Gospel Story Finder

CTR by always telling the truth. There is an old story about a boy who took sheep to the mountain to tend them. “If you have any trouble with wolves, just blow the horn and yell, ‘Wolf!’” said the townspeople. “We will come and help you.” The boy was bored one day and blew the horn. The townspeople came running to help, and the boy thought it was a good joke.

Two other times he needlessly called, “Wolf!” and blew the horn. Each time, the people ran to help. Then came the day when a wolf really appeared and attacked the sheep. The boy blew the horn and called and called, but the townspeople thought that he was lying again. Nobody went to help, and many sheep were killed. Lying hurts you not only because of the direct harm it may cause you and others, but also because people will hesitate to trust you again. Always tell the truth.

Ben Carson said of himself, “I was the worst student in my whole fifth-grade class.” One day Ben took a math test with 30 problems. The student behind him corrected it and handed it back. The teacher, Mrs. Williamson, started calling each student’s name for the score. Finally, she got to Ben. Out of embarrassment, he mumbled the answer. Mrs. Williamson, thinking he had said “9,” replied that for Ben to score 9 out of 30 was a wonderful improvement. The student behind Ben then yelled out, “Not nine! … He got none … right.” Ben said he wanted to drop through the floor.
At the same time, Ben’s mother, Sonya, faced obstacles of her own. She was one of 24 children, had only a third-grade education, and could not read. She was married at age 13, was divorced, had two sons, and was raising them in the ghettos of Detroit. Nonetheless, she was fiercely self-reliant and had a firm belief that God would help her and her sons if they did their part.
One day a turning point came in her life and that of her sons. It dawned on her that successful people for whom she cleaned homes had libraries—they read. After work she went home and turned off the television that Ben and his brother were watching. She said in essence: You boys are watching too much television. From now on you can watch three programs a week. In your free time you will go to the library—read two books a week and give me a report.
The boys were shocked. Ben said he had never read a book in his entire life except when required to do so at school. They protested, they complained, they argued, but it was to no avail. Then Ben reflected, “She laid down the law. I didn’t like the rule, but her determination to see us improve changed the course of my life.”
And what a change it made. By the seventh grade he was at the top of his class. He went on to attend Yale University on a scholarship, then Johns Hopkins medical school, where at age 33 he became its chief of pediatric neurosurgery and a world-renowned surgeon. How was that possible? Largely because of a mother who, without many of the advantages of life, magnified her calling as a parent.

When I was a teenager, I lived in Japan for a few months without my family. One night I felt very worried. I had a lot of big questions, and I was nervous. I knelt by my bed and prayed. I said the words out loud instead of in my mind. I poured out my worries to Heavenly Father.
All of a sudden a wonderful feeling came. My worries disappeared. The Holy Ghost filled the whole room with peace. I knew that peace was a gift from my Heavenly Father. I felt that He really did love me and that He wanted me to be happy.

It’s time for another family gathering in Hooper, Utah. All the cousins scramble onto the big hay wagon, drawn by a team of Grandpa Parker’s Clydesdale horses, for a ride around the small farming community. During the ride Grandpa says, “This isn’t much different from the way the pioneers traveled across the plains.” The children smile because they know that Grandpa’s bay horses aren’t much like oxen.

Now the horses are ready to take the family for a ride. They trot as though they love to pull in their harnesses, and they are lucky to have someone who loves to train them.

After an enjoyable ride over to the park and back, Grandpa pulls on the right rein for the horses to turn into the area by the corral where he can unhitch them by reversing the harnessing process.

The children slide off the wagon, already looking forward to the next time that they come for a visit to Grandpa’s farm. It was a fun ride, but they are glad that they don’t have to ride on a wagon day after day or walk all the way across the plains as many pioneers did.

