Gospel Story Finder

Did you ever have to take care of a grown-up? I’ve done it many times. Every Saturday my sister and I take turns going to my grandmother’s house. Grandma has dementia, which means she forgets a lot. Because her condition has been getting worse, she can’t be left alone. A few years ago, she was taking me to the store. Now I take her. But I don’t mind. I love Grandma, and we still have a lot of fun together.
Today was my turn to be with Grandma. She shuffled into the living room. “How do I look?” she asked. “You didn’t have to help me get dressed today.”
Grandma’s red jacket didn’t really match her bright pink blouse and brown pants, but I was happy she had been able to dress herself. “You always look good to me, Grandma.”
Grandma smiled. “So, where are we walking today?”
“The shoe store. Mom said you need new walking shoes.”
“Oh,” she said. “Can we go to the doughnut store too?”
“Sure,” I said, smiling. Going to the doughnut store was the one thing Grandma never forgot to do.
Half an hour later, Grandma sat patiently as the shoe salesman helped her try on her new shoes. When the salesman went to find a different size, Grandma whispered, “You know, Noreen, I think these shoes are ugly.”
“You’ve never complained about them before, Grandma.”
“Well, they’re not as pretty as those,” she insisted, pointing to a pair of high-heeled shoes on display.
“We are supposed to buy walking shoes,” I reminded her. “You can’t wear high heels to go walking.”
Grandma lowered her eyebrows and scrunched her nose, but she didn’t say anything else.
When the salesman returned, Grandma tried on the shoes, stood up, and walked around. “Ah,” she sighed. “My feet feel wonderful in these shoes.”
“So you like them?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “Don’t I always like these shoes?”
Sometimes Grandma contradicts herself. But it doesn’t upset me. I know she can’t help it.
After the salesman boxed up the new shoes, he walked to the cash register. I opened my wallet to find the money Mom had given me. “I’ll go pay now, Grandma. I’ll be right back,” I said.
The salesman was very busy, and I had to wait several minutes before I could pay. When I walked back to Grandma’s seat, she was gone. Her old shoes were still lying on the floor. I quickly scanned the store, but I couldn’t see her. I started feeling very nervous. “Has anyone seen my grandmother?” I yelled.
“A woman with a red jacket walked out the door a few minutes ago,” someone said.
I darted out the door. I hoped I’d find Grandma looking at the pretty shoes in the store window, but she wasn’t there. Just then I saw Grandma walking toward me.
“Grandma!” I cried. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I was so worried!”
“I’m sorry, Noreen. You know, I did the silliest thing! Please don’t be angry, dear.”
“I’m not angry,” I said. “I was just scared.” I sat down on a nearby bench.
Grandma looked off in the distance. “After I got outside, I realized I didn’t have any shoes on,” she explained.
“I’m just glad I found you,” I said.
We went back inside for her shoes. As we walked home, I noticed Grandma’s shoulders were slumped and her head was down. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Everything! I hate all this forgetting business,” she said. “But I just can’t help it.”
“You’re doing all right,” I said. “Everybody forgets now and then.”
“Not like this! Forgetting my shoes, forgetting this, forgetting that!”
“You could be doing much worse, you know. For instance, what do you always put on first, your blouse or your jacket?”
Grandma glanced at me with her bright eyes twinkling. “You’re being silly.”
“No, I’m not! Can you imagine if you put your blouse on top of your jacket?”
“Then I’d really be in bad shape, I guess,” Grandma said as she gave my arm a playful nudge.
“Would you like to go for a walk in the park today?” I asked.
“Sure, but can we go to the doughnut store too?”
“Of course.” I held her hand to cross the street. “Don’t we always?”
Like I said, I don’t mind taking care of Grandma. Sometimes it can get a little interesting. But most of the time, we just enjoy each other’s company.

