Gospel Story Finder

When Kate Hansen was 10 her father drove her to Slider Search, a local clinic being held for kids to try out for luge. “I tell people that luge is like bobsledding,” says Kate. “At the clinic, they set up hay bales and cones on the street and then let the kids ride a trainer sled with wheels down the course. I went through the cones without crashing. I remember it being really fun. Plus they wanted to see how well I took direction.”

As a result of the clinic, both Kate and her cousin were invited to come to Lake Placid, New York, where the national luge training facility is located. The first time Kate tried out a real sled on an ice course, she loved it. It was fast and fun. “It’s like a roller coaster but pretty relaxing. It’s very flowing.”

In 1998 I was enjoying being a young mother. But I panicked one day when I realized that my six-month-old son made whistling sounds when he breathed and couldn’t swallow anything. The doctor immediately diagnosed bronchiolitis, a swelling of the smallest air passages in the lungs usually caused by a viral infection. He prescribed both medication and physical therapy.
The visits to the physical therapist were a trial for my son and me. My son was uncomfortable being moved in every direction, and I worried that the therapy caused him pain. I took courage, however, when the therapist explained the benefits of therapy.
Despite the medical treatment and the therapy, my son’s condition didn’t improve. He ate little, and the whistling continued. The doctor prescribed 5 more sessions with the physical therapist in addition to the 10 we had already attended.
While I waited during the 13th session, I read an article posted in the doctor’s office titled “Bronchiolitis Kills.” As I read, I realized that my son could die. I felt as though my heart was in a vise. At the end of the session, the therapist told me that my son’s condition wasn’t improving. I’m not sure how I got home safely because tears blurred my vision.
I called my husband and then began to pray. I told my Heavenly Father that if His will was to take my son, He would need to give me the strength to bear it.
After my prayer I asked myself what we could do in addition to the prayers we had uttered and the priesthood blessings our son had received. I glanced at the bookshelf and saw a copy of the Liahona (L’Étoile at the time). I opened it at random, searching for help, and found an article titled “I Fasted for My Baby.” Then I clearly heard a voice say, “You have not fasted for your child.”
I had not, so I immediately began to fast for him. At the therapy session the next day, I was still fasting. After examining my son, the therapist looked surprised.
“Madame,” he told me, “your son is fine. I don’t understand, but he doesn’t need any more sessions.”
I couldn’t hold back the tears of joy. Returning home, I knelt to thank God for His mercy and love. I called my husband to tell him the good news. Then I ended my fast in peace, not doubting the intervention of the Lord.
My son was healed thanks to faith, prayer, priesthood blessings, and fasting. I have no doubt that my Heavenly Father loves me and that He also loves my son. I am confident that He will continue to help us overcome our difficulties.

I mention one more example of the incorrect way to accomplish home teaching. President Marion G. Romney, who was a counselor in the First Presidency some years ago, used to tell about his home teacher who once went to the Romney home on a cold winter night. He kept his hat in his hand and shifted nervously when invited to sit down and give his message. As he remained standing, he said, “Well, I’ll tell you, Brother Romney, it’s cold outside, and I left my car engine running so it wouldn’t stop. I just came by so I could tell the bishop I had made my visits.”

President Ezra Taft Benson, after relating President Romney’s experience in a meeting of priesthood holders, then said, “We can do better than that, brethren—much better!” I agree.

Last October I was sitting at my computer on a Tuesday afternoon. Life was good. Looking out my window I could see the grass being rolled into place for our new home. I could see where the flowers would bloom each spring in the beds. My books filled the bookcases and the windows looked up at the mountains. We had been in our new home only two months. My husband had been released from callings that required that we live in the same neighborhood all of our married life. I was musing about our new life on a quiet cul de sac, it was smaller than the rambling 100 year old house where we had reared our children.
And then the phone rang. It was my husband saying that one of the apostles wanted to meet with us the next day. My heart stopped. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t need to. It was fall; The Brethren were beginning to talk to potential mission presidents. The situation in my mind edged precariously close to the Lord’s words to the young man, “Sell all that thou hath and follow me.” Not now, I thought. We just built our house. This wasn’t just a new house. It was a dream put on hold for thirty years.
The interview last October culminated in a call from the First Presidency for my husband to preside over the England London South Mission. Come. Leave your house – no different than leaping over the side of the boat. This July, we will walk on English soil.

