Gospel Story Finder

The responsibility of communication is not alone on the shoulders of parents. The youth also have a responsibility to contribute love and strength to the family organization.
I recall a stage play that recently was made into a movie. It dealt with parents whose only child, a son, returned from military service. The father and son had never been close. It was a situation in which both father and son loved each other but were unable to find ways to express themselves, and therefore hostilities arose because each thought the other did not like him. It was a breakdown of communication.
But now the son was home from the army, and things were different. The father and son began to establish a whole new relationship. The high point of the play came when the boy said to his father something like this:
“Dad, I always resented you when I was younger because you never told me that you loved me, but then I realized that I had never told you that I loved you either. Well, Dad, I’m telling you now: I love you.”
For one electrifying moment the father and son embraced each other as the pent-up love and appreciation of years came flooding out. This probably would never have happened had the son not realized that he was as guilty of lack of expression as his parents.
Loren C. DunnConference ReportApril 1969, p. 22.

Think also of all the lifetime friendships that missionaries establish with people they teach and baptize. I will never forget an experience I had in Texas. When I called one of the young men to report to the mission home for a closing interview prior to his return home, he asked if a brother he had taught and baptized might bring him in.

I was in the mission office when the two arrived. They obviously loved each other; they talked and they talked. I began to get a little impatient because I had a crowded schedule and needed to interview the boy. I pressed the young man to come in. As he looked at the new convert, the tears welled in his eyes, and he said, “Thank you so much for bringing me down.” The new convert quickly said, “Oh no, Elder, thank you for lifting me up.” What a sermon in those words, and what love expressed between the two! The friendships we establish in the mission field with companions and converts become eternal.

Elder John Taylor was called as a missionary to England. He left his family in Iowa and traveled with Elder Wilford Woodruff.
John’s wife: Please, John, find my brother and teach him the gospel! We will miss you!
When he and the other missionaries arrived in England, Elder Taylor went to the home of his wife’s brother, George Cannon, in Liverpool. George’s wife, Ann, answered the door.
John: Hello, I am John Taylor, the husband of George’s sister, Leonora.
Ann: Welcome to our home, John. George isn’t home now, but he will be later this evening.
John: I would like to return to visit with George and the rest of your family.
Ann: George, there goes a man of God. He is come to bring salvation to your father’s house.
Elder Taylor returned to their home and taught the entire family the gospel.
George: John, welcome!
John: Thank you. I have a message of the restored Church of Jesus Christ to share with you and your family.
Elder Taylor soon had to leave for a different city, but the Cannon family continued to study the gospel. George could not put the Book of Mormon down.
Later, Elder Taylor returned to Liverpool and finished teaching them.
John: This book is the work of God, for no wicked man could write such a book as this. And no good man could write it unless it was true and he was commanded of God to do so.
George and Ann Cannon were baptized a month from the day of John’s first visit. A few months later, three of the Cannon children were baptized, too.
The Cannon family immigrated to America. Their oldest son, George Q. Cannon, later became an Apostle and was a counselor to four Presidents of the Church.

My father, who died in an accident nearly thirty years ago, was such a man. Still today I meet people who say, “He was the kindest man I have ever known.” He worked in a steel mill—not the most glamorous or prestigious of occupations—and I am embarrassed to say that when I was young, I wished he were smarter, cooler, richer. Thankfully I’ve grown up since then, and today there is no one I admire more.

I doubt any of you have ever spent a day at a steel mill, but let’s just say that it is not the quietest or cleanest environment. Power, in that setting, is usually asserted through gruffness and crude language. And yet my father, in his more than three decades there, was never known to swear or to speak an unkind word. He never even raised his voice. After he died, his coworkers told us that they could always count on him to be pleasant and positive, regardless of the circumstances. We found curled up in his lunch box several Church pamphlets that he faithfully studied during his lunch break and often shared with his coworkers, many of whom became active in the Church because of his goodness and example.

That is fearless power. It is the kind of power that comes to those who trust God and have faith in Jesus Christ—faith to do things His way, even if it differs from the world’s way.