At the same time that I was caring for Mary, I had another patient whom I will call Jane. She was 42 years old. Like Mary, she had cancer that could not be cured. Soon after she learned she had a terminal disease, she left home, moved into a local hotel, and followed a life-style in exact opposition to gospel teachings. She visited the bars and drank heavily, and she tried narcotics. In her own words, she was “trying everything before she died.” She died screaming in pain, cursing God.

As a qualified therapist-counsellor, Elder Robert Durkin had a custom-made mission. He was called as a pre-mission assessment coordinator. He also coordinated all the addiction recovery programme coordinators throughout the Europe areas where the addiction recovery programme is being used. He trained the coordinators and made sure records were kept up to date.

He and his wife served a full-time mission at the MTC in Chorley where he was in the MTC presidency. After her passing, he decided to serve another mission. He wanted to serve and live in Germany, so he was planning to move from the UK to Frankfurt, where he would have paid his own expenses as a service missionary rather than paying the monthly missionary fees. Due to COVID, he stayed in the UK and completed his mission from his own home. He says he was able to do everything he needed to do while living at home. He encourages others to serve a mission. He says, “Don’t miss the opportunity. A mission is a great way to get closer to the Lord.”

I returned home from my mission in Arizona, USA, just as the pandemic started spreading across the globe. During the last few weeks of my mission, I had been creating a vision for where I wanted my life to go once I returned home. I made specific plans and goals and was ready to get started! I planned to go to nursing school, to start new hobbies and find new friends, and to seize so many opportunities that come during young adulthood. I felt a sense of peace and assurance that God was guiding me and had great things in store for me after my mission.
That changed soon after I got home.
One by one, my plans were canceled because of COVID-19. I began to question and doubt the decisions and goals I had made. I chose to start looking for a job while waiting for online classes to start instead of moving to another state to begin school like I had originally planned. After a while, I felt I had lost my purpose and was wasting so much time. I was used to always having a jam-packed schedule as a missionary, and so I suddenly felt lonely, bored, and useless.
I wasn’t looking forward to the future. I didn’t want to face this life transition. I wanted to go back in time, to return to past friendships and places that had once made me happy. The vision and plans I had for my life just a few weeks before had disappeared, and I felt like I was paralyzed by darkness, fear, and discouragement. I didn’t feel like myself at all. I had just finished the most amazing experience of serving the Lord for 18 months, but now I felt lower than I ever had in my life.
I wondered why everything was going wrong and where the Lord’s promised blessings were. The reassurances I had felt in the final weeks of my mission seemed to have disappeared.
Then general conference came, and I realized how much I was lacking in one specific area of life—hope.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles gave a talk titled “A Perfect Brightness of Hope” (April 2020 general conference), and it especially stood out to me. I realized that because of my faith in Christ, I could and should hope for better things to come. Because Christ lives and is constantly working in my life, I realized my future will be just as miracle-filled and bountifully blessed as my past has been.
Because the Savior felt and overcame everything I will ever face, I could believe, despite every reason not to believe, that things were going to get better—even if my plans were sometimes skewed.

