Gospel Story Finder

A national magazine recently included a feature article about two brothers—not members of our Church, but with Utah roots—whose acts of kindness are on the Lord’s side. They honor people who are committed to serving others. Since 1988, Val and Bill Halamandaris have given the National Caring Awards in Washington, D.C. Recipients have included both famous and obscure adults and young people, such as a former secretary of health, education, and welfare; a lifelong resident of Watts in the Los Angeles area who has single-handedly found housing for hundreds of homeless neighbors; a world-famous physician; and a Minneapolis housewife who began her own soup kitchen.

Successful in their business and government careers, the two brothers were “concerned with the materialism of the country and the tremendous amount of attention we were paying to celebrities. There are millions of people doing extraordinary things in this country, and nobody was honoring them.”

The magazine article asks,

How did two brothers in their late 40s, with successful careers in Washington, come to devote so much of their lives to an ideal as abstract—and certainly unremunerative—as caring? As it turned out, the story began long ago.

“We’re a couple of kids from Carbon County, Utah,” Val explained. “After the railroads met at Promontory in 1869, they shipped a lot of the railroad workers—Chinese, Greeks, Italians—down to Carbon County to work in the coal mines. Our grandfather was a Greek immigrant who worked on the railroads. Our father was a miner. We grew up in a multicultural society where everybody was comfortable with everybody else, where we were constantly reminded of the goodness of people. We heard about the importance of doing things for others day in and day out.” As Bill remembered: “When somebody needed something, you did what had to be done.”

. . . “There is joy in transcending yourself to serve others.” [Michael Ryan, “Somebody Cares,” Parade Magazine, 28 June 1992, pp. 24–27]

These brothers are good people who are honoring those who care for and serve others. Their efforts are the fruits of having learned in their youth to accept those who are different from themselves, not judging wrongly, but simply serving.

And the girls feel a similar concern for their “mom.” In October 1990, she went to the United States to escort several children who were being adopted by U.S. families. Many girls who had sung in the Tender Apples choir gathered from far and near to see her. President Till speaks of watching her greet her “children,” with a broad smile on her face and tears in her eyes. As each woman arrived, often accompanied by a husband and children, Sister Whang would gather the group in a massive hug and hold on as if she would never let go.
“I’ve never seen Sister Whang show such emotion,” remembers President Till. “It was especially touching when I thought of what might have happened to those girls without her. A couple of them probably wouldn’t have survived. The rest of them probably would have ended up as servants or living on the street. Sister Whang truly provided physical salvation for those girls—and gave them the opportunity for spiritual salvation by introducing them to the gospel.”