Last summer when I was away from home, a fierce wind and rainstorm blew through our neighborhood. A huge tree had fallen from my neighbor’s yard, filling my yard and knocking down power lines. The tree needed to be removed before the damage could be repaired and power restored to my home.
Early in the morning I called my brother, who planned to find some equipment and come as soon as he could. I also called my bishop. Within minutes my bishop, home teacher, former stake president, and 10 men from my ward were there with their chain saws and made quick work of this disaster. My visiting teachers brought in dinner that evening. Many more men from the high priests group, the elders quorum, and the neighborhood came on subsequent evenings to assist me and my family in cleaning up the mess.
I was needy on that occasion. I needed help from others. My discouragement turned into joy and gratitude. I felt loved and cared for. These people were quick to recognize one in need. They lived their testimony and demonstrated the reality of their covenants.

While some laborers at the quarry were supported through the Church’s Public Works Department, other workers supplied their own housing and donated their time. A Danish immigrant, John Nielsen, recalled, “I contributed one dollar each month for a long time toward paying the men who were working in the Temple Square, cutting rock for the walls of the Temple. I also worked some in the rock quarry up in the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon. While doing this I boarded myself, furnished my own bedding, and donated my work.”

After one of our lengthy temple meetings, when I had been a member of the Twelve for only a short time, President Kimball took hold of my arm and said, “Will you wait just a few minutes? I want to talk to you.” Of course I waited. When we were alone he said, “I don’t want the First Presidency or the other members of the Twelve to know, but I don’t feel very good today. Will you please give me a blessing?”
This thought came to my mind immediately: “Here am I, the least and last to be ordained, and he is asking me to give him a blessing.”
I was very nervous; I do not remember all that I said, but I shall never forget how pleased I was that he thought enough of me to ask for my assistance. He was asking the newest member to give him a blessing when he could have asked any of the First Presidency or other Apostles.
Why do I love this great man? In his hour of need he was exhibiting love for and confidence in me. He has learned the art of making people feel good about themselves. By his actions we know he loves us. “But whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant.” (Matt. 20:26–27.)

Meanwhile, faithful members of the Church had resided in the German Democratic Republic and in Czechoslovakia during decades of political duress. Of course, no missionary couples served there. Members’ activities were limited by the restrictive regimes of those lands. For example, the first time Sister Nelson and I visited Czechoslovakia in 1975, I had been invited to participate in a medical capacity. While in Prague, we met with a few Saints in a member’s apartment, which we accessed up a dimly lighted stairway. Well do we remember meeting the fifteen-year-old daughter of two members who indicated that they had never before revealed to their daughter their affiliation with the Church. That night—for the first time—she was being entrusted with that potentially dangerous information. After the meeting was over, the district president dropped us off some distance from our hotel so that police would not identify him in our presence. Under such imposed limitations, there was no hope of missionary work either in Czechoslovakia or in the German Democratic Republic, both of which had been blessed with missionaries prior to the onset of the Second World War.

They were jubilant over their success, but the next morning their cups ran over. President Spencer W. Kimball was attending the fair, and he called a special devotional for their benefit. They gathered in the coliseum as early as their dance-weary bodies allowed them. They sat on the floor, in the bleachers, and anywhere they could find a space, all straining to see the prophet. They listened. He counseled.
“Today make up your minds,” he said. “You don’t wait until next Sunday and say, shall I go to priesthood meeting? You decide today. You don’t wait until you get a call from the Brethren to go on a mission. You start to save money now; you start today. You don’t wait until marriage is facing you, and you have made your proposal and decided the date, to decide where you are going to be married. That is all present in your minds from the time you are little. … Wouldn’t it be a great loss of time if every Sunday you had to say, shall I or shall I not go to sacrament meeting today? Shall we or shall we not have home evening today? What a lot of wasted effort! Settle it once and for all. I am going to go on a mission; I am going to be worthy to go on a mission. I am going to get the degree that I desire. I am going to live the commandments of the Lord and live for the glorious light.”
“I think my greatest thrill in being here,” responded Brenda Barrus of the Coeur D’Alene Idaho Stake, “was being around President Kimball. He portrays the spirit of it all.” And Pat Ream chimed in: “I love him.”

