Gospel Story Finder

Let me give you an example. While our children have been growing up, we have purposely lived in a rural setting where we could keep some animals and birds about, for several important reasons. One is that we have chores, regular responsibilities, that cannot be put off and that must be attended to at least daily. From this our youngsters have learned to work and to be dependable.
On one occasion a hen had hidden a nest away under a manger in the barn. The nest was discovered by our little girl. When the chickens were hatched, the tiny ones began to peep. She wanted to see them and hold them but was confronted by a very angry hen protecting her chicks. When I came home in the evening, she came running to the car and excitedly told me of her discovery, pleading with me to let her hold some of the baby chicks. It was not easy to get the hen to cooperate, but finally I had a double-handful of little chicks. There were black ones, white ones, striped ones, and spotted ones, and as the children gathered around, admiring them with childish expressions, I let our little girl hold one.
“That will make a nice watch dog when it grows up, won’t it?” I said. She wrinkled up her little nose and looked at me quizzically. It was obvious that she didn’t believe what I said, so I hurriedly corrected myself. “It won’t turn into a dog, will it?” As she shook her head, I said, “It will make a nice horse, won’t it?” She looked at me as though I did not know very much. She knew and wondered why I didn’t seem to know that the little chicken would never grow up to be a dog or a horse or an elephant or even a turkey, but when it grew up it would be a hen or a rooster; it would become like its parents.
How did she, a four-year-old, know that? We had never taught it to her. She knew it as children know many things. Children know and understand many lessons that are basic and sacred in life without being taught.

The story begins with an eccentric chocolatier, Willy Wonka, who has decided to open the doors of his chocolate factory for the first time in many years. He has hidden five golden tickets in chocolate bars shipped all over the world. Whoever buys the chocolate bar with the golden tickets is allowed to bring one guest and take the grand tour of his amazing chocolate factory. For the child in each of us, I'm not sure anything could be quite as great as touring a chocolate factory. Unknown to the five children and their guest, the tour is just half the story. The real reason Mr. Wonka comes up with this plan is that he is getting old and wants to find someone to take over the factory—someone he can trust with all his secret chocolate recipes. So, during the tour, Mr. Wonka devises a test—a special test—for each of the children who found a golden ticket. The child who passes his or her test would become the heir to the entire Wonka enterprise.

The five lucky children who find the golden tickets are the gluttonous Augustus Gloop, the spoiled and petulant Verruca Salt, the gum chewing addict Violet Beauregard, the TV-obsessed Mike Teavee, and the poverty-stricken Charlie Bucket.

The group meets in front of the magnificent gate of the chocolate factory at the predetermined day and begins their magical tour of the chocolate factory. One by one, each child is presented their test, each test perfectly crafted and disguised as part of the tour.

Augustus Gloop is the first child tested. He just cannot resist the idea of swimming and drinking from the river of pure chocolate. While attempting to lean over and take a drink, ignoring the warnings of Mr. Wonka to not touch the chocolate as to contaminate the entire river, he falls in and is eventually sucked up through a tube and off to another part of the factory. Augustus fails his test.

Next, Verruca Salt just has to have a cute little trained squirrel. Like everything else in her life, she demands that her daddy buy one. When Mr. Wonka tells the Salts that the squirrels are not for sale, she throws a fit and climbs over the railing she was told not to cross and ends up in the garbage chute, thus failing her test.

Violet Beauregard is presented with a test that she just can't refuse. She is the world champion bubblegum chewer; she has been chewing the same piece of gum for almost a year! A prototype gumball is being researched at the factory that will allow the chewer to actually eat their supper. Although it has not been tested on humans—and against the warnings of Mr. Wonka—Violet just has to try it. As she puts the gumball in her mouth, she enjoys the most delightful turkey dinner with all the trimmings—until she gets to desert, and instead of eating a blueberry pie, she becomes a blueberry. Violet fails her test.

Mike Teavee, who is obsessed with TV, fails his test because he just can't resist being part of the process of beaming from one place to another over the TV waves. He jumps in front of the machine to be transmitted-and poof, he is gone, lost in the airwaves over the chocolate factory, thus failing his test.

