Gospel Story Finder

One cold winter morning when I was about eleven years old, I woke up with the strongest feeling that something was wrong. I went upstairs to see my parents, but they weren’t there. In about five or ten minutes the phone rang, and it was my mother calling from the hospital. She told me that my father had been in a car accident.
My father worked late hours at a dairy that was an hour’s drive from home. That night he had had to stay past his usual quitting time. As he was driving home, he fell asleep and his car rolled about five times. My father was severely injured when he was thrown through the windshield. He landed in a puddle of mud and snow. The cold helped stop the bleeding, but when he was taken to the hospital, the doctors who examined him didn’t expect him to live.
I’ll never forget the bishop and his two counselors coming to our home that afternoon. They gathered our family together, and the bishop offered a prayer that my father’s life would be spared and that he would return to his normal health. As I listened to the prayer, I had a very warm, strong feeling that my father wouldn’t pass away.
He was in a coma for three weeks, but the bishop’s prayer was answered. In fact, a highway patrolman, a friend of my bishop’s, wrote a book in which he talked about the worst accident he had ever seen, in which the man’s life was spared. That man was my father.

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.

The Book of Mormon was not the only holy writ that Emma protected; she also secured the manuscript of Joseph’s inspired Bible translation. The Smiths moved to Missouri in 1838, intending to publish the revisions, but trouble mounted and Joseph was imprisoned. A friend, Ann Scott, sewed two cotton bags attached to a waistband to hide the papers under a skirt.11 Emma carried her two infants with two other young children clinging to her skirts, loaded with precious papers underneath, as they walked across the frozen Mississippi River to safety in Illinois.12

This lesson I learned anew some years ago as I received a rather unique and frightening assignment. Folkman D. Brown, then the Director of Mormon Relationships for the Boy Scouts of America, came to my office, having learned that I was about to depart for a lengthy assignment to New Zealand. He told me of his widowed sister, Belva Jones, who had been stricken with terminal cancer, who knew not how to tell her only son—a missionary in that faraway country. Her wish, even her plea, was that he remain in the mission field and serve faithfully. She worried about his reaction; for the missionary, Elder Ryan Jones, had lost his father just a year earlier to the same dread disease.
I accepted the responsibility. Following a missionary meeting held adjacent to the majestically beautiful New Zealand Temple, I met privately with Elder Jones and, as gently as I could, explained the situation of his mother. Naturally there were tears—not all his—but then the handclasp of assurance and the pledge: “Tell my mother I will serve, I will pray, and I will see her again.”
I returned to Salt Lake City just in time to attend a conference of the Lost River Stake at Moore, Idaho. As I sat on the stand with the stake president, my attention was drawn almost instinctively to the east side of the chapel, where the morning sunlight bathed the lone occupant of a front bench. I said to the stake president, “Who is the sister upon whom the sunlight is resting? I feel I must speak to her today.” He replied, “Her name is Belva Jones. She has a missionary son in New Zealand. She is very ill and has requested a blessing.”
Prior to that moment, I had not known where Belva Jones lived. My assignment that weekend could have been to any one of 50 stakes. Yet the Lord, in His own way, had answered the prayer of faith of a concerned mother. We had a wonderful visit together. I reported word for word the reaction and the resolve of her son, Ryan. A blessing was provided, a prayer offered, a witness received. Belva Jones would live to see her son complete his mission. This privilege she enjoyed. Just one month prior to her passing, his mission completed, Ryan returned home.

This fall some friends came to our home with their children and brought with them a case of the most beautiful, large peaches I have ever seen. They were almost unbelievable in their size, their beauty, and their flavor. Brother Pitt explained that they had just won first prize at the county fair for their peaches, and they had an orchard full of them. I asked how you produce such remarkable fruit, and the family was eager to explain. “We learned how to prune the peach trees and thin the weak fruit,” they said. “It’s hard work and must be done regularly.”

