Gospel Story Finder

I watched Jason dribble the ball down the court, weaving around two players from the other team while I tried to outrun the one guarding me. Jason leaped toward the side of the basket and shot. The ball teetered on the rim for a second before it dropped through the net.
“Go, Jason, go!” cheered a crowd of little kids. I should have felt happy because our team, the Jets, had finally tied the score. But I didn’t want to hear Jason’s name anymore. He always scored the most points and caught the most rebounds—and got the most cheers.
The big red numbers on the clock showed only one minute left in the game when Dave passed the ball to me. The court was clear. I dribbled the ball down the sideline, the sound of thundering footsteps close behind. I jumped as high as I could and shot, trying to bounce the ball off the backboard and into the net. It hit the rim and bounced off. So who caught the rebound? Jason. Who scored the winning basket? Jason.
It wasn’t easy being in the same fifth-grade class and on the same basketball team as a superstar. All the second and third graders knew Jason. They ran up to him on the playground and crowded around him like a fan club. I’d be famous, too, if I scored 15 points a game. Secretly I wished Jason would disappear. Then one day he did!
“Jason has to have his tonsils out,” Mrs. Litten told our class. “He’s going to be out of school for at least a week.”
Dave groaned. “Now we’re going to get trampled by the Kings,” he whispered to me loudly. “Our team will never win without Jason.”
“Maybe,” I whispered back. Mrs. Litten gave me a look that said, “Be quiet and do your work.” I tried to concentrate on my spelling words, but I kept thinking that maybe I’d finally have a chance to be the star. Maybe now the kids would shout, “Go, Taylor!”
Basketball practice was a disaster, however. I practiced shooting from the free-throw line, and only one ball swished through. And when I tried dribbling fast, I tripped over the ball. But I didn’t give up. I started practicing my free throws again. It wasn’t going to be easy to be famous.
On Wednesday, Mrs. Litten asked me to stay after class, and I wondered what I’d done wrong.
“Taylor, I have a favor to ask.”
“Yes?” I was curious now.
“Would you fill in for Jason tomorrow and Friday? He goes to the second-grade classes after lunch to help them with their schoolwork. They’re missing him.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Litten smiled. “You’re a good student.”
“Sure.” But I wondered what I was getting myself into.
The next day I walked into a second-grade class after gulping down my sandwich. When I saw all those faces staring at me, I was nervous. The teacher introduced me and told them that I played basketball with Jason. Suddenly everyone was asking me questions, and the time passed quickly.
Right before I left, little Angelica gave me a hug. “Tell me your name again,” she said.
“Taylor,” I repeated for the zillionth time—but I didn’t mind one bit. In fact, I felt fantastic!
“I need to know your name so I can cheer for you,” Angelica told me. “Just like for Jason.”
That’s when I figured it out. All the kids knew Jason because he helped them. It really had little to do with basketball! I thought that over.
That afternoon I had my own little cheering section at the game. I started grinning, but I wasn’t thinking about being famous. Instead, I was planning to bring some dinosaur stickers for Robby and a book about kittens to show Angelica. I planned to tell Mrs. Litten that I wanted to keep volunteering, even when Jason came back.
“Go, Taylor!” shouted Angelica, and I was glad I’d learned that some things are much better than being a basketball superstar!

Several years ago, I felt myself beginning to sink under the weight of opportunity and responsibility. We had two sons still living at home, one son on a mission, and three other children scattered across the United States with their families. My husband was running for a State-wide political office and I was supporting him and traveling with him when I was able. My father was recovering from open heart surgery and my Mother was dying of cancer. I took every opportunity to sit with Mom during her treatments, helping in their home, cooking, cleaning, and spending nights caring for my Mother so Dad could rest. As you can see, responsibilities associated with home and family were many and varied. I was also serving as a Stake Relief Society president. My days were filled with responsibilities and sweet opportunities to serve. One night I arrived home late, the house was quiet, I put in a new CD. The music soothed my troubled heart. One song touched me in a special way. I played it over and over listening to the words. As I listened, three words; "Lord, remember me" filled me with the Spirit and entered into my mind and my heart. I closed my eyes and offered a silent prayer. I asked; "Lord, do you remember me?" The Spirit enveloped me and I heard this thought enter my mind; "I remember you, do you remember me?"