Lucy saw the dress in the window of Carlstrum’s General Store. It was the color of lilacs with sprigs of lace at the neck and sleeves. Lucy hadn’t seen lilacs since her family moved from Salt Lake City. Mother had planted a lilac start, but so far it hadn’t developed enough to produce any blossoms.
She tugged at her mother’s arm. “Oh, Mama, look at that dress.”
Mama checked the list she held for what she would need in the general store. They had already been to the feed and seed store, and Lucy’s brother Thomas was still in the blacksmith’s shop. Her mother always went to the general store last, because it was the most enjoyable.
She glanced up at the dress. “It’s very pretty, dear.”
Lucy liked pretty things, but had to control her desires because her family was struggling with the new farm. Since President Brigham Young had sent her family and several others to settle in the New Harmony area, life had been difficult. It was dry and hot in the rugged, red-soiled desert country. The families were trying to raise cotton to sell to people in Salt Lake City, who often referred to Southern Utah as “Dixie.”
But Dixie was not yet producing abundant cotton as had been hoped. Water was precious and had to be used sparingly even for irrigation. Lucy’s father was the bishop of the town, and he was raising cattle as well as cotton to supply meat for the townspeople. It was the sale of beef that kept his family going.
Lucy gazed longingly at the dress. How it would set off her shiny brown hair and make her gray eyes glow! She could imagine herself wearing the dress to church, where all the other girls would see and envy her.
She flushed a little, feeling guilty, since Mama often told her that church was a place to worship, not to show off. All her dresses were plain gray flannel ones that had been remodeled from hand-me-downs. But this dress was beautiful!
Mama went into the general store to look at some bolts of cloth. “Look at this, Lucy,” she called. “We could make a pretty dress for you with this material.”
With a touch of excitement Lucy hurried to her mother’s side, but the material was just a plain yellow, brown, and black calico print. She had already seen several dresses around town made of it. “Oh, Mama, I need a special dress, not just an old faded calico,” she exclaimed, holding up the limp skirt she had on. “And just like everything else in Dixie—it’s the dusty colors of earth. Isn’t there any pretty material? Some blue or pink or lovely lilac?”
Her mother looked down at Lucy with an understanding smile. Her daughter really did need a new dress.
Lucy’s mother asked the storekeeper, who was standing behind the counter, “Have you any poplin, Mr. Carlstrum? Anything besides this calico here?”
“I had some rust-colored poplin, but Mrs. Newbitt bought it all to make curtains,” he replied.
Lucy was not consoled with Mr. Carlstrum’s offer of a peppermint stick. Her mother walked out of the store carrying the purchases she had made, a thoughtful look on her face. Lucy followed with her arms full of bundles. Silently she helped load the wagon. Thomas came from the blacksmith’s with the newly shod horse, hitched it to the wagon, and they started for home.
At the dinner table that night Lucy’s father announced that he would be taking a wagonful of men to Salt Lake for conference. “Thomas, you’ll be in charge while I’m gone.” Thomas sat up proudly in his seat as Bishop Peterson went on. “All of you children do what Thomas tells you. I hope everything will be green and growing when I come back.”
Thomas, Lucy, George, Charles, and little Carrie nodded their heads in assent.
Then their father turned to Mama and asked, “Emily, do you have a written list for me?”
“Yes,” she replied and added, “Lucy needs a new dress and there isn’t any material she likes in town. See if you can get some lavender lilac poplin or even sky blue or rose pink.”
“Lavender lilac, sky blue, or rose pink,” Lucy’s father repeated, considering the possibilities. “That’s a tall order, but I’ll try.”
Lucy jumped up, hugged her father, and smiled gratefully at her mother.
Lucy anxiously watched for the wagon’s return. She often climbed up into the barn loft to gaze off into the distance, until Thomas called to her to stop wasting time and come down and help with the chores.
“Papa’s wagon will come before you know it, if you spend your time working,” he told her. But even as she worked Lucy dreamed about a new dress.
When Papa finally came, it was George who caught sight of the wagon first, from the field where he was digging a ditch. Clouds of dust billowed above the road as George put his shovel over his shoulder and ran to meet the wagon. He jumped onto the tailgate, shouting across the fields to his brothers and sisters that their father was home.
Lucy was waiting at the house, breathless after running from the calf shed. “Papa! Papa! Where’s my dress yardage?” she cried as he swung her off the ground in a tight squeeze.
“You haven’t seen me for days and all you think about is yardage!” he teased. “It’s at the bottom of the pile, wrapped in brown paper. You’ll have to help me unload before you find it.”
The family greeted their father and quickly unloaded the wagon. Lucy happened to be alone when she came to the brown paper package. With trembling fingers she untied the string. She could imagine the smooth feel of poplin, the wonderful smell of new fabric, the color of lilacs or the sky or a rose …
Tears came to Lucy’s eyes when she saw that the material she had waited for was the color of muddy green ditchwater. It was poplin all right, and it smelled nice and new, but, oh, the color! She buried her head in the brown paper and tried to keep from crying out loud.
Mama came out of the house where she had been sorting supplies. She saw Lucy’s face buried in the material. “What is it, Lucy?” she asked gently.
“Oh, Mama!” Lucy turned to her mother and held her tightly. “The material is … oh, Mama, it looks terrible! We might as well have bought that calico, or made a dress out of a flour sack!”
Mama smiled and said, “I used to wear flour-sack dresses all the time, Lucy, and you did, too, when you were little. But don’t cry now. Papa will be back in a moment, and we can’t let him see tears.”
“All right, Mama,” Lucy promised, so when Papa came back to the wagon, she smiled as she held up the yardage. “Thank you.” Her throat choked. “It’s … it’s … thank you for the material, Papa.”
Her father looked at Mama and then at his daughter. “I know it’s not lavender lilac, Lucy, but it’s the best I could find. I think it will make you a fine dress.”
“I’m sure it will,” Mama said. “We’ll borrow a pattern. There are only three patterns in town, and I think Mrs. Taylor down the road has one near your size.”
Lucy tried to think of the muddy green poplin transformed into a dress. “The color’s not really so bad, Papa, if we put a little ribbon on it or maybe some lace.” She looked up to see her father smiling down at her.
Lucy wanted to sew the whole dress herself. Mama showed her how to alter the pattern and to save all the scraps of material. Then Lucy hand stitched the pieces with small even seams. When she tried on the half-made dress in front of Mama’s mirror, she cried out, “Mama, come look! The waist is way down below my middle! What shall I do?”
Mama tried to keep from laughing, because the dress did look a little strange. “Perhaps we could take up the shoulders. Mrs. Taylor is taller than I thought.”
Lucy made some alterations and tried the dress on again. This time the waist was too high, and the hem was just below her knees. “Mama! Look at it now!” she wailed.
“We’ll put in a wide waistband,” Mama suggested. “That’s the fashion this year.”
Shortly after the dress was finished, Papa invited a photographer to his home to take a picture of the entire family. Lucy, of course, wanted to wear her new dress. “I wish I had some pantalets to wear,” she told her mother. “A little bit of lace showing below the hem would look so fashionable.”
Again Mama had the answer. One beautiful thing she had brought from Salt Lake was a short jacket with ruffles all along the sleeves. “Put your feet through the sleeves, dear,” she instructed, “and nobody will be the wiser.”
In that picture, handed down as one of the precious heirlooms of her family, a smiling Lucy is wearing a beautiful dress with a fashionable wide waistband and with stylish ruffles showing just beneath its hem!