In last April’s conference, in the general priesthood meeting, I told about my father drawing a picture of a knight in armor to teach me about putting on the whole armor of God and the spiritual protection it brings.

After that session was over, a father reported to his family what he had learned. Inspired, their young son Jason searched LDS.org to hear the message for himself. A few days later he appeared in family home evening to share the lesson with his brothers and sisters. Here he is.

Jason in his “whole armor of God”

A simple conference message, inspired of the Lord, received by a child, was taught to a family in a personal, powerful way. I love his breastplate of righteousness. I love his shield of faith to thwart the fiery darts of the adversary. These are the blessings of conference.

Another wonderful thing happened during this crisis. We checked the MTC storage tank, and it was only half full. We didn’t want to advertise that we had this water because we thought we could save it for real emergencies if the crisis went on for days. But then a pickup truck with several large barrels in the back pulled into the compound. It was from the Tema General Hospital. They also had a large storage tank for emergencies, but it was already empty, and they had thirsty patients. So we let them back their truck up to the MTC tank and fill their barrels from our emergency supply. We told them to come back for more if needed. We would share until our cache was gone. They were grateful.

“This is the last time,” Jacob thought. “Then I’ll go to sleep.” He pulled the blankets over his body—from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes. Jacob held his breath and counted—“one, two, three”—then poked his head out like a turtle. He had been practicing for a whole week, getting ready for his big day.
“Jacob, are you still awake?” Mom whispered.
Jacob grinned. “Yes, I was just practicing again.”
Mom bent over his bed and tucked the blankets around him. “Good night,” she said with a smile.
The next morning at breakfast Jacob rested his chin in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.
“Well, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to be baptized,” Jacob said. “What if I make a mistake?”
“Jacob, everyone makes mistakes. What’s important is that we keep trying to do our best. Do you have a testimony of the Savior?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll forget everything. I want everything to be perfect for my special day.”
“I’m happy that you’re taking this seriously, Jacob. Getting baptized is an important step.”
Jacob sighed. “I want to be good, but how can I be good all the time? How can I be like Jesus? He was perfect.”
“Remember the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost?” Dad asked. “It can speak to our hearts and help us in a very direct way.”
Jacob nodded. “It gives you a warm feeling inside, like when Mom covers me with my blankets.”
Dad smiled. “That’s right. Did you know that when you are baptized you can have the influence of the Holy Ghost with you all the time?”
Jacob sat up straight. “Really?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “But remember, it’s important that you try and do what is right, and the Holy Ghost can help you.”
“I can do that!” Jacob said. He jumped up from the table and wrapped his arms around Dad’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.”
That day at school Jacob tried to do his best. He helped his teacher erase the chalkboard, but he accidentally knocked a whole box of chalk onto the floor. He ate lunch with a boy who always sat alone, but Jacob accidentally tripped and slopped his spaghetti onto the boy’s lap. He even said hi to Max, a boy who wasn’t very nice to him. There was no doubt about it—doing his best was hard work!
After school Jacob dragged himself into the house and dropped his backpack on the floor. “Hi, Mom,” he said with a groan.
“Hi! How was school today?”
Jacob hung his head. “Well, I tried my best, but I guess my best isn’t good enough,” he said sadly. He explained about the dropped chalk and the spaghetti spill. “I want to be the best I can before I’m baptized, but it’s hard sometimes!”
Mom wrapped her arms around Jacob and gave him a squeeze. “Jacob, accidentally spilling or dropping something isn’t a sin. You do need to be careful, but what’s important is that you’re trying to do what’s right. Heavenly Father loves you and is happy when His children try their best to live righteously.”
Before going to bed that night, Jacob knelt down to pray. “Heavenly Father, I’m worried,” he said. “I want to get baptized, but I’m afraid I’m not good enough. Please help me to know when the time is right.”
Jacob felt his body tingle. He felt warm inside. Suddenly, he wasn’t so worried anymore. He felt calm and peaceful.
The next day at school Jacob heard a voice bellow, “Hey, Jacob!”
Jacob knew that voice. He tried to hide, but it was no use; he had already been spotted. Suddenly he was standing face to face with Max.
Max stared at Jacob and crossed his arms. “What do you want from me? No one ever says hi to me. Did someone dare you?”
Jacob shrugged. “I was just trying to be nice. I’m getting baptized.”
“Baptized?” Max asked.
Jacob shuffled his feet nervously. He wasn’t sure how to explain baptism. He said a silent prayer in his mind. “Baptism is when we make special promises to Heavenly Father. We promise to try and keep the commandments. Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to be good.”
“How do you know?” Max asked.
“I know because He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for our sins.”
Max shot out a bunch of questions. “Can anyone be baptized? Where is Jesus now? When—”
Jacob laughed. “Slow down. I can’t answer all your questions, but I know some missionaries who can.” Jacob took a deep breath. A thought whispered in his heart and he asked, “Max, would you like to come to my baptism?”
Two weeks later the day of Jacob’s baptism arrived. He changed into white clothing at the church and neatly combed his hair. Dad dressed in white too. Jacob’s family, friends, and Max sat waiting. Jacob stepped down into the warm water. He looked at his new friend Max and smiled. He held Dad’s hand, closed his eyes, and listened to the baptismal prayer. Once again he held his breath, but this time it was for real. The water rushed over his body, and then he rose up from the water. He took his first breath and smiled. He knew that Heavenly Father was happy with him for trying his best.

