Gospel Story Finder

I had been taught by my parents and Church leaders to believe in the truthfulness of the gospel. I had been active in Church and seminary. But the real hour of my conversion didn’t come until I was a young man traveling to serve in the West German Mission. In those days, we traveled by train and by boat. After four days on the train, we arrived in New York City and got on a large steamship called the America.
It was very stormy on the North Atlantic Ocean that November, and my traveling companions and I were seasick. We sang hymns, studied the scriptures, and tried to stay cheerful.
As I was out on that ocean where I could see nothing but water in all directions, it dawned on me, “I have always felt the Church is true.” But suddenly the question came into my mind, “Can I look into the eyes of strangers and say without any question that I know?”
Alone in our little room aboard that ship, I got down on my knees. The ship trembled because of the big propeller driving it forward through the storms, but in that moment I couldn’t tell if it was me or the ship trembling! I poured out my heart to the Lord and said, “I have to know, because if I don’t know I can’t testify.”
Over the remaining two or three days on the ship, my prayer was answered. Peace came over me and I knew. Not only did I know that the Church was true, but I also knew that I could stand up to anyone who might challenge the doctrine. I knew that I wouldn’t buckle or weaken or be frightened, and I never was. From that moment on, I never felt any hesitation to share my testimony.

I had made the commitment to serve a mission, but there is also mandatory military service in South Korea. After high school, many young men entered the military, fulfilled their mandatory service, and immediately pursued an education and found jobs. It was difficult to give another two years to missionary service. There were only a few Korean elders then.
When I turned 19, I kept my commitment and prepared and sent in my mission papers. I was called to serve in the Korea Busan Mission. One year later, I was drafted into the military. I was so sad that I had to stop my mission.
When I completed my military service three years later, I felt that I had not yet completed my mission. Everyone told me, “You already served a mission. The Lord understands your situation, so serving for only one year is OK.”
I asked my good friend from seminary what I should do. She said that she knew I would serve another year of my mission. Her trust gave me confidence and confirmation to serve more. I served the second year of my mission in the Korea Seoul Mission. By the time I finished, I was 25 years old. I later married that same friend and we were sealed in the Laie Hawaii Temple.
This experience taught me that you will be all right even when things do not happen the way you had designed. When your plans and vision fit with the Lord’s will for you, He will help you in your life decisions.

While studying at Brigham Young University as a young, single returned missionary, I attended a priesthood session of general conference in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. President Ezra Taft Benson, then-President of the Church, urged every returned missionary to take marriage seriously and make it a top priority in his life.7 After the session, I knew I had been called to repentance and needed to act on the prophet’s counsel.
Thus, I decided to go to my home country, Brazil, to find a wife. Before leaving for Brazil on a two-month internship, I called my mom and some friends on the phone and came up with a list of about 10 young women—each of them a potential wife.
While in Brazil, after much pondering and prayer, I met, dated, got engaged to, and set a date to marry one of the young women on the list. It was not record-breaking time for students in Provo, Utah, to date and become engaged, but it was fast by Brazil standards.
A few months later, I married Elaine. She is the love of my life and a choice blessing.

On the morning of September 12, 2005, Keone and Naomi Kamauoha welcomed a brand new baby girl appropriately named Faith into their family.
Naomi shared the following: “all the pain from the labor and delivery went away as she was handed to me to hold.” Yet within a few hours, their happiness would unexpectedly be interrupted when their new born baby was diagnosed with a serious condition called Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia. Her intestines and spleen had gone through a small hole in her diaphragm up into her chest cavity. When we finally got to see her our hearts broke.
Faith went through 3 surgeries within 16 days of her life. The family fasted and prayed daily for her. During this difficult time when they were unable to hold her, the parents took advantage of talking and singing primary songs to her everyday and telling her they loved her.
Faith was put on an ECMO machine which helps to oxygenate her blood as an artificial lung. A day after Faith was put on the machine; she had opened her eyes and began to move her hands and feet. “It was just like Christmas for us” shared her parents. “It was so awesome to see her beautiful light brown eyes. We comforted her when she was scared and just spent the day talking to her and singing her to sleep. After a couple of days, the doctors needed to sedate her again to allow her lungs to rest before trying to open them up again. It was a rollercoaster ride of ups and downs but we prayed everyday for her comfort that she may have the strength to overcome this.”
On the early morning of October 12, we received a phone call from her doctor that we needed to come in and be with our daughter. “She was bleeding in her lungs and it could not be stopped. When we arrived, she was put into a deep sleep. The nurses removed the many tubes and IV’s that were in her, gave her a bath, clothed and wrapped her in a blanket, and gave her to us.
“As we held her, we sang and talked to her and told her how much we loved her. Our Bishop came to be with us and we asked him many questions about our daughter and what was going to happen with her spirit. His knowledge of the Plan of Salvation helped give us comfort. Faith returned back to a loving Heavenly Father that day.”
What could have been as stumbling block for this young couple became a stepping stone for them. As the mother expressed: “Although I may not understand at times, I know that the Lord knows who I am and hears my prayers. This experience taught me to be even more grateful for the gospel in my life for it has brought me peace and comfort throughout this time” (Kamauoha, 2005).