I realized at that very moment that, like Peter, I was distracted and had momentarily lost focus on the Savior. Like Martha, I was, "cumbered about much serving, and worried and troubled about many things..."[11] I was reminded; "one thing is needful..."[12] and partaking deeply of that "good part",[13] the Savior and His Atonement, each day is a choice.

Listen to José and a powerful experience he had while growing up.

This was when I was nine years old. I was in a Catholic elementary school. It was run by nuns. They were very, very strict, and I remember one day during recess that I was playing soccer in the yard and I kicked the ball and hit a window and broke the window. It was very scary at the time. One of the nuns came out and she yelled at me—she reprimanded me very harshly and told me to go home and tell my parents what had happened. I remember walking very, very slowly, scared, and trying not to get there. But I was very, very scared, and when I finally got there, my mom opened the door and I think she noticed how scared I was. I was pale and just looking terrible, and I told her what had happened, that I had kicked the ball and broken a window. I was just expecting her to do the same thing that the nun had done to me, just reprimand me.

Note how José’s mother reacted to him.

But instead, she told me not to worry about it and she hugged me, and I felt a sense of relief and also of appreciation for having a mother that would understand and put her love for me above my mistakes.

I sit at the sewing machine and feed thread onto seams of flannel. Child-print patterns in soft colors decorate the tops, and coordinating colors form the backs of the baby receiving blankets I’m sewing.
Our ward Relief Society assembles newborn kits for poverty and disaster areas. I’m an amateur seamstress, but I’m committed to participate. I enjoy choosing fabric for the project and cutting out blanket-sized squares.
I put right sides of the fabric together, sew around the edges, and leave an area open to turn the blanket right side out. Then I stitch along the edges, clip the corners, turn the blanket so that the colorful sides are on the outside, and stitch up the open area.
I sew along the top of the edges to reinforce the seams. I ease the fabric into place and take off at a brisk pace. As I rush to finish so I can resume household duties, a thought strikes me: “What if I were sewing this blanket for baby Jesus?”
With that thought, I slow down and take great care to straighten the seams. But even with care, the stitching doesn’t run straight.
Next I sew a 10-inch (25 cm) square in the center to secure the front to the back. I make a heavy paper template, center it on the blanket, and lightly mark around it. I put the fabric in place, ease down the needle, and carefully sew.
When I’m done, I clip the threads and pull out the finished blanket. It isn’t square—it’s a cross between a trapezoid and a parallelogram.
I set the blanket aside, pull out fresh flannel, and start again—taking greater pains for this gift worthy of Deity. But even with the extra effort, the results are only slightly better. Each blanket I sew is imperfect.
I feel that I can’t take any of the blankets to the collection site, at least not this year. I’ll keep practicing, and perhaps someday I can make a contribution.
Then another thought floats through my mind: “If you wait until your sewing is perfect, the Christ child will be in Egypt.”
I understand. The opportunity for service would be gone. The Savior accepts our offerings when we use our best efforts, imperfect though they may be. I know that a newborn, wrapped in a soft, clean blanket, would not refuse to sleep because the corners aren’t square.
As I contemplate whether my efforts will make a dent in worldwide needs, Christ’s counsel comes to mind: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matthew 25:40).
So I continue sewing blankets, working to make them as attractive as I can. I know there is a need now, not some vague time in the future when I can sew them perfectly.

I wish I could say that my Viennese premiere had been brilliant, that I had stepped onto the stage and evoked bravos and a standing ovation from the audience. But, as it turned out, even with two years of preparation my nerves got the better of me. My first public performance as a member of the Vienna Volksoper ensemble did not go as well as I had hoped. To make matters even worse, I had to read about my inadequacies in several Viennese newspapers the next day. Every day for two years I had worked on that killer aria. What had gone wrong? The performances that followed went very well indeed, but my dream of “making a big splash” in the international opera scene did not happen. We were devastated, and it took some time before the sting of this experience subsided.

Over the next few years, however, as I watched some of my colleagues experience the instant stardom for which I had hoped, I began to understand. To my sorrow I often saw their marriages dissolve and families suffer in the wake of long absences born of international singing contracts.

Who knows what would have happened to me, my marriage, my family, and my eternal welfare if things had happened that quickly? Would I have been spiritually mature enough at that time to say “no” to prestige and wealth if it would have compromised my goals as a father? The Lord knows infinitely better than we do what will help and what will harm us. If we allow Him, He will open doors or shut them hard for our spiritual protection and eternal progress.

