Gospel Story Finder

You know, every member is a missionary. I think President David O. McKay first emphasized that duty. I was up in Montana some time ago visiting a stake conference. After the morning session, I was wandering around outside. I saw this young boy standing there all dressed up in his Sunday clothes. I went over to him and said, “Son, you’re a fine-looking boy. What’s your name?”
He said, “Joseph Smith Curdy.”
I said, “Joseph Smith Curdy! That’s a fine name. You’re going to be a great missionary.”
He said, “I’m already a great missionary. Down the street a couple of blocks from where we live there’s a family with a couple of boys about my age, and over a period of three or four months, I have been bringing them to church with me. A month or so ago, I said to them, ‘How would you like to have the missionaries give you the discussions?’
“They said, ‘Oh, we’d have to talk to our parents.’
“So we talked to the parents, and the parents said, ‘Well, if you will let us listen in, why we’ll be glad to have the missionaries teach them.’”
There wasn’t any problem with that, so the missionaries gave the family the discussions. Joseph Smith Curdy told me, “That whole family is going to be baptized next Saturday. I’m already a great missionary.”
I couldn’t help but agree with him.

Imagine a hot, steamy summer day in 1777. Thousands of British and Hessian (German) troops in red uniforms get off ships at the head of the Chesapeake Bay with orders to march overland to the American capital at Philadelphia. It’s the largest military invasion ever on American soil. When news of this invasion reaches American General George Washington, he realizes that his local militia forces will be out-manned and out-gunned. A battle with the invaders could spell disaster for his young army and doom any chance for American independence.
Worried, Washington orders a series of skirmishes and guerilla attacks on the British forces as he and his troops slog through the swamps and forests of northern Delaware. The most famous of these skirmishes is the battle at Cooch’s Bridge, which happened near present-day Newark, Delaware.