“We also learned what happens when you don’t prune,” said one of the children. Their father had wisely suggested that three trees in the orchard be left to grow without the harsh results of the pruning knife. They explained to me that the fruit from these trees was not only very small in size but did not have the sweet taste of the other fruit. The lesson was obvious. There was no question in their minds about the far-reaching value of careful pruning.

Estelle ate her last bite of Mama’s yummy enchiladas and scooted her chair away from the patio table. It was a warm summer night—perfect for eating outside. And perfect for playing! She couldn’t wait to play fetch with her dog, Rufus.
But first she had to clear the table. She piled the plates into a tall stack. She knew the stack was getting too wobbly. But she didn’t want to make a lot of trips inside.
Estelle balanced the stack in one hand and carefully opened the door with the other. But the stack started to tip. Crash! Two plates smashed onto the patio, right in front of the door. Dad ran out to see what happened and went to get a broom. Then Estelle saw Rufus. He was trotting toward the door.
“Rufus! Don’t step on the broken plates!” She ran around the table and jumped in front of him. “No! Rufus, stay!”
But Rufus didn’t stop. He tried to get around her. Estelle bent down and put her hands in front of him.
“Rufus, I’m trying to keep you safe,” she said. “The pieces are sharp. They’ll cut your paws.”
Then Estelle had an idea. “Where’s your ball? Do you want to play fetch?” Rufus turned away to look for his ball. Now he was safe!
As she swept up the broken plates with Dad, Estelle thought about why she told Rufus no. If he stepped on the pieces, he would have been hurt. He wouldn’t be able to do what he liked to do—like playing fetch.
Dad always said that Heavenly Father gives commandments to keep us happy and safe. But Estelle sometimes thought that commandments felt more like rules to keep her from doing what she wanted.
Estelle looked down at the broken pieces. Maybe Heavenly Father says no to some things because He’s trying to keep me safe too, she thought.
Rufus ran to Estelle and dropped the ball at her feet. She scratched his ears. Then she threw the ball and laughed as Rufus ran after it.
Rufus was safe. And he was happy! Estelle wanted to keep following Heavenly Father’s commandments to stay happy and safe too.
This story took place in the USA.

Now, I left my last example for the end of my talk because it is very difficult for me to tell.

About two and a half years ago, our middle son became very ill. He couldn't climb up the stairs in our home without being completely winded. He would pass out when he would try to physically exert himself. By the time we got him to specialists in San Diego, who were among only a few doctors in the world who could perform a specialized operation on lungs, our son Burke was in heart failure. My husband was with him for a week of tests while I was here teaching classes. I kept hoping that the doctors would be able to just give him some kind of pill or breathing therapy that would heal his condition but my husband called me and told me that I should come quickly because they would be operating the next day. Burke had blood clots that hit his lungs and caused so much scar tissue to build up in his lungs that he only had 10 percent lung capacity. Because he couldn't breath, his heart was working so hard that it had enlarged and he was in heart failure. The procedure the doctors would perform on him was more invasive than open-heart surgery because the doctor would have to cool Burke's body to the lowest point a human body can go and still be revived, move his heart to get to his lungs, then slowly remove the scar tissue from his lungs. After his body is cooled, the doctor only has 20 minutes to clear the scar tissue before they would have to revive Burke, stabilize his vitals and then start over again. The doctor did this three times over the course of ten hours.

Here was one of our precious sons looking literally at the chance of death. I was having a difficult time grappling with the idea that such a great young man who had faithfully and fully served a mission, fulfilled his church callings, and obeyed the word of wisdom would have these health problems. Why would Heavenly Father allow this to happen?

When I arrived at the hospital, the attendants were prepping Burke for surgery. There was a short lull in the flurry of activity and my husband suggested we pull the curtains closed around Burke and he would give him a blessing. I can tell you that never before in my life have I so appreciated that my husband was worthy enough to give our son a priesthood blessing. Never before have I been so grateful that my husband's faith had grown because of all of his past callings and experiences in the Church. Never before was I in such need to have a priesthood holder lay his hands upon my son and call upon the powers of heaven to bless him and give him comfort. I know Burke was the benefactor of many healing gifts because of the faith of his father.

