Gospel Story Finder

I used to look at the Old Testament in sort of the same way I looked at fairy tales—neat stories that didn’t really relate to my life. Separated from me by thousands of years of history, they seemed far removed from reality. However, my seminary teacher loved the Old Testament, and his enthusiasm and humble testimony began to instill in me a greater reverence for these scriptures.
One night as I was studying, I came across this verse: “And the Lord spake unto Moses face to face, as a man speaketh unto his friend” (Ex. 33:11).
I read these words, and at first I wasn’t particularly influenced by them. The Lord spoke to Moses. Of course He did. It seemed only natural for the Lord to appear personally to one of His prophets.
Then I prayed, and I really started to think about that scripture. I knew Heavenly Father wouldn’t appear to me that night, but maybe I could try to speak to Him “as a man speaketh unto his friend.” It was then that I felt His love envelop me.
As I prayed, I restated in my own words what I had read: “Moses spoke to Thee face to face, just like a friend.” I stopped. I said it again and again.
Then it hit me. The realization was so profound yet so simple. Moses saw God face to face. Suddenly Old Testament times were not so distant, and I realized that Moses had been a mortal—just like me. The scriptures came to life in my mind; I knew that Moses had actually lived and breathed, that he, too, had experienced challenges and struggled with a lack of confidence. Yet he talked to the Messiah, the Jehovah of Israel, his Lord and Redeemer—my Lord and Redeemer—in the same manner I spoke to my own earthly father.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed again, “more than anything else, I want to return to Thee!” I closed my prayer and crawled into bed, feeling His love more tangibly than I ever had in my life.

We loved to visit Grandma and Grandpa Bateman in West Jordan, Utah, too. In wintertime, we went sledding on their big hill. One time we went sledding on my uncle’s prize sled. As we went down the hill toward the irrigation canal, we bounced off the sled, and it landed in the canal. Grandpa had to divert the irrigation water out of the canal so we could find the sled. When we got back to the house, we were cold and wet. We warmed up by the stove while Grandma laid our clothes out to dry.

Cami was staying overnight with Grandma and Grandpa. They had fun playing together until bedtime. “Let’s get your dress ready for church tomorrow,” Grandma said.
Cami liked going to church, but she felt a little worried. Would Grandma and Grandpa’s church be the same as hers?
The next day at church, Cami sang songs and took the sacrament. The Primary sang a special song just for her. She saw a picture of Jesus and listened to a story about when He blessed the little children.
When Cami got home, she ran to show Mommy and Daddy the picture she colored in Primary. “Guess what?” she said. “Grandma and Grandpa’s church is just like our church. We all believe in Jesus!”
Mommy hugged Cami. “We are all part of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” Cami smiled. She was glad that Grandma and Grandpa’s church was her church too!