“Christian Villadsen! Are you one of us or one of them?” demanded Hans. His clenched fists hit against his pockets, bulging with stones. The other boys crouched beside Hans, glaring at Christian.
A cold shiver ran up Christian’s back. What’s happening? he wondered. What has become of our peaceful and friendly village? Now there seems to be only hatred and fear!
He hadn’t listened like Grandmother, but that didn’t make it right to hide like this, waiting to throw stones at two men whose only crime was preaching a new religion.
“Well?” His friends waited for an answer.
They were his only friends since Peter Sorensen had joined the Mormon church. Now, no one dared to be Peter’s friend.
Hans shoved a stone into Christian’s hand. “Stay and help drive away the devils or crawl home. But decide now.”
Christian dropped the stone as if it were fresh from the hearth fire. “I have chores to do,” he said, pushing through the bushes they were hiding behind.
“Beware, Christian, or you may suffer Peter Sorensen’s fate,” Hans called after him.
Christian hurried down the road so fast that he didn’t even stop to warn the two men he passed about the danger ahead. But he couldn’t hurry fast enough to shut out the sound of thudding stones or pained cries. And he couldn’t outrun his feelings of fear and shame.
As he passed the Sorensen farm, Christian turned his head so he couldn’t see the house’s broken windows, the burned barn, or the blackened fields that had been nearly ready for harvest. If the villagers discovered that Grandmother was listening to the Mormon preachers, this could happen to them also.
“Christian!” Peter Sorensen called.
Christian’s stomach churned with fear. What if someone sees me talking to Peter? he worried.
Peter’s face was swollen and dark with bruises, a warning from the villagers to anyone else who thought of listening to the Mormon preachers.
“I wanted you to know that we leave for America tomorrow,” Peter said, and his smile was warm and friendly as ever.
Christian was embarrassed. He couldn’t think of anything to say to Peter, who had always been his best friend.
“May you also find the happiness we have found, Christian.”
“Happiness?” Christian gasped in surprise. “Is it happiness to have your farm destroyed, to be mobbed by your neighbors, and to be driven from your homeland?”
Peter smiled. “It’s happiness to have found the true church of God. That’s worth giving up everything for.”
Christian shook his head. “Nothing is worth that,” he disagreed.
“You say that only because the truth hasn’t touched your heart yet. When it does, you’ll know what to do and you won’t be afraid. May the Lord bless you, Christian. I’ll always be your friend. Perhaps we’ll meet again soon.” Then Peter turned and limped slowly into the house.
If Grandmother doesn’t stop going to those Mormon meetings, the villagers will drive us away, too, thought Christian. Fear twisted his stomach again. “Certainly nothing is worth that!” he declared. And what if the missionaries are speaking lies, like hr. Dam, the priest, keeps saying? Christian wondered. And how can he be so sure?
As Christian approached his house, he was nearly knocked to the ground by hr. Dam, who came charging through the door like an angry bull. “Take care, fru Villadsen! Such talk is dangerous,” he shouted over his shoulder.
When he saw Christian, hr. Dam wagged a finger in his face. “If your grandmother doesn’t stop listening to those devil preachers, you, too, may awake to find your farm burning.”
“If you’ll tell me what lies these missionaries speak, perhaps I can convince Grandmother. Lies aren’t worth being persecuted for.”
“Smart boy,” said hr. Dam, nodding. “But do you really think I’d listen to their lies myself?”
“You’ve never heard them speak?”
“Of course not!”
“Then how do you know,” pursued Christian, “whether they speak lies or the truth?”
Hr. Dam’s face turned red with anger. “What a fool you are!” he shouted at Christian.
“Hr. Dam will tell the mob, and we’ll lose everything,” Christian told his grandmother later. “Certainly nothing is worth that.”
Grandmother smiled. “Finding the true church is worth that and much more. Tonight, at the fjord, I am going to be baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” she said.
“No! If the mob finds you …”
“We will pray,” Grandmother said calmly, “that they don’t.”
She wouldn’t listen to Christian’s pleadings to stay away from the Mormon meeting. In the end, he went with her, to help her escape if necessary. In the meantime, he decided, it won’t hurt me to listen to the missionaries, just enough to see if the words they speak are worth all the persecutions.
The night was clear, and a crisp breeze rippled the waters of the fjord as Christian and his grandmother crept quietly through the darkness to the meeting place. There, everyone lovingly greeted each other. Christian listened carefully to the missionaries, trying to find the lies that caused such hatred in the village. He could find none. When the baptisms began, Christian pushed forward for a better view.
Grandmother stepped into the waters to be baptized, and Christian felt a hand on his arm. Peter Sorensen was standing at his side. “I hoped we would meet again soon,” he said simply.
Then Grandmother was standing with others, while the fjord waters dripped from their clothing to form puddles on the ground. Her face was radiant with joy. “It is worth everything,” she said. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
Christian felt so choked with emotion that he almost didn’t hear the angry voices and tramping feet moving up the road toward them. The beautiful, joyous feeling in his heart was shattered suddenly by fear. “Hurry, into the fields!” came the warning.
The group on the bank disappeared as quickly as it had gathered. Christian and Peter grabbed Grandmother and plunged into the fields, crouching to stay out of sight. Behind them, the enraged mob began its search. Closer and closer they came to where Christian, Grandmother, and Peter hid.
The mob was now so close that Christian could see their angry faces. The friends and neighbors they had known all their lives were now trying to destroy them. “Burn the fields,” cried hr. Dam, his face twisted with hatred. “That will drive them out.”
“We should have brought the dogs to hunt them down.” That was Hans speaking—their friend Hans—and his face was distorted with rage.
Christian looked at his grandmother and Peter beside him. They were afraid. He knew that. But their faces were beautifully peaceful and calm. There was no twisting, darkening hatred here, even though there was reason enough. Instead, the words of the missionaries had given them something that left no room for such feelings, something that even fear could not drive out.
And in his heart, though Christian was not quite ready to fully accept all that the missionaries said, he knew that he, too, had found something priceless. The truth is worth persecution, he decided.

In Mexico, President Russell M. Nelson was introduced in the national Chamber of Deputies (the lower house of Congress), and the Church was praised for the good it has done in defending religious freedom and in strengthening families. President Nelson also met with members and missionaries and said that members “are an active force for good in their communities.”