Geoffrey got off his bike in front of Bob Tschaggeny’s home and sat down on the front steps with him.
“Monday it will start all over again,” said Bob. “School isn’t bad except for that first day. The teacher looks at my name ‘Tschaggeny’ on the card and doesn’t know how to pronounce it. He’s embarrassed and so am I. The same thing happens every year.”
“I know just what you mean,” said Geof, “but it’s my first name they can’t pronounce. The teacher starts to say ‘George,’ then tries ‘Geeof,’ and then ends up with ‘Jeff.’ Half the time they just call me George and I have to explain that my name is pronounced ‘Jeff.’”
“What would it be like to have a simple name?” mused Bob.
“Hi, Geof,” called their friend Mary who was walking along the sidewalk. “What are you two talking about? You look like the end of the world has come.”
“Not the world,” said Geof. “It’s the end of summer.”
“I’m glad,” said Mary. “I like school.”
“You would,” said Bob, “with a name like yours.”
“My name is dull,” responded Mary. “Mary Jones—how plain and ordinary!”
“Right,” said Geof, “but you don’t have to spell it or tell people how to pronounce it. Bob hates to have his name said wrong too. No teacher has said my name right yet.”
“But your names are distinguished. They’re different. They make you a somebody. Mary Jones—how bland. I wish my name were exciting. One year a girl named Huttaballe sat in front of me. The teacher said to her, ‘What an interesting name. What nationality is it?’ Then she looked at my card and just said, ‘Oh, Mary Jones.’”
That night Bob said to his parents, “Isn’t there something we could do with our name so it would be easier to pronounce? Why do we have a silent T in front?”
“Tschaggeny is an honorable Swiss name, son. You should be proud of it,” Father replied. “Our name has been on the records since 1500.”
In the Gordon home that night, Geof said to his mother, “Why did you have to name me after the old poet Geoffrey Chaucer? If you wanted to call me Jeff, why didn’t you spell it J-e-f-f?”
“We didn’t name you after the poet, Geof,” said his mother. “We thought that spelling your name with a “G” looked better with Gordon, and it seemed to suit you very well.”
As Mary Jones helped her mother with the dishes that night, she said, “I always thought it would be nice to have a distinctive name, but Bob Tschaggeny and Geoffrey Gordon are disgusted because they have to spell and pronounce their names for our new teacher every year. I guess none of us are satisfied.”
“Mary,” said her mother, “every time I say your name I remember all the lovely Marys I’ve known or read about. It makes your name even more beautiful to me.”
Monday morning, Bob, Geof, and Mary were seated at their desks in school, waiting to welcome their new teacher. He stood behind his desk, very tall and very straight. He nodded to the class and then wrote the word “One” on the chalkboard.
When the bell rang, the teacher said, “You will each notice a number on the upper left-hand corner of your desk. That number will identify you. We will no longer use names. Your number should be put at the top of all your papers too. You are to address me as ‘One.’”
The class began, and through reading, social studies, arithmetic, and gym, each student was called by a number. No names were used. Bob and Geof thought the idea was great. Their problem seemed to be solved.
During supper that night, Bob’s father asked him if the new teacher could pronounce his name correctly.
“He didn’t have to,” laughed Bob. “We don’t have names this year. The teacher gave each of us a number instead.”
“Do you like that better?” asked his father.
“Well,” said Bob, “It’s been great so far.”
“So you really don’t need a name,” his father questioned further. “It seems very impersonal to me.”
“I still like it fine,” Bob insisted, but he didn’t sound quite so sure this time.
When Geof came home from school his mother asked, “Well, who is it this time? George, Geeof, or Geof?”
“None of those,” said Geof. “This year I’m ‘Ten.’” Then he explained the new teacher’s system of using numbers.
“That’s interesting,” said Mother, “How does he call the numbers? Does he say each one loudly with a different feeling or tone?”
“Nope,” said Geof, “he just stands tall and straight and says numbers without a smile or a nod or any feeling.”
“Guess what? We don’t need names this year,” Mary told her mother when she reached home after school.
“What do you mean?” asked Mother.
“We all have numbers so we don’t use any names. And would you believe it, I’m ‘Thirteen.’ Isn’t that different for me to be called something distinctive?”
In a few weeks the novelty of being known as numbers had worn off. Mary, Bob, and Geof were glad when Friday night came so that for two days at least they would be called by their own names. All the children agreed that school didn’t seem the same as it had other years. Everyone was disinterested. There was no spirit of competition or sharing and little concern about success or failure.
One Monday morning on the way to school Mary saw Bob and Geof just poking along.
“What’s wrong now?” she called.
“What fun is it to go to school and just be ‘Ten’ again?” Geof asked.
“Or ‘Thirteen’” Mary replied. “I don’t like being called ‘Thirteen.’ I like the way my mother calls me ‘Mary’ and I wish everyone else would too.”
“Well, I wish …” But Bob’s wish was cut off by the sound of the bell, and the three friends hurried to class.
At the door of the classroom the teacher stood smiling. He handed each of them a piece of chalk and said, “Good morning. Please take this chalk and write your full name on the board with the others.”
After the last student sat down, they all looked up at the chalkboard. It was covered with the names of everyone in class and it looked good! Across the top in large letters the name SAM SMITH was written.
The teacher turned to the class. “Thank you,” he said, “for cooperating with me in my experiment these past weeks. You helped me prove something. When you became a number, you each seemed to become less of a person. You were interested and excited boys and girls at the beginning of the school year. Now you don’t seem to care much about school or each other.”
The students looked around at their classmates as the teacher continued, “My name is Sam Smith. I’m glad to know each of you by your names—Thomas Ward, Robert Tschaggeny, Geoffrey Gordon, Mary Jones, John Martin. …”
Mr. Smith looked at each one with a friendly smile on his face as he said the names. “Now let’s remember who we really are and work together,” he suggested.
“Thank you, Mr. Sam Smith,” Bob said.
“Yes, thank you, Mr. Smith,” the other boys and girls chorused. “That’ll be great!”