MORRIN: And he's also engaged to be married soon. So, Clayton, I really appreciated what you shared on the discussion board. Would you mind sharing with us your experience?
BRASSFIELD: So when I returned home from my mission, the very first job that I had was at a lumber mill. And working at the lumber mill was a lot different than any job I'd ever had. It was a lot harder, and I had no experience. When I first started, I was really, really terrible at my job. I had a lot of times where I just wanted to give up, because I knew that the guys that I worked with didn't like me because I was so bad. I knew that if I didn't get better, I could lose my job. One thing that always helped me to persevere and to finish this job and not quit when I wanted to or when I had other opportunities for other jobs was asking myself the question of how I could expect my future children to persevere in hard things when I couldn't do it myself. And when I thought about that, it helped me to continue on, and I eventually became really good at my job and became one of the best employees that they had. And now when I'm off track or not at school, they allow me to come back and work, even if it's just for a week at a time.
MORRIN: Thank you, Clayton. Like I shared with you earlier, I really appreciated the long-term perspective you had when you were trying to figure out what you were going to do and if you were going to continue in this job that was really hard at the time, that you looked forward to the future and considered your own future family. So thank you for sharing that.

As a single parent, my mother had many things to do, but she always took time to help me, comfort me, or simply listen to me. Knowing that she was always there was invaluable, and I want to give that to my own children in the future.
When my mother remarried, her new husband chose to become the father of my older brother and me. Soon afterward, a little sister joined our family, but I have never felt the slightest difference in the affectionate and loving way he has taken care of us all as his own. Thanks to his attitude, my older brother and I have been able to grow up in a strong and unified family with the priesthood in the home. The day we were sealed as a family was very special. His loving example has taught me that a father isn’t just something you are—it’s something you become.