I remember thinking when I seemed discouraged and everything was going wrong, “Why is life so hard?” Do you ever wonder that? Almost instantly, I felt an impression like a voice in my mind, saying, “Well, would you like it easier?” At that very moment, something hit me and I said, “No, no, no, please, I’m sorry. Leave it as it is. I trust. I trust Thee. I trust thee ways.” I’ve never forgotten that experience. Don’t ever try to think you are smarter than the Lord. Just do what He asks you to do.

“See you in a couple of weeks, Jaylee,” Dad said as he stopped the car in front of Mom’s house. He gave Jaylee a hug. “Love you.”
Jaylee hugged him tight. “Love you too, Dad. Bye.” She grabbed her duffel bag and walked slowly up the sidewalk. Then she turned and waved to Dad until his car disappeared around the corner.
Jaylee took her bag to her room and sat down on her bed. Her stepdad, Kyle, and her half-brother, Jesse, followed.
“How was your weekend?” Kyle asked.
“We went to a movie, and Dad helped me ride my bike,” Jaylee said.
Jesse ran over to Jaylee and put a toy car in her lap. “Jay-Jay, play cars!” he demanded.
“OK.” Jaylee didn’t really feel like playing, but she let him pull her by the hand to the toy box. She knew Jesse missed her when she was at her dad’s.
Soon Mom came home from visiting teaching. “Jaylee!” she said, hugging her. Jaylee hugged back but didn’t smile.
“Feeling sad again?” Mom asked.
Jaylee nodded. She couldn’t explain the heaviness that filled her whenever she came home from Dad’s. “I’m happy to see you guys,” she said, rolling a car over to Jesse. “I just … I don’t know. It’s hard too.”
Mom squeezed Jaylee’s hand. “I know you sometimes feel very sad about the divorce. One reason might be that you have two homes you want to be in and two sets of people you want to be with. It makes sense that you feel homesick for your dad.” She patted Jaylee’s hair. “You know, Kyle and I have been talking and praying about how to help you feel better, and we had an idea. Come with me.”
They walked down the hall to Mom’s room, and Mom pulled a small box out of her closet. Inside the box, Jaylee found a gold heart on a chain.
“It’s so pretty!” Jaylee said.
“The heart opens,” Mom said. She helped Jaylee open the heart so she could see two tiny pictures inside.
“It’s Dad on one side and me on the other,” Jaylee said.
“Yes,” Mom said. “You can wear the necklace whenever you feel lonely for him.”
“I get it,” Jaylee exclaimed. “It’s like he’s in my heart!”
“And you are in his heart too,” Mom said, fastening the locket around Jaylee’s neck.
That night as Jaylee knelt to pray, she held the locket open in one hand. She thanked Heavenly Father for her mom and her dad. Then she thought about her stepdad and stepmom; her cute brother, Jesse; her stepbrother, Spencer; and her baby half-sister, Vanessa. She thanked Heavenly Father for them too. As she prayed, her heart began to feel lighter.
After she finished her prayer, Jaylee carefully put the necklace back in its box. Then she smiled as she ran to hug Mom and Kyle good night.