My mother and father and my sister, Inga, had taken baby Lars and gone to make their good-bye visits before I remembered my promise to my friend, Pedor. We were leaving the next morning on our spring migration to our grazing pastures near the Arctic Ocean. I had been left to guard our reindeer against wolves. I could still remember Pedor’s words: “You are my best friend, Anders. I will miss you during the months you will be gone. I wish your father would build a house and stay here in Keinook all year. Why don’t you tell him that you don’t like to live in a tent?”
I had to laugh at Pedor. Maybe in two more years, when he gets to be almost thirteen, he will understand some things better, as I do. Maybe by then he will realize that living in a tent isn’t so bad. When we want to move, it is only a matter of a short time to have it folded up and packed on the sledge, ready to go. Maybe he will realize that there is not enough forage here in Keinook for all the reindeer to eat and that if my father did not take his own and most of the other reindeer to the grazing lands, they would get thin and might die.
I tried, but I couldn’t seem to make Pedor understand about this. All he was interested in was for me to promise that I would not go without coming to tell him good-bye. I decided to hurry and be back before my parents returned. I would keep my promise. Besides, it had been weeks since we’d seen any wolves near the village. Surely they would not come during the short time I’d be gone. But I was wrong.
Pedor clung to me and did not want me to leave. It was just as I was leaving his house that I heard the cry, “Wolves! Wolves!”
I ran all the way back to our tent, but my father had reached there before me. At first I didn’t say anything. Neither did my father. He just looked at me and then back again at the three reindeer that had been killed.
One of them was Little Runner, Inga’s pet. Mother went on into the tent with Lars, and my sister did not dry her eyes until she heard Father say, “I know you are sad, Inga, but listen to me. You shall have another deer to take the place of Little Runner. The very first fawn that is born when we reach the grazing lands will belong to you.”
Inga wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her coat. Father looked out over the herd for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Father,” I said. “I was only gone for a little while.”
He looked again at the three deer lying on the ground before the tent. “It was long enough,” he said, still not looking at me.
I wanted him to understand. “I just went to tell Pedor good-bye,” I explained. “I promised him and I forgot until there was no time left.”
Even as I said it I knew it was not a good excuse. I could have gone the day before or the day before that. Besides, had I not, in a way, made a promise to stay with the deer? While my father did not say so, I knew he felt that I had failed to keep a trust. And right at that moment I made a promise to myself that someway, somehow, I would restore what I had lost.
“Now I have to train other deer to take the place of these,” said my father. “I have other deer that can pull the sledge, but to get another follower, that is indeed a problem.”
Most Laplanders have at least one deer, even our baby, Lars. Father had chosen a little white one and given it to him on the very day he was born. My own reindeer had not been given to me quite so early in my life. Father waited until I was old enough to make my own choice. The one I chose was tall and brown with four white feet. Father said I had a good eye for choosing. I thought I had the most beautiful reindeer of the herd. Although that was over a year ago, I still hadn’t found a name good enough for him.
Last fall when we were returning from migration, Father mentioned this. “Anders,” he said, “do you not think it is time that your reindeer is given a name? Are we to go on calling him No Name?”
I thought about what Father had said all that day. And I tried every day to think of a name that would be just right for him. But my reindeer was still called No Name.
We started the migration early the next morning, just as we had planned. The herd followed the lead sledge that Mother rode in with Lars. Inga held onto a long strap of reindeer leather and came behind on her skis. My father and old Isak, who always went with us, came behind the herd in their sledge and I followed, as Inga did, on skis.
Once again our seida (sleds, family, deer, and all) was on the trail. Interestingly, I felt both happiness and sorrow. I was sad that I had not stayed on guard and that we had lost three of our best reindeer, including the follower, but I felt happy that once more we had started on the migration.
I looked for No Name and saw him through the morning darkness just ahead of the deer, pulling my father’s sledge. He had hung back to be by me, but Father had insisted that my deer travel with the rest of the herd.
“He’ll always be a drag,” Father said, “if we let him stay at the back like this. Make him get up there where he belongs.”
I had hoped No Name would push himself to the lead but he did not. Suppose, just suppose, I reasoned, that No Name could become our next follower!
It may seem odd to a visitor or a stranger to hear us call the lead reindeer the follower. But the follower must be a deer that is not afraid to try a new trail first. Then when the others see him start out, they follow behind. The follower is especially helpful when there is a stream to be crossed. Oh, how I wished that No Name could be our next follower!
It was cold as we traveled but not like winter cold. It did not creep through my reindeer-skin coat and pants and bite into my bones as it did in the middle of the winter. My skallers (boots), also made of reindeer leather, kept my feet warm and dry. They were lined with sennegrass that grows on the edge of the fjord (arm of the sea).
When we reached the water, we followed along its course for a time instead of crossing right away as we had done before. I asked old Isak why. “We have no follower this trip,” he explained. “We have to wait for a deer to become brave enough to lead the others across.”
I knew what I must do. That night while the others were making camp, I called to No Name and took him with me out of sight down to the water. At first I tried to get him to go into the water without me, but it was no use. I didn’t want to fill my boots with water, so I pulled them off and stepped into the icy current. If I could just lead him, No Name would go wherever I asked. But he had to learn to go into the water by himself.
The next night I tried again, but still I could not urge No Name into the water unless I pulled or pushed him in. During the day as we traveled, I thought about it, wondering how I could teach him to be the follower. I thought about my father too. He was indeed a follower, a follower of all that was right and honorable. If one of the deer became lame, he would find the reason. He never went to sleep at night until he was sure the deer were safely bedded down. And always he was thinking about my mother and Lars, catching a fish for their dinner, giving them the best part of the reindeer meat, or bringing my mother a wild flower he had found along the way.
One night No Name finally did it! He went right into the water at my urging, even in a place where he was forced to swim. Then he turned and came back at my command. When Father said that we must cross the next morning because we were getting too far from the trail to the grazing pastures, both No Name and I were ready.
I knew the sledges made good rafts for crossing the water, but the deer must cross first. I waited until my father said we were ready.
“It would be easy if we had our old follower,” he said. “We will simply have to drive the herd up to the bank and force some of them into the water.”
By this time I had moved No Name to the head of the herd, and as I spoke to him, he stepped at once into the water and began to swim. The others hesitated only a moment and then moved into the water behind him. I looked at Father. He stood there, holding the big pole he had cut to guide the raft, his face drawn into a big smile.
“You did it, Anders!” he cried. “You did it! You have found a name for your reindeer!”
“A name?” I asked. “What name?”
“Follower!” said Father. “That is all the name he will ever need now. Just Follower! He will lead the deer all summer to the best grazing lands!”
I smiled, too, at my mother and Lars and then at my father. No Name was a follower, my father was a follower, and someday, if I kept on trying, maybe I would be a follower too.