With it comes the right and the authority to govern in the Church of Christ. I recall the experiences I had long ago when I was a member of the Council of the Twelve. I attended a stake conference where the president was a man of wealth and affluence. He was very successful by the standards of the world. He lived in a magnificent home. He met me at the airport in a beautiful car. We had lunch at a first-class restaurant. And yet he was humble in his office, anxious to learn, and ever willing to do the right thing in administering the affairs of his stake.
I subsequently went to another conference. The president met me in a car that had seen many seasons. We stopped at a fast-food place for a bite to eat. His home was extremely modest—neat and clean and quiet but not richly furnished. He was a carpenter by trade. He had none of the fancy things of the world. He, too, was a wonderful stake president doing his duty in a remarkable way. He was excellent in every respect.
Such is the wonder of this priesthood. Wealth is not a factor. Education is not a factor. The honors of men are not a factor. The controlling factor is acceptability unto the Lord.
All of the Authorities who are here tonight could testify that in the reorganization of stakes they have had remarkable and inspiring experiences. I recall being assigned to reorganize a stake about 40 years ago. The president had suddenly died. The Brethren asked me to go down and speak at the funeral and reorganize the stake. I had never done this before. I was new as a General Authority. I was to be all alone.
When I arrived, I was taken to another town, where I participated in the funeral service. I asked all of the stake officers and the bishops to remain after the service and announced that a reorganization of the stake would take place the next evening.
I asked the mission president to sit with me as I interviewed the brethren, none of whom I knew. We interviewed late into the evening. I soon discovered there were problems in the stake. There were divisive feelings. When we were all through, I said to the mission president, “I am not satisfied. Are there not others?” He said, “I know of only one man whom we have not interviewed. He moved here rather recently on a transfer in his company. He is the second counselor in a bishopric. I do not know him well. He resides in another city.”
I said, “Let’s go see him.” We drove and went to the hotel where I would be staying for the night. Here I was, having interviewed all of these brethren and having not found one that I considered worthy to preside and having scheduled the reorganization for the next evening.
We arrived late at the hotel. I called the man; a sleepy voice answered the phone. I said that I wished to see him that evening. I apologized for calling him so late. He said, “I’ve just gone to bed, but I’ll put on my clothes and come.”
He came to the hotel. The conversation that followed was most interesting. He was a graduate of BYU in petroleum geology. He worked for a big oil company. He had served elsewhere in positions of responsibility in the Church. He knew the program of the Church. He had served a mission. He knew the gospel. He was mature in the Church. And the territory for which he was responsible as an employee of the oil company was exactly the same as the territory of the stake. I told him we would telephone him in the morning and excused him.
The mission president went on his way, and I went to bed.
At about three o’clock the next morning I awoke. Doubts began to flood my mind. This man was almost a total stranger to the people of the stake. I got out of bed and got on my knees and pleaded with the Lord for direction. I did not hear a voice, but I had a very distinct impression that said, “I told you who should be stake president. Why do you continue to ask?”
Ashamed of myself for troubling the Lord again, I went to bed and fell asleep. I phoned the man early the next morning and issued to him a call to serve as president of the stake. I asked him to select counselors.
That evening when people gathered for the meeting, there was much speculation as to who would be the stake president, but no one even thought of this man. When I announced his name, people looked at one another for a clue to discovering who he was. I had him come to the stand. I announced his counselors and had them come to the stand.
Even though they did not know him, the people sustained him. Things began to happen in that stake. The people had known for a long time that they needed a stake center, but they had been uncertain and argumentative as to where it should go. He went to work and within 18 months had a beautiful new stake center ready for dedication. He unified the stake. He traveled up and down, meeting the people and extending his love to them. That stake, which had grown tired, came to life and literally bubbled with new enthusiasm. It stands as a shining star in the large constellation of stakes in this Church.
Brethren, I can testify to you that revelation from the Lord is made manifest in the naming of a stake president. I once spoke in this meeting on bishops, and tonight I wish to say a few words about stake presidents.

Speaking about his mother, who is still living, Elder Kikuchi said, “Mother is not a member of the Church yet, but I think she’s ready to join. She was left alone because my father was killed during World War II. I was four and a half, my brother was six and my sister was almost nine. My youngest sister was just one.

“I think Mother was with Father only ten years. Before he passed away, it was not difficult for him to earn enough money to support his family. He owned seven large fishing boats and had a lot of employees. But after he died, there was no one to run the business.

“Those days after the war were difficult, and it was hard for Mother to earn money. As far as I can remember, she did everything—selling, custodial work, and work in a factory where fish were dried. She worked very hard to earn money, and when the wintertime came, her fingers would sometimes bleed because of the weather and rough work. One time she became ill, and the skin came off her fingers. Even the joints were infected. That was a pitiful time for her.

“In order to keep food on the table, my mother planted a large garden. She would plant all kinds of vegetables—potatoes, pumpkins, eggplants, corn, beans, sweet potatoes, carrots, and cabbages. My brother and sister and I would get up very early and help her in the garden before we left for school. In the summer we would go to the seashore and pick up seaweed. We would dry the seaweed and then sell it.