Sidney Rigdon, a member of the First Presidency and a former minister himself, recognized the importance of education and encouraged Lorenzo to continue with his schooling. However, the former Oberlin student now had other goals in mind. Though he said he was extremely shy and the thought of preaching to others concerned him deeply, he was still consumed by a desire to share the gospel with others. To him it was the most important thing he could do.
In the spring of 1837 he was called to serve, and he set out alone to preach in Ohio without purse or scrip. This was to be one of the hardest ordeals of his life.
“It was … a severe trial to my natural feelings of independence to go without purse or scrip—especially the purse,” he said; “for, from the time I was old enough to work, the feeling that I ‘paid my way’ always seemed a necessary adjunct to self respect, and nothing but a positive knowledge that God required it now, as He did anciently of His servants, the Disciples of Jesus, could induce me to go forth dependent on my fellow creatures for the common necessaries of life. But my duty in this respect was clearly made known to me, and I determined to do it.”
With concern in his heart and with trust in the Lord, Elder Snow embarked on his first mission. He visited an aunt and then traveled for about thirty miles. Just as the sun was setting, he made his first official call as a Mormon elder and was refused a night’s lodging. He made eight calls that night before being admitted for the night—“going to bed supperless, and leaving in the morning, minus a breakfast.” This was his first introduction to missionary work, but he refused to let discouragement get him down. He served a faithful mission in his home state, baptizing some of his relatives and friends. Then he moved with the Saints to Missouri.