The Parable of the Nursery Leader
A certain sister was called as the nursery leader in her ward. She was well-trained in child development and had many ideas for activities and crafts the children could make. She decided to make the nursery a showcase.
After many weeks, the sister was discouraged. Nursery was a burden. She dreaded facing the children. Despite her plans, the children fussed and cried every week. Nothing she tried worked well.
In frustration she cried out: "I have done my best; what more can I do?" A thought came into her mind: "Ask Heavenly Father." Wiping away her tears, she knelt in prayer. She prayed about the nursery-her hopes, her frustration, and her disappointment. She prayed for His help and guidance.
Heavenly Father answered her prayer. She was impressed with the thought that her focus needed to change. The Lord taught her she needed to focus on the children-learn to know them and love them.
The sister knew she had to repent. She needed a new attitude and a new approach to the nursery. She prayed for forgiveness of her pride, her reliance on the arm of flesh, and her attitude toward the children. She sought inspiration from the scriptures asking herself: "What would Jesus do?"
When the sister went to the nursery the next Sunday, she had new hope. She did not know all that she would need to do, but she trusted the Lord. Rather than setting up when the children arrived, she met them at the door with a personalized greeting. Some of the children cried and fussed, but there was a different feeling in the nursery that week.
Little by little as the sister got to know the children better, her feelings about them changed. She looked forward to Sundays. She was excited and happy to be with her nursery kids.
And, inspiration came. One week she took a camera to nursery and took each child's picture. She prepared a picture board, mounted each child's picture on the board, and took the board to nursery every week. The children loved seeing themselves on the board. They not only felt important, they felt loved.
After a time, the children loved nursery so much they would run to nursery after sacrament meeting. The children loved being in the nursery, and the sister loved them.

Although we were much better off now, there still wasn’t enough food or clothing to go around. It was still cold, it was still stormy, and I still had no shoes. Our company found a ravine that we later named Martin’s Ravine, and we set up camp there. For three days there was a terrible blizzard. It was so cold! Even after the storm ended, we had to wait several days before we could travel over the fresh snow. Although there were now wagons and horses, I walked every step of the way. Only those who had frozen feet got to ride.
We camped at Fort Bridger for a few days of rest. More help came at that time. We kept right on traveling. We reached Salt Lake City on November 30, 1856, eleven months after we had left our home in England. Of the 576 people who had started with our company, about 150 of them had died and were buried along the trail, including my father.

I once met a young sailor who was a member of the crew of an atomic submarine based in Scotland. He was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the crew. The submarine would go on long trips taking many weeks. As this young Church member was assigned to his station on his first cruise, he found that other crewmen had covered the walls in his area with improper pictures of women with very little clothing on. This offended him. He took all the pictures down and destroyed them. He was conscious of the probable reaction of the other men but, nevertheless, had the courage to do what he thought he should. Not one picture was put up again. As a matter of fact, on that first cruise, he began to teach a Sunday School class attended by two or three of the other men. He learned an important lesson—generally speaking, others will show respect for one who has the courage of his or her convictions and isn’t afraid to do what he feels is right.