“My brother and sister were helping my mother financially by doing part-time work after school. My responsibility in helping the family was to prepare the dinner for the family and sweep the floors.

“In spite of these struggles, my mother was able to raise her children.

“Even though she was tired at night, she would read bedtime stories to us.

“Mother never says anything bad about others. That’s only one of the beauties of her character. Whenever we would start to talk about someone’s shortcomings, she would always say, ‘Sh-h! Hush!’ She also cautioned us, ‘Do not destroy or stain your family heritage. That is the way you can show love to your parents. You don’t need to bring gifts to us, just be a good person. Do not steal. Do not lie. Go the extra mile when helping people. Work double for what you want to attain. If a person needs help, you must help, for some day you may need help yourself.’”

Elder Kikuchi’s concluding tribute to his mother was, “Everybody in our town where I grew up respected my mother. I am really proud of her.”

I’ve told the story about the little baby nine months old who was born blind. The father came up with him one Sunday and said, “Brother Cowley, our baby hasn’t been blessed yet, we’d like you to bless him.” I said, “Why have you waited so long?” “Oh, we just didn’t get around to it.” …

I said, “All right, what’s the name?” So he told me the name, and I was just going to start when he said, “By the way, give him his vision when you give him a name. He was born blind.” It shocked me, but then said to myself, why not? Christ said to his disciples when he left them, “Greater things than I have done shall you do.” (See John 14:12.) I had faith in that father’s faith. After I gave that child its name, I finally got around to giving it its vision. That boy is about twelve years old now. The last time I was back there I was afraid to inquire about him. I was sure he had gone blind again. That’s the way my faith works sometimes. So I asked the branch president about him. And he said, “Brother Cowley, the worst thing you ever did was to bless that child to receive his vision. He’s the meanest kid in this neighborhood; always getting into mischief.” Boy I was thrilled about that kid getting into mischief!