Anna Kate scuffed the toes of her sneakers into the dirt and watched a cloud of dust puff up around her ankles. Her wonderful week with Grandpa and Grandma was almost over. It had been great fun, especially the part here at Aunt Pru’s cabin. Just yesterday Grandpa had taken Anna Kate to his favorite fishing spot on the Provo River, and she had caught her very first fish!
But this morning had been a disaster. First, she had slept late, and Grandpa had gone fishing without her. Then Grandma and Aunt Pru just wanted to visit in the kitchen about dull, grown-up things. Anna Kate ended up sitting on the front porch by herself, feeling bored and lonely. Worse yet, tomorrow Mommy and Daddy were coming to take her home.
Suddenly she jumped to her feet. “I’m not going to spend my last day sitting around!” she thought. “I’ll find Grandpa by myself. I know the way.” She skipped across the front yard and walked down the lane to the canyon road, looking carefully both ways before crossing. Soon she came to a small bridge over the river and hurried across to the railroad tracks that ran between Heber City and Provo, Utah. This was the secret to finding Grandpa. Cross the river and turn left, then follow the railroad tracks to a huge rock. On the other side of the rock was the fishing spot.
Anna Kate walked a long time. Where was the rock? It hadn’t seemed so far with Grandpa, and somehow the railroad tracks seemed even lonelier than the front porch. Looking for a happier thought, she remembered her baptism day. How proud she had been when her parents told her she was old enough to make wise decisions and could spend a week away from home. Plodding along, she began to wonder if running off without asking Grandma had been a wise decision.
To cheer herself up, she started singing her favorite Primary songs. She was halfway through the first verse of “Give, Said the Little Stream” when she heard a noise in a bush by the side of the tracks. It sounded a bit like a loud cricket, and Anna Kate stopped singing to listen. She decided to look for the cricket, but before she could take a single step, a voice in her head said, “RUN!” She didn’t know who was talking to her, but she didn’t have to be told twice. She ran.
She was out of breath when she finally found Grandpa fishing by the river. He looked up in surprise. “Does Grandma know you’re here?”
Anna Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry. I should have asked her.”
Grandpa smiled kindly and started putting away his fishing tackle. “Let’s hustle back to the cabin before she has a chance to worry.”
They hadn’t walked far when they saw Anna Kate’s older cousin William standing by the tracks. “There you are,” he said. “Grandma sent me to find you, and it’s a good thing.” He pointed to a bush a ways off. When Anna Kate and Grandpa got closer, they saw a huge rattlesnake with a diamond pattern down its back hiding there. “I didn’t dare let it out of my sight with you out here alone,” William said.
After that, Anna Kate always told someone where she was going. It was a long time, though, before she told anyone about the loud cricket or the voice that had saved her life. She would realize later that it had been the Holy Ghost. She already knew that it was a voice to be obeyed.

Time continued to go by, and we were extremely content with our lives. We had our two wonderful daughters, had great neighbors, a good job, and life seemed to be going well for us. We started to think that our family would be just the four of us. Afterall, most of our neighbors only had two kids. However, one day as Caryn was putting away the clothes Chrysanne had grown out of, she could not feel peace about giving the little clothes away. She was also about to turn 40, and knew that if we were going to have another child now was the time. Her patriarchal blessing promised that she would bring forth bodies (plural), and at this point we only had the one birth. We truly believed God would fulfill his promises. As Elder Angel Abrea stated, “The faithful Latter-day Saint waits patiently because, certainly, faith, ‘the assurance of things hoped for’, is exercised with the conviction that the promises will be fulfilled ‘in his own time, and in his own way, and according to his own will’” (1992).

We started once again going to see infertility specialists, and were told that the procedure that had the best chance for us in our condition was invitro fertilization. However, this was a very costly procedure, and one that had just a 25% chance of success at Caryn’s age. We moved forward with faith knowing of the Lord’s promise to Caryn, and that we could put our trust in Him. We traveled out of state to a respected clinic and worked with an outstanding physician in this invitro fertilization process. While we were gone, our Bishop felt impressed to look for Caryn in the congregation one Sunday. The Spirit told him, “Sister Houghton needs you to tell her something.” He did not know why, and did not even see my wife in order to follow through with the prompting. Later that week we came back to our home in Oklahoma extremely disheartened, since we just had been told by the fertility clinic that the procedure had not been successful. We had spent tens of thousands of dollars, given up time away from work, put our trust in medicine and the Lord, only to have it end in failure. We were sad and wondered what the Lord wanted us to do in our lives instead.