Lucy was happy whenever Daddy was home. But she was sad when he had to go on business trips. When he came home, though, he always had a surprise for Lucy in his suitcase.
Once the surprise was a doll from Mexico with a red ruffled dress and a tiny red rose in its hair.
Once the surprise was a white fan with a pretty design from Japan. It folded and unfolded with a click.
Another time the surprise was a paper lei from Hawaii. Daddy said, “A lei means ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ and ‘I love you.’”
On his next trip, Daddy brought Lucy a shell from the ocean. It was chalky white and pink on the outside. The inside flashed bright green and purple when she turned it. “Put it next to your ear,” Daddy said, “and it will sound like the ocean.”
One day Daddy came home from a trip with two surprises. The first one was a tiny blue box to put things in. But the other surprise was even nicer: “I’m not going on any more trips,” Daddy said. “I’ll be here every night from now on.”
Lucy clapped her hands. “Hurray!” she shouted. “That’s the best surprise of all!”

It was almost Christmas, but Diego wasn’t feeling very excited. This was the first Christmas since his parents got divorced. And nothing felt the same. He and his brother, Samuel, wouldn’t even get to see Mom this Christmas.
“Everything’s different,” Diego said to Dad.
“I know.” Dad’s eyes were sad. “Sometimes things change before they get better.” He was quiet for a bit, then smiled. “Christmas will be different this year, but that doesn’t mean we won’t have some good times. We’ll still be celebrating the birth of the Savior.”
Diego nodded. It would be hard not seeing Mom, but maybe Christmas could still be good, just like Dad said. Diego wanted to help make this Christmas a happy one.
He went to his room to think. Sometimes for Christmas they did a family service project. What could they do this year?
Diego looked around his room. He saw a toy car he didn’t play with anymore. He picked it up and spun the wheels. It was still really good. Maybe he and Dad and Samuel could give some toys to kids who didn’t have any! He found a few other toys and put them in a bag with the car.
When Diego finished, he took the bag to Samuel’s room. “Can I help you clean your room?” he asked. “It’s a surprise for Dad.”
Samuel looked up from the picture he was drawing. “Sure.”
The boys worked together to clean Samuel’s room. Diego told him about the plan. They found a few toys that Samuel didn’t play with anymore and added them to the bag.
When they were done, they carried the bag downstairs. “Dad,” Diego said, “we found some toys we don’t play with anymore. Can we give them to kids who don’t have any toys?”
Dad looked surprised and happy. “That’s a great idea! Let’s take them to the homeless shelter this afternoon.”
Visiting the shelter was fun. Diego and Samuel got to play with some of the kids while Dad talked to the grown-ups.
On the way home, Dad asked what else they could do to make this Christmas special.
“Last Christmas we made treats for our neighbors,” Diego said.
“We could do that,” said Dad. “Let’s go buy stuff to make cookies.”
Samuel thought cookies were a great idea.
The boys helped Dad shop for the ingredients at the store. At home they made the dough and cut out star and tree shapes. Diego and Samuel frosted the cookies yellow and green. Then they took little bags of cookies to their neighbors.
At the end of the day, Diego was tired but happy. He and Samuel and Dad had done things together as a family and had helped others. Dad was right. Christmas was different, but it was still good.

Ken Bradford, 15, of Santa Fe, New Mexico, really made a difference by standing up for what he knew was right.
Ken had won two gold medals in wrestling and his coach told him he had an excellent chance of taking first place in his division at the state meet.
When Ken found out that part of the meet would be held on the Sabbath, he told his coach he would not be able to participate in the Sunday matches. Ken came in first in the Saturday matches, but he received the second-place medal in the meet because he did not finish the competition.
The following Monday, Ken’s coach said that he would change the rules so future tournaments would not be held on Sunday.

It was beginning to get dark, and the softly falling snow was blanketing the busy New York streets. Tired office workers and shoppers rushed to the waiting horse-drawn streetcars. A driver viciously whipped the tired, thin horses forward, and the miserable animals, cold and hungry, struggled to pull the overfilled cars through the slippery streets.
Suddenly Henry Bergh, a tall, handsome gentleman in a black silk hat, stood on the tracks in front of the departing streetcar and ordered the driver to stop and unload the passengers. When the driver resisted, Bergh pulled him out of the car and threw him into a snowbank. Then Bergh unhitched the overworked, underfed horses. This action caused many streetcars to be stalled behind the first, now horseless, car. Bergh then stopped a car going in another direction.
The “man in the black hat” had been trying for many months to get the streetcar companies to treat their horses more humanely. He wanted them to assign more horses to each car and to not allow too many passengers on a car so that the horses wouldn’t have to work so hard. But no one at the companies would listen to him. Now, finally, after he had blocked traffic for two hours, at least one company listened! Henry Bergh had won a victory. A car was sent out with four horses pulling it, and the streetcar company agreed to treat its horses more kindly.