Then, lastly, there is the poverty-stricken little boy, Charlie Bucket. Part of his test is actually presented to him prior to entering the tour of the factory. When he finds the last golden ticket, as he runs home to tell his family, he is approached by a man from a competing candy company, offering Charlie a large sum of money if he will steal a piece of candy—a Gobstopper-during his tour and give it to him after the tour is over. So, during the tour, when the group enters the room where the Gobstoppers are being made, Charlie puts one in his pocket. At the end of the tour, Charlie and his grandpa are the only ones left. All the other kids have disappeared as the result of failing their test. Charlie has a change of heart and gives the Gobstopper back to Mr. Wonka. Charlie has passed the test. The man who offered to buy the Gobstopper from Charlie actually works for Mr. Wonka.

I found Ginky yesterday. Boy, was I surprised! “Mom!” I shouted. “I found Ginky!”
Mom wasn’t surprised at all, and she told me a story: “When you were a tiny baby and round all over, your daddy brought you this blanket. He held you and the blanket in one arm and said, ‘Blanket, blanket,’ lots of times. You said, ‘Ginky.’ Dad smiled and said, ‘Blanket.’ Both of you were talking about the same thing.”
I had to laugh at that.
“Pretty soon,” Mom went on, “we all got used to calling your blanket Ginky, the way you did. ‘Here’s Ginky,’ your daddy or I would say, or ‘Won’t you let us wash Ginky just once, real quick?’ But you never wanted Ginky to be washed.”
“I didn’t want Ginky swooshing around in all that soap,” I told her.
Now Ginky smells kind of stuffy and dusty from being in the drawer so long. Ginky used to be soft. I remember stroking my cheek with Ginky and wrapping it around my arm (the one with the good-tasting thumb) before I went to sleep.
At first Ginky had a satin edging that I could curl around my fingers. I could make a scratchy noise on it, too, with my fingernail. But the satin is almost all worn off now.
Lots of babies have blankets. But there isn’t another Ginky.
You know, I took Ginky to bed with me last night—just for remembering. I didn’t really need to. I tried wrapping Ginky around my arm. I tried scratching the worn-out satin. I even tried sucking my thumb.
But my thumb just doesn’t taste good anymore. After a while, I got all tangled up in Ginky. I wanted to go to sleep, so I folded Ginky carefully beside me. “Good night,” I said.
This morning Ginky was still there, looking kind of raggedy on my pillow. I packed Ginky away in my special box. Mom says that when I’m a big person, we’ll open my box and look at all the things I saved as I was growing up.
My picture album and my doll without any hair and a drawing I made of a fire engine were in my box already. I think Ginky belongs there with those other things.

That was it. I received my papers; it was all on. It was around Christmas 1996 when I thought I’d better let the family know what was happening. I decided I’d tell everyone over Sunday dinner. As we were sitting at the table my sister said she had something to tell everyone: she’d been thinking of changing careers from a hairdresser to a beauty therapist, thus needing to give up her job and go to college. Everyone was happy about her decision. Then it was my turn. I told them I also had something to say. I told them that I was planning to go on a mission. A look of disbelief and surprise appeared on every face. I told them, “No one is more surprised than me.” Then between Christmas and New Years, a quiet holiday period, I managed to get all my medical and dental appointments arranged. Within three days my papers were ready. When I was 17, I’d taken out a small insurance policy that I thought would be useful, when it matured, to go towards a deposit for a house. I cashed it in early. (I lost nothing; every penny I had paid was returned to me; there was no financial penalty for early exit.) I was sent a cheque that paid for my whole mission. Isn’t it funny how things work out? Another small unplanned blessing. I then posted my papers.
Over the next few months, I started shopping for my mission attire. Coming from Scotland, I’m no stranger to cold weather so I was going to be well prepared. But every time I went to buy something like a winter coat, big woolly jumpers, hat, scarves, or gloves, I’d get the answer, “No!” I’d leave it a couple of days then go elsewhere. Again, the answer would be “No! Don’t buy that.” I couldn’t believe I was being prompted to buy certain clothes.
The promptings were very specific. I’d pick up clothes and I’d hold the hanger and wait for a yes or a no. I obediently bought according to those promptings. When I look back, I can’t believe how much the Holy Ghost kept prompting me and specifically telling me things each day—I was not asking for such clarity. I’ve never experienced this level of prompting ever since. That was how it was supposed to be—minute detail.
One morning I went downstairs and there on the carpet was the big fat white envelope. My heart leapt. I quickly grabbed it and immediately locked myself in the bathroom. I have a big family, and someone could have been lurking; I wanted to open it on my own.
I stared at the envelope, scared to open it. I kept thinking that it held the next 18 months of my life, my future. I was very anxious. I eventually opened it and scoured through the first few lines. I just wanted to know where I was going—it was the Greece Athens Mission. I’d never heard of this mission. I’d never heard of anyone even going to this mission. I would later find out that I was the first Scottish sister to go there. How cool! I would learn to speak Greek. l would serve my mission during one of the hottest summers they’d had, and another summer the following year. Greece was indeed a different, unusual place. The gospel was still in its infancy there; it had only been dedicated 25 years previously by Elder Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008).
I served my mission from May 1997 to November 1998. It was one of the best experiences of my life! I can’t believe that I hadn’t wanted to go. I could quite easily have missed out on this crucial experience. It was meant to be. I would never have chosen that path but it’s what Heavenly Father knew was right for me. Greece will always be a special place with special memories for me. Whenever I go back to visit, I get ‘goose bumps’ and butterflies in my stomach. When I left my mission, I left a part of my heart there, and there it will stay. It brought me so much happiness. It shaped my future. It put me on the right path, in the right direction. It was priceless. I loved it. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. It changed me for the better. My favourite word is fantastic, and Greece was fantastic!