I smile a little now when I remember my second attempt. I had discovered that righteousness had something to do with getting rid of all those sins I was treasuring, and so I decided to simply stop sinning. Now, getting rid of one’s sins is not funny or easy but the methods I used seem almost embarrassing. I was, however, sincere.
In order to get rid of my sins, I found that I first had to discover what they were. I began by comparing myself with others. It didn’t take too long before I began thinking that maybe I wasn’t so bad, after all. In fact, I really began to enjoy this step. And while I concentrated on other people’s faults, my guilt and frustrations really seemed to ebb. So it was not effective. For awhile I had been able to pretend that I didn’t really need to change, but I couldn’t keep that illusion forever. My conscience wouldn’t let me smother my own sins completely.
I was a little more wary when I tried a second time to identify my sins. I reflected on what sin was and what it wasn’t. I found I was actually just postponing any real action; but I found that I really was able to become more objective about who I was and what I needed to change.
I could see that I had been trying to rationalize my sins away, thinking that many warnings in the scriptures and by modern-day prophets simply didn’t apply to me. By thinking that way, I had effectively put myself above most everyone else. But as soon as I was able to honestly acknowledge my sins, I was less fearful—even almost eager—to get rid of them.
I promptly designed a program to get rid of my sins. My program was just to tell myself I would not sin—I would not think impure thoughts; I would never lie; I would not procrastinate; I would not lose my temper. It took several failures, trying again and again, to discover two more important things: first, when I tried to avoid sin, and was successful, I would consistently receive a confirming, warm feeling from the Holy Ghost. Second, I discovered that some of the things I told myself over and over not to think about actually came into my mind more often as a result.
A big part of my problem at this point, I can now see, was that I saw my sins as a kind of contest—them against me. I thought I had to struggle, to fight against them, that righteousness was obtained by willpower. That perspective just perpetuated the situation. My problem in this stage was my perspective. I was trying to not do things instead of trying to do things. Instead of defining my sins, I should have been defining those attributes I wanted to have.
The outcome of this attempt at righteousness, then, was that most of my sins with a view of myself as essentially a failure.

Many years ago, at a Church magazine awards banquet, we sat with President and Sister Harold B. Lee. President Lee said to our teenage daughter, Ann: “The Lord has blessed you with a beautiful face and body. Keep the inside just as beautiful as the outside, and you will be blessed with true happiness.” This master teacher left with Ann an inspired guide to the celestial kingdom of our Heavenly Father.

He was unable to serve a full-time mission because World War II broke out. Instead, he served his country by operating one of these.

In 2016—in the midst of nearly three decades of marriage, bearing and nurturing and loving our three sons, practicing law full-time, serving in Church callings, and attending to the needs of our extended family—my husband, Doug, and I were called to serve for three years as mission leaders in Arequipa, Peru. We left just after our first grandson was born.
We returned home in 2019 to two new granddaughters. Our two oldest sons were married, and the youngest was in love and soon to be married. I returned to practicing law, and my favorite calling was as Mom and Grammy.
And then the call came to serve as the Primary General President. The comfortable narrative I had written for myself was spending time with my family, another decade practicing law to ensure financial security, and serving in my ward or in the temple.
What if I had stuck with this comfortable narrative?
I would have enjoyed spending more time with my grandchildren and I could have been assured some financial security. And I would have missed a stretching, soul-searching, and faith-building experience. Uphill? Yes. Worth it? Oh, yes!

During a visit to New Zealand and Australia in May, Elder D. Todd Christofferson invited Latter-day Saints in New Zealand to prepare for the Auckland Temple dedication in 2024 by becoming more holy and Christlike.
He invited them to ask themselves, “What could I do that would make me a holier person, a better offering and gift of myself to present to the Lord on that day of the dedication?”

I hardly considered myself a dating machine, which is why I was stunned when I was asked out not once, but twice in the same week. I couldn’t believe my luck. I scheduled a date with one boy for Friday and the other for Saturday. I was feeling pretty smug about how popular with the young men I had become.
My Friday night date went as planned. We had a nice dinner and then went to meet a group of his friends to play a board game. We arrived at his friend’s house and waited for the rest of the group to arrive. People trickled in every few minutes, but I didn’t really notice. There wasn’t going to be anyone I knew here.
Until I locked eyes with someone I recognized. I froze.
My Saturday night date was staring right back at me.
I could have died. I suddenly didn’t feel so proud of myself for landing two dates that weekend. I tried to give my Saturday night date some kind of facial signal that expressed my embarrassment over the situation, but to my surprise, he looked like he was trying to keep from bursting out laughing. He gave me a meaningful nod to indicate that this would be our little secret. We went about the rest of the evening without discussing the mishap so as to spare my current date, who had no idea his friend had asked me out for the following evening.
When he picked me up the next evening for our date, we were able to laugh about what happened the night before. I know how lucky I was that his feelings hadn’t been hurt when he saw me on a date with his friend. The Church encourages dating different people when we’re young, but I became more aware of how my dating decisions could hurt others if I was not careful. Even though it was an accident, the experience taught me an important lesson about treating dates with the consideration and respect they deserve.