Devan DeWitt has come a long way since joining the cross-country team two years ago as a sophomore. He wasn’t a particularly fast runner when he began, but as time went by he improved. By his junior and senior years, he had earned the right to compete at the state cross-country championships.
“When I discovered I could succeed at running, it helped me in other areas,” he says. “My grade-point average went from a 2.6 to a 3.0, and I had the courage to try out singing. Now I’m in the a capella choir.”

President Henry B. Eyring shared an incredible witness and reminder that covenants can banish fear, doubt, and uncertainty that can otherwise stifle our efforts to become what God wants us to become. While entering into sacred temple covenants with his eternal companion, Kathy, President Eyring was taught by a prophet of God, President Spencer W. Kimball, to strive to keep his covenants in such a way that he could “walk away easily”16 from other pursuits when the call to greater consecration came. As President Eyring observed:

The loving counsel given by President Kimball in the temple to be able to “walk away easily” became a reality. Kathy and I received a call to leave what seemed an idyllic family situation in California to serve in an assignment and in a place that I knew nothing about. However, our family was ready to leave because a prophet, in a holy temple, a place of revelation, saw a future event for which we were then prepared.17

Chauncey was a demon for self-improvement. To make time for study, he rigged up an electric alarm system that aroused him in the morning around 5:00 or 5:30. Then he would usually work out for about 15 minutes swinging Indian clubs. He was especially motivated to go through these exercises in the cold winter months: getting the circulation stimulated helped to compensate for the two hours he was studying without heat. On January 10 the following scene occurred:
“This morning at 6:30 I was awakened very suddenly by my electric clock and bells. I made one jump and landed out of bed on the floor. Then my understanding was clear and I, knowing that if I did not in a minute shut my electric bells off from the strong current that the batteries would be run down and the neighbors would turn out thinking there was a fire, I jumped spryly in the direction of my electric clock, but I had barely got started toward it in the blind darkness than I ran against some living thing and turned a somersault the air and fell all in a heap, and the noise of the gong sounded louder and louder. After I got my understanding, I made another attempt, shutting off the electric current and lighting the lamp looking for the person that I had fallen over. It was a chair.”

Another General Authority, Rulon S. Wells, a kindly and pleasant elderly gentleman, came to our home one time after a stake conference. He stayed for supper and afterward accompanied me while I milked the cows. He leaned on the corral fence and we chatted.
Elder Rulon S. Wells

Afterward, since I had recently obtained a driver’s license, I was able to drive him back to Salt Lake City in our old Model T Ford touring car. When Elder Wells ordained me a seventy before I went on my mission, I was thrilled to learn that he had been ordained a seventy by Brigham Young.

A group of 30 young women from a ward in Arizona, USA, climbed a mountain of sorts together when they spent a year encouraging and helping one another work on their Personal Progress and earn their Young Womanhood Recognition.
During that time, among other accomplishments the young women put in a seriously impressive 1,200 hours of service. Think of that! That’s like one person working a full-time job for over seven months. In addition to donating their own time, the young women also invited others in their ward and community to participate.
Their projects included tying quilts for women’s shelters, decorating placemats for a hospice (a health-care facility for people who are nearing death), singing at care centers, sewing pillowcase dresses for children, cleaning school grounds, painting lines and shapes on playgrounds, and much more. They even started dedicating one Wednesday a month to family history.
One of their big projects was a drive for backpacks and school supplies. They collected 70 backpacks and hundreds of school supplies for local school kids who needed a helping hand. “I felt really happy knowing I helped those children who couldn’t afford the things they needed,” said Katie S., a Beehive.
The service they gave was only part of what made this adventure so cool. The funny thing about service is how much it helps you in the end too. The young women say they picked up useful skills along the way. “Personal Progress has made me more comfortable sharing the gospel and standing up for what I believe,” said Jessica R., a Mia Maid. “It’s also helped me develop good habits, such as reading my scriptures and saying my prayers daily.”
In the end, their “climb” was successful. With medallions around their necks, the young women celebrated their progress with a trip to the Snowflake Arizona Temple.
They discovered that climbing through life is a lot easier when you don’t have to go it alone.