The following Sunday after sacrament meeting the Bishop asked to see us in his office. He said, “Brother & Sister Houghton, the Lord has strongly prompted me two Sundays in a row to tell you that you will have a son.” We were dumbstruck. We had not told him of our situation, but right then at the moment we knew the Lord understood our anguish and was ready to bless us in our desire. Then in the office the bishop and I laid our hands on my wife’s head and he blessed her with comfort, and promised her that the Lord knew of her desires, and that He would fulfill His promises to her. Two months later we returned to the clinic, buoyed up with the faith we had in the Lord, knowing that he would fulfill His promise to us. Nine months later our little boy, Isaac, was born. Two months after that he accompanied us to Laie when I interviewed for a job here at BYU–Hawaii, and now has grown up as a barefoot local boy.

That fall, Joseph’s parents traveled south to Harmony. Nearly two months had passed since Joseph left their home in Manchester, and they had heard nothing from him. They worried the summer’s tragedies had devastated him. In a matter of weeks, he had lost his first child, nearly lost his wife, and lost the manuscript pages. They wanted to make sure he and Emma were well.
Less than a mile from their destination, Joseph Sr. and Lucy were overjoyed to see Joseph standing in the road ahead of them, looking calm and happy. He told them about losing the confidence of God, repenting of his sins, and receiving the revelation. The Lord’s rebuke had stung him, but like prophets of old he wrote the revelation down for others to read. It was the first time he had ever recorded the Lord’s word to him.
Joseph also told his parents that Moroni had since returned the plates and interpreters. The angel seemed pleased, Joseph recounted. “He told me that the Lord loved me for my faithfulness and humility.”
The record was now safely stowed in the house, hidden in a trunk. “Emma writes for me now,” Joseph told them, “but the angel said that the Lord would send someone to write for me, and I trust that it will be so.”7

A second reason we share the First Vision early in our missionary conversations is that honest truth-seekers can relate to and find inspiration from Joseph Smith’s search for Christ’s true church. My wife had an experience shortly before we were married that illustrates this powerfully.
She was working at a part-time job at Brigham Young University and met a student who was the only Church member in her family. When my wife asked about her conversion story, she explained:
“When I was about 14 or 15 years old, I began to wonder which church was true and felt compelled to find it. I attended all of the different denominations in my area, but none of them ever felt quite right. I even researched some non-Christian religions, but again I didn’t feel right, and as time went by, I almost gave up. One day I was on the internet, when I remembered that I had a friend who was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, so I searched online and found the Church’s website. Through a link on that site, I was led to the account of the First Vision found in Joseph Smith—History. As I read it, a feeling came into my heart that let me know that Joseph’s story was my story, and he had found the answer I was seeking. In that moment, I knew that I had found the true Church of Jesus Christ.”
Shortly after, she followed Joseph Smith’s example, asked God, and received further confirmation.

As an Aaronic Priesthood young man, I can remember the excitement I felt as a newly ordained deacon. I looked forward to being able to fulfill my priesthood assignments. As a young Primary boy, I watched the deacons in my ward very closely in anticipation of the day I would be 12 years old, receive the priesthood, and be able to pass the sacrament. That day finally arrived, and soon after being ordained by my father, who was the bishop of the ward, I felt ready, but nervous, to begin my duties as a new deacon.
I now belonged to a quorum of the Aaronic Priesthood. The members of my quorum became very best friends. That friendship and quorum brotherhood continued to grow through my youth as we learned and served together in our priesthood duties. We were all good friends and experienced a fun and enjoyable time being together in our quorum activities.
One Sunday following one of those warm and long sacrament meetings, the first counselor in our bishopric called me aside to talk to me. This unscheduled priesthood interview became a blessing in my life as I have pondered the question he asked during our brief but significant visit. Brother Bateman looked me in the eye and asked, “Dean, do you know who you are?” There was complete silence, and then he gave me a quick and powerful reminder, “You are the son of Reid Burgess.”
The meaning and significance of that question has burned in my heart for a long time, and I often reflected on it throughout my teenage years. This good brother’s question—“Do you know who you are?”—has given me inspired direction throughout my life and a commitment to bring respect and honor to my family and to the priesthood.