Like every mayor, Lindsay Anderson had to deal with the headaches of bureaucracy, endless meetings, and special-interest groups. Unlike other mayors, Lindsay had to do it all after school let out for the day.
West Bountiful, Utah, the town Lindsay calls home, is also home to a unique program that puts the youth of the town in the driver’s seat of city government. In order to give the youth an experience in leadership, the city council appoints a youth mayor and city council. Although the town has another, adult mayor, the youth mayor and council are responsible for activities and programs for the youth of West Bountiful. They also give their input and ideas to the regular city council.
“We hold meetings about every other week, and we plan for upcoming holidays like dances for the youth and Easter egg hunts for the little kids.”
Lindsay and her council have also begun work on ideas to help youth at risk, brainstorming ideas to help teenagers stay involved in positive activities. One successful program that is already in place is the West Bountiful Fourth of July dance.
“It’s great because we get such a huge response to the dance,” says Lindsay. “It’s a place to come and have a good time and stay out of trouble.”
As youth mayor, and before that as a member of the youth city council, Lindsay has learned a lot about how to manage people without stifling their creativity.
“During meetings it was hard to get everyone quiet, but that was kind of neat because they were all talking about their ideas. I’m not a shy person, but I don’t like to dominate people, so I like to be receptive to their ideas. That’s fun.”
Lindsay finds her inspiration in the two individuals she admires most: her father and Jesus Christ.
“My dad is a role model for sure. I love him. Also I learned that Jesus had a whole group of people to bring together. He taught by example and love. Like him, I hope that if I’m doing the right thing, people will follow in my footsteps.”
After a year in office, Lindsay has stepped down from her position, making way for a new youth mayor. As a Latter-day Saint, Lindsay believes in “obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law” (A of F 1:12). With a year of government experience under her belt, Lindsay may someday not only uphold the law; she may have a hand in making it.

Perhaps such a somber thought inspired the poet Will Allen Dromgoole’s classic poem titled “The Bridge Builder”:
An old man, going a lone highway,
Came at the evening, cold and gray,
To a chasm, vast and deep and wide,
Through which was flowing a sullen tide.
The old man crossed in the twilight dim;
The sullen stream had no fears for him;
But he turned when safe on the other side
And built a bridge to span the tide.
“Old man,” said a fellow pilgrim near,
“You are wasting strength with building here;
Your journey will end with the ending day;
You never again must pass this way;
You have crossed the chasm, deep and wide—
Why build you the bridge at the eventide?”
The builder lifted his old gray head:
“Good friend, in the path I have come,” he said,
“There followeth after me today
A youth whose feet must pass this way.
This chasm that has been naught to me
To that fair-haired youth may a pitfall be.
He, too, must cross in the twilight dim;
Good friend, I am building the bridge for him.”