“Oh, Sarah, that’s a beautiful sweater!”
As usual there was a crowd of girls clustered around Sarah Dunlap. This time they were admiring a pink sweater, soft and luxurious.
“It’s such a beautiful color!” one girl exclaimed.
“Where did you get it?” another asked.
“At the Mainline—yesterday.” Sarah smiled smugly. “Dad gave me the money and told me to get whatever I wanted.”
Janie Meyers stood on the fringe of the group. How she would love to have the girls crowd around her like that! If I could buy beautiful clothes like Sarah does, I’d be popular, too, Janie thought. She wished for the hundredth time that they had never moved here to Yarborough. Why did her Dad have to lose his job in Macetown? His job in Yarborough didn’t pay nearly the money that his old job did, and everything here was much more expensive. Having things seemed important to these girls at Janie’s new school. She longed for her old, comfortable, Macetown friends as she turned and started down the street by herself.
Janie heard the group giggling and talking as they left the school. She walked as slowly as she could, hoping that they would catch up with her and include her in their group.
But the girls passed her without a word. Janie blinked quickly to keep from crying. She stared down at her blue cotton dress. No wonder none of the girls will talk to me or make friends with me. My dress is two years old and looks a little worn. If we could afford to have nice things, I’d make a lot of friends, she told herself resentfully.
Janie felt guilty about her thoughts. She knew that her parents were trying as hard as they could to make things comfortable for her and her sister, Susie. Living here wasn’t easy on them either.
“Hey, Janie, wait up!” Monica Lewis ran up and swung her arm through Janie’s. “I was wondering if you could come over to my place this afternoon, Janie.”
Janie couldn’t believe it! Monica dressed even better than Sarah, and Janie knew that she lived in one of the nicest houses in town. Janie stammered in her eagerness to accept. “S-sure.” Then she remembered and added, “I’ll have to call my mom and let her know.”
Although Janie had never seen anything as large and grand as Monica’s house, she was surprised that Monica’s mother wasn’t there.
Monica shrugged it off. “Mother’s probably at some committee meeting or something. She’s never here when I get home.”
Janie couldn’t remember a time that her mom hadn’t been home when she got there after school, but she didn’t say anything.
Monica’s room almost made Janie gasp. Monica had her own record player, her own phone, even her own TV! Janie thought ruefully of the small room she shared with her sister.
About a half hour later Mrs. Lewis came home. The girls were playing records and dancing when the door burst open. …
“Monica, turn that thing off!” Monica’s mother was a small woman, but her voice was loud and harsh. “I have a splitting headache, and I certainly don’t need to hear that noise.”
“You always have a headache,” Monica muttered.
“It’s no wonder, listening to your racket. And keep a civil tongue, miss. Who’s this?”
Monica mumbled the introductions.
Mrs. Lewis acted as if she didn’t even hear. “Your friend can’t stay long. I have to leave again in a half hour, and you’ll have to fix supper for your father and brother. There’re some TV dinners in the freezer. All you have to do is heat them up and make a salad. Hurry up now, Monica.” Rubbing her head, Monica’s mother left the room.
There was dead silence. Monica looked as if she were going to cry. After a moment Janie suggested, “I guess I’d better be going.”
Monica clutched her arm. “Wait a sec, Janie. I was wondering … You’re doing pretty well in geography, aren’t you?”
Janie nodded.
“Do you think we could study together sometime? I don’t understand what we’re doing.”
Was that why Monica invited me over? Janie wondered. Just so I could help her with her studies? It was all Janie could do to agree to get together for a study session sometime soon. She left Monica’s house as quickly as she could and started for home.
The minute that Janie opened the door to her own house, she heard Mrs. Saunder’s voice in the living room. Mrs. Saunders had come over as part of the welcoming committee soon after Janie and her family had moved to Yarborough. She had a booming voice and expensive tastes. It seemed to Janie that Mrs. Saunders looked down on her mother because she didn’t live in a big house or wear expensive clothes.
“Then we can expect you to help with the charity rummage sale, dear?” Mrs. Saunder’s voice came out to the hall where Janie stood. Janie closed the door quietly and tiptoed up the stairs.
“Yes, I’d love to help.” Her mother’s quiet voice floated up to Janie. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
How can Mother be so nice to that woman? Janie wondered. She heard the rustle of movement as Mrs. Saunders rose to leave.
“Perhaps you could pick up a few things for yourself while you’re tending the booth.”
Janie stopped abruptly as Mrs. Saunders’ comments rose up to her. How dare Mrs. Saunders say such a thing!
Then she heard her mother’s voice: “Oh, I don’t think that we’ll be buying anything right now. There really isn’t that much that we need.”
“But, my dear”—Mrs. Saunders wouldn’t leave the subject alone—“it must be so hard for you. I think that you are just marvelous. You’re coping so well.”
“Hard for me?”
“Why, yes. To have to do without so much!”
“But I have the best things of all, the greatest things that anyone could have: I have my health, my family’s health, the love and companionship of a good and gentle man, and two good, happy, kind, loving daughters. What could possibly be more valuable than that?”
“Oh, well, of course,” Mrs. Saunders murmured. Janie could tell that Mrs. Saunders hadn’t understood a word that Mother had said.
Mrs. Saunders didn’t see Janie on the stairs as she said good-bye and left. In a rush Janie was down the stairs and in her mom’s arms. “Did you really mean it, Mom?” Janie whispered. “Are Daddy and Susie and I really that important to you?”
Mom gently stroked Janie’s hair. “Of course, dear. Oh, I get tired of scrimping, of not being able to get you and Susie pretty things, of worrying about paying the bills, and of all the rest of it. But, darling, when I get very discouraged, I just remember the three of you and how much I love you. You are everything that is really important to me. So whenever I get blue, I remember how blessed I am, and I try even harder.”
Janie thought about the girls at school. She remembered how hurt she’d been that none of the other girls had paid attention to her. But I didn’t really try to make friends. I was so worried that I didn’t have everything that they all had that I didn’t give them a chance, she decided. Maybe all Monica wanted right now was a tutor for geography, but it looked like she needed a friend as much as Janie did. She moved toward the phone.
“Where are you going?” Mother asked.
“To see if Monica wants to come over and study after dinner,” Janie replied. “I think she’s going to like it here almost as much as I do!”