One Sunday many years ago in my home ward in southeast Idaho (a predominantly LDS community suffering from a generally casual attitude toward the Church that many such communities suffer), an eight year old girl had been baptized the day before. At that time children whose families were members were confirmed on the day after their baptism on Saturday—usually Fast Sunday. After being confirmed, and after the congregation had partaken of the Sacrament, the meeting was opened for testimonies. At some point the young girl got up and came to the podium. Clearly impressed by her experience, and unprompted by her parents, she bore witness of the importance of what had happened to her. As near as I can recall she then said, “I’m grateful to have been baptized and I think it’s a shame that people don’t take their baptismal covenant more seriously.” This is someone who understood.

Dawn raced up the stairs and into the kitchen.
“You’re an early bird,” Mom said. “No one else has come upstairs yet, but here you are, fully dressed with your hair combed. What’s up?”
“It’s store day at school,” Dawn said. “I’ve been waiting for this day all year!”
During the year at Dawn’s school, the students could earn tickets by getting good grades and being good citizens. At the end of the school year they could turn in the tickets for prizes.
The principal had shown the students some of the prizes—candy bars, books, movies, sports equipment, and a doll that had been made by a student’s mother. Dawn wanted the doll the moment she saw it. She talked about it every day.
Dawn’s brother Clinton walked into the kitchen, still in his pajamas.
“Please hurry and get ready to go so we can leave early,” Dawn said.
“The bus comes at the same time every day, and I’m never late,” Clinton said.
“But it’s store day! Aren’t you excited?”
Clinton shrugged. “I can’t see why you’re so worked up over a silly doll. You should spend your tickets on something useful, like the basketball. Besides, I bet I have more tickets than you do!”
“I have 375,” Dawn said proudly.
“Well, I’ve got 525,” Clinton bragged.
“I don’t care as long as I have enough for my doll.”
When Dawn and Clinton got to school, Dawn ran to the gym before class to see the prizes on display. She saw the basketball Clinton wanted, and then she spotted her beloved doll.
A moment later, she was almost in tears. The doll cost 500 tickets, which was more than she had earned. Heartbroken, Dawn went to class.
When the lunch bell rang, Dawn returned to the gym, hoping she could persuade the teachers to lower the doll’s price or give her more time to earn tickets. But her heart sank when she walked through the door. The doll was gone. Someone else had bought it. Dawn’s eyes filled with tears, and she sat alone in her classroom until lunch was over.
After school, Dawn got on the bus and gazed out the window, expecting to see Clinton bouncing his new basketball. But when he appeared he was not carrying a ball. Clinton was holding a doll—her doll.
“Hey, Clinton, I didn’t know you liked dolls!” yelled a boy. Other students near him laughed.
Clinton ignored them and boarded the bus. When he reached Dawn, he handed her the doll.
“Why didn’t you get the basketball?” Dawn stammered.
“I can always buy a basketball, but this doll is one of a kind,” Clinton said. “I knew you didn’t have enough tickets, so I bought it.”
“Thank you,” Dawn said. “I think you’re one of a kind too.”

In the first city where I served during my mission, I had a native companion. Because she was helping the Church to grow in her homeland, Hermana Arriaga radiated a special intensity for the work. Together we had great success; we taught several people who were baptized and had many investigators. One night the President called--rather late--and instructed us to be on the first train to Salamanca the next morning. He was sending us to open a new city for work by sister missionaries. While that may sound quite thrilling, my companion and I were actually quite bothered by the mid-month transfer. Since we were both leaving, neither of us would be around to follow up with our investigators. Therefore, we had to leave copious notes explaining about the progress of each and every one. We also had to pack, which took hours. Then we had to decide what to do with the groceries we had just bought to see us through the month. We opted to take them with us, so we loaded everything into plastic bags.
After a couple of hours of sleep, we went to the train station, climbed aboard, had the other passengers help us find room for our suitcases and 10 (yes, ten) bags of groceries, and then collapsed in our seats. As we pulled out of the station, we noticed the train schedule on the wall and saw that a train left each hour--on the hour--for Salamanca. What was the big deal about being on the first one??? We hadn't even had time to tell any of the members or our investigators that we were leaving. We were frustrated, tired, and in a grumbling mood.
After a few minutes of complaining, my companion suggested that we hold our companionship study session. We had packed our scriptures near the surface, so we grabbed them. We then realized that our study guide and reference books were in cases under other people's seats, and we weren't about to inconvenience all of the other passengers (again) to dig them out. Hermana Arriaga suggested that we just read aloud. So, we flipped open our scriptures at random--no, they fell open--and we began to read--I'm not kidding--Section 111 of the Doctrine and Covenants, which says:

"I, the Lord your God, am not displeased with your coming this journey, notwithstanding your follies."