Elder Hugh B. Brown of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles (1883–1975) once shared such a lesson he learned while pruning a currant bush on a farm in Canada.

As he went about cleaning up and repairing his property, he came across a currant bush that had grown over six feet high and was yielding no berries. Therefore, he pruned it back drastically, leaving only small, teardrop-shaped stumps. The sight made it appear as if the currant bush were crying, and Elder Brown thought he heard the bush say:

“How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. … And now you have cut me down. … I thought you were the gardener here.”

Elder Brown replied, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. If I let you go the way you want to go, you will never amount to anything. But someday, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to think back and say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.’”

Illustration by Andrew Bosley
“I want to be a veterinarian when I get older. What do you want to be, Kelsee?”
“I want to be a stay-at-home mom and an author,” I proudly said. To me, there was no better job than mom, but clearly my friend didn’t agree.
“You want to be a stay-at-home mom? You’re going to make your husband support you?” My friend wasn’t a member of the Church and didn’t understand the importance of a mother’s role.
“Well, I’m going to write as well. And even if I don’t become an author, I want to marry a man who believes what I believe, someone who wants to support our family,” I said.
“Writing doesn’t get you anywhere. You’ll be poor.”
I was getting irritated. Couldn’t she just be OK with my choice and move on?
“Why do you work so hard in school if you’re not going to do anything with your life? Are you going to go to college? You’re too smart to be a stay-at-home mom.”
This hurt me a lot, but I tried to explain: “I work hard in school because I know how important education is. In my Church, we believe that we’ll take all of our knowledge with us to the next life.1 And I’ll get an education just in case I’m not able to get married or something happens that doesn’t allow my husband to work. Plus, I’ll be able to teach my children more. Just because someone’s a stay-at-home mom doesn’t mean she’s not smart.”
“Do you think your kids will get tired of being around you after awhile?”
“When I’m a mom, I’ll be responsible for taking good care of my children and nurturing them,”2 I said. My friend still didn’t understand. “Families are important,” I said. “They’re essential to the lives of members of my Church. And they should be to everyone else too.”
The school bell rang, and my friend turned away angrily. A pained look came over my face. My teacher must have seen it, because she called me over to her desk.
“Is she mad at you because of your choice?” she asked. “Yes,” I said. My teacher called out and motioned to my friend, who was heading out the door. My friend came back with a look of anger on her face. “Why are you so upset?” my teacher asked.
“Because she could do so much more—be a doctor, something!”
“If Kelsee would be happy being a mom, then she should do it,” my teacher said. “And besides, the world needs good mothers.” My teacher gave me a kind smile, and my friend hurried out. I was grateful for my teacher’s words.
I thought about this experience for a long time. It had given me a sense of doubt. What did I truly believe? Did I really think families were important? I prayed that I could increase my testimony of the importance of families.
For the next two Sundays, my Young Women leaders prepared lessons about families—without knowing what I was thinking about. I felt that these lessons were Heavenly Father’s way of showing me that what I’d told my friend is true—families and motherhood really are important.
I will be eternally grateful for this experience and the lessons that increased my testimony. Families are important, and I love mine deeply.

A long line of cars and large trucks sped along the freeway through the steady rain, tires hissing on the wet pavement. Water squirting from under the wheels of the trucks formed a curtain behind each speeding colossus. Every time we passed one of those road giants, a streaming shower blocked our view.
Often, when a long line of cars was in front of us, we had to drive for minutes beside one of those enormous vehicles. Shivering with fear, my wife would look up at the monster that thundered along only a couple of meters away from us.
I grumbled to myself because we had left so late that I had to hurry in these dangerous weather conditions to arrive on time for our appointment.
Suddenly we heard a mysterious sound against the side of the car. It went “klack-klack-klack-klack,” sounding like the first four beats of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony, of which the composer said, “That’s the way fate knocks at the door.” The sound repeated itself every so often.
I stopped the car in the emergency lane and inspected the tires and the body of the car. I could find nothing that could have caused this knocking sound, so we continued our trip. After several kilometers, we heard the same knocking sound. I stopped and inspected the car again. Nothing was to be found. But when I stopped a third time, I did discover something—a bump on one of the tires that slowly grew to the size of a coconut!
When the mechanic who came to change the tire inspected the inside of the tire, he whistled fearfully. Even though the tire had been new, it had a big tear in the canvas—a factory defect. “You couldn’t have driven another kilometer with this,” the man said. “The tire would have had a blowout.”
I shivered with the thought of what could have happened if we had had a blowout when we were driving next to one of those huge trucks. That day, I clearly felt the protecting power that we so often plead for in our daily prayers.
We are not wise people, just a simple couple striving to keep the covenants we made with Heavenly Father when we were married in the temple. We feel protected. Perhaps we are protected many more times than we even realize. Certainly, we believe that it was the hand of our Heavenly Father who saved us twice from misfortune.