Joby lay in bed, watching the morning light peek between his curtains. A new day was waiting for him to come outside and greet it. For a new day, it sure is filled up with a bunch of stuff already, he thought. There was a bed that had to be made and a dentist appointment that was sure to happen because Aunt Viola was taking him, and she never forgot anything. If that wasn’t enough, his mother was going to cook string beans for dinner. They were the worst food, Joby was sure, that Heavenly Father had put on the earth!
What the new day wouldn’t be filled with was the bubble gum card he had traded yesterday for a candy bar. He had eaten the candy bar, and it was gone, just like his card. And there wouldn’t be the hamster he had been wanting for longer than he could remember. Going to the dentist with Aunt Viola, making his bed, and having to eat string beans were trials and tribulations that would be more bearable if he had a hamster. He even knew what he’d name his hamster—Agatha—if he ever got one.
Joby climbed out of bed, making sure that he was quiet. He didn’t want to wake up Old Bear, his stuffed panda. He crossed his room to where a little tin box sat on his dresser. He picked up the box and emptied out the dimes, nickels, and pennies into his hand and counted them. They would buy Agatha as soon as he had another dollar and a half.
Joby knew that his father would have helped him get a hamster if he could, but he was a writer and work had been scarce for some time. It was all his father could do to keep a roof over their heads and pay Joby a penny for every grasshopper he carried out of the garden to the field. Dad didn’t like to hurt anything, not even bugs.
One Sunday Joby and the rest of his family, except Dad, were sick with the flu and stayed home from church. When his father came home, he had the strangest look on his face—the same kind of look that he got when he bore his testimony. Saying that he had something important to discuss with everyone, he called a family council. Joby curled up in a blanket on the couch wit his mother and sisters, Michelle and Patience, on one side, and his brothers, Matthew and Nathan, on the other.
Dad explained that the bishop had said additional funds were badly needed to finish building the Jordan River Temple, located a few miles south of them. The bishop was asking every member to give all the money that they could to the temple fund so that the Lord’s work could go forth. He had promised that every family that willingly sacrificed and gave all that they possibly could, including money saved for vacations, would be blessed twofold and would still be able to do all they had planned to do. Joby’s father concluded, “I know that the bishop is right and that what he said was true.”
Joby’s parents had worked hard to save $600 for a family trip to visit Joby’s grandparents who lived in California. Grandpa had been sick for a long time, and the whole family really wanted to visit him. It had been a long time since they had gone on a vacation together. “What should we do with the money?” Dad asked now.
Eleven-year-old Michelle said without thinking twice, “Give it to the bishop. Temple work is real important. Even more important than going on a vacation.”
Joby’s father’s eyes filled with tears. He tried to talk, but he couldn’t. Mom blew her nose and asked three-year-old Nathan to hand a tissue to his father.
“I think we should help Heavenly Father, too,” Matthew volunteered.
“Me, too,” Nathan agreed. Dad turned to Joby, who was holding Old Bear close, the same way his mother was holding his brother Nathan. Joby was quiet a long moment, then got up and left the room with Old Bear. His father looked at his mother, certain that Joby was heartbroken, maybe even angry, about giving up the trip.
A few moments later Joby returned, holding his little tin box. He took off the lid and placed the can in his father’s lap. Joby looked down at the shiny coins that had lit his dreams. Then his eyes found his father’s. He smiled and said, “I want to help Heavenly Father build his temple too.” When his father’s eyes again welled up with tears, Joby said with concern, “Don’t cry, Daddy—I want to give it.”
“I know you do,” his father said softly as he drew the small boy into his arms. “And you’ll be blessed for it. We all will.”
Shortly thereafter the bishop announced that, thanks to everyone’s contributing all he could, the temple fund needs had been met.
And his promise about those who gave from their hearts being rewarded by the Lord came true too, Joby’s father got a writing assignment—then another, and yet another. He was so busy that he had to turn the following one down. The family’s income didn’t just double, as the bishop had promised, but more than quadrupled! Joby and his family were not only able to go see their grandparents, but he and his brothers and sisters were now given a weekly allowance.
Within a few weeks, Joby and Old Bear witnessed a dream come true—they had a new roommate, Agatha the hamster! In his prayers that night, Joby thanked Heavenly Father for his hamster and for being able to help in the completion of the Jordan River Temple. When his father tucked him into bed, he told Joby that his sacrifice was one of the main reasons the family had been so blessed.
“But I only gave two dollars,” Joby said, wondering.
Joby’s father pushed a strand of hair from the boy’s eyes and gazed at him in the soft lamp light. “It’s not important how much we give, Joby—it’s how we give. You gave everything you had, money you’d been saving for something you wanted as badly as you’ve ever wanted anything. And you gave it freely, with all your heart. God judges us by our heart deeds. And your heart is as big, Joby, as the sun coming up in the morning.”
Joby didn’t seem to mind making his bed or going to the dentist much anymore. He didn’t even mind string beans. He had a hamster that made up for it. And he had a feeling of joy that nobody could ever take away. He had helped Heavenly Father build a temple! And he would try to fill every day with deeds and actions that would allow him to go to that temple one day and there continue to help his Heavenly with His work.
Note: In May 1992, Joby Goldrup went to the Jordan River Temple and there received his endowment in preparation for serving a full-time mission in the Italy Padova Mission.