"I have much treasure in this city for you, for the benefit of Zion, and many people in this city whom I will gather out in due time for the benefit of Zion, through your instrumentality. . . ."

It goes on and on, but we'll skip to verse 10:

"For there are more treasures than one for you in this city."

"Therefore, be ye as wise as serpents and yet without sin; and I will order all things for your good, as fast as ye are able to receive them. Amen."

Well, that impressed us. Deeply. We knew the Lord was speaking directly to us through the scriptures. We immediately stopped our complaining.

Let me tell you the story of one man who sacrificed greatly to maintain his own financial integrity and honor.

In the 1930s Fred Snowberger opened the doors of a new pharmacy in northeastern Oregon. It had been his dream to own his own business, but the economic turnaround he had hoped for never materialized. Eight months later, Fred closed the doors of his pharmacy for the last time.

Even though his business had failed, Fred was determined to repay the loan he had secured. Some wondered why he insisted on repaying the debt. Why didn’t he simply declare bankruptcy and have the debt legally forgiven?

But Fred did not listen. He had said he would repay the loan, and he was determined to honor his word. His family made many of their own clothes, grew much of their food in their garden, and used everything they had until it was thoroughly worn out or used up. Rain or shine, Fred walked to and from his work each day. And every month, Fred paid what he could on the loan.

Years passed and finally the wonderful day arrived when Fred made the last payment. He delivered it in person. The man who had loaned him the money wept and with tears streaming down his face, said, “You not only paid back every penny, but you taught me what a man of character and honesty is.”

To this day, nearly 70 years after Fred signed his name to that note, descendants of Fred and Erma Snowberger still tell this story with pride. This act of honor and nobility has lived through the decades as a cherished example of family integrity.

“Fam’lies can be together forever through Heav’nly Father’s plan” (“Families Can Be Together Forever,” Hymns, no. 300). I love this Primary song, which teaches that families can be sealed for eternity. I prayed that this could be true for my family, especially after my father passed away.
Recently the Lord answered my prayer. My mother, my two brothers, and I were able to travel to the Manila Philippines Temple to be sealed together and to my father. It was our first time in the temple together, and I can still remember the happiness I saw in my mother’s and brothers’ eyes. There was a great feeling of joy there.
I know the temple is the house of the Lord and that those in the temple have the proper authority to perform sacred ordinances. I’m so grateful that through these ordinances, my family can be with my father again. Since going to the temple, we try to be a stronger family and do all we can to keep our covenants so that we can be together forever.
Crisanto Coloma, Philippines

Some time ago Sister Edgley and I were being chauffeured through a city in South America. Our driver was a stake president who was a convert to the Church. This stake president was a very successful international attorney. As we were passing the slums of the city—houses of cardboard and tin with no water, sewer, or plumbing of any kind—my wife asked the stake president where he grew up.
He pointed to the slums and said, “A place just like this.”
My wife then asked, “How in the world did you ever climb out of this kind of poverty to become the successful person you now are?”
The stake president simply responded, “It was the gospel. The missionaries came and taught us who we really were and what we could become. My brother broke out, got an MBA from BYU, and now is the president of a large corporation in South America. My only other sibling is a sister, and she is a successful attorney.”
This story is repeated over and over—hundreds, even thousands of times. In fact, the restored Church was born out of poverty and what some would see as absolute hopelessness. But the Saints came to believe in themselves, who they were, and what they could become.