When I was in junior high, a party was a big deal. There weren’t very many of them in those days, so I was excited when I received an invitation to a party given by Cheryl Allen, a new girl at school.
Cheryl arrived on the scene in the middle of eighth grade. She was pretty and confident. Somehow she knew how to choose and wear clothes that made her look older than the rest of us. She immediately seemed to attract a large group of friends, especially the boys.
A big crowd was expected at the party, with a lot of friends from her old school attending. I felt flattered to be invited and talked Mom into buying me a new dress to wear for the occasion.
The party started fine enough. Cheryl’s dad barbecued, and we ate dinner outside on the patio. The atmosphere was casual and fun. Things were going great, and I met some of the friends she had invited from her old school. Then the games began.
During the first game, we took turns asking each other riddles from a game book. If we answered correctly, we were told to select a member of the opposite sex and kiss him “long and slow like they do in the movies.” I was 13 at the time and had never kissed a boy before. I felt so young, inexperienced, and out of place. Some of the others must have sensed my discomfort, because when it was my turn they told me to just give one of the boys a hug. How embarrassing!
I wanted to get out of there. But how could I do it without embarrassing myself further? I was worried what the kids would think of me and how dumb it would look to have my parents pick me up from a party at 8:30 P.M. Would I be a total outcast at school on Monday?
Then there was the problem of my parents. Would they think I was running around with a bad crowd if I told them why I really wanted to come home? Maybe they wouldn’t let me attend any more parties.
Finally, I shut out all these worries and just walked away from the group and called home. Dad answered the phone and said he’d be right over to get me.
I don’t remember what excuse I gave Cheryl for leaving. It really didn’t matter. I’m sure she knew why I left anyway.
I had planned to be really nonchalant with Dad on the way home and just tell him the party was boring. Somehow, when I started talking, my voice started to quiver and the truth spilled out with a flood of tears.
Dad was upset at first and said, “I’m going back there to talk to her parents.” My worst fear. When Dad saw the panic on my face, he must have sensed how sensitive I felt about it. Fortunately, he kept driving the car toward home.
Dad did most of the talking on the ride home. He told me about a couple of experiences he had at my age when he felt awkward around girls and unsure of himself. He really had some crazy things happen to him. Dad was usually such a quiet man. He never talked much about his childhood. He made me laugh that night. It was good for me to know that it was hard for other people to grow up, too.
I developed a real appreciation for Dad that night. We seemed to have a bond between us after that experience. I had seen a new side to him. When you’re young, you think your parents have always been parents and that they couldn’t possibly understand what you’re going through. My eyes were opened a lot through that experience.
As for school on Monday after that infamous party, I can’t remember what happened. I guess it really didn’t matter in the long run.

I met my wife, Ann, when we were both singing in choirs at the University of Utah. For a short time after we married, we lived in the same area where I grew up. We had very little money. Sometimes when we went on a date, Ann popped a bag of popcorn and we drove downtown in our old car to a movie theater. We didn’t have enough money to buy tickets, so we sat in our car and ate our popcorn while we watched the interesting people going into the theater! While I was getting my law degree, I drove an oil truck to earn money to support our family. Our first three children—twins and another daughter—were born in one year!

“Hey, Shelly!” Shelly looked up from tying her old running shoes to see Rosa waving from the starting line. “Come on,” Rosa called out. “Today we’re going to beat our best time!”
Shelly grinned. Rosa said that every practice.
Shelly liked two things about her new middle school. The first thing was being on the track team. When she ran, she felt light inside, like she didn’t need to worry about anything.
The second thing she liked was that nobody here knew that her parents had just gotten divorced.
Shelly gave her shoelace one last tug and took off to join the other girls on the relay team. Ouch! She winced as her toes jammed into the end of her running shoes. How was she going to tell Dad she needed new shoes again?
After the race, Shelly, Rosa, Becca, and Tiana were celebrating their new best relay time. “I told you we were going to do it today!” Rosa said.
Shelly laughed. She handed the baton to their track teacher and bent to loosen her laces.
“Good work, girls,” Ms. Goldmann said. “You work really well together. Don’t forget to pay your track fee tomorrow.”
Shelley’s smile faded. She had totally forgotten about that!
On the bus ride home, all Shelly could think about was the shoes and the track fee. She didn’t want to give Mom one more thing to worry about. And the last time she had called to ask Dad for extra money, he had sounded annoyed. Lately it seemed like there was no one who could give her the help she needed.
When she got home, Shelly went straight to her room. At dinner her brothers and sisters talked and joked, but she just pushed her food around her plate.
After dinner Mom helped Shelly clear the table. “I’m meeting with Bishop Parker tonight,” Mom said. “Would you like to come and get a priesthood blessing?”
Shelly nodded. She really missed the blessings Dad used to give her when she was worried or sick.
A little later, as Bishop Parker gave her a blessing, Shelly felt something deep inside her relax. “Shelly, your dad isn’t in your home to help you now,” he said in the blessing. “But your Heavenly Father is always there. I bless you that you will be able to talk to Him just as you would to your dad, and Heavenly Father will always help you.”
Shelly felt lighter than she had for a long time. She had a warm feeling inside that told her the bishop’s words were true. Heavenly Father loved her and would listen to her. With His help, maybe she could even have the courage to talk to her parents.
On the way home, she told Mom about the shoes and the track fee. That night she knelt and asked Heavenly Father to help her have the courage to talk to her dad. She prayed about it again on the bus to school the next morning. By the time she got home from school, she felt brave enough to call her dad. This time he didn’t seem impatient or annoyed when she told him what she needed. Her prayers had been answered.
A few weeks later, Shelly laced up her new running shoes and ran to join Rosa and the other girls. It felt good to know she had a great team supporting her. She didn’t need to run her race alone.