Some years ago I was in Washington, D.C., on business, and the planes of five major airlines were grounded. It was imperative that I get back to Utah as soon as possible since I had some research that needed to be attended to, some classes to teach, and some Church responsibilities to discharge. I decided to go to the terminal in the wee hours when most people don’t like to travel. By going from one airline office to another I finally arranged for a flight to Chicago. I did the same thing at Chicago and finally got to Denver. I thought I would have no problem getting to Salt Lake from Denver because there were three airlines that had planes flying that route, but that is where the problem really became difficult. I just couldn’t get a plane to work it out. I took an airplane that was headed for Phoenix, Arizona, got off at Farmingion, New Mexico, intercepted a plane that was headed for Salt Lake City from El Paso, Texas, and I had it made.
But you know, as I sat in those terminals hour after hour after hour, I looked out on the runways and saw those magnificent jet planes—each one costing millions of dollars, each one having a tremendous potential to do a transportation job for me and for thousands of other people who were caught in the same fix I was—but what were they doing? Nothing. Why? Because there was no one who could or would step on the starter, or step on the gas, so to speak. Thus many were stranded.

“When I was a little boy,” President Hinckley said, “we traveled by horse and buggy. We had a sorrel horse, Prince, who was a feisty animal. He had to be treated just right or he would get a little balky and mean. He was rather high-spirited but a fine-looking animal.

“Then one historic day in our family, my father came driving up to our home in a new 1916 Model T Ford. What an exciting day that was! That Ford took the place of Prince and the buggy, yet all the time that I was growing up, we had a saddle horse or two.”

About a year after we moved to our new house, I went back to my grandparents’ house to receive my patriarchal blessing. I was only 13, but I felt ready. If I hadn’t ever lived with my grandparents, I wouldn’t have known what kind of experience was in store for me. But since I knew what was waiting for me, I guess that just made me all the more eager to get it. I spent the whole day reading my scriptures and listening to Church music because I wanted to recreate the time when I felt the Holy Ghost the strongest so I would be ready to receive my blessing.
Every time I read my blessing, I understand it better. The first time I read it, there were a lot of phrases I didn’t understand. But now it just kind of clicks. Every time I read it, it grows nearer and dearer to my heart. I know it is a gift from God.
Having my grandpa be my patriarch at first made me wonder a little if some of the blessing was just coming from him because he wants the best for me. But there are parts of my blessing that he couldn’t possibly know about me. So that reconfirms to me that it was inspired. What was said and the Spirit I felt let me know it was from Heavenly Father.
Your patriarchal blessing tells you personally that Heavenly Father loves you, and it will help you through life. I know that if I listen to what my blessing says, I’ll be able to overcome my problems in life.
While I was getting my blessing, I felt the Holy Ghost more than I ever had before. And when you feel that feeling, you know it’s real; you know that nothing on earth could have caused it.

The Gestewitz family has a great love for missionary work. In early 1987 the missionaries knocked on the door. Daniel’s mother, Tracy, answered it and was very curious about the young men and their message. She had seen the young men walking up and down the street in front of her home and had often wondered who they were and just why they were out on foot in the middle of the winter. So she invited them to come back when her husband, Kenneth, would be home. At the end of April Daniel’s parents were baptized and became members of the Lancaster Pennsylvania First Ward. A year later, when he was four years old, Daniel’s family was sealed in the temple.