In October 2011, while serving a full-time mission in South Africa, I received a phone call from Sister Catherine Wood, our mission president’s wife. All merry and bright, she told me that President Thomas S. Monson had just announced the construction of a temple in my home town, Kinshasa. I remember shouting—with joy with tears flowing down my cheeks—in gratitude to the Most High for the blessing of having a temple in my country.
Eight years later, having married and been sealed to Rachel Tshimungu in the Johannesburg South Africa Temple in 2014, I am the father of two children. Together as a family we have witnessed the fulfillment of this great miracle—not only in our country, but also and especially in our own lives. We watched as the temple rose from ground level until, finally, the Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple was dedicated on Sunday, April 14, 2019 by Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Tzu was tired, but so excited she couldn’t sit still! For weeks she had been helping her mother clean, cook, and shop. Now at last it was the evening of the New Year.
Tomorrow was the gayest, most important of all Chinese festivals. Then Tzu would count herself one year older, even though it was not her true birthday. Her mother and father, her little brother, and her grandparents would too. And so would everyone else!
“Our home is so pretty!” she said to her mother as she looked at all the paper decorations of red and gold, the colors of luck and prosperity.
For weeks all the shops had been crowded with people buying food and clothing. But tonight they would all be closed so everyone could be at home. Debts had been paid and collected and the books balanced.
Father would be given an extra month’s salary to mark the thirteen-month lunar year. The Chinese calendar, developed more than 4,000 years ago, divides the year into twelve months of twenty-nine to thirty days. Since there are days left over, every thirty months there is an extra month. That is why the Chinese New Year falls anywhere between January 21 and February 21.
The years are grouped into twelve-year cycles and each year is named after an animal: the dragon, snake, horse, sheep, monkey, chicken, dog, pig, rat, ox, tiger, and rabbit. The nature of an animal is believed to affect the events of the year and the people born during it.
Tzu wondered if her father had performed a special service during the past year. If so, he might bring home a red and gold packet of “lucky money,” with pretty pictures of peach and pine trees on it that symbolize a long life.
Tzu would put on the beautiful new dress her mother had made for her and help her brother put on his new suit. Both of them also had new shoes.
Quietly the family would eat the last meal of the old year together and stay up way past their usual bedtime to say good-bye to the old year and to welcome the new. Just before midnight the doors of their home would be locked and sealed with the good luck papers.
“Now remember, little brother,” Tzu whispered. “At midnight, we must kowtow (make low bows) and wish our father and mother new happiness for the New Year!”
He nodded happily.
Early the next morning the seals on the door would be broken, and the family would stay home to quietly honor their ancestors.
“We must not argue tomorrow—not even one cross word,” Tzu reminded him.
Again he nodded.
The celebrations lasted several days. On the second festival day, Tzu’s family would go out to visit and take gifts of food to relatives, the old honored ones first. To everyone they met, they would give the New Year’s greeting, “I wish that you may have joy!”
“What will you say if someone says that to you?” Tzu asked little brother.
“May joy be with you,” he answered.
“Good!” She patted his dark, shiny hair.
Tzu loved the third festival day best of all because then the children went in groups from house to house singing. And after their songs they were given rice cakes or oranges.
“But when do we get the lanterns, Tzu?” little brother asked, tugging at her.
“That, too, is on the third day,” Tzu replied, holding up three fingers to show him.
The feast of the lanterns was a wonderful day! People tried to see who could have the prettiest lanterns hanging in their gardens, on porches, in the streets, and in temples. Everywhere lanterns twinkled in lovely shapes, sizes, and colors.
The great parade was also held on the third day. People would come out of their homes carrying lighted lanterns and join the parade, led by a huge dragon that symbolized goodness and strength. The dragon was made of bamboo covered with silk or paper and painted to look fierce and fiery.
“Men walk inside it, little brother,” Tzu said, “carrying it on their shoulders. If you look, you can see their feet.”
But all little brother could imagine was the dragon moving along the streets, weaving in and out, its head turning, its mouth opening and closing over terrible teeth. Then firecrackers exploded and the people laughed and shouted with joy.
Tzu knew that the dragon might be scary to her brother, so she gave him a big hug to let him know that she understood. “I’ll hold your hand,” she promised. Little brother smiled bravely and answered, “And I’ll hold your hand, too, then neither of us will be frightened.”