I was worried. My Primary teacher had asked me to give a talk the next week in sharing time. “You could bear your testimony about prayer,” she had said. We had just talked about prayer in our class.
I had prayed many times. I always said my own prayers, and I often prayed during family prayer. I had prayed for blessings on the food many times too, and I had prayed in Primary before. But now I wasn’t sure I had a testimony of prayer or if I understood how prayer could help me. “Does someone really hear me when I pray?” I wondered.
I went to the kitchen, where my mother was getting dinner ready.
“Mama,” I said, “how can I bear my testimony of prayer when I’m not sure I have a testimony of it?”
My mother put her arm around me. “Why don’t you give a lesson about prayer in family home evening tomorrow, and we’ll talk about it together,” she said.
My mother helped me find stories and conference talks about prayer. Then I began to prepare for family home evening and for my Primary talk.
When I gave the lesson on Monday, my mother and father told me how prayer had helped them. I gave my Primary talk the next Sunday too, but I didn’t feel much different. I still wondered if I had a testimony of prayer. I prayed sincerely about my doubts, but the answer didn’t come right away.
One day my father came home after looking for work all day with no success. He was very sad. He had been out of work for many weeks. I ran to him and hugged him, as I always did.
“Don’t be sad, Papa,” I said. Then suddenly I felt something in my heart. “We need to pray,” I said.
“Right now?” my father asked.
“Yes, right now,” I said. “I believe Heavenly Father will hear us.”
We knelt together and prayed, asking Heavenly Father to comfort us.
After the prayer we read the scriptures, as we did each night, and then sat together and talked. I noticed that little by little our sadness was replaced with the happiness we always had in our home. I felt different—as though we were safe and protected, and I knew that everything would be all right. It was a wonderful feeling.
Mama noticed it too. “Can you feel it, Lucas?” she asked quietly. “The Holy Ghost is comforting us, helping us know that we are not alone.”
“Yes, I feel it,” I said. I knew that Heavenly Father heard our prayer.
It was a night that I will never forget. Now I have my own testimony of the power of prayer.