Crawford’s visits to our home became more and more frequent. “I think you’re becoming the big brother he never had,” Sally observed one night. “And maybe a bit of the father he misses.”
“All that he needs now is an older sister, right?” I said.
“Are you getting at something?”
“Now that you mention it, a week from Saturday our ward is sponsoring the stake dance. It’s time Crawford went to one. He’s almost 16, and the social polish will do him good.”
“And?”
“And my guess is that part of the reason he doesn’t go to dances is that he doesn’t know how to dance. Typical male teenager.”
“You want me to teach him how to dance? But his feet are so big! And there’s not much time before the dance. And …”
“And?”
“And when would you like me to start?”
That’s why, two days later, our family room became a dance studio. I was in charge of music, Sally in charge of instruction, and Crawford in charge—well sort of in charge—of his two huge feet.
“I can’t do this!” he lamented.
“Yes you can. Two steps forward, one step back. If you can count, you can dance,” I cheered him on. Sally kept an eye on his feet.
“To the beat, Crawford,” Sally said, looking at me. “You’re doing quite well. You’re already much better than my husband.”
“Two ahead, one back … Two ahead, one back. …” Crawford muttered dutifully. “Are you sure I can do this?”
Two hours later, Crawford had the two-step down cold and a little bit of the swing memorized. Miraculously, Sally’s feet were neither bruised nor broken.
“We’ll be chaperoning at the dance Saturday,” Sally said as he left. “You’re ready, and you’ll have a great time. See you there.”
“I’ll be there,” he pledged.
And so he was.
He walked in the door about 20 minutes late, wearing a new sports coat and slacks. The tape on his glasses was gone. In fact, his glasses were gone.
“Oh Crawford, you look so handsome,” Sally said.
“My mother talked me into spending some of my money on a new coat,” he said. “I objected, but she insisted. And I’ve had contact lenses for a couple of years, but I’ve seldom worn them. Mom says when I take my glasses off I look like my father.”
Music was playing. A spotlight shone on a revolving mirrored ball, flashing patterns of light across the floor. A few dancers were making their way to the center of the cultural hall. Crawford gazed at them.
Sally whispered in my ear. “Look at him. Can you believe it?”
Crawford ambled over to the refreshment table and picked up a cup of punch. He sipped it and chatted with some of the boys from our ward.
“When will he dance?”
“Soon enough. My guess is that he’ll wait for a slow one. You know, two steps forward, one step back.”
Ten minutes passed, then 20, then half an hour. A slow song came on. Crawford put down the cup of punch and walked across the floor. Slowly he moved toward a small group of girls. One had her back to Crawford.
“That’s the one, Sally. He’s going to ask the girl in the blue-and-white dress for a dance.”
“Oh, she’s cute,” Sally whispered. “His very first dance. I’m so excited.”
“Go, Crawford.” I almost wanted to shout it. “Confidence. Remember confidence. Ask her before the song ends. Sally, this is going to work. I know it.”
Wrong.
Crawford, though he could now dance, did not know how to ask a young lady to dance, a key omission from our family-room lesson. He simply reached out one of his huge hands and sort of thumped it on the poor girl’s shoulder.
As she turned around, she must have had visions of meeting King Kong. Crawford sensed something wasn’t going right, promptly froze, and sat there with a silly smile plastered on his face. The girl’s jaw dropped, and she began to back cautiously away. Awkward is too mild of an adjective to describe the situation.
“Oh, Crawford,” Sally moaned.
Finally, he began to show signs of life. Without changing facial expression, he backed up, one foot, then the other. The music stopped. Some of the returning dancers noticed the odd scene and stared at him. As though in a trance, he kept backing, backing away. It was the basketball fiasco all over again.
Crawford backpedaled until he nudged the refreshment table. The punch bowl sat at the far end. Crawford reached back with his hands, and without thinking, hoisted himself onto the table. It was only then that his grin disappeared. Replacing it was a look of sheer horror.
His weight on one end of the table sent the other end shooting upward. The punch bowl came sliding toward him. Too late he realized what was happening. He spun around after the punch bowl had plowed through a tray of cookies and just as it fell off the edge of the table. Instinctively, he grabbed the bowl and saved it from crashing to the floor. But he couldn’t prevent a tidal wave of raspberry punch from sloshing all over his face and his clothes.
Everyone’s gaze was on Crawford, who stood forlornly at the end of the table, holding the almost-empty bowl, dripping sticky red liquid from head to foot.
The music started, a fast number with a strong beat. Flashes of light from the mirror darted around the room, but nobody was dancing. Some of the kids were applauding, some laughing and pointing. Others were trying to help clean up the mess. One of the boys in the teachers quorum ran to get towels. Someone else went looking for a mop, but all he could find was a broom.
About a dozen people or so just stood there, wondering what to do.
Finally, Crawford straightened.
“Are you all right?” someone said. It was the girl in the blue-and-white dress. “Did you still want to dance?”
“I’m okay,” Crawford said. “In fact, I’m more than okay. I’ll just run home and change clothes, then I’ll be right back. Don’t worry. It’s my first dance. I’m supposed to make a big splash.”
Later that evening, Sally pointed to the middle of the dance floor. There was Crawford in his old suit, dancing with the girl in the blue-and-white dress. It was a slow number. I could see him mouthing the words, “two steps forward, one step back,” in perfect rhythm to the music.