“Well, Cory, based on what we’ve talked about, I would be pleased to recommend you for full-time service as a missionary,” my bishop said, nearing the end of the interview.
“So, I guess I’m pretty well on my way to the mission field after this,” I said. I was already picturing myself in an exotic land, saving lost souls. But the bishop interrupted my daydreams.
“Actually, there’s one more very important thing I wanted to talk about before we end this evening,” he said. “Far too often potential missionaries are so involved in checking off items on their ‘to do’ list that they don’t keep their temple ordinances in the right perspective.” I felt like the bishop was describing me as he went on, “For some missionaries, receiving their endowment is sandwiched between checking the dimensions of their luggage and hitting next weekend’s two-pant suit sale.” My bishop’s words made me realize that I needed to consider the temple with the importance it deserved.
During the rest of the interview he explained the sacred nature of the endowment. By going through the temple, he told me, I would be making sacred covenants with my Heavenly Father that go far beyond the mission and are essential to my exaltation. “Not only that,” he continued, “your temple experience will fill you with the desire to serve. You will want those you teach to receive the same blessings of the temple that you have received. The strength you’ll receive from your temple covenants will benefit you as a missionary, but they also have eternal significance.”
The bishop’s words weighed on me as I walked slowly home. I began to feel nervous. I had looked forward my whole life to the time when I would enter the temple, but now I was especially eager to be ready.
A few weeks later I received my mission call. With excitement I read the words “Brazil Porto Alegre North Mission.” I could hardly wait to be among the Brazilian people, sharing the message of the restored gospel. I shared the news of my call with my extended family, ward members, and friends. I also noticed how many people were just as eager to know when I would go through the temple. Many had words of advice to offer me on how I should prepare myself mentally and spiritually before entering the house of the Lord.
During the next few months I made sure to attend temple preparation classes. I read my scriptures and prayed for a continuing reassurance of my decision to receive my endowment. The Spirit comforted me again and again. I also read the pamphlet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, written to assist those preparing to attend the temple for the first time. I was so grateful for the statements about the reverence and peace that prevail in the temple. During this time of preparation I gained a much stronger testimony of the sacred nature of the Lord’s house and the work that is performed inside.
I will always remember the sight of the temple the day I arrived to receive my endowment. I was filled with deep respect and reverence. I was humbled by the thought that I would go inside and make sacred covenants with my Father in Heaven.
I had arrived dressed in my Sunday best, knowing that my outward appearance reflected my inward respect for the house of the Lord.
“Welcome to the temple,” I was greeted as I showed my recommend and walked inside. Everything about the temple was beautiful. It felt like a piece of heaven on earth, and the friendly temple workers seemed like angels.
I remained in awe at the Spirit I felt. While I didn’t immediately understand everything that was taking place, I did realize the importance of the covenants I was making. It was clear to me why my bishop had spoken of the temple the way he had. The endowment I was receiving would extend not only far beyond the two years of my mission but even into the eternities. More meaningful to me than any of the advice I had received from various people was a scripture I had read as part of my preparation, “And that all people who shall enter upon the threshold of the Lord’s house may feel thy power, and feel constrained to acknowledge that thou hast sanctified it, and that it is thy house, a place of thy holiness” (D&C 109:13). I knew that the temple was the Lord’s house, sanctified and holy. I went expecting to feel God’s love, and I did.
Throughout my mission I frequently reflected on my first temple experience. I was also thankful for having attended the temple each week at the MTC. The blessings of the temple fortified me and gave me strength through difficult times. I was filled with the desire to serve and bring others to a knowledge of God’s plan. I wanted everyone I taught to have the same opportunity to make covenants with Heavenly Father and receive a greater understanding of His infinite love.
I am grateful for having realized that the temple will be a part of me forever and not something to simply check off before leaving on my mission. Since returning home from my mission, I have made temple attendance a priority in my life. The temple is a place of clarity and renewal for me. It is a place of holiness where I can feel God’s love for me and for all His children.