A few years ago, my family and I moved. It was hard, but I tried my best to adjust.
However, after getting in a car crash two weeks later and receiving a concussion and several injuries on my face, I was miserable.
Because of the concussion, I couldn’t go to school for three weeks. I felt so alone. I remember praying and asking Heavenly Father why this had to happen when I already felt so alone after moving.
Then one day, my dad told me that my Savior would never leave me alone. After hearing that, I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for my anger. I read my scriptures and tried to understand His plan for me.
Soon after that, people from my new school, ward, and seminary class visited me with cards, flowers, and Reese’s® Peanut Butter Cups (my favorite). I felt my Savior’s love through them—and they hardly even knew me!
I know that Jesus Christ is always there for us. He provides peace and listens to our prayers. He knows us, and He knows what will help us grow.
Holland S., Washington, USA

Toward the end of my education in Japan, I traveled to Thailand to perform field research for my master’s degree. I was excited but nervous about the trip.
Before I left, I asked for a priesthood blessing. During the blessing, I was counseled to seek priesthood blessings in troubling times. I was told: “Remember that on this earth, there is no place that was not created by the power of the priesthood. So, wherever you go, seek a priesthood holder and ask for help, and you will be blessed.”
I had no idea how to find the Church in Thailand once I arrived. The internet was not yet developed, so I couldn’t look up the location of buildings. We arrived at the Bangkok airport on a Saturday afternoon. In the bus, I prayed sincerely, “Heavenly Father, tomorrow is Sunday. Please help me find the Church.”
I finished my prayer and looked outside. To my surprise, I saw a sign for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Thai and in English.
The following morning, I took an auto rickshaw to that building. Afterward, the members there gave me the address of a home closer to my rural work site where branch meetings were held. They also gave me the phone number of the full-time missionaries. The following Sunday, I attended that branch.
After days of working long hours in the hot sun, I became exhausted. Eventually, I got sick.
I called the full-time missionaries, and we scheduled a time to meet at the branch site. When I arrived the following day, nobody was there. As I waited outside, I prayed, “Heavenly Father, I know You can heal me, if that is Thy will. Please help me.”
The missionaries soon arrived with the branch president. When these three priesthood holders laid their hands on my head, I felt the power of the Holy Ghost run from the top of my head to my toes. Immediately I was healed.
In a small town far from my home country, I sought help from priesthood holders. The Lord blessed me through His priesthood and my faith. In my travels since then, I have asked for many blessings from priesthood holders worldwide. I am grateful to know that priesthood power held by worthy priesthood holders is the same in every land.