For five years my family and I had lived in Eagar, Arizona, a town of a couple thousand, and I had attended Round Valley High with 400 other students. My next-door neighbor was Bishop Ashcroft. The stake president lived two blocks over, and most of the people in my neighborhood were members.
The summer before my senior year our family moved to Florida where I attended Meadowland High. Its student-body population was a little more than 3,500. Talk about culture shock. My dad and I drove ten miles just to visit our five home teaching families, and at Meadowland there were only two other Church members besides me: my younger sister, Tracy, and Jeremy James, my chief rival for a spot on the varsity basketball team.
As a junior I had started for Round Valley, but at Meadowland, just trying out was a privilege. Head Coach Pat Angelo held three week’s worth of practices before he made his final cut to the 14-man squad. Those practices were the toughest challenges I had ever faced. Relentless in his demands for perfection, he barked commands and instructions at us in language that scorched my ears. In addition, he held Sunday practices.
“You’re practicing Sunday, David?” my dad had questioned the first time I mentioned Coach Angelo’s practice schedule.
“It’s just until he makes his final cuts,” I explained uneasily. “If I’m going to have a shot at the team, I’ve got to be there, Dad. This isn’t Round Valley. It’s different here. Sunday’s just another day. If I want to play it means I have to be there Sunday. Besides, it’s only three Sundays, and I’ll still be able to make it to all my meetings.”
“Have you told the coach how you feel about practicing on Sunday?”
“Dad,” I moaned. “Coach Angelo doesn’t care about how I feel about Sunday. He’s not interested in a first discussion or reading the Book of Mormon. He wants to win basketball games.”
“David, I’m not asking you to try to convert your coach. But I do think it’s important that you let him know how you feel about certain things. You don’t have to hide your convictions.”
“Dad, I’m not trying to hide anything. I just want to play basketball.”
I couldn’t deny that I felt a tinge of guilt about my decision, but I rationalized that I was only going to do it for three Sundays.
After three weeks, Coach Angelo had narrowed the squad to 16 guys, and I was one of the 16. The last Sunday we were scheduled to have an intra-squad game. I knew the struggle for the last two positions would be between Rodney Tillery, Ramon Guzman, Jeremy James, and me. Of the four, I was the only senior—which was actually a strike against me. Jeremy was a better player, but I figured I had the edge there because Coach Angelo was a bit cool toward him.
Some of the other guys told me that Coach Angelo had thrown a party for the junior varsity team at the end of the season. Jeremy ended up leaving early because he felt uncomfortable with what was going on. The coach had been steamed by the slight and still seemed to harbor a grudge.
At the end of practice the Saturday before our intra-squad game, I dragged into the dressing room after staying in the gym alone working on my game. When I walked by the coach’s office, I heard Coach Angelo talking to someone.
“If you expect to play, James, you’ll be here tomorrow.” There was genuine irritation in Coach Angelo’s voice. “You’ve asked to be excused from the other two Sunday practices. I cut you some slack then, but I’ve been unfair to the other guys making the effort to show up. If you want to play, you better skip Sunday School, or wherever it is you go.”
There was a pause and then Jeremy spoke. “Coach, I’ve always come early and left late. I’ve made up my time when I’ve missed a Sunday practice.” There was another pause. “You know I’ll put in any amount of time you want. But Sundays are, well, different from any other day. It’s the way I believe. I can’t come Sundays.”
“Can’t or won’t? Is it because you’re Mormon and your parents won’t let you?”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “Coach, I’m not throwing blame on my mom or dad or my church. This is my decision. I made it a long time ago, before I knew anything about your Sunday practices.”
There was a long pause before the coach spoke. “David Bluth is Mormon, isn’t he?”
“I think so,” was Jeremy’s delayed response.
“He hasn’t missed practice. He’s going to be here tomorrow.”
I had planned to shower before heading home, but instead I slipped quietly from the dressing room without hearing any more of the conversation.
The following day, Coach Angelo met me at the end of the scrimmage and invited me into his office. “Bluth, I believe in being up-front with guys. I like your style and your drive. You’ve got talent. You could play for most high school teams.” He shook his head. “But we’ve got some great talent this year. If you were a junior, I’d keep you.”
His blunt announcement was a crushing blow. I had convinced myself that I was going to get one of those last spots on the team—especially since Jeremy hadn’t showed up for practice.
“I’m going with Tillery and Guzman,” he said.
“And Jeremy?” I don’t know why I asked. I knew he hadn’t made it. Coach Angelo’s face hardened. “He didn’t even come in today; had other junk more important than playing with the team.” He grabbed a ball and studied it a moment. “You’re Mormon, aren’t you?”
The question caught me off guard. For a second I just sat there without saying anything, and then slowly I nodded and stammered. “Yeah, I’m Mormon.”
He shook his head. “It’s no big deal. A couple of the guys just mentioned it. The thing is, you’re all right, Bluth. You go with the flow. You don’t make waves. I don’t care what you or any other guy believes, but I’m glad you don’t pack your religion around with you all the time.”
Coach Angelo had meant those last words as a compliment, but they left a burning uneasiness in the corner of my conscience. To gain a spot on the team I had been willing to negotiate my principles and beliefs. I had convinced myself that playing for Meadowland was more important than what I believed. The horrible irony was that after compromising my beliefs, I still didn’t make the team.

As the wagon drew near to Bountiful, … we came to the site of a log house with a dirt roof on one part of it and another part adjoining on the south that had been built up to the square with logs unchinked without a roof, and this, my mother turned to explain to me, was her home. But soon mother and children climbed out of the wagon and went into the house. …

No one was at home when the little group entered, much to the disappointment of the mother as to the children, for, of course, we were anxious to meet our other sister, “Annie,” who was remembered lovingly by us. Our mother seemed annoyed, for she had expected her other daughter at home, perhaps with supper ready. It was only a short time, however, until “Sister Annie” came in and what a charming thing she was—bright, blue-eyed, fine long hair combed back from her face. Everything about her seemed so perfectly clean and wholesome, and to my eyes she was beautiful too, and spritely. She seemed to be everywhere about the house at once, and the meal that our mother had expected was soon under way. …

… What was left of the day was the wonderful meal prepared by Annie. Not much variety of food, for our mother was desperately poor, but what there was, was fit for princes—just white light buttermilk biscuits with butter, clear water from the creek, and dark, sweet, sticky fluid called “Molasses.” It was heartily enjoyed, Mary and me furnishing the principle appetites. How long the talk of the reunion lasted is not remembered, but it must have been far into the night. With the awakening of the next day, my life in Utah had begun.