As a young high school boy, I was wrestling in a state tournament, and I was in my usual position—on the bottom. When I looked up from the mat, I spotted a familiar face among the fans in the bleachers. It wasn’t a pleasant face. In fact, it was one filled with pain. It was one of a father who was seeing his son on the bottom and who was working with all his energy (at that distance) to get his son on top. Having seen that look on his face, I knew there was only one thing I could do and that was to change my position. From somewhere came the strength I needed. I am quite certain that the young man I was wrestling was as surprised as I was when he found that I was on the top and that he had suddenly lost the match. Immediately the look on the face of my father changed; and a smile, a sense of accomplishment, and a sense of satisfaction were there instead. The encouragement from that parent, and the desire of a son to please his father, had reached to the son and given him strength to change his situation for the better.

The four years of graduate school when I was working to obtain my doctorate degree were a particularly difficult time in our lives. We moved away from home and family for the first time as a couple. The curriculum was rigorous and the expectations were very high, which meant long hours of study and preparation for classes. We had three young kids at the time and were doing our best to figure out how to be parents. Money was very tight, and we often worried about our ability to provide for our needs both then and in the future. It was during this same time that Kristie developed a long-term illness and we had very few answers for how to care for her. All of these things combined to make it both a physically and emotionally difficult time for our family.

Just so you don’t think the whole graduate school experience was a bad experience, there were many positive, happy, and even funny experiences that we had during this time as well. For example, I began playing racquetball with a friend five or six mornings per week for several months. After playing so frequently for so long, it started to take an interesting toll on me. Have you ever had the experience when you are just starting to fall asleep, and you dream you are falling and suddenly wake up in a panic? Rather than dreaming I was falling when I started to doze off to sleep, I began dreaming I was playing racquetball. I would wake up suddenly as I swung the racquetball racquet as hard as I could, but luckily there was no racquet. I’m sure it startled Kristie much more than it startled me since she was oftentimes lying in the path of my swing. Luckily, dreams are much more exaggerated than reality, and I never came close to actually hitting her with my make-believe racket.

In the midst of all of the difficulties of graduate school, we had many experiences that reinforced in our own minds and hearts that God loved us and was aware of and supporting us through our struggles. We decided to make it a high priority to attend the temple in Mesa, about an hour and a half drive away from our home, at least once per month. Because we couldn’t afford a babysitter very often, many of these monthly temple trips involved us packing a lunch and going to the temple as a family on a Saturday, with Kristie and I taking turns participating in temple ordinances while the other one of us played with the kids at a nearby park. Like Jerry and Cynthia, our testimony of God’s love for us grew as we participated in and grew to love the work of the temple.

We were also blessed through the kindness and generosity of friends and neighbors. We made some lifelong friends during those years who were a significant source of strength to us, as we hope we were to them. Like Mailee, Jarrett, Cynthia and Jerry, our family felt the love of God through the kindness and thoughtfulness of those around us.

We also felt the love of God through the scriptures, the words of modern-day apostles and prophets and through good music. I began reading the scriptures every day during my lunchtime as a way to stay closer to God, and to receive His power more fully in my life. Rather than listening to popular music on the car ride to and from school each day, I listened to conference talks or uplifting music. By doing our very best to stay close to our Father in Heaven, despite it being difficult at times, we more fully recognized His hand in our lives and felt His love for us as we pushed forward through those trials. Those years resulted in significant spiritual growth for us and laid a strong foundation for a lifetime of relying on God as we have navigated life’s challenges.