Friends who don’t share your standards could actually weaken and tear your standards down. When I first moved to my new school, I tried to fit in by saying some of the things people around me would say. I almost forgot some of my standards while trying to be like everyone. I know now that in order to build your standards, you need friends who support and share your standards. I’m grateful I eventually found friends like that because they remind me of my standards.
Logan J., 15, Utah, USA

They’ve been running together since they were eight years old. At first, Nachelle and Natalie Stewart would run around the neighborhood together. Today, they run in state and national track championships—and win. They helped the Spanish Fork High School track team become state champions three times, and in 2008 they were invited to compete in the exclusive Nike Outdoor Nationals, where Nachelle took home the bronze in the 800m and Natalie took home the silver in the 400m. Although they often compete against each other in the same events and each tries her best to come out on top—often breaking the other’s record—Nachelle and Natalie remain best friends and are happy to see each other succeed.

On June 29, Brigham learned that three officers from the United States Army were coming to Mosquito Creek. The United States had declared war on Mexico, and President James Polk had authorized the men to recruit a battalion of five hundred Saints for a military campaign to the California coast.

The next day, Brigham discussed the news with Heber Kimball and Willard Richards. Brigham had no quarrel with Mexico, and the idea of helping the United States galled him. But the West could become American territory if the United States won the war, and assisting the army could improve the Saints’ relationship with the nation. More important, the enlisted men’s pay could help the Church fund its westward migration.40

Brigham spoke with the officers as soon as they arrived. He learned that their orders had come after Thomas Kane, a well-connected young man on the East Coast, had heard about the Saints’ plight and introduced Jesse Little to important officials in Washington, DC. After some lobbying, Jesse had met with President Polk and persuaded him to help the Saints move west by enlisting some of them in military service.

Seeing the benefits of the arrangement, Brigham endorsed the orders wholeheartedly. “This is the first offer we have ever had from the government to benefit us,” he declared. “I propose that the five hundred volunteers be mustered, and I will do my best to see all their families brought forward, as far as my influence can be extended, and feed them when I have anything to eat myself.”41

Youth just like you have already started seeing the blessings of striving to become more like Jesus Christ in their everyday lives. Danika and Natasha R., 15, from Ohio, USA, are twin sisters who decided to do just that. Their dad is from Thailand, and because they sometimes visit family there, Danika and Natasha decided they wanted to learn more about Thai food and language.

Danika made a goal to learn to cook some Thai soup recipes. She shopped for the ingredients and practiced new cooking techniques with her dad. Natasha wanted to learn to communicate with her family in Thailand, so she set a goal to learn one new Thai word each day. She used a website to aid her language study and practiced pronouncing words with her dad.

As Danika and Natasha worked on their goals, they wanted to share what they learned with the other young women in their ward. Their leaders helped them organize an activity to learn more about Thailand. At the activity, Danika cooked soup for everyone while Natasha taught them some Thai words.

The sisters also included their friend Grace in the activity. Grace had a personal goal to get better at public speaking, so she gave a presentation on how to use chopsticks so they could eat their soup!

By practicing their goals and working with their leaders and other young women, Danika and Natasha were able to plan a fun night to enjoy with their friends.

Danika and Natasha share that they have received many blessings from striving to learn more about their heritage and celebrating it with their family and other young women. Their experience didn’t come without challenges. Natasha explains, “I was in school while I was learning Thai, so it was sometimes hard to find time to do it.” Danika adds, “At the activity, I had a little bit of trouble making the soup on my own since my dad wasn’t there.” But the sisters both agree that in the end, it was worth it.

Danika says, “I like that I got to spend time with my dad, and it helped me feel closer to my family.” She also explains, “Making and keeping my personal goals helped me come closer to Jesus Christ by giving me a clear path to helping myself and others. Instead of mindlessly milling around like some nights, I had a set standard to follow and keep to, and that gave me more time to think about Christ.”

Natasha says making and keeping her goal “really got me to think deeply about what I needed and wanted to do to become closer to Christ.” She also notes that although she has shifted her focus to a new goal, she was inspired to keep learning Thai: “My original goal was to learn Thai so I can speak to my family in Thailand, so I want to keep learning Thai so I can talk to them.”