I grew up a member of the Church in Belize, but I wasn’t always a faithful follower of the Lord. My family was among the first members in Belize, but we had many trials. My father left us, leaving my mother jobless with three kids.
My mother’s faith in the Lord allowed us to overcome our trials. My mom worked hard to support us and to bring us to the Lord, but I had to gain a testimony for myself. For a time I chose wrong paths, mainly because of the company I spent my time with. They influenced me to draw away from—rather than near to—the Lord.
My turning point was when I started to spend most of my time with youth of the Church. I witnessed the marvelous spirit they had. It brought an unusual joy in my life. Seeing my friends going out to serve the Lord on their missions brought an even greater spirit.
Serving a mission was the last thing on my mind until I decided to turn to the Lord in prayer to find out if this was the way for me. As I prayed I felt the Holy Spirit’s power bursting in my heart. I have never before witnessed such marvelous power. It led me to know that a mission was right for me. I talked to my branch president, prepared spiritually and financially, and later served a full-time mission.

Patrick Wong has already submitted more than 30 generations from his family line. Currently serving as an Area Authority, Elder Wong has frequent opportunities to share his testimony of the importance of temple work.
“I was baptized when I was 16,” he begins, “the first one in my family. Unlike many first-generation converts, however, most of my family joined, including my parents and a younger brother and sister. But despite their conversion, my parents were never sealed—my mother’s health prevented it.
“In 1988, while my wife and I were living in Australia, my father died. A year later my mother was gone. When I returned to Hong Kong for her funeral, we agreed that the work for our parents should be done. My younger brother volunteered to do it in the Taiwan temple.
“Two months later, my wife had a dream. She saw my mother, who seemed very unhappy. ‘Grandma, why are you so unhappy?’ she asked. ‘Patrick’s brother promised to take care of me, but he hasn’t.’ ‘Don’t worry, Grandma. Patrick will take care of you,’ my wife promised.
“Believe it or not, I didn’t understand what the dream meant when my wife told me about it,” Elder Wong says. “However, two weeks later she had another dream, a dream of my father. ‘Kathy, tell Patrick I need to get married as soon as possible.’ When Kathy told me about that dream I finally understood.
“I immediately called my brother and asked him if he’d been to the temple to do our parents’ work. He hadn’t. His wife had been ill and was having a difficult time recovering. ‘Go and do it, Patrick,’ he told me. So within days, we went to the temple in Sydney and had my parents sealed.
“I know this work is essential for our ancestors,” Elder Wong concludes emotionally. “My parents wanted their work done so badly. Other ancestors feel the same way. The Hong Kong Temple is part of Heavenly Father’s plan. It is a comfort to us, a symbol of the Lord’s confidence in the Chinese people here and all around the world, a symbol of the future of the Church.”

We had been struggling with our family scripture study. Getting our children to pay attention was difficult, so we tried this technique as a family. My husband and I took turns reading general conference talks out loud to the family, and when we got to a scripture, we called it out. When our children found it, everyone marked it and then one of them read it. As we did so, our kids were poised on the edge of their seats, scriptures and pencils in hand. When we ended, they said, “Oh, please, can’t we do just one more scripture?” We finished our scripture study by singing a hymn. As we got ready to sing the closing song, we showed our children how they could look up scriptures in the back of the hymnbook. They found one of the scriptures we had marked, and we sang a song that reinforced the gospel principle we had studied. It was truly meaningful scripture study!
Donna Macurdy Nielson, Virginia, USA