I really don’t know how I let Sister Moffat talk me into it in the first place. Before I knew what was happening, I had agreed to give a five-minute talk in sacrament meeting about being reverent. All the other guys in my Primary class were pounding me on the back, saying they were glad it was me, not them.
“You really are a pal, Alan,” Will said. “You saved all the rest of us.”
Yeah, I thought, but who’s going to save me?
When I got home, I told Mom about it. “I don’t know why I said I’d do it. I can’t talk for five minutes.”
“It sounds like a great opportunity to me,” she said, smiling.
Somehow I knew she’d say that. That’s what mothers always say. “But five minutes,” I said. “That’s a long time to talk about ways to be reverent.”
Mom chuckled. “Five minutes isn’t nearly as long as it sounds to you. I’ll help you. Together I’m sure we can think of enough to take up five minutes.”
“I sure hope so,” I said. I was glad she had volunteered to help, though. It was kind of like she had picked up the other end of a heavy load that I had been trying to lift by myself.
Because this was a talk for sacrament meeting, and because Dad says that sacrament meeting is probably the most important of all our church meetings, I knew that I couldn’t put off preparing it until Saturday. So after school on Monday I asked Mom if she had time to write any of my talk.
She looked at me in surprise. “Now, wait a minute. I didn’t say that I would write your talk. I said that I would help you write one.”
“But you always wrote my talks before,” I said. “I thought that was what you meant when you said you’d help me.”
“You’re old enough now that I don’t have to do everything for you. Wasn’t it you who was telling me last week that a ten-year-old ought to have more privileges than his eight-year-old sister?”
“But I don’t even know how to begin,” I wailed. “You said you’d help me.”
“I will,” Mom answered. “But there’s a difference between helping you and doing it for you.”
Well, when Mom finally convinced me that she really wasn’t going to do it all, I pleaded for suggestions. She said we should start with prayer. Then, by asking questions, she helped me get a better idea of what I wanted to say. After that, she helped me decide in what order to say things.
I still had to sit down and write the talk out myself, but it wasn’t as hard as I’d thought it would be, because I knew what I wanted to say. When I finished, Mom helped me correct some grammar mistakes.
Once the talk was written, I started feeling kind of glad that I was going to talk in sacrament meeting. I practiced giving it every day in front of a mirror. By the time Saturday rolled around, I felt pretty confident. As long as I had my paper there to remind me what came next, I could give most of the talk by just glancing down once in a while.
Sunday morning I made one last trial run with Dad as my audience. “Alan, that is a very fine talk,” he said. “You’ll do just great in sacrament meeting. But there is one thing that you don’t want to forget.”
“What’s that?” I asked, a little disappointed to think that something wasn’t just right.
Seeing my disappointment, he said, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with your talk. I just want to remind you to ask Heavenly Father to help you do your best.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling much better. “I will.”
Sitting up on the stand, I felt pretty important. I glanced at the clock—two minutes until the meeting started. I felt a nervous excitement as I reached into my pocket for my talk. It wasn’t there! I felt in my other pockets. I looked on the floor. It was gone! Just then the bishop got up and announced the opening song and prayer.
What was I going to do? I caught Mom’s eye and gave her a pleading look. She just smiled at me. I began praying fervently that the paper with my talk on it would miraculously appear. I felt in my pockets again—nothing. When I put the hymnbook under my seat, I felt around the entire area for my paper—still nothing.
When the deacons were just about finished passing the sacrament, I knew that my miracle was not going to happen. I began praying that I would be able to remember my talk or that I would at least know what to say.
Suddenly, I heard my name as the bishop announced me as the first speaker. With heavy feet I walked slowly to the pulpit. I could see my mother and father smiling at me. Will was pointing at me.
I was sure that everyone could see me shaking. Very slowly I announced the topic of my talk. There was Sister Moffat. She was smiling too. I just stood there quaking for a minute. Then something miraculous did happen: I remembered the first few sentences! As I began speaking, I remembered more and more. It was almost like I was standing in front of the mirror at home, except that I felt a warm, radiating glow around me.
I was finished before I knew it. The rest of the meeting was like a pleasant afterglow. I felt wonderful. That feeling was only intensified by all the compliments I received when the meeting was over.
“Alan,” Dad said, “you were great!”
“You really were,” Mom said as she gave me a kiss on the cheek. “We’re proud of you.”
“But you know,” I confessed, “I didn’t think I was going to be able to do it, because I lost the paper with my talk on it. When I discovered it was gone, it was too late to do anything else but pray for help. So I did. Heavenly Father really came through for me.”
“It sounds like you learned more than just how to give a good talk,” said Dad, giving my shoulders a squeeze.
“Yeah, I really did.”

At times our environment can be difficult for us to keep a becoming attitude. The people of Alma found themselves in such circumstances when they were brought into bondage by his former associate Amulon. Instead of murmuring and complaining, Alma and his people did “pour out their hearts to [God]; and he did know the thoughts of their hearts” (Mosiah 24:12). The Lord did ease their burdens that they were made light. He did “strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord’ (Mosiah 24:15). During my sophomore year in college, I had a short season when I felt completely overwhelmed. A registration of a block class created a credit load which was more than I could bear. Every moment of every day was consumed with a class or preparation for a class. About half-way through the course, I had reached my limit. I pled with the Lord in prayer for assistance and relief. I remember falling into bed exhausted, uncertain if I could face another full day. The next morning when I awoke, the burdening feeling of my coursework was gone. My schedule had not changed, but the suffocating feelings were no longer there. The demands were still great, but I was able to stay on and complete the course. Though it seems a small thing to me now, it was all my life at the time and consumed me. I gained a testimony that the Lord will strengthen us through in our difficulties however great or small if we will turn to Him. Truly he does “lift up the hands that hang down” and will “strengthen the feeble knees” – including hands filled with papers, projects, tests, busy schedules and work (D&C 81:5).