Danika and Natasha’s balanced approach to their personal development helped them learn more about their dad’s culture, have fun with friends, and come closer to their family and the Savior—and that’s what Children and Youth is all about.

When I was a young man, my friends and I went to an amusement park, where we rode the flying saucer. It was shaped something like an upside-down plate that went round and round. Most of us tried to get to the middle so we wouldn’t be thrown off by the centrifugal force as the saucer picked up speed. Sometimes those on the edge would grab a friend who was closer to the middle, but that would pull them both completely off the saucer. I soon recognized that the centrifugal force was far less powerful in the middle. I was quite safe in the center even though the saucer was still spinning. But it was risky when someone on the fringe latched on to me. I learned that safety comes from staying close to the center.

Daniel stared out the window. He saw his friends heading to the park with a basketball. He wanted to go too.
“I can’t take you today, Daniel,” Mom said. “Your sister has a bad cold. And you’re not quite old enough to go alone. I’m sorry.”
Daniel frowned at his sister, Elise. She was sitting in her wheelchair with her toys on her lap. She was five, but she couldn’t walk or talk yet. Elise coughed hard. She got sick a lot, and she couldn’t go outside if it was too hot or too cold. And she had to eat through a tube in her stomach.
Daniel loved his sister, but sometimes he felt angry too. It was hard to always do what was best for Elise. He just wanted to play with the other kids. His stomach knotted in frustration.
“It’s not fair!” he said to Mom. “Everything is always about Elise!” He ran down the hall to his room.
Two days later Elise’s cough got much worse, and she had to go to the hospital. Daniel’s grandparents came to stay with him. Mom and Dad spent most of their time at the hospital with Elise for the rest of the week.
Daniel’s grandparents could take him to play with the other kids. But now Daniel was worried about Elise. He was sorry for what he had said to his mom that day. He didn’t like how sometimes he couldn’t go play because of Elise. But Daniel loved how she smiled when he talked to her, and being with her made him feel happy.
Daniel looked out the window, hoping to see Mom and Dad bringing Elise home.
Suddenly Daniel saw Mom’s car turn into the driveway. He ran to meet her.
“Mom, I’m sorry for what I said about Elise that day I got mad,” he said, hugging her tight.
“It’s OK,” Mom said as she hugged him back. “I know you love her. It doesn’t seem fair that we can’t always do the things you want to do. It’s hard sometimes for everybody. But I know we are blessed to have Elise in our family.”
“I miss her,” said Daniel.
“Me too,” said Mom. “The doctor said she can probably come home tomorrow.”
Two weeks later Daniel and Elise were both in Primary.
“Everyone find a partner and form a circle!” the Primary president said.
Daniel hurried forward and grabbed his sister’s wheelchair.
“Elise is my partner,” he told her teacher. He wheeled her up front to join the circle of children.
He looked over at Elise. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
Daniel was glad Elise could be home again. He wanted to be a special brother to her.

At a recent sacrament meeting, a man came into the chapel and sat down near the entrance. His clothes were untidy; his face was unshaven. He appeared somewhat uncomfortable, and I guessed this was his first visit to our branch. He seemed more interested in the furniture around him than in the meeting. This disappointed me because the talks that day were especially uplifting. When he left before the meeting was over, I followed him out. After a short greeting, I simply asked, “What made you leave?”
After a moment, he replied: “I am a very poor man, and the conditions of my life cause me a lot of suffering. I am looking for sympathy and compassion, and when I heard that good people attend your church, I decided to stop by. But I can see that your church is for the rich, and I probably will not find what I am looking for among those people.”
I was very surprised by his answer. The people in our branch are far from rich, and some of them have struggled with need and poverty for a long time. “What made you think that?” I asked him.
At first, his answer discouraged me. “They are so neatly dressed; they are quiet, and their children smile all of the time. Poor people cannot look so happy and content in this joyless life.” Then I invited him to visit us again and promised that if he would investigate the restored gospel, he would find what he was looking for.
Subsequently, as I reflected on our branch, I realized that the man was right. We truly are not poor people because we do not feel that we are. And although need sometimes knocks at our door, we are at peace. We truly are rich because of our faith in Jesus Christ, our knowledge, our families, and our Church. The Lord has blessed us with the eternal riches of a spiritual rebirth and the promise of a future with Him: “Mine eyes are upon you, and the heavens and the earth are in mine hands, and the riches of eternity are mine to give” (D&C 67:2).