A friend from college days wrote to me recently, saying: “Much in my chaotic childhood was uncertain, but one thing I knew for sure: that my dad loved me. That certainty was the anchor of my young life. I came to know and love the Lord because my father loved him. I have never called anyone a fool or taken the Lord’s name in vain because he told me the Bible said I shouldn’t. I have always paid my tithing because he taught me it was a privilege to do so. I have always tried to take responsibility for my mistakes because my father did. Even though he was estranged from the Church for a [time], at the end of his life he served a mission and worked faithfully in the temple. In his will he said that any money left over from taking care of his [family] should go to the Church. He loved the Church with all of his heart. And because of him, so do I.”

Brother Snederfler recalls another unforgettable moment: On 20 May 1991, the phone rang. The caller was President Thomas S. Monson, then Second Counselor in the First Presidency. “He said: ‘Jirí, you have been called as the president of the Freiberg temple. You will begin this office on 1 September of this year. What do you say?’ At first I was not able to say anything at all because of my astonishment. President Monson inquired, ‘Are you there, Jirí?’ I told President Monson, ‘I accept humbly this calling.’”

In the temple, the Snederflers opened prison doors to generations of deceased persons who had never had an opportunity to hear the gospel. And they also opened temple doors to patrons who—having had no religious freedom—had languished in spiritual darkness on earth. They welcomed members of the Church from such former Communist nations as Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Croatia, Poland, Hungary, the Czech and Slovak Republics, and the DDR.

“It is so, so good to be in the temple,” Sister Snederfl er says simply. After four years of faithful service there, the Snederflers have returned home to Prague to continue family history research so that more of their own ancestors may enjoy temple blessings.

Wow! What an answer to prayer! Letters from home are always a bright part of the week for missionaries, but when a letter from a precious little sister indicated she needed some close sisterly advice, I felt more than a little helpless since I am so far away. What could I write to help her without being preachy? In practically the same mailing we received some copies of past New Eras. I started thumbing through the issue I had managed to talk the elders out of (August 1973) and read “The Winner” by Judy Kay Welch. There it was! The very illustration I needed for her. Nobody can tell me there wasn’t a guiding hand in my receiving that particular New Era and that special letter at the same time.
If I had written every time the New Era has helped me you would have received a mountain of letters from me by now. I thank the Lord for parents who have always recognized the importance of the Church magazines in our home.
Sister Evelyn SmithBolivia Mission