Jayme W. used to wake up during the night hearing her little sister, Katie, cough and struggle to breathe. Katie has cystic fibrosis, and the buildup of mucus in her lungs makes it hard to breathe. When Katie started on a new treatment, Jayme decided to write a science paper about it. She submitted the paper to an international science competition and ended up winning first place among 10,000 entries.
What was your paper about? I wrote my paper on hypertonic saline therapy. Basically, the therapy is a seven percent salt concentration solution that is inhaled as a vapor. It goes into the cells of the lungs, and it draws out the mucus in the cells and makes it easier for the patient to cough up the mucus.
How has your testimony been strengthened through working with your sister? I have definitely seen the hand of God in the transformation of my sister from a sickly child. Seeing color in her face, watching her develop a love for running, and watching her feel well has been so miraculous. I know that could have been accomplished only with the help of God. My testimony of the love of God for each of us has grown immensely.
What has science taught you about gaining spiritual knowledge? In science and research, you don’t just get the answers handed to you. Knowledge is built step by step, and you have to do a lot of work on your own. You have to experiment, try different things, and if something doesn’t work, you just have to try again. Spiritual knowledge is also gained in small increments. The answers don’t come all at once, just a little bit at a time. Like gaining scientific knowledge, you also have to do research on your own like studying the scriptures, pondering, and praying. And if the answer doesn’t come right away, you have to keep trying.
What is your favorite scripture? My favorite scripture is Luke 1:37, which states, “For with God nothing shall be impossible.” This is such a simple statement, yet it is so profound! Just the thought that with God we can do anything fills me with hope and courage.

Have you memorized your monthly New Era? Kenneth Higbee did, in just a few hours.

Dr. Higbee, a psychologist at BYU, gives firesides in the Provo area explaining the “link system” of memory training.

With the “link system” a person associates easily remembered items together with mental pictures. For example, a shopping list of milk, bananas, and a can opener could easily be remembered by forming a mental picture of a banana opening a carton of milk. Before one such demonstration the youth of the Provo Utah Sharon East Stake were puzzled when asked to bring copies of the June New Era to a stake fireside.

After showing how the link system can be used to memorize lists rapidly and accurately, Dr. Higbee asked the young people to open their magazines and ask him any question about the contents. Although he couldn’t repeat the stories and articles word for word, he knew all the titles, authors, subjects, and even the page numbers of the articles.

After the New Era demonstration, the young people were asked to try and memorize a list of 20 words. Only three could do it. But after practicing the link system, over 80 percent of the group could memorize the complete 20-word list.

With a little practice you might be able to memorize the New Era too. And when you’ve got it down, pass the magazine on to a friend who “forgot” to subscribe. Or better still, subscribe for that friend!

About 10 years before I joined the Church in 1976, I had a dream. In my dream I saw my father, who had been dead for some time. He called me by my nickname, “Mya, you will later do something in a foreign country that will be very important for your family.” It was a dream I could never forget—what did my father mean?

Throughout my life, I had always been very interested in my family history. After I became a member of the Church, I had another dream. In this dream, I was receiving some guests—very distinguished people. I had prepared a salmon, but I needed to put some plates on the table for the guests. There was always some interruption when I tried to add more plates, but I knew there should be many more. I awoke for a time after the dream but still felt very sleepy. I went to sleep again—and the dream was repeated. I felt I was being told that I had the salmon (which I understood represented the gospel)—I just needed to make it ready for others. I knew that I needed to get names to the temple!

That was the beginning of many hours in the family history library, searching out family records. Time did not exist while I was working there. I had a distant goal of some day being able to take these records to the temple, but I was afraid I would never realize this goal because of the language barrier.