I’d like to tell you another experience about a carpenter my father used to hire. He was a very fine man, a very sharp and astute individual. He collected quotations. I still have two or three of the books that he pulled together on the sayings of the Brethren on different subjects. He was a tremendous gospel scholar. This man not only served a good mission, but he had gained to a tremendous extent and ability in gospel scholarship. He knew the scriptures; he knew the gospel. He would go to Sunday School class and priesthood class, and he would disrupt everything because he was constantly correcting the teachers on the little issues or bringing up gospel dimensions of which the teachers were not aware. When he would get in a sort of cross fire with the teachers, he would usually win; he was usually right. It was not only frustrating to the teachers; it was disruptive to the class.

This friend of ours changed his way one day. He shared with us what happened to him. He said, “I suppose you could say that I had a revelation. For one thing, I heard heavenly choirs. Never in my entire life had I heard music like that. Oh, how I want to be there! It was a beautiful experience.” Then he said, “Someone talked to me and scolded me. I was told that I must not disrupt the Sunday School and priesthood classes. ‘You must not do it because you bring contention and that brings the spirit of the devil. You must not do it.’” So he became cooperative and helpful in his classes from that time forward. The lesson I learned from that is that a man who uses his knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ to contend, to demonstrate that he knows a bit more than someone else, a man who feeds controversy by virtue of his background or his understanding of an issue, is a man who will introduce the spirit of the adversary into a gathering where the Spirit of the Lord is expected to be. It not only damages him, but it damages the faith and the testimony of the people around him long, long after the issues are forgotten.

Over the years I’ve remembered the experience of the carpenter, and I’ve seen that upholding the priesthood is greater, far greater, in working out our own individual salvation than any point of controversy or doctrine that we could make that causes contention and brings feelings of contrariness. Those kinds of things cause the influence of the adversary to affect a person’s heart, and they are not according to the will and inspiration of the Lord. It’s better that we keep the spirit of controversy out of our discussions, out of our teaching, than to feel that we are enlightening people when in reality all we’re doing is destroying the faith and testimony of those who may not be as well founded as we are.

I believe that, as teachers and members of the Church, and as children of our Father in Heaven, we need to remember the lesson that my friend the carpenter learned when somebody spoke to him from the heavens and told him not to be so controversial because it introduced a spirit that was from the adversary. While it might not have affected him too much, it affected those who were listening and caused him to be in a position where he was not a builder, where he was not an example of the believer.

President Brigham Young also knew the power of the written word and the importance of women in the Church. In September 1876 he met with Emmeline in his office and said to her: “I want to give you a mission, and it is to save grain. … I want the sisters to save the grain and I want. … you to begin by writing the strongest editorial that you can possibly write upon this subject.”
In 1876 Emmeline’s first editorial encouraging all women to save wheat appeared in the Woman’s Exponent. A central grain committee was established with Emmeline as chairman. Money was raised to buy wheat, fields were gleaned, and wheat was saved. Children helped the sisters too. During the first year of the program over 10,000 bushels of grain were saved! In subsequent years the wheat was given to the poor as well as to people in southern Utah who suffered from a drought. Flour was sent to San Francisco after the earthquake and fire in 1906, and a year later China received help from the Church during a famine. During World War I, the Relief Society sold more than one hundred thousand bushels of wheat to the United States government.

Shortly before the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, a group of us stood in an unfinished room. Building materials and tools were scattered over the floor and craftsmen were busily engaged in placing finishing touches on the walls and ceiling. Though the room was untidy and a beehive of activity, we were subdued by the emerging beauty of the temple.
I asked Brother Henry Haurand, the construction supervisor, “Do the workers appreciate the significance of this project?”
“No,” he answered, “they are not members of the Church and they don’t understand the sacred nature of temples. To them,” he added, “this is just another job.”
My wife inquired of Henry, “Do you always feel the Spirit of the Lord when you come here?”
“No, I do not,” he responded. “When I enter the temple during the working day, I do so as a building supervisor and I look with a critical eye for flaws in the construction. In this inspective mood, I feel nothing special about the place. But,” Brother Haurand continued, “when I come here in the quiet of the evening and the place is free of noise and confusion, and I am able to reflect upon the holy purposes of the temple, I am overwhelmed by the Spirit of the Lord.”
I have pondered Brother Henry’s words many, many times. I’ve concluded that he taught us two profound truths: (1) sacred things are seen and appreciated only through “the eyes of faith,” and (2) things of the Spirit can only be discerned by “purer eyes” (Alma 5:15; D&C 131:7).