We know Joseph Smith is a prophet; that the Father and the Son appeared to him in the spring of 1820 to usher in this final gospel dispensation; that he translated the Book of Mormon by the gift and power of God; that he received keys and authority from angels sent for this very purpose; and that the Lord revealed to him the doctrines of salvation.

When I was young, Bob Richards pole vaulted 4.5 meters, an incredible accomplishment. At the Moscow Olympics last year, six men broke the Olympic record of 5.49 meters before Poland’s Wlydslaw Kozakiewicz cleared 5.692 meters, the first time in 60 years that a world record was set in the Olympic pole vault—and Kozakiewicz’s second of three misses at 5.73 meters would have cleared 5.7 meters!

As sisters in Zion we can be obstacles to the adversary’s conspiracy against families and virtue. No wonder he tempts us to settle for earthly pleasures rather than to seek for eternal glory. A 45-year-old mother of six told me recently that when she stopped poring over magazines that plagued her with images of how her home and wardrobe should look, she began to feel more at peace. She said, “I may be chubby, gray, and wrinkled, but I am a chubby, gray, wrinkled daughter of God, who knows me and loves me.”

April 11 I got angry feelings when my girl friend said she liked some other boy better than me. Then I gave her one of my best marbles, and she let me sit by her. I gave her another of my best marbles, and she said she likes me best. My dad said, “That’s using your marbles.”

When spring came, my deep depression lifted, and I no longer needed medication. We moved to a sunny city. I thought all was well and that I would leave my mental illness behind. But I was not completely healed. Feelings of guilt arose for my previous thoughts, feelings, and urges. I disliked that my teenagers had figured out that I had been suicidal. I felt like I had wasted more than a year of my life.
Also, I was scared—especially when the shorter days in September arrived again. I experienced intense daily flashbacks and feared I would suffer acute depression again. But I could see the Lord’s hand in my life as I was led to a wonderful doctor and started therapy. I learned that I also suffered from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). With my doctor’s guidance, I dealt with PTSD.

“One time we built a zoo for our town. We used our stuffed animals.”
“Just like that,” Mommy said. “People could come see the zoo.”

When my friends and I heard that President Gordon B. Hinckley had asked the teens in our temple district to participate in the Manhattan New York Temple youth jubilee, we were excited because we would perform in Radio City Music Hall. We also thought it would be fun to practice with the other stakes in the area and meet new friends.
It wasn’t until the first practice that it hit me that there was a more important reason I was participating in the jubilee—it was something the Lord wanted me to do.
Twelve stakes from the New York Manhattan Temple district were involved in the jubilee, and we practiced every Saturday for three months. Youth from 12 stakes were divided into six groups, and each group learned different songs and dances that represented some Church history events in New York and the ethnic diversity of our area. The practices took time, but knowing President Hinckley was coming to watch our performance gave me the push I needed to get things right.
When the night of the jubilee arrived, I had a bad case of the butterflies. But then I looked into the audience and saw President Hinckley. I had never seen him in person before, and it was incredible to be so close. In his presence, the Spirit was strong.
The night was a big success. Although we were performing in front of a huge audience, I was able to calm down and have fun. The audience laughed and clapped throughout the performance. Nearly 2,400 youth participated. It was the largest group that has ever been onstage at Radio City Music Hall.
After the performance, we were invited to attend a devotional. At the devotional, President Hinckley said he asked the youth to participate in the jubilee because he wanted the Church to be fun for us. Doctrine and Covenants 136:28 says: “If thou art merry, praise the Lord with singing, with music, with dancing, and with a prayer of praise and thanksgiving.” The jubilee helped me appreciate just how much song and dance can lift our spirits and help us be happy. President Hinckley also read to us from his journal about the time two years before when he had been inspired to have the Manhattan temple constructed. He told us that Church members in this generation have a great responsibility to make a difference in the lives of those we come in contact with.
The jubilee made a difference in my life. Meeting youth from other stakes has helped me become more outgoing and happy. I’ve also been blessed with many missionary moments with my friends at school who asked me about the jubilee and my reasons for participating in it.
Church members in this area have waited to have a temple nearby. I am grateful to a latter-day prophet who had the wisdom to allow the youth to celebrate the temple dedication through song and dance. It was truly a time of jubilation.