Don Dewey, a nonmember, was one of Ken’s friends stationed aboard a sister minesweeper. He wanted to discover the inconsistencies in the Church’s doctrine so that he could point out to Ken the error of his decision to be baptized. So when the three men returned from sea, Don decided to join Willis and Ken at sacrament meeting in Charleston.

But Don never did find the inconsistencies he sought. Instead, after months of intensive study, he also chose to become a member of the Church.

When I first learned the restored gospel was true, I was a 19-year-old young man trying to make sense of my own identity as both a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and someone who had been raised in the beloved teachings of my American Indian heritage. I had joined the Church at age 14, yet at that time I had no real understanding of the doctrine. I only knew that the restored gospel was good and of God.
I also knew what my lineage taught me about who I am—that I was good and of God. This was my struggle: If both are good, why do I feel I am being forced to choose between them? How can I pick one and bury the other? Choosing to love one and hating the other meant hating a part of myself, or so I thought.
The teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ and of my American Indian heritage were handed down from generation to generation until they came to shape and form me. Yet my identity as a member of my tribe conflicted with my identity as a member of the Church. I was fortunate to find other Church members who had dealt with this internal conflict too, but their answers, while helpful, did not remedy any of my pain, nor their own. They had to reject their native heritage or ignore the internal conflict altogether. Though I was grateful for these conversations, they never truly sat easy on my own troubled heart.
My father was a prominent leader and the last authorized historian in our tribe, but he was not a member of the Church and was antagonistic towards those who were. My mother had a similar love for her indigenous heritage, but she was a member of the Church and loved the restored gospel. Her desire to be active in the gospel and my father’s enmity towards Christianity because of the harm caused by those who claimed to be Christian were a fitting embodiment of my own internal struggle.
As a teenager, I had never read the Book of Mormon, and I did not know who Jesus Christ was, and I wondered how He and this book fit into who I am. How could I reconcile the harm that was done by those who claimed association with His teachings? And how could I also honor what had brought me this far?
These were the issues I brought to my first reading of the Book of Mormon. If I could find the answers here, I knew what my responsibility would be in return. I would become a committed Latter-day Saint, serve an honorable mission, marry in the temple, and love God with all my heart for the rest of my life. But if I were to truly become converted, I needed to know. I knew I was asking hard questions whose answers only God could give.
I began reading and learning about Lehi and his family, Nephi’s vision of that beautiful tree of life, and the angel referring to the Savior as the “God of nature” (1 Nephi 19:12). When I came to King Benjamin’s address, I found myself reading it over and over again, circling passages about raising children, taking care of the poor, and our utter dependence on God for daily physical and spiritual survival. I then came to the Waters of Mormon and read and reread the covenant of baptism. I loved the story of the brothers Nephi and Lehi as missionaries and their journey to redeem God’s children. Despite all of these moving accounts and the doctrine, I still had questions.
Then I arrived at 3 Nephi, where the account of the Savior’s visit was given. From the time He appeared—showing the wounds in His hands, feet, and side—I was captivated. I kept asking myself, “Who is this man?” In my bedroom on that summer day, I felt His words more powerfully than I ever did before as I read them.
When it was time for Jesus Christ to leave the people that day, He said, “Behold, my time is at hand” (3 Nephi 17:1). I felt what the people felt, pleading with tears in our eyes, “Please don’t go.” And in this moment in my bedroom, He went from being a stranger to something more. I had been a stranger, but now I was more.
I finished 3 Nephi and began to read 4 Nephi. It was night now, as I had not stopped reading that whole day, and it was here that I found my answer:
“And it came to pass that there was no contention in the land, because of the love of God which did dwell in the hearts of the people.
“And there were no envyings, nor strifes, nor tumults, nor whoredoms, nor lyings, nor murders, nor any manner of lasciviousness; and surely there could not be a happier people among all the people who had been created by the hand of God.
