I,” Angie said.

Rachel and Michelle decided one Saturday that it would be nice to take a walk with their stuffed animals. They got permission from both their parents, but Rachel’s mom said, “Only if you don’t cross any streets. Stay on the sidewalk.” So Michelle and Rachel started off on their walk, pushing their stuffed animals in Michelle’s old baby stroller. They came to a cul-de-sac and walked around it on the sidewalk. Returning home, they could not cross the mouth of the cul-de-sac without going across the street. Rachel said, “I don’t think we should cross the street,” but they didn’t want to walk clear back around the cul-de-sac either. They decided to obey their parents, so they went back around the cul-de-sac, staying on the sidewalk. They were glad that they had obeyed their parents. We hope that all of you reading this will obey your parents too.

One young man left his little Welsh village in the early 1840s, heard the Apostles of God, and came into the kingdom of God on earth. He sailed with the Saints to America and drove a wagon west across the plains. He was in the next company after Brigham Young coming into this valley. His priesthood service included clearing and breaking ground for a farm.
He sold the farm for pennies on the dollar to go on a mission for the Lord in the deserts of what is now Nevada to take care of sheep. He was called from that to another mission across the ocean in the very village he had left in his poverty to follow the Lord.
Through it all, he found a way to learn with his priesthood brethren. Bold missionary that he was, he walked down the lane in Wales to the summer estate of a man who was four times the prime minister of England to offer him the gospel of Jesus Christ.
The great man let him into his mansion. He was a graduate of Eton College and of Oxford University. The missionary talked with him about the origins of man, the central role of Jesus Christ in the history of the world, and even the fate of nations.
At the end of their discussion, the host declined the offer to accept baptism. But as they parted, that leader of one of the great empires of the world asked the humble missionary, “Where did you get your education?” His answer: “In the priesthood of God.”

When I was about 14 or 15, I had a hard time believing the Church was true, even though I’d been a member all my life. Although my firm testimony of the Church didn’t come until later, here is how I decided that the Church was good and that I should keep going.
One day I prayed about whether or not the Church was true. I was expecting some great experience like hearing a voice or feeling a physical sensation in my body or something similar to assure me it was. Nothing came. I struggled greatly with this.
Then one Sunday, I was at church and started thinking about all of the great people I knew in the Church. I thought about how I felt when I was at church—a peaceful feeling, like I was at ease. I felt the Spirit during this meeting when I was thinking about these things.
This is when my first little bit of testimony started, and I knew that the Church was a good thing and that I should keep going. As I continued going to church, I started forming an even stronger testimony, little by little.

When I was 12 years old, my family moved from subtropical Hong Kong to a place with cold, unfamiliar winters. Soon, I was invited on my first winter hike with the young men in my ward.
On the day of our hike, I dressed as warmly as I knew how. As we ascended the winding mountain trail, I was excited to see falling snow cover the ground. I was inadequately dressed for the terrain and weather, however, and had difficulty keeping up with my group. I told them to go ahead and I would join those who I believed were following us.
As I continued at my own pace, my shoes and clothing became soaked and my hands, feet, and face became numb. It then began to snow so intensely that I could no longer see the trail. After wandering for some time, I realized that I was lost, alone, and unsure if anyone knew I was missing.
Elder Tai in the Sierra Nevada range of California around 1988. The story he shares took place on Mount Baden Powell in the San Gabriel Mountains of California in 1984.
Photograph courtesy of the author
Lost, cold, and alone on that snowy mountain those many years ago, I became desperate. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt in the newly fallen snow and prayed to my Heavenly Father for help. I shared my predicament and fears with Him and pleaded to be found and rescued.
When I arose from my prayer, the snow descended all around me, and a beautiful, calm silence filled the trees. This serenity was disrupted when I heard rustling in the bushes nearby. Two older boys emerged. They had already reached the summit, and instead of following the trail, they decided to slide down the mountain. Of all places, they slid right to where I was!
When they asked me what I was doing there, I told them I was lost. They invited me to join them, and together we slid safely down to the trailhead at the base of the mountain. Eventually we were reunited with the rest of our group.