I was so excited when I heard that the temple ceremony had been translated into Icelandic! For 19 years I had worked on my genealogy but never dared to dream that I would be able to go to the temple. And now—somehow—I had the feeling that I was not worthy, and I was afraid my husband would never allow me to go. I watched as members of the branch planned for the trip and went for their temple recommend interviews.

When President Ólafur called me into his office one Sunday and asked why I hadn’t asked for a temple recommend, I told him of my fears and misgivings. He said, “Why do you judge yourself so harshly? Will you believe you are worthy if I, as a servant of the Lord, tell you that you can go?” President Ólafur also told me he would visit with my husband to ask him permission for me to go. I was so happy when I left his office, I embraced everyone I saw. I was still happy when I got home, but the fear came back. I told my husband what had happened, and he said, “Of course you will go!”

When I finally entered the temple in London, my father’s words in that dream 29 years earlier suddenly became clear to me. Here I was, in a foreign country, prepared to do temple ordinances for my ancestors. There are not words to describe the feeling I had at that time. When I came into the celestial room after my own endowment, I felt like Simeon of old when he saw the child Jesus in the temple (see Luke 2:29–30). I, too, felt that after this experience, I could die in peace.

Truly, this was a dream come true!

ELDER BENNETT: As we relate this next experience, watch how following God's prophets, helped us establish priorities that would bless our lives forever.
After my best friend finally agreed to marry me, we bought an inexpensive engagement ring. But I felt unsettled—not about marrying but about what we had learned at a recent general conference. Several of the talks had reinforced the principles of self-reliance and preparedness. To obey the prophetic counsel, we needed to start acquiring a supply of food for emergencies. But we were both students—with very little money.
One day shortly after we got engaged, I felt prompted to sell the ring.... What? How was I supposed to ask Shelley to do that? I had justconvinced her to accept the ring. How would she feel about selling her ring to buy dried milk, wheat, and salt?
SISTER BENNETT: He didn't know it, but I had also felt impressed to sell the ring. What would he think if I suggested it? I'd already said no three times, followed by an "I'll think about it!"
But the prompting was unmistakable, so I brought it up a few days later. We were both surprised and relieved that we had felt the same impression. Miraculously, the jeweler's heart was softened, and he gave us a full refund for the ring. We then used the money to purchase our food storage.
To replace my ring, he made me a leather band that I wore for some time. It became a symbol of our decision to always follow the prophet and the promptings of the Holy Ghost.
Now, my dear sisters, you don't need to leave here and sell your rings! Buying or wearing a ring isn't wrong. For us, however, because the Spirit had directed us to follow the prophet by selling my engagement ring, our choice was between keeping a ring or following the prophet. Making this decision helped us establish two patterns in our home from the very beginning: following the prophets and following the promptings of the Holy Spirit.
We learned to follow the apostles and prophets and not to worry about what others might think. By acting immediately and cheerfully on their invitations and counsel, we have always been blessed. Shortly after graduating from dental school and with two children, we ran completely out of money. Gratefully, we were able to live on the food storage we had purchased.

My thoughts go back to many years ago when I was working with a young woman who had been hurt badly by a member of her family whom she loved and trusted. The type of hurt she received manifested itself in her with emotional instability. She struggled with interpersonal relationships and had a lot of feelings of self-doubt. As we talked about her feelings for this family member it became apparent to both of us that she had not been able to forgive this person for what they had done. This young woman was a person of great talent and ability. Almost anything she put her mind to she seemed to succeed at. However, since the bitterness and anger had settled into her heart, there were few things that she was doing up to her capability. Almost all aspects of her life were on a downward spiral. She worked very hard trying to forgive this family member for the hurt that she felt. It was not an easy or a fast process, but it was one that when she was successful with, it produced a tremendous feeling of freedom and peace. The family member that had harmed her initially was repentant and the beginnings of a new relationship occurred.

I hope each deacon is given a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling, as I was. This occurred when the bishopric asked that I take the sacrament to a shut-in who lived about a mile from our chapel. That special Sunday morning, as I knocked on the door of Brother Wright and heard his feeble reply, “Come in,” I entered not only his humble cottage but also a room filled with the Spirit of the Lord. I approached his bedside and carefully placed a piece of bread to his lips. I then held the cup of water, that he might drink. As I departed, I saw him smile as he said, “God bless you, my boy.” And God did bless me with an appreciation for the sacred emblems, which continues even today.