“There were no robbers, nor murderers, neither were there Lamanites, nor any manner of -ites; but they were in one, the children of Christ, and heirs to the kingdom of God” (4 Nephi 1:15–17).
This was the sacred truth of my people, handed down generation to generation—that all people are children of God. I had found it here in this little blue book. It was for all peoples, regardless of ethnicity, to truly understand in their souls they are children of God and to accept the responsibility that came with it.
To find yourself was to find God. This was the great truth my father had taught me, and this was the great and sacred truth the Book of Mormon confirmed. The two warring pieces of my heart were now at peace because I realized they both need each other in order to exist. My lineage was not a sword that needed to be buried, nor a master that pulled me away from my Savior. It is what brought me to the Savior, and it is a part of me that needs to be honored and embraced.
Since that day I have tried to repent of my sins and live the restored gospel. I served a mission and married my wife in the temple. We strive to raise our children in the Savior’s gospel and the blessing of our lineage. The struggle that had weighed upon my soul was replaced with peace and understanding. I had learned that the Book of Mormon was true. The passages I circled and reread were familiar teachings I had been taught before.
This sacred record is not just a history of ancient peoples; it is a spiritual book whose truths cannot be found in any other record of history, science, or academia but only through the power of the Holy Ghost. It is this same power that brings us to the Savior, who helps us with our silent conflicts, internal struggles, and hard questions. In time, through sincere prayer and learning, we can walk away whole with a true understanding of who we are. This is because of the Savior’s invitation to follow Him.
I had confused assimilation with conversion. I had falsely believed that in order to be a faithful Latter-day Saint, I had to shed one part of my identity and embrace a new one, but the reality is that what needs shedding is that which separates us from God. The heart does not need to be purified of its heritage, only of sin and conflict. This purification reawakens us to our true identities as sons or daughters of God.
These blessings are meant for all. The only requirements are repentance, making and keeping covenants, and diligently seeking after Him. Like Nephi of old, you do not need to know the meaning of all things (see 1 Nephi 11:17). Just knowing that God loves His children is a good start, and then eventually “by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5)—even the turning of our hearts to the knowledge of our fathers.

As visiting teaching supervisor in our ward, I felt a particular concern for the less-active sisters. I frequently prayed and asked the Lord to guide me in letting these sisters know we still cared about them. We made sure to inform them of our activities, and we had active sisters write a monthly note to each one.
One night as I was using a ward list to prepare a visiting teaching chart for our Relief Society president, I found an unfamiliar name and address of a sister within our ward boundaries. I thought it strange that I had not seen her name before, and I felt prompted that she should receive letters from a specific sister in our ward.
When I suggested this to our president, she agreed and made the assignment. However, even after several months, there was no response to the letters. Finally, the sister writing enclosed a self-addressed, stamped envelope and asked the less-active sister if she would like to continue receiving letters. When the return letter came, this less-active sister explained that a few years earlier she had committed transgressions, and Church disciplinary action had been necessary. Since then, she had felt hurt and bitter. However, now she would welcome a monthly letter.
Shortly after this happened, as I was typing a new visiting teaching list, I realized this less-active sister’s name was no longer on our ward list. I looked through old ward lists in my desk, but I could not find her name anywhere. I called the Relief Society president and ward clerk, but neither of them had any information. Where had I found her name and address? It became apparent to me that they had come from the Lord.
A few weeks later, I awoke from a deep sleep at 2:00 A.M. with the strong impression that I should write to this less-active sister immediately and tell her of the experience I had with her name and address. I felt the Spirit very strongly telling me what to write.
About a week after I mailed the letter, I received a phone call from this sister. She told me that for a long time she had been convinced that the Lord no longer knew she existed. But then my letter had come and she knew she had not been forgotten. This sister has now returned to activity in the Church.