San Salvador: A bishop and an earthquake turned them around.
Earthquake! “I saw the walls of my house coming down!” says Sister Salinas. “The debris blocked the doorways, so we couldn’t get out until the strongest part of the quake was over. Then we scrambled over the rubble and ran out into the street.” Later, the entire roof caved in.
In his nearby office, Brother Salinas was hit in the head by flying debris. “But I didn’t worry about the pain, because I was so concerned about my family,” he says. “I ran home, praying, ‘Father, help us! We are thy children. Help us!’”
Even though his wife and all six children had been inside the house, miraculously no one was killed. Terrified, the family fled. “But we knew our brothers and sisters in the ward would be looking for us,” he says, “so we returned.”
Church members were indeed looking for them. A construction project on the meetinghouse was halted so members could help the quake victims. The meetinghouse was converted into an emergency center—a place to find shelter, food, clothing, pure water, medicine, and other necessities. The Salinas family decided to stay on their own property in a tent the bishop gave them, and the members helped clean things up and provided building materials for their new house. “They were always there for us,” says Brother Salinas. “They helped us materially, emotionally, spiritually. But even more, we saw how much the Lord loved us. He was always with us, protecting us. I don’t have a way to pay Him back, except to obey and be humble.”
Although the family had not been active in the Church since their baptism six years earlier, a friend—Bishop Rafael Luna—had kept the Church in their lives. “He didn’t lose faith that we would return,” says Brother Salinas.
His wife nods. “The bishop came to visit often, as did his wife and children. He was always sending members and home teachers and visiting teachers.” She smiles. “They wouldn’t leave us alone!”
In June 1986, Bishop Luna and a group of ward leaders had come to visit the Salinas family and urged them once again to return to Church. And the bishop had felt inspired to send the missionaries back to teach them the discussions again. The family started coming back to Church sporadically. Then, four months later, on 10 October 1986, the earthquake struck. The subsequent overwhelming demonstration of love by the members determined their reconversion.
“Our house was destroyed,” says Sister Salinas, “but we had everything we needed: the love of the members and the protection of the Lord.” Now she is first counselor in the Relief Society presidency, and her husband is progressing in the priesthood. Their children are busy and active in the Church. “We have prospered,” she says.
“We have a goal with the Lord and with the bishop to go to the temple and be sealed,” says her husband. “It’s a marvelous feeling to be back again in the true Church. We feel very happy here.” (See: “We Go As a Group.”)

“I have been inspired by the temple all my life,” says Caitlen Christensen, 16, of the Rockledge Ward in the Cocoa Florida Stake. “When I was younger the Salt Lake Temple was being updated. I was upset because I was unable to see it up close. All I wanted was to touch it. We asked a missionary there and got permission to get close enough to touch it. I had no idea why this was so important to me then; now I know. I know that Christ dwells in the temples and the action of me touching it gave me the feeling that I was touching Christ himself, like the woman who knew she would be healed if she just touched His robe.
“This picture I took was a big testimony builder for me. Every time I look at it, it reminds me of my purpose in life and that Christ knows and loves me. It also reminds me of my goal of an eternal marriage in the temple.”

When the Book of Mormon was published, Martin Harris was nearly 47 years of age, more than 20 years older than Joseph Smith and the other two witnesses. He was a prosperous and respected citizen of Palmyra, New York. He owned a farm of over 240 acres, large for the time and place. He was an honored veteran of two battles in the War of 1812. His fellow citizens entrusted him with many elective offices and responsibilities in the community. He was universally respected for his industry and integrity. Assessments by contemporaries described him as “an industrious, hard-working farmer, shrewd in his business calculations, frugal in his habits,” and “strictly upright in his business dealings” (quoted in Richard Lloyd Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses [1981], 96–97, 98).
This prosperous and upright older man befriended the young and penniless Joseph Smith, giving him the $50 that permitted him to pay his debts in Palmyra and locate in northeastern Pennsylvania, about 150 miles away. There, in April 1828, Joseph Smith began his first persistent translation of the Book of Mormon. He dictated, and Martin Harris wrote until there were 116 pages of manuscript.
Martin’s persistent requests to show this manuscript to his family wearied Joseph into letting him take it to Palmyra, where its pages were stolen from him, lost, and probably burned. For this the Lord rebuked Martin and Joseph. Joseph had his gift of translation suspended for a season, and Martin was rebuked as “a wicked man” who had “set at naught the counsels of God, and … broken the most sacred promises which were made before God” (D&C 3:12–13; see also D&C 10). Fortunately, both Joseph and Martin were later forgiven by the Lord, and the work of translation resumed with other scribes. We obviously honor Joseph for his magnificent ministry, but Martin’s subsequent faithfulness continues under a shadow from which this important man should be rescued.