Eventually the international contracts and membership in the Vienna State Opera ensemble did materialize. But in addition to these worldly blessings came great spiritual blessings: being present as my sons grew to maturity, serving the Lord in my calling as bishop, and interviewing each of my sons for their foreign missions—from Austria to the United States.

I look back with incredible gratitude to a loving Father who, for my own welfare, tempered my ambition and allowed me to wait for success.

I remember an experience when I was a young missionary. We met a gentleman during the blessing of a child in church. After the meeting, we exchanged contact information to go to his house and give him the missionary lessons. After teaching him the first lesson, the Spirit was very strong, and the gentleman was very moved by what he had learned. That’s when he asked for our address.

Surprised by that question, my companion and I asked him the reason for such a question. He told us that this message was so important that it would be better for him to come and take the lessons with us. Knowing that the gospel message is based on families, we kindly insisted that we keep going to his house to have the opportunity to teach the other members of his family as well.

Thanks to such an experience, this family is now baptized, sealed in the temple, and live the gospel in great joy. This story teaches and confirms to me that the field is white already to harvest. It also teaches me that if we are worthy, the Holy Ghost will guide us to people that are prepared and will also guide them to us to help them find the path to eternal life.

For me, the question “How does putting Jesus Christ first help with temple and family history work?” was at the heart of the March 2023 Temple and Family History Leadership Instruction. Before I watched the broadcast, I expected to learn more about how to implement family history plans in wards and stakes. Instead, I was inspired to change my focus from the tasks of family history to the power of covenant connection with our Savior.
Jesus invited us:
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; … and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:29–30).
Rest. Lighter burdens. Who doesn’t want more of that? I have loved this scripture for many years. I’ve pondered it, taught it, and rejoiced in it.
But Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles helped me see this verse in a new light: “As we take upon us the yoke of Christ by exercising our moral agency to understand the covenants, accept them, and to receive the ordinances, we are yoked with Him. Two animals yoked together pull in unison.”1
What a powerful concept. We become yoked to Jesus Christ when we make covenants with Him and with our Heavenly Father. Our covenants give us access to power that gives us rest, relieves our burdens, and gives us daily strength.
President Russell M. Nelson taught: “Each person who makes covenants in baptismal fonts and in temples—and keeps them—has increased access to the power of Jesus Christ. … The Savior lifts us above the pull of this fallen world.”2
Sometimes we don’t focus as much on Jesus Christ as we do on the day-to-day tasks of building the kingdom of God. We know He is there. We love Him. We want to serve Him. But He is not always at the forefront of our thoughts. This minimizes the help and strength we can receive through our covenants. As Elder Bednar said, too many people “believe sincerely and serve dutifully, but their covenant connection with the Father and His redeeming Son has not yet become a living and transforming reality in their lives.”3
In the leadership instruction broadcast, Elder Bednar taught the importance of putting Jesus Christ first in the sequence of our efforts. For example, rather than focus on preparing young men and young women to serve a mission and then receive their temple covenants, we need to focus on strengthening their testimonies of Jesus Christ, which then leads them to their temple covenants. The principle of intentionally putting Jesus Christ first applies in everything we do, including family history research.
Keeping Jesus Christ at the forefront doesn’t just happen. It takes effort. President Nelson taught: “Our focus must be riveted on the Savior and His gospel. It is mentally rigorous to strive to look unto Him in every thought.”4
Drawing of Syracuse Utah Temple by Jeremy Beck
So back to my original question: How does putting Jesus Christ first help with temple and family history work?
Changing our focus helps change our approach in gathering our family members from the other side of the veil. Our burdens are eased because we are not pulling alone. We have more purpose, resilience, and joy in our family history service.
As we make Jesus Christ our first focus in this work, we are filled with the fruit of His love, and we want to share His love with our families. We become like Father Lehi, who was desirous to share the great joy he found with his family (see 1 Nephi 8:12). Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said: “We can come to our Savior by covenant. As we come to Him by covenant, we naturally come to those we hold most dear and precious in our lives.”5
At the same time, as we search for and learn about our families, a change happens to us. “Almost every time people begin to think about, search out, talk about, document their ancestors, they begin to feel something,” said Elder Kevin S. Hamilton of the Seventy. “They begin to have these spiritual feelings and experiences.”6 This is often referred to as the spirit of Elijah, which is, as President Nelson has taught, “a manifestation of the Holy Ghost bearing witness of the divine nature of the family.”7
I witnessed this union of generations one time when I was helping a woman in my ward. Her parents had been divorced when she was young, and she knew very little about her father’s side of her family. We found basic records that identified her father’s parents and grandparents. She had never known their names. She was overcome with love and joy. The Spirit of the Lord filled her heart, and she was eager to take their names to the temple so they too could make sacred covenants with God.
When I take family names to the temple, my joy and spirituality are heightened because those family members are connected to me. When I perform their proxy ordinances, they are being connected not only to me but to God as well. With this connection, they too can enjoy the power of their covenants.
I will always remember one time when I performed the sealing for an ancestor. She had lived a difficult life, including the death of her first husband, the death of a toddler, and bankruptcy. During the sealing, the veil was thin, and the joy she felt while receiving her covenants was palpable. The Spirit filled my heart and the hearts of everyone in the room. It drew me closer to my Savior and gave me a surer witness of Heavenly Father’s plan of salvation and the eternal nature of families.
All of us can feel a deeper connection to both Jesus Christ and our families through connecting our families to their covenants. This has never been easier than it is now with the use of a FamilySearch feature called Ordinances Ready (see page U14 in this section). With this technology, we can find a family name even as we walk across the temple parking lot on our way into the temple.
Elder Gong taught, “Covenant belonging with God and each other includes knowing … [that] our most precious relationships can continue beyond death with a fulness of joy.”8 When we put Jesus Christ first in this sacred work, we will draw more upon our covenant relationship with Him and find immense joy and peace in His temple as we open the way for our family members to enjoy the blessings of these covenants.
Call for Experiences
What blessings have you felt through temple and family history work? Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles promised blessings such as these:
“Increased understanding of the Savior and His atoning sacrifice;
“Increased influence of the Holy Ghost to feel strength and direction for our own lives;
“Increased faith, so that conversion to the Savior becomes deep and abiding;
“Increased ability and motivation to learn and repent because of an understanding of who we are, where we come from, and a clearer vision of where we are going;
“Increased refining, sanctifying, and moderating influences in our hearts;
“Increased joy through an increased ability to feel the love of the Lord;
“Increased family blessings, no matter our current, past, or future family situation or how imperfect our family tree may be;
“Increased love and appreciation for ancestors and living relatives, so we no longer feel alone;
“Increased power to discern that which needs healing and thus, with the Lord’s help, serve others;
“Increased protection from temptations and the intensifying influence of the adversary; and
“Increased assistance to mend troubled, broken, or anxious hearts and make the wounded whole” (“Family History and Temple Work: Sealing and Healing,” Liahona, May 2018, 47).
Have you experienced one or more of these? Share your thoughts by emailing liahona@ChurchofJesusChrist.org.