One member was seated in his government office wondering how he could possibly pay the amount suggested by his bishop. As he prayed for guidance, the idea came to him, “Just ask for a raise in pay; that’s all you need to do.” So vivid was the message that he did just that. Calculating what he could pay from his own resources, he promptly applied for a raise equal to the amount he yet needed. To his surprise, his request was approved. Moreover, it was made retroactive for a year, enabling him to pay the amount requested much earlier than he had thought possible.

When I first heard the gospel, I loved it and knew I wanted it to be a part of my life. I wanted to be married someday to a returned missionary, have children, and live happily ever after. I fell in love with the most wonderful guy. He was also a convert. After he served his mission, we were married in the Washington D.C. Temple.
Five years and two children later, I found myself sitting in a general conference broadcast all alone. My children had stayed home with their father.
I will never forget the feelings I had that day. The “happily ever after” I longed for seemed to be slipping from my hands. My sweet husband, the returned missionary I married in the temple, was struggling with activity in the Church. I prayed for him and put his name on the prayer roll in the temple. Still, he chose not to attend church. It was heart wrenching to hear my two-year-old son plead, “Come to church with us, Daddy.”
As I sat in conference that day long ago, my soul was stirred by the excellent talks, but I also felt saddened. I so wanted my husband there. We were on this earthly journey together, but we were walking different paths. I needed strength to carry on. Sitting alone at church with a newborn and a two-year-old can be trying under any circumstances, but we were living in a new city, in a big ward, and many of the members were students just like my husband. I thought I was the only one who had a less-active husband, and I felt out of place. But I plastered on a smile and continued going to church, all the while dying inside.
During conference that day, the congregation rose to its feet to sing “How Firm a Foundation,” and I simply sat there. I did not have the energy to stand.
As the third and final verse began, I started to feel different. Something was changing, and the sweetness of the Spirit engulfed my whole being as I listened to the words:
Fear not, I am with thee; oh, be not dismayed,
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, …
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand.
(Hymns, no. 85)
Then one of the most amazing moments of my life happened. It seemed to me that someone was literally helping me to stand. I looked around, but no one was there. From that moment I was a changed person. I knew I was not alone. And in that one instant I knew that someday all would be well.
A smile came to my face in a recent sacrament meeting—18 years after that conference—as my husband was released from the bishopric and called to be the Young Men president. I received a new calling too—the one I’ve feared my whole life—Relief Society president. Feeling overwhelmed, I felt my heart skip a beat as the closing hymn was announced: “How Firm a Foundation.” My tears always flow when that hymn is sung, and on that day they were in abundance. They were tears of gratitude, and I knew again that all would be well.

While hiking to the Machu Picchu ruins in Peru as a young missionary, Elder Juan A. Uceda slipped off the narrow trail. Desperately clinging to some branches and hanging 2,000 feet (610 m) above a river, he prayed intensely for help. Earlier that day he had prayed with his lips, he said, but “when I was about to perish, I prayed from the heart.” Just as he was about to fall, another missionary pulled him to safety.
One of the many lessons he said he learned that day was “always, always pray ‘with a sincere heart, with real intent, [exercising] faith in Christ’ (Moroni 10:4).”