One Sunday Sister Garcia assigned Whitney to give a talk in Primary the following week. Whitney didn’t usually like giving talks because she never knew what to say. But this time was different. Whitney could hardly wait to get home and begin writing.
“What are you supposed to talk about?” Wendee asked on the way home from church.
“Well,” Whitney said, “Sister Garcia said the theme should be ‘families are forever.’ The way I look at it, forever families are a lot like making raspberry jam!”

For David Wojnar, 22, from Springfield, Massachusetts, a good friendship played an important role in his conversion to the Church. Now a missionary serving in the Utah Salt Lake Mission, Elder Wojnar talked about the role of friendship in missionary work.
“When I graduated from high school, I decided it was time to move away from home. I got a job in Virginia and moved in with an old friend. One of my roommates was a Latter-day Saint. We soon became good friends. We did things together, and we could talk about anything. He had a sincere interest in me. We were friends first, and being friends probably helped more than anything else,” Elder Wojnar explained.
“Eventually he asked me to go to a young adult activity with him. They were putting on a play. The young people came up and made me feel welcome. They all were excited about meeting someone new,” Elder Wojnar said. “They were different from anybody I had run around with before. There was a different spirit.
“When I became involved in the activities and started attending church, the members made me feel special and important. They never put me down because I was a member of another church.”
At that time, Elder Wojnar still wasn’t ready to commit himself to baptism. “My other roommate, my friend from Massachusetts, was taking the discussions and was almost ready for baptism. When the missionaries came, I always found an excuse to leave. Most of the barriers I had were just fear and not knowing what would happen. I was determined to serve the Lord, and I just needed time. No one seemed excited or upset about the hesitancy that I was experiencing. My friend was patient and didn’t give up on me. He was still my friend, and eventually I did make the commitment,” Elder Wojnar said.