I remember a number of years ago, one of our children was shooting his bow and arrow in the back yard. As parents, we had told him several times not to get his bow and arrow out unless we were in the mountains, especially when we were not at home. He had some friends and a younger brother with him and they started messing around. He got his fancy new bow out. He thought he was aiming at the target, but instead, he shot the arrow over our fence, across the road and right through our neighbor’s new garage door. This happened early in the day. He asked his friends and brother not to say anything about what happened. He lived with the guilt until about 10:00 p.m. that night when he could no longer stand it. Finally, he came into our bedroom crying and admitted what he had done. I immediately got out of bed and got dressed and, hand-in-hand, we went to the neighbor’s home and he told him what he had done and we offered to pay for a new garage door, which we did. While our son still felt badly about doing something he was told not to do, he was a lot happier facing the consequences of his actions because he didn’t have to harbor that guilt and know that until he told his parents and the neighbor, inside himself, he was a liar with a guilty conscience and he had even made his younger brother and friends be dishonest too.

I have become a product of that, because when my mother’s family arrived here in Salt Lake City, they were sent out to Tooele to settle. Then later they were sent up into Idaho, where a sawmill and a gristmill were needing to be built. My father’s family had settled in Farmington, Utah, part of this colonization that I’m referring to—the colonization that made people stronger and gave them opportunities. Rather than being lost in a big city, they were asked to move to a smaller community where they could develop their ability and where there would be more schools and a need for more schoolteachers and where people with talent would develop their ability. Out of all of this, my family were asked to leave Farmington and Tooele, to sell their green acres, and go out into southern Idaho, where there was nothing at that time but sagebrush.
In a little settlement of that kind, my mother and father fell in love. By the time they were 20 years old and ready to be married, where would they be married? In the Logan Utah Temple. How would they get there? By buggy. How long would it take? Well, five or six or seven days. Highways and good roads? Of course not. They went by roads made by wagons going over the sagebrush and through the bushes and over the rocks. Where would they be married? Where would they be sealed? Only one place—the temple. They went by buggy.

On Christmas Eve there were only two presents under our little tree. One was for my two-year-old sister, Marycielo, and one was for me. Money was tight, Mama said, so it was all we would have.
That night Mama read a story from the Liahona about a Christmas without any presents. As she read, I felt happy and peaceful. Maybe having only one present wasn’t so bad. Then Mama said, “Instead of playing games like we usually do for Christmas Eve, what if we bring gifts to a family in the ward?”
“But what can we give them?” I asked.
“Well, we have a bit to spare.”
I glanced at our two presents, then at the picture of Jesus on the wall. “I guess Jesus would share what He had.”
We prayed about which family to visit. Many of the families we knew didn’t have much that year. After praying, we felt like we should visit the Córdoba family. They had three children, and their papa had lost his job.
We went to the store and bought panetón (a holiday bread), a baked chicken, and three little presents. We had fun picking them out. Mama spent all the money she had, about 30 Peruvian soles (about 10 U.S. dollars).
Once we were done, we drove to the Córdobas’. I held Marycielo’s hand as we walked to the door.
Sister Córdoba saw us and came out to hug us. “What a nice surprise! Come in! Sit down,” she said. As we walked inside, she squeezed Mama’s hand and patted my shoulder. “Rolando and the girls will be so happy to see you,” she told me.
The floor inside the house was made of dirt. There was no electricity, just candles. I was a little sad for the Córdoba family. I wished we could do more to help them. But Mama didn’t seem to notice the dirt or candles. She was just happy to be here with Sister Córdoba.
“We came to wish you a feliz Navidad!” Mama said. “We’re glad we’re friends.” She gave the food and presents to Sister Córdoba, who gave a big smile and said thank you.
Rolando, Madeline, and Raquel ran in from the other room to say hello. Marycielo peeked around my leg and smiled. She laughed when Rolando made a funny face at her. Soon everyone was talking, telling jokes, and laughing.
This is better than playing games by ourselves, I thought. I was glad we had come. It didn’t matter that we didn’t have much to share. And it didn’t matter if the floors were dirt. Christmas wasn’t about what we had. It was about being together.
As we got ready to leave, Sister Córdoba hugged us again. “Thank you so much,” she said. Her voice was shaking, and I could see tears in her eyes. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed Sister Córdoba on the cheek.
“Feliz Navidad,” I said.