When Tommy, Betsy, and their parents left Nauvoo, they had enough food to last for one year. They hoped this would be enough food to sustain them until they reached the valley out west and could plant and harvest their own crops. But now they were still at Winter Quarters, and they would be there until next spring.
Tommy’s mother had invited Elija and his sister Eliza, whose mother had recently died, to live with her and with Tommy and Betsy while the men were away with the battalion. Their food supply was nearly gone.
Tommy talked to Elija about this several times. “If we only had the money, we could go to St. Joseph and get what we need,” Tommy told Elija. “St. Joseph is only fifty miles away. We could take our wagons and be back in less than two weeks. I wish we knew where we could get some money!”
One day Tommy was surprised to see Parley P. Pratt ride into camp. Three weeks before, Brother Pratt, John Taylor, and Orson Hyde had left Winter Quarters for missions to England. Why is he riding back into camp alone, Tommy wondered.
Brother Pratt rode straight to the cabin where William Clayton, the clerk of the camp, had his office. Tommy watched him go inside and then waited by the door.
In a few minutes Brother Clayton called to Tommy. “Here is a letter for your mother and one for Elija. Tell your mother that Brother Pratt has returned to our camp with money from the men of the Mormon Battalion. He met the men in Fort Leavenworth and volunteered to return to Winter Quarters with the money before going on to England.”
When Tommy reached the cabin, he called for everyone to come outside. “Here is a letter for you from your father, Elija,” Tommy said. “And here is one for you, Mother.”
Tommy and Betsy listened quietly as their mother read the letter to them. “Hooray!” shouted Tommy when she came to the part that said there would be money in the clerk’s office for them to use for food.
“My father says there is money there from him for you to use too,” said Elija. “And if there is enough money left over after buying food, maybe Eliza and I can have new shoes.”
Tommy’s mother thought of the cold winter days ahead. “There will be enough left over,” she said decisively. And Tommy knew that whatever else they bought, they would buy shoes for Eliza and Elija. His mother put her arms around their shoulders and said, “It’s good to know that your father is still taking care of you even though he is far away.”

The youth also have activities about two to three times a month. Franchesca even planned one of them—a game night with lots of fun board games and a scripture game. They haven’t been able to meet much during the pandemic, so when they do get to meet, they have a great time.
The young women even made a music video of themselves lip-syncing to the Church youth song “Good Day” and posted it to share love and to lift others. “Social media can really bring everyone together, especially during times when we can’t really see everyone.”

Jenay watched as Mommy set the freshly baked white cake on the kitchen table. Tonight was Christmas Eve, when her family would celebrate Jesus’s birth.
Jenay liked going caroling with her family, baking gingerbread men, and decorating the tree. But remembering Jesus’s birthday was her favorite thing to do at Christmas.
Can I help you put the icing on the cake?
We need to let it cool first.
Jenay helped Mommy clean off the counters and wash the dishes.
Do you think the cake is cool now?
I think it’s just about right.
Mommy and Jenay spread fluffy white icing on the cake.
After dinner Daddy asked the family to gather in the living room.
Even though we know that Jesus was born in the spring, we like to celebrate His birthday at this time of year.
Mommy read the story of Jesus’s birth from the Bible and the Book of Mormon. Then Daddy bore his testimony of Jesus’s Atonement and Resurrection.
One by one, the family members opened their presents to Jesus and read what they had written on a slip of paper. With Mommy’s help, Jenay had written, “Be more reverent at church.”
I’m proud of each of you. All of your gifts show your love for Jesus Christ.
Mommy cut the cake and served it on fancy dishes. Jenay took a bite of cake and smiled.
I love Jesus, and I know He loves me.
A sweet feeling of peace settled over her like a cozy warm quilt.

After the temple was dedicated in 1958, many Saints gathered to the temple from across New Zealand and the Pacific Area to receive their endowment and sealing. For example, when Vaha’i and Sela Tonga of the country of Tonga heard that a temple would be built in New Zealand, they made plans to attend the dedication. Despite financial hurdles to travel, Vaha’i and Sela were the first couple to be sealed in the Hamilton Temple.

One cold, rainy October day, Mette Hansen, a young mother in Copenhagen, Denmark, was riding her bicycle home from work when a car hit her. Her husband was out of the country on an assignment, and for five hours she lay in a hospital, unable to contact her two small children, who were at a day-care center. She pleaded with the Lord to let her children know she was all right and to give them peace and protection.
After Sister Hansen was treated, she arrived home at 10:15 P.M. to find that her tired children had walked home when she hadn’t picked them up. Because they didn’t have a key to get into the apartment, they had knelt on the doormat and said a prayer, then sat without talking for a little while.
“And then a nice thing happened to me,” her son said. “I felt a big, warm hand touching the top of my head, and I heard a friendly voice saying, ‘Your mother is well. … It will be a while before she comes home, and it will be dark outside, but just stay calm.’”
Over the years since that occurrence, Sister Hansen and her family have known that their Heavenly Father is only a prayer away. (See Tambuli, February 1988, page 12.)