Although most of the Saints had left Nauvoo by summer, some remained because of poverty or sickness. This made anti-Mormons very angry. On 10 September 1846, about 800 men with six cannons began to fire on the Saints still in Nauvoo. The attack continued for several days until an agreement was reached that every Mormon would leave except five men and their families, who would stay to sell the remaining property.
Five or six hundred of these remaining Saints crossed the Mississippi and camped on the riverbank in Iowa. They had only blankets and brush bowers for shelter. None of them had food for more than a few days, and many were very sick.
On 9 October, a miracle occurred. Flocks of quail flew into their camps, landing on the ground and even on the tables. The hungry Saints were able to catch the birds. The meat saved many people from starvation and stirred their hearts as they realized that the Lord was caring for them.
Their fellow Saints had not forgotten them, either. Many came back from the Missouri River to help. Others went into neighboring cities to seek money to aid the poor and sick. In the end, the refugees were rescued and divided among the various camps in Iowa, a few even reaching Winter Quarters.

Now, the combination of observation, reason, and faith in receiving and understanding revelation is well illustrated in an example from the life of President Joseph F. Smith. In 1918, President Smith was in poor health, and death was on his mind. His oldest son, Hyrum, became ill and died of a ruptured appendix. Hyrum’s widow, Ida, died of heart failure shortly thereafter. A world war was raging. More than fifteen million soldiers and civilians eventually died. A deadly strain of influenza was killing people around the world. The number of deaths worldwide would reach fifty million.

On October 3, President Smith
sat in his room, reflecting on the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the redemption of the world. He opened his New Testament to 1 Peter and read about the Savior preaching to the spirits in the spirit world. . . .
. . . The prophet felt the Spirit descend upon him, opening his eyes of understanding.44

He saw into the spirit world and saw that the Savior appeared to multitudes of righteous women and men who had died before the Savior’s mortal ministry. These righteous spirits rejoiced at their liberation from death.

President Smith wondered how the Savior could preach to all the spirits in prison because His ministry was limited to the time between the Crucifixion and His Resurrection. Having formulated the question, President Smith then
understood [by revelation] that the Savior did not go in person to the disobedient spirits. Rather, he organized the righteous spirits . . . to carry the gospel message to the spirits in darkness.45

This revelation is now canonized as section 138 of the Doctrine and Covenants. As we consider these experiences of President Smith, we see that reason and faith provided a springboard for that revelation.

Members from the Brandon Florida Stake, an area near Tampa, were on the phone with members in the Port Charlotte Ward as soon as they heard Port Charlotte was receiving the brunt of the storm. They arrived before relief workers had time to set up camp, so they began clearing the grounds around the meetinghouse using tools and machinery from the local Church farm. They then went to members’ homes to assess their needs.

All members in all areas of Florida were accounted for with no reports of injury, though some lost their homes. All missionaries were evacuated before the storm hit, but they later returned to help in the relief efforts. At least seven meetinghouses were damaged, but repairs are underway or already completed.

While the member volunteers helped clear people’s property, counselors from LDS Family Services in Salt Lake City were helping clear people’s minds. “In these abnormal situations a lot of what we do is reestablish family patterns and instill hope in the community,” Doug LeCheminant, program specialist for LDS Family Services, said. They have also helped in such situations as the September 11 tragedy and the Kosovo refugee crisis.

In March of 1832, Rebecca again provided invaluable aid to the Prophet when a mob burst into the John Johnson farm in Hiram, Ohio, and brutally assaulted Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon. After beating Sidney senseless and attempting to pour poison down Joseph’s throat, the mob tarred and feathered the Prophet. When Emma Smith saw her husband, she thought the tar was blood and fainted.5 Rebecca and Frederick spent that night peeling tar from Joseph’s bleeding and torn body and caring for the Smith children. Their succor was helpful, as Joseph found the strength to preach the next morning.