I would like to tell you the "rest of the story" about my mother, as there are several important lessons we can learn from her story, particularly you sisters. I'm sure my mother was looking for her prince charming when she was about your age. And she found him. He happened to be the young single minister in her church-a "man of the cloth." He was her prince charming! After their marriage he worked in his honorable profession, moving from place to place, providing the basic needs of the family even though times were tough in the depression years of the thirties. He was her true love, her provider, the father of her children, her friend; and they had a great relationship. And then he died at a relative young age, leaving her alone. We were living in Southern California at this time. So what does a mother do in these circumstances with a family to rear? It was her righteous desire to continue on as the nurturer in the home. She had no desire or plans to do anything else. But now things had changed drastically in her life. It fell on her to not only be the mother but to also be the bread earner.

To soften the blow of the possible loss of her husband, mom had invested in a "wonderful" insurance policy to protect her against such tragedies. However, it was not one that gave her enough money to raise her children. In fact, she barely got any money at all from the insurance policy and only a few dollars from the Veteran's Administration to help bury her husband as he had served in the military in World War I. Fortunately in her youth, between the time she completed her high school and when she got married, she had made some good choices. She had attended the University of North Carolina, Greensboro, at the time a women's college, and had completed her baccalaureate degree in education. Young sisters, pay attention to this next statement. Her degree was her insurance policy. As difficult as it was, she was able to go to work as a teacher, thus providing the basic needs of her small family as well as be the Mother. Again, young sisters, keep this in mind as you wonder if you should complete your education. You may be thinking that you want to always be in the home being a mom, however, you never know what may happen that would require you to do what my mother had to do. With her teaching skills she was also well trained to help her children in their homework-another great blessing to our family coming from her preparation.