Even though Father was deaf, he understood his daughter Alice. She pronounced her words carefully and looked right at him so he could read her lips easily. So Father kept her with him whenever he could. When he was doing business, she helped him understand what other people said. When he was working on the farm, Alice was good company.
Alice and Father tended grapevines and peach orchards, harvested honey from beehives, and cut ice from the pond. Alice gathered eggs from their chickens. Whatever they cut or gathered or harvested, Father and Alice took one-tenth to the tithing office.
They didn’t pay their tithing with money, most of the time. If they harvested thirty bushels of peaches, three bushels went to the Church. If ten jars of honey came from the beehives, one jar went for tithing. It was the same with grapes and eggs and whatever else they had. Even chickens and cows sometimes went along to the tithing office in the farm wagon!
One Monday morning early in the summer, Alice and Father were mending a fence where the farm bordered the roadside. Alice heard the thudding sound of horses’ hooves on the dirt road and the rumbling of a farm wagon. She looked up and saw Brother Johnson driving with children in the back. Father looked up too.
“Good morning, Brother Ashdown!” Brother Johnson called. “My peas are ready for harvest. I’m paying the children twenty-five cents a bushel to pick them. Does Alice want to come?”
Father looked down at Alice.
“He wants me to pick peas for a quarter a bushel,” Alice repeated. “May I go?”
Father nodded. Alice climbed into Brother Johnson’s wagon. Father waved and smiled as she rode away.
Alice worked hard all day long and picked two full bushels of peas. Before she left at the end of the day, Brother Johnson dropped two shiny quarters into her hand. Fifty cents could easily buy enough candy to last a month, or ribbons in every color of the rainbow for Alice’s hair, or maybe even a toy! She ran all the way home and bounded into the kitchen where the family was just sitting down around the table for supper.
“Look!” she said. “Fifty cents of my very own!”
“Those are good earnings for a day, Alice, for a girl your size,” Mother said. “Now please wash up before you sit down and eat.” Alice obeyed, then settled in for a plate of stew, new potatoes, and sweet green peas from the family’s garden.
“I’m pleased you’re a hard worker, Alice,” Father said from across the table. “Do you want to pay your tithing on that money?”
Alice nodded yes.
“You’ll owe five cents tithing then. Should I give you change?”
Alice looked at the two coins next to her plate. Five cents less and she wouldn’t have two quarters anymore—only one quarter and two dimes. Five cents suddenly seemed like a lot of money.
“Maybe you’ll make some more money in a day or two,” Father said. “I believe Doctor Stringham has a field of peas that needs picking.”
“Think about it overnight, Alice,” Mother suggested. “You need to decide if you want to pay tithing.”
Lying in bed that night, Alice tossed and turned. She wanted to do the right thing. But it seemed so hard to let go of five whole cents. She thought about her last trip to the tithing office with Father. On their way home, Alice and Father had met a man Father knew, Mr. Singer, who wasn’t a member of the Church.
“Alice, ask your father for me where he’s been today,” Mr. Singer instructed. Alice did.
“We’ve been down to the tithing office,” Father said.
“Well, William,” Mr. Singer said, “you’re surely devoted to that Church. I’m always amazed to see you going by my place on your way to meeting every Sunday. Especially when you can’t even hear what’s being said.”
Alice gulped and repeated Mr. Singer’s words slowly to Father. She worried that his feelings would be hurt, but she knew it was important to let him know exactly what was being said.
Father straightened his back and looked hard at Mr. Singer. “Well, I do sometimes understand what’s said, but even if I don’t, I get the spirit of the meeting by being there. And I teach my children that we’re a Latter-day Saint family that goes to our meetings every Sunday. Same with taking Alice down to the tithing office. You have to teach children by example.”
Mr. Singer nodded. “You’re a good man, William Ashdown,” he said. “You take care now!”
As Alice lay in bed and remembered what Father had told Mr. Singer, she thought about all the other times she’d gone to the tithing office with Father. She always felt warm inside when she heard him say, “That’s a full tithe.” She knew it was one way he showed how much he believed in the gospel. She remembered Mother telling her that if they paid tithing, the Lord would open the windows of heaven and send down more blessings than they had room to receive. She thought about how the grapes and peaches and eggs all went to help people who needed food. And she knew her own five cents would help someone too.
Alice crept out of bed quietly and made her way downstairs where Father and Mother were sitting.
“Father, I want to pay my tithing. Will you figure the change for me?” Alice asked.
“I certainly will, Alice,” Father said.
Alice traded Father one quarter for two dimes and a nickel. She put the nickel in the pocket of her pinafore that she would wear on Sunday so she could give it to the bishop. But before then, she picked peas for Doctor Stringham. Alice earned forty-five more cents to keep—and another nickel for her tithing!

One morning a few months later, Joshua woke up crying. His stomach hurt so much! “Mamá!” Joshua screamed from his bed. “My tummy really hurts!”
His stomach kept getting worse and worse. He couldn’t even walk. Papá gave Joshua a priesthood blessing, and then he and Mamá took him to see the doctor.
The doctor said that Joshua needed to have surgery right away. It sounded scary.
“We will take you to a special room for the surgery,” the doctor said. “You won’t feel anything, because you will be asleep. And your parents will be waiting for you right outside.”
Joshua felt even more scared. Why couldn’t his parents stay in the room with him? He couldn’t stop crying.
Mamá spoke gently. “What can we do to help you feel better?” she said.
“I know what we can do,” he said. “Please sing ‘I Am a Child of God’ with me. Then let’s say another prayer.”
As they quietly sang, Joshua remembered singing that song at his baptism. And as they prayed, he thought about what Papá had said on his baptism day: “The Holy Ghost can always be with you. You’ll never really be alone.”
Joshua still felt scared as the nurses took him into the surgery room. He couldn’t see the faces of the doctor and nurses because they were wearing masks. But when he looked into their eyes, he knew they were his friends and would take good care of him.
After his surgery the doctors said that Joshua would need to rest. He was still tired and sore, but the pain in his stomach was better. He didn’t feel like crying anymore. He knew he was going to be OK.
“I felt something in my heart,” Joshua told Mamá and Papá. “It was a warm feeling.”
“That’s one of the ways we feel the Holy Ghost,” said Mamá.
Joshua nodded. He was glad he had the gift of the Holy Ghost. Because of the Holy Ghost, he would never really be alone.