There are many touching stories of artists, musicians, actors, and writers who sacrificed much to devote their artistic talents to the building of the kingdom. Among my favorites is the story of the Paris Art Mission. In 1890, John Hafen, Lorus Pratt, and John B. Fairbanks, who was my great-grandfather, made a proposal to the First Presidency that they be called as art missionaries to Paris, where they could study painting in the great Parisian art schools. They could then return and paint the murals on the walls of the Salt Lake Temple, which was under construction at the time. After presenting their proposal, the three artists hiked to the top of Ensign Peak, overlooking the Salt Lake Valley, and offered a prayer to the Lord that their proposal would be accepted. The First Presidency called them to serve in Paris as “missionaries with a special purpose” (Linda Jones Gibbs, Harvesting the Light: The Paris Art Mission and Beginnings of Utah Impressionism (Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1987), 18). On the 23rd of June in 1890 they left Utah. Their sadness in leaving their young families for a long period of time, mixed with their enthusiasm for their missions, is well expressed in the following passage from my great-grandfather’s personal history:

I bade farewell to my wife, my family, and my home, and set out for a foreign land. Four of my darling little ones accompanied me to the depot, where I kissed their little faces, knowing I would not see them again for two years. On the Denver and Rio Grande train, I found Lorus Pratt, one of my fellow students. At Springville, a large crowd had assembled. In the midst of the crowd we saw John Hafen. . . . His eyes were red as he slowly made his way to the train. “All aboard” came the cry of the conductor and we were soon speeding eastward. After a few moments of silent reflection, we began to talk of our plans for the future. In that we found consellation [sic]. [Condensation by Florence Fairbanks Cope of a history by Florence Gifford Fairbanks, artist files, Museum of Church History and Art, Salt Lake City, Utah; quoted in Gibbs, Harvesting the Light, 18–19]

Once in Paris, the artists began their studies at the Julian Academy, the world’s most prestigious art school in the 19th century. For several months their studies consisted of drawing from casts and live models. Eventually they broke from the strict academy environment and spent most of their time in the French countryside painting landscapes in the impressionist style. Impressionism became their chosen style for the remainder of their careers and established a movement known as Utah Impressionism, which is now recognized as an important chapter in the history of American art.

Upon their return, the artists fulfilled the purpose of their mission by painting the beautiful murals on the interior walls of the Salt Lake Temple. Those murals have helped to convey the truths taught in the temple to many thousands of Church members.

“The challenge,” announced Brother Anderson to our institute class, “is to carry a copy of the Book of Mormon with you at all times while on campus. And hiding them in your purses and backpacks doesn’t count,” he added with a chuckle.
Piece of cake, I thought. How hard can it be to carry around a Book of Mormon?
Faithfully, I stacked the Book of Mormon on top of my books, hoping it would attract attention. It did. One look at the trumpeting angel sent most people running for cover. No one wanted to hear about my book or my religion. Not until Lifesaving 101, that is.
My lifesaving class was a small one, mostly competitive swimmers and divers. It was there that Chris*—tan, blond, and built like Mr. Atlas—asked to see my Book of Mormon. My heart thumped wildly as I handed him the book.
“Do you know what it says in this book?” he shouted, waving it over his head. Instantly, all eyes were on him. “It says that there are eight-foot-tall men on the moon who wear long black coats and stovepipe hats. And they all have 20 wives!”
Some missionary tool this is, I thought, as I considered trying to squeeze my 5-foot, 8-inch frame into the two-foot space beneath my desk. What would my teammates think of me? No sooner had that thought appeared when a scripture from the Bible forced it out:
“For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth” (Rom. 1:16).
I met Chris’s haughty stare with a challenge of my own. “If you can show me where in the Book of Mormon it says anything like that,” I said, “I will leave the LDS church.”
A united gasp rose from the class, followed by a deafening silence. Chris shuffled furiously back and forth through the pages of the Book of Mormon. Finally, thrusting the book back at me, he retreated to his seat, defeated.
I then bore fervent testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the prophet Joseph Smith to Chris and to the rest of the class. No one talked to me much that afternoon during swim practice, except for a quiet guy named Dorian. “May I see your book?” he asked.
Three years later, as Dorian and I knelt at the altar in the Washington D.C. Temple and were sealed for time and all eternity, I was grateful for the challenge of an inspired institute director, grateful too for a prophet of the Lord who challenged us to read daily from the Book of Mormon.