What, then, is death like? Here is a simple incident as told by my friend, Dr. Peter Marshall, the late chaplain of the United States Senate:
In a certain home, a little boy, the only son, was ill with an incurable disease. Month after month the mother had tenderly nursed him, but as the weeks went by and he grew no better, the little fellow gradually began to understand the meaning of death and he, too, realized that soon he was to die. One day his mother had been reading the story of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, and as she closed the book the boy lay silent for a moment, then asked the question that had been laying on his heart. “Mother, what is it like to die? Mother, does it hurt?” Quick tears filled her eyes. She sprang to her feet and fled to the kitchen, supposedly to go get something. She prayed on the way a silent prayer that the Lord would tell her what to say, and the Lord did tell her. Immediately she knew how to explain it to him. She said, as she returned from the kitchen, “Kenneth, you will remember when you were a little boy, you would play so hard you were too tired to undress and you tumbled into your mother’s bed and fell asleep. In the morning you would wake up and much to your surprise, you would find yourself in your own bed. In the night your father would pick you up in his big, strong arms and carry you to your own bedroom. Kenneth, death is like that; we just wake up one morning to find ourselves in the room where we belong because the Lord Jesus loves us.” The lad’s shining face looked up and told her there would be no more fear, only love and trust in his heart as he went to meet the Father in heaven. He never questioned again and several weeks later he fell asleep, just as she had said. This is what death is like. [Catherine Marshall, A Man Called Peter, pp. 260–61]

Years ago, while on a stake visit, President Kimball interviewed a brother who was a grocer by trade. I quote President Kimball,
"'What do you sell in this store?' . . . 'Groceries and miscellaneous merchandise.' 'Your competitors sell other things including forbidden things, do they not?' I asked. 'Yes, but we have felt it was not right. . . We lost trade, of course. People leave our store and go to the other store and buy many dollars worth of groceries where they can get a few cans of beer or some wine, but we do not sell it.' And I could not refrain from saying, 'God bless you, my faithful brother. . . Your dollars are clean.'"[18]

When I was single and attending my YSA ward, many of my friends and I faced a lot of challenges as we strived for the blessings of eternal marriage and family we learn about in the gospel of Jesus Christ. Some of these friends were single much longer than they wanted to be, others had gotten married but were suddenly widowed or divorced, and others faced serious health challenges that imperiled their chances of getting married or having their own children.
In different ways, we were struggling to keep our faith despite lost hope and shattered dreams.
At first, when I got home from my mission, I was hopeful I would get married soon. I had recently accepted that I experience same-sex attraction and decided that I would faithfully stay on the covenant path and have optimism about my future in the gospel rather than give up. But dating women was still a challenge. And as the years after my mission stretched on, my hope in getting married receded and instead felt like a practical impossibility.
I had a testimony of the doctrine taught in the family proclamation,1 but it was sometimes painful to read because the beautiful eternal family it described just didn’t seem possible for me.
I wondered where my friends and I fit in Heavenly Father’s plan.
One night while I was weighed down by my trials, I had a dream. In the dream, I felt an overwhelming feeling of love. I dreamed that God invited me to ask Him for food, and I dreamed I went to bed and arose with that food miraculously provided. The dream was so vivid that when I woke up, I was almost surprised there wasn’t food waiting for me at the foot of my bed. The dream left me with an absolute conviction that God had and would continue to nourish me.
The dream stuck with me all day, and I had a vague recollection of a story of a worn-out prophet in the Old Testament who went to sleep and woke up to a meal provided by an angel, but I couldn’t remember who he was. I wanted to locate the story in my scriptures that night, but I felt prompted to open the Ensign and browse through it first. As I opened the magazine, I noticed a beautiful painting on the inside back cover.
The painting was An Angel Came to Elijah, by Walter Rane, and it portrayed the exact Old Testament story I had been trying to remember.
I was shocked. What were the odds?
The story I had been looking for is found in 1 Kings 19. The prophet Elijah is exhausted from constantly being on the run. He is ready to give up and asks the Lord to take his life and then lies down underneath a juniper tree to sleep (see verse 4). He awakens to find water and warm bread, which he eats, and then he goes back to sleep. Then, a second time, an angel awakens him and says, “Arise and eat; because the journey is too great for thee” (verse 7). And as he does, he eventually “went in the strength of that meat forty days and forty nights” (verse 8).
To my further astonishment, in the same issue of the magazine, there was a faith-promoting article about same-sex attraction.2
I was in awe of the Lord’s care for me. The Holy Ghost confirmed that these inspired words from others were perfectly timed and meant for me. I could not deny that God was mindful of me and would provide for my needs if I continued to follow Him.
Like Elijah, I sometimes felt that my journey was too great to bear. But I felt so loved and understood by the Lord in that moment. I knew that He understood my circumstances and that my suffering mattered to Him. And if I partook of the spiritual sustenance that only He could provide, I would receive strength to continue my journey.