If you were an explorer in Antarctica, you’d have the opportunity to meet another fantastic father, the emperor penguin. This stately bird has a seemingly impossible task as a father. In the middle of winter the mother penguin lays a single egg on an ice pack. For a few days she and the father penguin take turns incubating it. Then, because the mother needs to go to the sea to feed, she leaves the egg to the father to keep warm while she is gone. Through the worst part of the Antarctic winter, with temperatures ranging from -40° F (-40° C) to -100° F (-73° C) and with raging winds, the father covers the egg with his sagging belly. For most of two long, hard months this father stands faithfully holding his egg, usually huddling for warmth with a group of other penguin fathers.
When the penguin chick hatches, the father continues keeping it warm and protected as it huddles at his feet. If the mother has not yet returned, he also feeds the chick with a fluid secreted in the lining of his stomach. When the mother does return, she takes her turn caring for the chick while the father goes to feed at sea—finally! After gorging on fish and restoring his needed body fat, he returns and both he and the mother collect food for the chick. The father penguin continues providing warmth, protection, and food until the young penguin is about six months old and can fend for itself.

A few months after we got married, Norma and I went to live in Asunción, Paraguay. As young people full of energy and dreams, we moved forward starting from precarious conditions. We started living in a small room, until we got the resources to rent a small house for us and our first child. That little house had a large space in the back and a garden in front. We felt like we owned the world.
We began to embellish the place by planting trees and making a family garden. We planted mango trees in the front of the house, we painted the sidewalk curb white, as well as the walls that surrounded it. We painted the trunks of the trees to avoid pests and we put stones around them also painted white. There was no money to hire a painter to paint the house, so we both painted the house and took care of it even though it was not ours. The house was always clean and well organized. It was a refuge. A place of peace where our children spent the first years of their lives.
After we started painting the house and embellishing it, the neighbors began to do the same; soon, the whole block had sidewalk curb painted white and the houses painted. The block had been transformed.

The gray October sky threatened snow at any moment. We shivered as we posed for a few photographs outside the gold-domed chapel at the top of the hill in Logan, Utah. Moments before, we had been married in a brief civil ceremony in our branch president’s office. I remember nothing of what was said except the final words: “as long as you both shall live.” We were in love, and the fact that we had not been married in the temple seemed unimportant.
I had joined the Church five years earlier and had received several lessons concerning the importance of temple marriage. But at age 20, eternity seemed such a long way off. Besides, I came from a family in which divorce seemed the norm, and in the back of my mind I kind of assumed that our marriage would only last a few years anyway, so why even think about an eternal commitment? I also felt temple marriage was for the “elite” of the Church, not for someone like me who was still stumbling about with a youthful testimony.
My in-laws were devastated, and the rebellious side of me made that an even greater reason for not being married in the temple. I did not want to be another statistic, just so these people could say all of their children had been married in the temple.
Three days after our wedding, I was back at work part-time and trying to finish a nursing degree. My husband was back in the grind of being a full-time student.
We became members of a student ward, filled with couples who had been married in the temple. I was shocked! Here were many young women, not much different than myself, who had made the choice to be married in the temple. And they were no more “elite” than I was. I felt myself longing to go to the temple as they had.
My greatest jolt about the nearness of eternity came five months after our marriage when I discovered that we were expecting our first child. I felt nauseated, thrilled, humbled, and terrified all at the same time. As the months passed, a deep love for that little person inside of me began to grow and fill my very being. As this love grew, so did the reality that I wanted this child to be ours for all eternity. Thoughts of this little one being born prematurely and dying overwhelmed me at times, because I knew she would not be born in the covenant.
My love for my husband was also blossoming beyond anything I had ever imagined. As he left for classes each day, I feared that something would happen to him, and our marriage would be over. The words “as long as you both shall live” began to haunt me. Eternity was creeping ever closer, and I wanted our happiness to last forever.
I feared divorce now, instead of feeling it was an inevitable part of life. Would this man still love me enough after the ups and downs of that first year of married life to want to be married to me for all eternity?
Our ward would often schedule temple trips, and as I stood on the sidelines, I felt very alone. I did not want to be married in the temple just to be part of the crowd, but I was learning that unless I made the covenants that are part of the temple ceremony, I would be on the outside looking in for the rest of eternity. All of my thoughts became centered around what I would have to do to be worthy of entering the temple.
Our first year of marriage flew by. It was a year of painful maturing, emotionally and spiritually, and of learning to be worthy to go to the temple. But finally, one year and two days after our civil marriage, my wonderful husband and I knelt across the altar from each other in the Ogden Temple, surrounded by smiling friends and family members. We gazed on our “eternal” reflection in the mirrors, tears cascading down our cheeks.
Four weeks later, our first beautiful baby was born in the covenant. Never had we seen such a living miracle, and she was ours for eternity.
Over 16 years have passed since that day in the Ogden Temple. The doubts and fears of our first year have been replaced by the peace of knowing ours is a forever family. I shudder to think of the chance we took, and of what these past 16 years would have been like if we had not been sealed in the temple. Many of the couples who begin as we did never do go to the temple.
I cherish being able to return often to the temple. Within its walls I am reminded that I now possess all I need to be truly happy—forever.