Two years went by after dad's death, and Mom was adjusting somewhat to a routine of being the provider and the mother. My twin brother, Dick, and I, who are the youngest in the family, were 6 years old and in the first grade. She was teaching in an elementary school a couple of miles from our home. Attending that same school were four of her children who were still living at home. Then came another tragic trial in her life.

One day as school let out and we were boarding the bus, someone approach our bus and told us to get out of the bus as one of Mom's teacher friends, a wonderful Quaker lady, was going to drive us home quickly as there was an emergency. A neighbor had called the school to inform Mom that our home was in flames. My two brothers and I rode home in the rumble seat of the old Model A. As we approached our property, we could see no evidence of the home we had left that morning but could only see smoke rising into the sky where the home once had stood leaving only a pile of ashes. That image of the pile of ashes is indelibly etched in my memory to this day. Everything was gone. Nothing but ashes!

I can only guess the questions Mom had running through her mind. What was this mother to do who was still suffering from the loss of her husband? Where were the children going to eat their next meal, which usually was within an hour or two once they got home from school? Where were they going to sleep that night and the many other nights in the future? What about clothes as all they had was what they were wearing? I'm sure she had these and more questions come to her mind. Had the God whom she had worshiped all her life deserted her? Had he not known that she was widowed when she needed her husband the most? Why had He allowed that to happen? And now this. What should she do? She must have felt some of the same pain on a smaller scale that the Prophet Joseph felt when he was in the Liberty jail and prayed, "O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place? How long shall thy hand be stayed . . ?" She was to learn in times to come the blessings of the promises of the Lord to the Prophet Joseph in answer to his prayer when he said, "My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment; And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes."[2]

As painful as those moments must have been for her watching the dying embers of ashes of the remains of her home and the uncertainty of the weeks and months of hardship that would follow; unbeknownst to her, there was looming a new dawn of hope because of this tragic experience that she was not aware of and wouldn't be aware of for years to come. Let me explain what I mean about this new dawn of hope. We were about to be introduced to some members of the Church who would have a great impact on the direction of our lives.

My older sister Jane had graduated from high school and worked in town in Blythe, California, at the time of our home burning down. While in high school, she would catch a school bus every morning to travel several miles to her high school. She was a shy girl and was befriended by another young girl, about her age, who also rode the bus each day. They would sit together on the bus and really became close friends. This friend was a member of the Church. Through this friendship and other members of the Church who also became her friends, she was taught the gospel and was baptized and was a member at the time we lost our home.

As Mom pondered what to do, she knew she had to make a quick decision, as the only transportation available to someplace for shelter that night was this teacher friend. Because the LDS family had been very friendly to us since Jane had joined the Church, she decided to go to their home for help. We drove the two miles it took to get to their home, and Mom went to the door and told them of the dilemma we were in. They opened their door and their hearts to us. They were angels sent from God that day to help us who were practically strangers to them. They remind me of the scripture found in Matthew: "Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world: For I was an hungred, and you gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye come unto me. Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee?. . .or naked, and clothed thee? Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and come unto thee? And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."[3] Never have I known a better example of this scripture than this family.

We stayed with this family, the Art Lee family, for about a week and then were able to obtain two large army tents and cots used by migrant farm workers during the harvest time, which we sat up next to the pile of ashes. We started cleaning up the mess that was the remains of the home. Not being satisfied that they had done enough, the Lee family engaged the small LDS branch to come out to help us build another home. Such love and kindness to non-members was hard for us to believe. (Parenthetically, I might mention that, that small humble home, which was built more that 50 years ago, is still being used as my wife and I visited it a year ago when we went to visit my father's grave in Southern California.) Once we got into our new home, the Lees probably thought they had set the stage sufficiently to send the missionaries over, and they did. We were kind to the missionaries and listened but were not very interested. So later the Lees sent them again with the same results. But they never gave up on us and eventually, after wearing out several sets of missionaries, including stake missionaries, we finally became converted and all but one brother, who had left home prior to our becoming acquainted with the Church, were baptized. Dick and I were just turning 13 years old at that time. All six children to this day are active members. Mom passed away some 37 years ago, a very faithful saint. Brothers and sisters, let that be a lesson to you. Never give up in your missionary efforts. I am so grateful that the Lee family and my sister didn't give up on us. Furthermore, if you think you may have been a failure on your missions because you have baptized only one soul while serving your mission, don't be discouraged. The conversion of one shy girl has resulted in more than two hundred members of the Church, dozens of missionaries, many church leaders, and many more to come in the generations in the future.