One Sunday when I was a deacon, I was in the foyer with a tray of water passing the sacrament when a woman walked into the building. Dutifully, I approached and handed her the tray. She nodded, smiled, and took a cup of water. She had arrived too late to receive the bread. Shortly after this experience, my home teacher, Ned Brimley, taught me that many aspects and blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ are given to us in sequential order.
Later that week, Ned and his companion came to our home with a memorable lesson. Ned reminded us that there was order to how God created the earth. The Lord took great care in explaining to Moses the order in which He created the earth. First, He started by dividing the light from the darkness, then water from dry land. He added plant life and animals before introducing to the newly formed planet His greatest creation: humankind, beginning with Adam and Eve.
“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. …
“And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good” (Genesis 1:27, 31).
The Lord was pleased. And He rested on the seventh day.
The sequential order in which the earth was created gives us a glimpse not only of what is most important to God but also why and for whom He created the earth.
Ned Brimley punctuated his inspired lesson with a simple statement: “Vai, God’s house is one of order. He expects you to live your life with order. In proper sequence. He wants you to serve a mission before you get married.” To this point, Church leaders currently teach that “the Lord expects each able young man to prepare to serve. … Young women … who desire to serve should also prepare” (General Handbook: Serving in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 24.0, ChurchofJesusChrist.org). Brother Brimley continued: “God wants you to get married before you have children. And He wants you to continually develop your talents as you earn an education.” If you choose to live your life out of sequence, you will find life more difficult and chaotic.
Brother Brimley also taught us that through His atoning sacrifice, the Savior helps us to restore order to our lives made chaotic or out of sequence by our own or others’ poor choices.

On the first day of kindergarten, Benjamin giggled while drinking his milk during snack time and ended up with milk all over his shirt. When the other children laughed at him, he didn’t feel like giggling anymore.
He broke his yellow crayon while he was drawing a picture of the sun.
He made a dragon out of modeling clay, and everybody thought it was a pig.
On the second day of kindergarten, Benjamin accidentally let Hamlet, the class hamster, out of its cage.
His blue paint spilled and made a messy puddle on the floor.
When he threw the big red ball to Susie, it hit her in the face and made her cry.
After school, Benjamin sat at the kitchen table, eating lunch. “I’m not going back to school,” he announced. “I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
“You do know a lot of things,” said Mommy, looking up from the letter she was writing to Aunt Agnes.
Benjamin looked at her paper. “Those are funny-looking letters.” He pointed to the curly writing on the page.
“They are different from the ones you make,” agreed Mommy.
“Hmmm,” Benjamin said.
Later that afternoon, when his sister, Karen, came home from school, Benjamin told her, “I’m not going back to school. I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
“Then you won’t get to do the exciting things I’m doing in the second grade,” she told him. “We’re taking a trip to the zoo in October.”
“What’s October?” asked Benjamin. “A kind of school bus?”
Karen gave him her big-sister-who-knows-practically-everything look. “For your information, October is one of the months of the year.”
“Does it come after Saturday?”
Karen just laughed.
Benjamin looked thoughtful.
When Daddy came home, Benjamin met him at the door. “I’m not going back to school,” he said. “I already know the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three.”
Daddy grinned. “Is that so?”
Benjamin followed Daddy out to the garage, where Daddy wrote down some measurements for a set of shelves he was going to build.
“What are those numbers on top of each other?” Benjamin asked, pointing at Daddy’s notes.
“Those two-story numbers are called fractions, Benjamin,” Daddy answered. “They’re pretty important numbers.”
Benjamin scratched his head.
That night in bed, he stared at the dark ceiling.
He wondered about Mommy’s curling letters. What did they mean, anyway?
He wondered how many months there were in a year. Did they all have funny names like October?
And he wondered a lot about Daddy’s two-story numbers.
The next morning, Benjamin made an announcement to everyone. “I already know a lot of the things I want to know. I can make all the letters in my name, I know the days of the week, and I can count to twenty-three. But I’ve decided to go back to school and learn about curly letters and October and two-story numbers.”
Mommy smiled. “Those are pretty important.”
“I’ll probably need to go at least until second grade,” he went on. “Maybe even longer.”
“I expect you will,” Daddy agreed. He looked at his watch. “It’s time to go. All aboard for school!”
“All aboard for school!” Benjamin repeated cheerfully, following Daddy and Karen to the car.