When Dianne Cooper heard about the Church’s emotional resilience course, she decided it was something she “might want to look into in the future.” Little did she know how important the course would soon become to her.
“In April 2020 my eternal companion passed away very suddenly,” says Dianne, a member of the Discovery Park Ward in Las Vegas, Nevada. “I am a firm believer in the gospel and eternal families. Even with that knowledge, I was grieving profoundly. My husband’s death was the hardest thing I had ever encountered. Grief is one of the prices we pay for deep love.”
Dianne felt that the emotional resilience course would bless her, and she encouraged other members of her ward to attend with her.
“Our class was a combination of single sisters, widows, a couple married for many years, and younger sisters married with small children,” she says. “Our class developed a special bond. We all felt safe to share our feelings, and there was no judgment regarding our circumstances or comments. I really looked forward to attending class each week.”
As Dianne attended the 10-week course, she gained spiritual and practical skills that helped her work through her grief. She found support and developed strength and patience. And she was reminded that Heavenly Father and the Savior know her needs and that, in time, she could be healed.1
“It is all right to ask for help,” she says. “Sometimes that help consists of stepping out of our comfort zone and taking action. It can also include people listening, being empathetic, loving, and praying for one another.”
The emotional resilience course is not meant as “group therapy or professional treatment for mental health issues.”2 But anyone, regardless of circumstances, can benefit from learning how to become more emotionally resilient, says Dianne.
The workbook helped Dianne set and reach goals. In the process, she says, “I drew closer to my Savior, and that increased my faith. My prayers became more fervent. I tried to be an example for others going through difficult challenges in their lives. Weekly, I shared key learnings from the course with family and friends near and far. This often evolved into deep gospel discussions.”
Dianne recommends the emotional resilience course for anyone who wants to learn positive thinking patterns and develop and maintain healthy relationships.
“As I studied, pondered, and prayed during the course, I felt the Holy Spirit more than at any other time in my life,” she says. “Each day I strive to have joy and live in a constant state of gratitude. What a blessing to have had this opportunity for growth.”

Recall with me this lesson from Church History which shows the enlightening power of the Spirit. After Joseph Smith and Oliver Cowdery received the Aaronic Priesthood under the hand of John the Baptist and had baptized each other, Joseph writes:

"Immediately on our coming up out of the water . . . We were filled with the Holy Ghost. . . . Our minds being now enlightened, we began to have the scriptures laid open to our understandings, and the true meaning and intention of their more mysterious passages revealed unto us in a manner which we never could attain to previously, nor ever before had thought of."[19]

When I was in Grade 4, I changed schools. At the new school, things were OK until one day our gym teacher told us that we would be taking swimming lessons. But I had already taken swim lessons at my old school. So after class I told the teacher that. “Oh, lucky you, then,” was her response.
No, I thought. Not lucky me, more like unlucky me. Ever since I was little I had hated swimming lessons. I was terrified of them. So now that I had to take swim lessons twice in one school year, it seemed like the worst thing in the entire world.
The night before swim lessons, after my mom tucked me in, I sat on my bed and asked Heavenly Father to help me somehow, because I really did not like swim lessons and I needed His help.
The next day I was really nervous as we went to the pool and got ready for swim lessons. As I sat on the pool deck, still cold from the showers, they began to call names and put kids in groups depending on their swim level. As they called my name, I realized that I had been put in a group where the swim teacher was a lady who was in my ward.
When the lessons were finally over, I found out that I had not passed the level I had been in. But this did not matter to me because I knew that Heavenly Father had helped put me in the group with that swim teacher in order to help me—and it had. Having that swim teacher there gave me strength.
I know that having that swim teacher there was no accident. Heavenly Father knew my struggles and cared about me. I know that no matter who we are or where we are, Heavenly Father knows us. And if we need His help, all we have to do is ask and He will help us.

When I was a little girl just two years of age, my father died in a tragic accident. I had a sister who was seven and a brother who was six. Life became very hard for my mother, who had to face life alone with her three little children. For some reason she decided to tell me that my daddy had gone away on a trip. Maybe she was so sad that she didn’t have the courage to tell me the truth.
So I kept waiting to see him and hear his sweet voice and be wrapped in his arms. My birthday would come, and I would wait. Christmas would come, and I would wait.
Then one day I learned the truth from a neighbor girl who was my age. It was devastating; I cried so hard. I started noticing other children with their fathers even more than before. It seemed so cruel.
The years went by, and I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I married a good man who wasn’t a member of the Church. But he gained a testimony and decided to be baptized.
Through our membership in the Church, a most wonderful blessing came into our lives. We learned that families can be forever, that a link in our family chain that had been left hanging by itself could be joined to the rest of the family. Through temple ordinances, my father could be baptized by proxy and sealed to his parents and I could eventually be sealed to him.
My husband was baptized for my father, and we had all the necessary temple ordinances performed. The Spirit of the Lord brought great joy to us. The anguish I had gone through as a child didn’t seem to matter when I compared it with this great joy and blessing. Knowing that families can be eternal was better than all the Christmases or birthdays my father and I could have spent together.
Today my father is sealed to his parents, and they, in turn, are sealed to their parents. As a result of the happiness I have experienced, I dedicate a great part of my time to doing family history so I can help families be joined together. Temple work brings the most wonderful blessings into our lives.