On December 17, 1973, the president of Lufthansa German Airlines in Frankfurt, Germany, received alarming news. Five terrorists had hijacked a Lufthansa 737 jet in Rome, Italy, and were making their way to Athens, Greece, with hostages on board. As they did so, 32 people lay dead in Rome, and one of the hostages now in flight was soon to be mortally shot and summarily dumped onto the airport runway in Athens. With guns to the heads of the pilot and copilot and with hostages trembling in terror, the unstable hijackers directed a bizarre path from Rome to Beirut to Athens to Damascus to Kuwait.

In an instant, the president of Lufthansa ordered into the air his chief pilot for the 737 fleet. Thirty-three-year-old Dieter F. Uchtdorf was to take a small group of emergency personnel and follow the hijacked plane wherever the guerrillas took it. In every setting possible he was to negotiate for the release of the plane, the pilots, and the hostages. Then, when all of this had been accomplished, he was to fly the hijacked 737 back to headquarters in Frankfurt.

With fortunately no more bloodshed, this mission, like so many others he had been on personally and professionally, was successfully accomplished. Unknown to him at the time, it was a portent of more important missions yet to come.

On June 6, 1944, Hyrum Shumway, a young second lieutenant in the United States Army, went ashore at Omaha Beach as part of the D-day invasion. He made it safely through the landing, but on July 27, as part of the Allied advance, he was severely injured by an exploding anti-tank mine. In an instant, his life and future medical career had been dramatically impacted. Following multiple surgeries, which helped him recover from most of his serious injuries, Brother Shumway never did regain his sight. How would he respond?
Following three years in a rehabilitation hospital, he returned home to Lovell, Wyoming. He knew that his dream of becoming a medical doctor was no longer possible, but he was determined to move ahead, get married, and support a family.
He eventually found work in Baltimore, Maryland, as a rehab counselor and employment specialist for the blind. In his own rehabilitation process, he had learned that the blind are capable of much more than he had realized, and during his eight years in this position, he placed more blind people into employment than any other counselor in the nation.
Now confident in his ability to provide for a family, Hyrum proposed to his sweetheart by telling her, “If you will read the mail, sort the socks, and drive the car, I can do the rest.” They were soon sealed in the Salt Lake Temple and ultimately blessed with eight children.
In 1954 the Shumways returned to Wyoming, where Brother Shumway worked for 32 years as the State Director of Education for the Deaf and Blind. During that time, he served for seven years as bishop of the Cheyenne First Ward and, later, 17 years as stake patriarch. Following his retirement, Brother and Sister Shumway also served as a senior couple in the London England South Mission.
Hyrum Shumway passed away in March 2011, leaving behind a legacy of faith and trust in the Lord, even under trying conditions, to his large posterity of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Hyrum Shumway’s life may have been changed by war, but he never doubted his divine nature and eternal potential. Like him, we are spirit sons and daughters of God, and we “accepted His plan by which [we] could obtain a physical body and gain earthly experience to progress toward perfection and ultimately realize [our] divine destiny as heirs of eternal life.” No amount of change, trial, or opposition can alter that eternal course—only our choices, as we exercise our agency.