At nineteen, I was keeping books and acting a policy clerk for Mr. Henry Wadsworth, the agent of Wells, Fargo and Company. My time was not fully employed. I was not working for the company but for the agent personally. I did the same as I had done in Mr. White’s bank—volunteered to file a lot of bank letters, etc., and to keep a set of books of the Sandy Smelting Company, which Mr. Wadsworth was doing personally.

To emphasize the truth of the above quotation from 1 Chronicles, I will remark that my action so pleased Mr. Wadsworth that he employed me to do the collecting for Wells, Fargo and Company, and paid me twenty dollars a month for this work in addition to my regular compensation of seventy-five dollars from the insurance business. Thus I was in the employ of Wells, Fargo and Company, and one of my day dreams had become a reality.

In 1876, a renowned educator named Dr. William Clark was invited to come to Hokkaido to teach. He lived in Japan for just eight months, but his Christian spirit left a lasting impression on his young non-Christian students.

Before leaving, he gave his students a parting message that has become immortalized in this bronze statue. He said, “Boys, be ambitious!”—“Be ambitious for Christ.” His injunction to “be ambitious for Christ” can help direct daily decisions for today’s Latter-day Saints.

On Being Specific
Now may I take slices from autobiographical accounts? Are we to pray in practical and specific terms? Brother Brigham Young was hung up on a sandbar crossing a river on the plains. His companion, troubled, said, “Let’s pray.”
Brigham replied, “Pray? I prayed this morning. Let’s get out and push.” There is a time for total concentration in prayer and a time for answering prayer with your own muscles—helping.
But this is the same man who was specific enough to bring to the Lord concrete and urgent feelings, even hostile ones. His prize saddle was misplaced or did not hang properly, and the horse trampled it into shreds. He sharply rebuked the neglectful man and then made a beeline for the bedroom where he said (someone overheard him), “Down Brigham.” Then he knelt and prayed, “Lord, I’m sorry. I was angry. Take my anger away and help me to do better next time.”

“When I am angry,” he said to a friend, “the first thing I do is pray.”

Before our conversion to the gospel, my parents moved to the city in search of better opportunities for us. In Guatemala, in those years, children did not have a guaranteed space in school. At the beginning of every school year, my mom would get up at around 3:00 a.m. to register us at the only elementary school in La Florida. From my mother’s example, I knew early in life that education was important, and I wanted to become a teacher someday. In the middle of our material limitations, I was able to finish high school with a vocational certificate to teach elementary school.

I wanted to get a college education, but I did not have the forty-five dollars needed in those days to register for college. My older sister was living in Illinois when I graduated from high school, and she sent me sixty dollars to buy my graduation ring. I used the money to pay for my college registration at La Universidad de San Carlos de Guatemala in the College of Chemical Engineering. I had very little resources but many dreams I wanted to accomplish. Remembering the words my father had taught me to “be strong and of a good courage,” I walked for the first time onto a university campus, scared and confused but full of hope.