On 25 December 2010, my family and I were baptized. Everything looked different in our view. I was 12 years old; I was not able to understand much about the Church. As the days passed, I was able to understand the gospel better. I slowly started to learn about the importance of attending the temple. In a family home evening, we invited the missionaries to join us and to teach us. They taught us about how the temples on the earth help members to worship our Heavenly Father, to make and keep covenants and to perform ordinances for our ancestors. These teachings humbled us to be grateful and thankful to God for blessing us with temples on earth. After learning much about the temple, I and my family had a strong desire to go to the temple but because of some challenges in our family it took several years to prepare for the temple. Finally, the day came for me and my family to go to the temple in Hong Kong. It was 1 October 2017 and we were well prepared with family history work and with enthusiasm and with great joy in our hearts we were all set to enter into the house of the Lord.
As we started our journey from India to Hong Kong, our excitement to attend the temple increased. Our flight landed in the Hong Kong International Airport. We were standing in the line for immigration. An immigration officer took us to a different room and asked us lot of questions. Along with my family, there were five others with us from my home branch. My brother and I tried our best to help him understand that we were going to leave Hong Kong after a week. As proof we showed our return tickets, but he was not convinced. The immigration officer made the decision to send us all back to our country. We were devastated. Our excitement and joy turned into sorrow. My mom cried a lot. With great pain, we all returned to our country. Our ordeal continued in India. The Indian immigration authorities also questioned us as why we were sent back. It was with great difficult we were allowed to go. It was not easy to go through this situation, but we stayed faithful hoping that Heavenly Father would show his mercy on us to get into His house and receive His blessings for us.
A couple of weeks later, our branch was visited by a beloved member of our stake presidency. He gave a talk in the sacrament meeting and invited everyone to remain faithful in their trials and to prepare for the temple. He asked all the members to pray for us to go to the temple again. His talk was comforting to our wounded hearts and gave us hope that one day we will be able to attend the temple.
One day I was reading a talk given president Henry B. Eyring on “Try, Try, Try”.1 I learnt from his talk that great things never come easily. When I was reading his talk, the Spirit of the Lord confirmed it to me that I should keep trying because attending the temple is one of the greatest blessings of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ in this dispensation.
My family and I never gave up our desire to go to the house of the Lord. With the help of our loving church leaders, the prayers of the members of our branch and many others who helped us, once again we got the opportunity to go to the temple. We were blessed to go to the Taipei, Taiwan Temple. This time, we did not have any problems in passing the immigration. In the Taiwan airport, we were expecting the officers to ask us questions. But miraculously, they didn’t even ask us a single question. They just let us go. It brought great joy to us.
On 1 February 2018 we entered the temple. We had great experiences in the temple, there are no words to describe those feelings. My family was extremely happy after attending the temple. Our family did sealings, baptism for our ancestors and other ordinances.
While I was in the temple in Taiwan, I was thinking about our temple trip to Hong Kong and the story of Jonah and the whale came to my mind and helped me understand that we were meant to be sealed as a family in Taiwan temple not in Hong Kong.
My dear brothers and sisters we may face lot of challenges on our progress towards eternal life but it is after the trial of our faith that we receive witness as it is mentioned in Book of Mormon in Ether 12:6: “For ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.” We might have lot of works to do but don’t postpone visiting the temple. As you make attending the temple a priority, you will receive many blessings which our Heavenly Father has stored for us. I have received so many blessings personally. I testify that when we have true desire to go to the temple nothing can stop us2. And I promise you that when you attend the temple, you will literally feel the love that our Heavenly Father and the Saviour have for us.