I had an experience from which I learned a very important lesson that I should have learned earlier. I relived this experience last week when we were in Japan and concluded that I would talk about it in conference.
During World War II, I was a pilot in the Air Force. After service in the Pacific Islands, I spent a year in Japan with the occupational forces. It was, of course, advisable to learn a few words of Japanese. We needed at least to be able to ask directions, ask for something to eat. I learned the common greetings and a few of the numbers and the salutations, and like many other members of the Church, I spent all my off-duty hours in missionary work among the Japanese people; and I learned from them those few words of what I thought was a very difficult language.
In July of 1946, the first baptisms took place in Osaka. Brother and Sister Tatsui Sato were baptized. And while they had been taught for the most part by others, I was privileged to baptize Sister Sato.
Though we were not unhappy in Japan, there was really only one thing on our minds, and that was home! I had been away for nearly four years. The war was over, and I wanted to go home.
When that day finally arrived, I supposed never to return to Japan, and I just closed that chapter.
The next years saw me busy getting an education, raising a family. I was not around Japanese people and had no occasion to use those few words that I had learned. They were left in the dim and very distant past, erased by 26 years of forgetting—gone, as I thought, forever. Then came an assignment to Japan.
The morning after my arrival in Tokyo, I was leaving the mission home with President Abo when a Japanese elder spoke to him in Japanese. President Abo said that the matter was urgent and apologized for the delay.
He went through some papers with the elder, discussing them in Japanese. Then he held up one of the letters and, pointing to a sentence, he said, “Korewa …”
And before he could complete the sentence, I had completed it in my mind. Korewa nan desuka. I knew what he was saying. I knew what he was asking the elder. Korewa nan desuka means “What is this?” After 26 years, having been back in Japan only overnight, a sentence had come back into my mind—Korewa nan desuka, “What is this?”
I had not used those words in 26 years. I had thought that I should never use them again. But they were not lost. I spent ten days in Japan and concluded my tour in Fukuoka. The morning I was to leave, we drove to the airport with Brother and Sister Watanabe. I was in the backseat with their children practicing my long-lost words of Japanese on them. They, in delight, were teaching me some new ones.
And then I recalled a little song that I had learned those 26 years before, and I sang it to those children:
Momotaro-san, Momotaro-san
Okoshi ni tsuketa kibi dango
Hitotsu watashi ni kudasan na
I think the way I sang that may make Jerold Ottley, conductor of the Tabernacle Choir, sitting nearby, restless, but … Sister Watanabe said, “I know that song.” And so we sang it together to the little children and then she told me the meaning of it, and as she did so, I remembered that also.
It is the story of a Japanese couple who were childless, and they had prayed for a son. One day, in the stone of a large peach, they found a little boy and they named him Momotaro. The song recounts his heroism in saving his people from a terrible enemy.
I had known that song for 26 years, but I didn’t know that I knew it. I had never sung the song to my own children. I had never told them the story of it. It had been smothered under 26 years of attention to other things.
I have thought that a most important experience and realized finally that nothing good is ever lost. Once I got back among the people who spoke the language, all that I possessed came back and it came back very quickly. And I found it easier then to add a few more words to my vocabulary.

I remember the day my father died; my mind was somewhat in anxiety and turmoil. I returned home, sat in my favorite chair, and picked up the scriptures to meditate and find peace. I read a little, then closed my eyes, and in my mind’s eye I saw my father as a young man, and he was dressed in white. Although he had never become a member of the Church, I knew I would see him in the resurrection, and furthermore, I had seen him as he would appear. My mind was at peace again. When we rely on the Lord, we can have fulfillment of his promise, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: . . . Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27). He is “The Prince of Peace” (Isaiah 9:6).