by Kathryn S. Packer
When you see a handicapped person on the street, what do you do?
Do you look away to avoid embarrassing them?
Do you smile and say hello?
These were some of the questions presented to the youth of the Silver Spring Maryland Stake, and a whole youth conference was devoted to answering them.
The theme of the conference was “Reach Out and Help Someone,” and it focused on sensitivity and awareness of others’ needs. It was divided into two parts.
To start things out, the youth organized a party at the stake center for 31 residents of three nearby nursing homes. The youth planned carnival games, displayed and shared their hobbies, put on a talent show, and had a sing-along complete with kazoos. A roving photographer was on hand with an instant camera, providing immediate mementos for the guests.
Next on the youth conference agenda were handicapped awareness workshops. By imagining they had some of the handicaps themselves, the youth found out what it’s like to move around the stake center in a wheelchair, and how difficult it is to count money, pour milk, and eat, without the use of their eyes.
And there were workshops based on working with people who have less obvious handicaps, such as low self-esteem, depression, or suicidal tendencies.
The final awareness activity of the conference was a bit of a shock to most of the youth. As they were seated for a beautiful, all-you-can-eat brunch, blindfolds and ropes were distributed. The teens were divided into partners to help each other: one was blindfolded, the other had his “good” arm tied to his side. They were then invited to go to the buffet and help themselves.
Cary Shelton of the College Park Ward summed up, “This youth conference showed me not only that each of us has handicaps, but that we each have strengths too.”

Some years ago a wonderful young man named Curtis was called to serve a mission. He was the kind of missionary every mission president prays for. He was focused and worked hard. At one point he was assigned a missionary companion who was immature, socially awkward, and not particularly enthusiastic about getting the work done.

One day, while they were riding their bicycles, Curtis looked back and saw that his companion had inexplicably gotten off his bike and was walking. Silently, Curtis expressed his frustration to God; what a chore it was to be saddled with a companion he had to drag around in order to accomplish anything. Moments later, Curtis had a profound impression, as if God were saying to him, “You know, Curtis, compared to me, the two of you aren’t all that different.” Curtis learned that he needed to be patient with an imperfect companion who nonetheless was trying in his own way.

I was quite young when World War II started, but I was old enough to be frightened by what was happening. My father assured me that the Lord was in control and that all would be well. As he told me not to worry, he put his arms around me, enveloping me in security and love. I had the same feeling of safety as we knelt in family prayer and I listened to my father, a bishop, pray for the servicemen who were from our ward. I knew that Heavenly Father lived and that He was listening.

Listen to another experience of a young boy on the trail.