When the Montreal Quebec Temple was rededicated after major renovations in 2015, open houses were organized by our local leaders. It was the ideal time to invite friends to come and see the temple.
I immediately thought of two good college friends who had already asked me about the Church and my beliefs. In the past, both of them had agreed to attend sacrament meeting at Christmastime. I had also invited them to my wedding two years earlier. That had been an opportunity to explain to them why they could come to the reception but not to the sealing ceremony in the temple.1
Still, even though I had talked with them about the Church before, I hesitated to invite them. I feared being in an uncomfortable situation if they refused. Finally, I got the courage and asked them over the phone: “Would you like to see the place where I was married? The temple is open to the public for guided tours. If that’s of interest to you, we could go together.”
The answer in both cases was a swift “Yes! I would like that.”
One of my friends came with her two children, and the other came with her spouse. It was an unforgettable experience for me. I felt immense joy in being able to share my love for the temple with them.

On a Sunday morning a few years ago, Donald Pinnell, now president of the Amarillo Texas Stake, was attending church in his branch in Tucumcari when suddenly someone brought him the alarming news, “Brother Pinnell, your home is on fire!”
President Pinnell quickly found his two sons, ages twelve and sixteen, and headed toward his ranch. His first thoughts were of his wife who had stayed home that day recuperating from recent surgery. He had no word about her until the driver of a returning fire truck stopped along the way to tell him she was safe.
Brother and Sister Pinnell had just built their dream home, a Spanish-style house on their ranch fifty miles out in the country. It was a very nice home and a source of great pleasure to their family.
As he and his boys approached the top of the terrain, they could see in the distance the smoke coming from their burning home. Donald Pinnell said of that moment, “We could tell that our home was completely engulfed in flames; and I just stopped the car at the top of the hill for a few minutes. I said to my sons, ‘Now look, you can spend all your life storing up treasures of the earth, and you can sit on a hill and watch them go up in flames, or you can store up the right kind of treasures and take them with you through eternity.’”
The right kind of treasures are our families and those divine attributes and qualities of character that are taught and learned in gospel-centered homes.
May we make the necessary individual and family course corrections which will put the Lord and our families first and fill our homes with these eternal treasures, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“A parade up and down the blocks to see what was beneath each tree was an annual Christmas tradition for the children in our neighborhood. How parents permitted such a desecration of the day, such a trial-by-comparison trauma, I can’t understand. But year after year the parade persisted.
“The gifts beneath the trees in the homes of my friends were as different as the income and situation, as the taste and concern for the celebration would allow. And in the difference there was always pain for somebody.
“There was a friend in that pitiful parade whose father gave her a pair of shoes every year. Period. Shoes. Every year he would choose them himself without her counsel, and every year they’d be sturdy enough to last forever, ugly enough to ruin a girl’s chances at life. She hated them of course, and we hated him for what it did to her. Christmas after Christmas. Each year I told her they were okay, cute, neat, or great (whatever was the appropriate vernacular of that year), hoping against hope it would help.
“Then there was a girl who didn’t even get a gift as grand as shoes. Except for maybe an apron her aunt made, she seldom received anything at all. As we neared her house, she’d begin talking grandly about how she had all her gifts put away already. There was no point in even going to her house, she’d insist. But everybody else persisted just the same.
“‘Let’s go to your house last,’ I’d suggest, hoping we’d all have to go home by then. And sometimes it worked.
“I loved this friend with a protective passion and gave her the best gift on my list. And each year I told her that all I wanted was a bottle of her mom’s applesauce. And that’s what she gave me, ribbon tied.
“I think of that each canning season now, wondering why my own applesauce never tastes like the memory.”

How well I remember in the first grade in St. Johns, Arizona, that just as regularly as my mother sent me to school with combed hair, just as regularly would I mess it up when I was out of her sight. It was not an act of rebellion, nor of disrespect. It was an act of survival. For you see, at that time and that place, the accepted grooming standard for boys was disheveled hair; you cannot begin to imagine the burden that would have been laid upon me had I gone to school with combed hair and the name Francis Marion.

Later, in high school in Phoenix, combed hair was in, and so were saddle oxfords and argyle socks and corduroys. It was only on rare occasions that we ventured out of this uniform. I have observed the same phenomenon in my own children and their friends. Indeed, we wondered a few years ago whether the clothiers had discontinued manufacturing any kind of jacket except the blue Windbreaker And then, for a while, quilted jackets were very much in vogue.