I recall the time I approached baptism, when I was eight years of age. My mother talked with me about repentance and about the meaning of baptism; and then, on a Saturday in September of 1935, she took me on a streetcar to the Tabernacle baptistry which, until recently, was here in this building. At the time it was not as customary as it is now for fathers to baptize their children, since the ordinance was generally performed on a Saturday morning or afternoon, and many fathers were working at their daily professions or trades. I dressed in white and was baptized. I remember that day as though it were yesterday and the happiness I felt at having had this ordinance performed.

Over the years and particularly during the time I served as a bishop, I witnessed many other baptisms in the Tabernacle font. Each was a special and inspiring occasion, and each served to remind me of my own baptism.

An additional example of the belonging and obligation that comes with our family names is found in this account of President George Albert Smith. "Once, when President George Albert Smith was seriously ill, he lost consciousness and thought he had died. He found himself standing near a beautiful lake. Soon he began following a trail through the woods, and after a time he saw a man, whom he recognized as his grandfather, coming toward him." [2] His grandfather, George A. Smith, had been ordained an apostle by Joseph Smith and served as a member of the First Presidency under President Brigham Young. [3]
President Smith said, "I remember how happy I was to see him coming, I had been given his name and had always been proud of it. When Grandfather came within a few feet of me . . . he looked at me very earnestly and said: 'I would like to know what you have done with my name.' Everything I had ever done passed before me as though it were a flying picture on a screen--everything I had done. . . . I smiled and looked at my grandfather and said: 'I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.' He stepped forward and took me in his arms." [4]

During my high school years, I had an experience I will always be grateful for. I came across the lyrics of the hymn “Oh My Father.” I had sung it in Church many times over the years, but for the first time, I really took notice and seriously pondered its meaning. The Spirit bore powerful witness to me of these glorious truths, and I understood, as I had never before, what it means to have a “burning of the bosom.” I knew with a certainty that the plan of salvation was true, that I had lived before as a beloved spirit son of heavenly parents with the full potential of my divine nature and destiny. This gave me the desire to prepare for and receive my patriarchal blessing. I wanted to know my purpose in life and what I was foreordained to do on earth.

The youth in Bradford Ward delivered 200 flyers in their local area for their harvest appeal, supporting the Bradford Metropolitan Food Bank. Local member Pauline was speechless when the printer who made the flyers to advertise the event told her, “Under the circumstances we won’t charge to do these for you as it’s a worthy cause.” On collection day, several people from the local Muslim community came to donate food, including a dad and his teenage son who had just been to a kickboxing class. The father said, “We always go for fast food after kickboxing, but we wanted to come here first today to give this food to those who need extra help.”

Years ago, I befriended a group of young men in Boston. While my initial connection to these youth came from a Church calling, the relationships quickly grew to the point where I saw them the way the Lord saw them, and I grew to love them as if they were my family. And, like I would with my own children, I began to counsel and teach them things as a father would. That meant our conversations went far beyond requests to participate in stake activities or attend church. A desire grew in me to teach them so the gospel would sink deep into their hearts. Our conversations expanded to include plans for missions, how to be an effective missionary, college preparation, the importance of marriage, and early careers.
Here is a picture of three of those young men when they were later students at BYU-Idaho and I was visiting as a guest of the university. In that setting, on that day, in this very auditorium, I shared with them counsel about how to succeed at BYU-Idaho and how to become who the Lord wanted them to become.
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Here is a picture of some of those youth from Boston when they came to our inauguration last year. Most of them are or will be graduates of BYU-Idaho. Many of them have been married in the temple and are starting productive careers and beautiful families. Not all of their lives have been perfect or easy, but they are trying to do their best. I hope they all know they are children of promise.