Once there was a man who dreamed that he was in a great hall where all the religions of the world were gathered. He realized that each religion had much that seemed desirable and worthy.
He met a nice couple who represented The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and asked, “What do you require of your members?”
“We do not require anything,” they replied. “But the Lord asks that we consecrate all.”
The couple went on to explain about Church callings, home and visiting teaching, full-time missions, weekly family home evenings, temple work, welfare and humanitarian service, and assignments to teach.
“Do you pay your people for all the work they do?” the man asked.
“Oh, no,” the couple explained. “They offer their time freely.”
“Also,” the couple continued, “every six months our Church members spend a weekend attending or watching 10 hours of general conference.”
“Ten hours of people giving talks?” the man wondered.
“What about your weekly church services? How long are they?”
“Three hours, every Sunday!”
“Oh, my,” the man said. “Do members of your church actually do what you have said?”
“That and more. We haven’t even mentioned family history, youth camps, devotionals, scripture study, leadership training, youth activities, early-morning seminary, maintaining Church buildings, and of course there is the Lord’s law of health, the monthly fast to help the poor, and tithing.”
The man said, “Now I’m confused. Why would anyone want to join such a church?”
The couple smiled and said, “We thought you would never ask.”

One last Marriott Center experience began with Jill and me, poor as church mice, collecting toilet paper rolls underneath the seats after a game we played here—you know, the games when after the first basket is made everyone throws a roll of toilet paper streaming down onto the court? (Don’t do that here, okay?)

We were living on the tightest of budgets. Saving a little money by gathering the toilet paper seemed like a great idea. With this third Marriott Center image as a backdrop, I want to tell you the rest of the story that highlights forever in my heart the Savior’s words “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.”

Right before graduation, I had a great job interview. Arriving home, I excitedly told Jill that I thought I would get the job.

A week went by, and I had not heard a word. Jill asked if I still felt good about it, and I responded that I did.

Then another week passed with no word. Jill asked again how I felt.

With less optimism, I said, “I will call and see.”

Unfortunately, the company had gone with someone else.

I then saw a look in her eye that I had never seen before. She seemed nervous and tentative. I asked her if something was wrong.

She said timidly, “When you came home a couple of weeks ago and said you thought we would get the job, I wrote a tithing check on the amount of money we would be receiving in the new job to thank Heavenly Father beforehand. I am so sorry.”

Two things passed through my mind in that moment. First, I realized that she had paid about half our monthly income—but, you know, we all love eating ramen the second half of the month! Then a second thought came as I looked into the eyes of this purest of souls. This thought was, “God will always watch over and take care of you and your family because of Jill’s pure and unshakable faith.”

I knew in that moment that we—the couple who had scavenged under the Marriott Center seats for toilet paper rolls—would always be all right. I knew that God would bless her “even an hundred fold, yea, more,”40 for having offered her loaves and fishes41 unto Him first. It brings tears to my eyes just thinking about this sacred moment and about this most faithful daughter of God.

One is humbled by the spiritual submissiveness of the dying young mother of twenty-six, understandably anguished at the prospect of not rearing her two children, one of whom she so recently made ready to lay down her life for, if necessary. The baby arrived safely, but, alas, the gallant mother could not tarry. With childlike faith this young sister touchingly inquired, “If I am to die, then how can I help my husband and my parents as they watch me die?” Surely she (and others similarly situated) faithfully conforms to King Benjamin’s portrait of a Saint as one being “willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon him, even as a child doth submit to his father.” (Mosiah 3:19.)

Late night revelation as a parent is my favorite. We have a baby of seven months that likes to wake up at the worst hours. Sometimes, he struggles to go back to sleep. My wife and I have lost many hours of sleep to that little guy. One particular time a few months ago sticks out in my mind. It was my night to be on-call; my patience had run dry, and I was exhausted, and the usual means of providing him comfort were not working. I remember pleading that I could know how to help calm the baby, so I could sleep. A thought came to me. It was seemingly random, but it was a thought to do something I had never done before. I held my child's hand in mine rather just stick his pacifier in again or adjust his blanket. He quickly calmed down and was asleep in five minutes! It was a one-time deal though because it did not work in subsequent rough nights.