All that day Randy and I waited for the neurosurgeon to arrive with word about our baby’s test results. When he finally came at 10:30 P.M., he spoke in a cold, deliberate voice:
“Your daughter has no chance for a normal life,” he said bluntly. “She has no brain.”
Mere words can’t describe how we felt. I was stunned by his callousness as he continued, seemingly oblivious of the torture Randy and I were suffering.
“Her brain simply never formed. All she has is the brain stem, which is the bare minimum necessary to keep her alive. It controls all the involuntary functions—the heart, respiration, digestive system, and reflexes. She will never roll over or crawl or walk. She will not advance in any way. She’s blind and deaf. She will never respond to you in any way, and she will have to be fed through a tube.”
He guessed that she would live about six months at the most.
When he walked out of that hospital room, all our hopes for our baby girl left with him. Randy and I threw our arms around each other and struggled to pull our shattered emotions back together. We had tried to prepare ourselves for the news that she might be retarded, but we had never dreamed it would be this. It felt like the entire weight of the world had crashed down on top of us.
When Abby Ruth, as we named her, was three days old I had held her only a few times, and that all-important bonding relationship between mother and child hadn’t taken place. Late that night, feeling forced into making a decision that I didn’t want to make, I walked down to the intensive care nursery to see her. I stood next to her bassinet and watched her stare blankly into space. One of the nurses came to stand next to me, and I shook my head sadly.
“The poor little thing doesn’t have any idea of what’s going on, does she?” I asked quietly.
The nurse turned to me and spoke with conviction. “Maybe her mind doesn’t know, but her spirit does.”
That simple statement hit me with a tremendous impact. Why hadn’t I thought of that before?
Later that night I dreamed that a beautiful young woman with long, waving blonde hair and dressed in a flowing white robe came walking toward me through a mist, with arms outstretched to greet me. I knew then that when my time comes and I leave this world, Abby will be there waiting for me in all her perfection. Knowing that, how could I turn away from her in her hour of need?

As I was called to be the president of Young Women and met with my counselors and administrative assistant, the first thing we tried to do was to focus on what we might do for the youth. One day after a long day’s work, we decided we needed a little break and went out for a brisk walk. As soon as we got outside, it started to rain, so we darted into the mall and were going to continue our walk there, but within five minutes you might guess what happened. The distractions and the noise of the mall started to cause us to take little side trips into the stores. Our thinking quickly turned to our own needs and the anxiety of schedules, approaching birthdays, and new items in windows. Then my administrative assistant said to me, “Oh, it has stopped raining.” So we went outside and continued our walk, and ended up at the Brigham Young Cemetery. Because one of my counselors knew some of the history of the area, we started to talk about the homes, the families, and the people who had lived there in the past and had contributed so greatly to the growth of the Church.

During that time, as we spent time in the cemetery talking also of Brigham Young and the past, another feeling came into our hearts—a feeling of peace, a feeling of being connected, a feeling of continuity with the past. When we went back to our table to work and talked again about the youth, particularly about young women, and talked about what we wanted to have happen in their lives, I said, “It is like the difference between what we felt in the mall and what we felt in the cemetery.” People of all ages need a feeling of peace, a feeling of being connected, a feeling of continuity with the past.