This was one of those boys who is present in almost every Scout troop. He is the one who has wanted to be included in everything but somehow never quite measured up. When his pack was all put together, it seemed that there were always one or two things left out. Maybe it was the salt; maybe it was the cooking equipment. On one occasion he even forgot to pack his bedroll. That spring his Scout troop planned a trip to the high Uintas as a culminating activity for their summer’s work and training. In order to qualify, each boy had to take five successive hikes, each one requiring the development of a particular skill that would be needed on this longer venture into the Uintas. This young man worked hard, but every trip seemed to present the same dilemma: something was missing. He didn’t quite qualify under the regular circumstances. Well, additional help needed to be given, and his Scout master willingly provided the additional training. After the fifth trip the lad had reached the point where he finally qualified to go on the extended hike. The Scoutmaster was grateful—kind of a mixed gratefulness because he knew that he would have that young man with him on a difficult backpacking trip for several days. He could see himself having to carry the young man’s pack or having to carry the young man himself or discovering that some very important, essential items had been left at home. But the boy had qualified, and so the Scoutmaster cheered him on with these words: “I’m surely glad you made it. Come on, we’ll make it together, and you’ll really like it.”

Well, the day for the trip came, and they started on their way up into the Uintas. As had been anticipated, at the end of the first day’s hike something was missing. When they were ready to put up the tent, the stakes had been left out. Quickly they cut some stakes from the limbs of a fallen tree. It wasn’t a serious matter; they could put the tent in its rightful place, and the troop could continue on its way.

The second day had barely gotten underway, however, when one of the boy’s pack gave way. It had been put on incorrectly and therefore had worn out prematurely. Since each boy had made his own equipment as a part of the requirement for preparation for the trip, the boy again had been responsible for the error. Well, they improvised. The Scoutmaster was able to help him make a new strap from a piece of leather and a belt, and they continued their journey. It seemed that every day was the same.

At the end of the sixth day they reached the summit. They arrived at the close of the day, near sundown. A magnificent scene unfolded before them. The Scoutmaster was pleased and relieved. All the boys had made it to the top. He then looked around, and to his dismay the thing he had feared the most had happened—yes, our young Scout was missing. Where was he? His pack was there, but the boy was nowhere in sight. The Scoutmaster went back down the trail quite a distance, and, still unable to find him, thought he should return and get some help from the other boys. As he came back up the trail near the top, he noticed a clearing that he hadn’t seen on his way down. There was the boy. The Scoutmaster walked toward him. As he came closer, he detected that the boy was kneeling, so he hesitated within earshot and could hear the boy speaking. The boy, out at the edge of the clearing near a rock where he could look down across the peaks over the great valleys, was saying as he named each peak, “Number one, I beat you. I climbed. I beat you.” Then he named the next peak, then the next, each time with the same exclamation, “I beat you. I climbed beyond you.”

When he reached the fifth peak, tears were streaming down his face, and he repeated again, “I beat you. I beat you. I made it.” The boy closed with a prayer of gratitude.

Not wanting the boy to know he was there, the Scoutmaster (Elder S. Dilworth Young) remained hidden from view. He knew that that had to be a moment for the boy to be alone. It was his accomplishment, not the Scoutmaster’s. As the Scout came from the clearing where the Scoutmaster stood, the man took the young boy in his arms, held him close to him, and congratulated him on his success.

I remember my missionary farewell. Being the proud young man that I was, when it was Dad’s turn to speak, I thought that he was going to say something about me—what a good missionary I’d be, what a good boy I’d been. But Dad did not say one thing about me. He stood at the pulpit and gave one of the strongest, most powerful testimonies about tithing that I have ever heard. It wasn’t until about halfway through my mission, as I was thinking about his talk, that it dawned on me: Dad had been trying to tell me, “I don’t know how we’re going to support you, Jay, because I don’t have work some seasons of the year. But I have faith that if we pay our tithing, we’ll be able to do it.” And they did. Our priesthood leaders have told us to pay our tithing and to do missionary work, and if we faithfully follow their counsel, we will be blessed.

Developing new friendships. As a newly single sister, I became aware of two widowed sisters in my ward and three others recently divorced, and we became fast friends. We get together often, usually on Friday nights. Our times together have helped us grow close. We support and encourage each other. We have fun together. One sister in the ward, who is a therapist, occasionally meets with us and helps us understand our feelings and deal with our challenges. We look for the positive side of each sister’s trying circumstances. And each of us, at one time or another, has expressed the thought that our difficulties have brought us to a new level of spiritual closeness to our Heavenly Father. Although we would not choose our trying circumstances, we acknowledge the blessings that have flowed into our lives as a result.

After more than 50 years, I can still hear the words of a tournament official: “Sorry, son, we must disqualify you for signing an incorrect scorecard.” My disqualification came as a result of my mentioning to the official that I needed to correct my score. For weeks I said to myself: “Why didn’t I remain silent? Besides, the error was an innocent mistake. The total score was correct.” Though my performance was good enough to find me in the winner’s circle, I left the awards presentation empty-handed. And that’s the way it is.

It was a Thursday like any other. My husband, Jean-Pierre, had gone to work, the older children were at school, and the younger children and I were at home in Val d’Or, Quebec. It was a routine day, and I began my usual tasks of gathering laundry, cleaning rooms, and preparing meals.
By 2:30 that afternoon, I needed a break. Sitting down to rest for a few minutes, I picked up my scriptures. I had been reading the Book of Mormon, but for some reason, I opened the Pearl of Great Price instead and began reading the account of the Creation from the book of Moses.
As I read, something inexplicable happened. I couldn’t stop reading. I felt that I was understanding at a deeper level than I ever had before—understanding not just through the words, but through spiritual impressions. I couldn’t put the book down and completely forgot about the time. By the time my family returned home, I had neither finished the housework nor made dinner.
I didn’t know why I had had this marvelous experience until several days later when I saw Noël and Huguette Demers at church. They had just returned from a three-week vacation, during which they had gone to the Washington Temple, more than 1,600 kilometers from our home. Some weeks before they left, I had asked Brother and Sister Demers to do the temple work for some of my ancestors whose names I had sent to the temple. I hadn’t been endowed yet, so I couldn’t do the temple work myself. Noël and Huguette hadn’t known when they would be going to the temple, but they had promised they would do the temple work for my ancestors if possible. In the meantime, I had forgotten about my request.
That Sunday when I spoke with Noël and Huguette and learned that they had completed the temple work for my ancestors, I immediately wanted to know the exact day they had been in the temple. They had done the work the week before, they said, on a Thursday. Then I understood. That ordinary Thursday, when I was having the most extraordinary spiritual experience of my life, turned out to be the very day they were doing the temple work for my ancestors.
Ten years later, when I went to the temple for my own endowment, I understood and appreciated even more the gift my Heavenly Father gave me by allowing me to share in the spirit of the temple on that ordinary Thursday afternoon.

For my talk I related a story written by Lloyd C. Douglas (U.S. Lutheran clergyman and novelist 1877–1951) entitled “Precious Jeopardy: A Christmas Story.”
The story is about a man named Phil Garland, his wife, Shirley, and their two children, Polly and Junior. Phil was disgruntled on one particular Christmas Eve because he had just lost his job. His financial situation had been difficult enough even when he was working; now it seemed impossible.
That evening Shirley tried to include Phil in some of the Christmas Eve activities with Polly and Junior, but Phil just grumbled at the price of the gifts. He reminded Shirley that in their difficult financial condition they really couldn’t afford gifts. He said Christmas was overly commercialized anyway. Eventually Shirley helped Polly and Junior get ready for bed. Then, with tears in her eyes she went to her bedroom.
A few minutes later she heard Phil calling from the hallway. He yelled for her to go get the pliers. “I’ve stepped on a needle.”
Shirley brought the pliers, and Phil clamped the jaws on the needle protruding from his foot and pulled. Out came half of the needle! He and Shirley discussed the possibility of his going to the hospital that night to have the other half of the needle removed. But Phil assured her it could wait until morning.
The next day, Christmas, Phil drove to the hospital but paused outside the door. Somewhere he had heard that if you get a tiny piece of metal in your body and do not remove it, it could eventually move to one of the vital organs and cause death. For some reason Phil decided to leave the needle fragment in his foot and take the consequences, whatever they may be. He drove home and told Shirley that everything had been taken care of.
From that moment Phil believed his life might end at any time. He really didn’t know if he was going to live from one day to the next, and so he decided he would try to make the most of life each day. That Christmas there was a definite change in Phil. He treated Shirley with much kindness and spent time playing with Polly and Junior. Christmas Day was the first day in a long time that Phil felt truly close to his family.
Tomorrow he might be dead, but today he would enjoy the important things in life. And, strangely, money no longer seemed important.
Tomorrow did come, and Phil Garland again found himself alive. For the second day he was especially considerate to his wife and children, because it might be the last day of his life. Each day thereafter Phil spent more time with Shirley, Polly, and Junior, taking odd jobs daily to support his family.
The story, “Precious Jeopardy,” ended, as it began, on Christmas Eve, one year later. The Garlands’ celebrations contrasted sharply with those of the previous Christmas, because Phil was happy and at peace. He had lived long enough to celebrate Christmas with Shirley and their children.
On Christmas Eve Phil played a few games with the children. Then the family exchanged a few small gifts each had made during the year. During those months Phil had made a beautiful walnut sewing cabinet for Shirley, and she wept at his thoughtfulness when he showed it to her.
As the clock struck midnight, Shirley handed Phil her gift—a small box containing a tiny fragment of steel pierced through red velvet. It was the other half of the needle Phil thought was in his foot. The story ends with Shirley in tears, asking Phil’s forgiveness. She had found the other half of the needle a few days after he had his accident, but had secretly kept it because it had, in a sense, given Phil back to his family.
Phil, gratefully realizing how his life has changed since the previous Christmas, puts his arms around Shirley and tells her not to cry—it’s Christmas.

Amanda and I have been married for 15 wonderful years. Yet I can still remember, like it was yesterday, the conversation we had in the first few weeks of our young marriage. I had just graduated from Ricks College with an Associate's degree in business and enrolled at Idaho State University to finish a bachelor and master's degree. I was ready to take on the world and I had a beautiful, loving and supportive wife by my side.
Our discussion of the future drifted to children and when that process would begin. It became very clear to us then that what we wanted more than a promising career in business was to raise a righteous family, and that we didn't want to wait until we completed our schooling. From that moment on, we embarked on a journey of ups and mostly downs and a multitude of doctors' visits and procedures from Pocatello to Rexburg to Phoenix and back.
For six years, we rode the rollercoaster of infertility until one day Amanda finally convinced me that if I wanted to be a dad and raise a family, we needed to adopt. This was not easy for me. At that moment, I viewed adoption as giving up and I had not given up on anything in my life that meant so much to me. However, the decision to adopt was not giving up, it was heeding the promptings of a loving Heavenly Father. We were soon blessed to adopt two boys in three years. I love being a dad, and having the opportunity to raise my boys.

Religious observance in the home blesses our families. Example is particularly important. What we are speaks so loudly that our children may not hear what we say. When I was nearly five years old, my mother received word that her younger brother had been killed when the battleship on which he was serving was bombed off the coast of Japan near the end of World War II.16 This news was devastating to her. She was very emotional and went into the bedroom. After a while I peeked into the room to see if she was OK. She was kneeling by the bed in prayer. A great peace came over me because she had taught me to pray and love the Savior. This was typical of the example she always set for me. Mothers and fathers praying with children may be more important than any other example.