Ida Jensen walked into Marion Romney’s life when his father hired her to teach at Ricks Academy. She didn’t see Marion that first day she went to the Romney home—he was sitting in another room, sick with the flu. But he certainly noticed her: “I saw her with her golden hair and her smiling face. I have never seen any girl since that time that I cared about.” (Church News, 15 Dec. 1973, p. 5.) They were married six years later—on 12 September 1924 in the Salt Lake Temple—after his mission and more schooling for both of them. She was the valedictorian of her graduating class at BYU.
“My wife has been a support and guidance all through my life,” President Romney said before her death, “and when I have been discouraged, she has made me feel that she had the confidence that I could succeed, and so I have kept going.” (Church News, 15 July 1972, p. 7.)
Although money was scarce during those first years of marriage, they continued their courtship, frequently spending the evening at the Salt Lake Theater. Sometimes, however, they couldn’t afford to buy two tickets together, and they seldom had money for bus fare.
“We laugh a lot together,” Sister Romney said in 1975. “He’s my dessert in life.” (New Era, June 1975, p. 19.)
The Romneys’ courtship lasted throughout their fifty-five years of marriage. A few days after her death in 1979, he said: “When Ida died, something went out of me.” At the graveside service, he told Elder James E. Faust: “Be good to your wife. Take her with you everywhere you can.” (Tambuli, June 1973.)
As a young couple, Marion and Ida had endured great heartache. Their first two children died in infancy. But faith softened their sorrow—and a promise, given in a blessing when Marion became a General Authority, gave them reassurance: “Blessed are you because of your faith in my work. Behold, you have had many afflictions … nevertheless I will bless you and your family, yea, your little ones, and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in the Church.” (As quoted in Ensign, Nov. 1972, p. 27.)
They were blessed with two other sons, Richard J. now of Winters, California, and George J. of Salt Lake City, and they have eight grandchildren and nine great-grandchildren. George’s wife, Joanne, speaks of her father-in-law as “a kind and loving man who always treats me like a daughter.”
Sister Romney tells of the fun times they have had together. For years President Romney would put on a Santa Claus beard every Christmas and hand out presents. And since Ida didn’t want Christmas to end, they always had the grandchildren come back on New Year’s Day for more presents. Each year they would rig up a “fishpond” where the children would pull strings and find prizes tied to the end. Grandpa Romney, on his hands and knees, did the tying.
The Romneys shared their love of the scriptures with their boys. On one occasion, when Elder Romney and one of his young sons were reading alternate verses in the Book of Mormon, he heard the child’s voice breaking and assumed he had a cold. After a while the boy asked his dad if he ever cried when he read the Book of Mormon.
“Yes, Son,” he answered. “Sometimes the Spirit of the Lord so witnesses to my soul that the Book of Mormon is true that I do cry.”
“Well,” the boy said, “that is what happened to me tonight.”
“I know not all of [your children] will respond like that,” he later said in general conference, “but I know that some of them will, and I tell you this book was given to us of God to read and to live by, and it will hold us as close to the Spirit of the Lord as anything I know. Won’t you please read it?” (In Conference Report, Apr. 1949, p. 41.)
Over the years, Brother and Sister Romney often had family home evening with their son George and his family, who lived only a few doors away. “We’d read scriptures together,” says Joanne. “You always learned something when you were in his presence and having a gospel discussion.”
Indeed, President Romney had much to share with his family and with the Church because of his own struggles to know and trust the Lord’s will. “During the early years of our married life,” he once said, “my wife and I intensely desired what we considered to be a particular blessing. We set about through fasting and prayer to obtain it. … But though we fasted often and prayed fervently, the years rolled by without bringing us the desired answer to our prayers. Finally, we concluded that we had not fully understood somehow—that we were concentrating our faith and prayers upon receiving the particular thing, which by predetermination we had set our hearts upon. … We had to learn to be as earnest in praying ‘if it be Thy will,’ as we were when presenting our personal desires and appeals. We have no need to fear that our well-being will not be served by such an attitude.” (Address delivered at Salt Lake Institute of Religion, 18 Oct. 1974, pp. 8–9.)

When I was 16, the stake presidency announced that our stake would visit the temple in Buenos Aires, and I was invited to go. I saved money and worked hard to be worthy to obtain a temple recommend.
After I received the recommend, temptations attacked me from every side, all trying to make me lose that worthiness. But I had a desire to attend the temple. I didn’t want to just hear the experience and testimony of others; I wanted to have my own experience and testimony.
The night to travel came. Even before getting on the bus, I had thoughts about not going, but I didn’t give in. During the 10-hour trip, I sat by a member of the Church who was very friendly to me. He was around 60 years old. He told me about his life and how happy he was to have gone through the trials he had.
I began to tell him about my life and how I felt very alone because many people had distanced themselves from me because I was following God. He told me, “God will give you a great friend, and that friend will always be there for you. Don’t forget it.” When he finished saying these words, I felt calm and peaceful because I felt that what he told me was true.
When I entered the temple, the heaviness I was carrying disappeared. It felt like there was a spiritual embrace telling me, “Welcome, my son. I have been waiting for you.”
I felt that the temple really was the house of God, not just a beautiful structure. After doing some baptisms and confirmations, I went outside. I felt the burdens return, but now I felt like I had the strength to overcome them.

Reader B: Her name was Betty June. Just under six feet, she must have been the tallest, toughest girl in the high school sophomore class. She got in fights. She wasn’t very smart.
Reader C: I know, because she was in my sophomore English class.
Reader B: She kept calling everybody else “stupid” or “creep.” Most of the kids stayed away from her.
Reader C: Including me.
Reader B: She had some friends though, because she was so tough.
Reader C: I know, because she was in my gym class right after English. I stayed away from her crowd. One day, after the first month of second semester, we had a big exam in English. I studied hard and when the papers were returned, I had received an A. Afterwards, in the girls’ locker room getting ready for gym class, I was so excited about my success that I started telling my locker mates about the A I got.
Reader B: Suddenly a voice grumbled from behind.
Reader D: “You’re such a creep.”
Reader C: I turned to see Betty June looking down at me.
Reader D: [sullenly] “You’re always bragging, kissying up to the teacher.”
Reader B: Betty June brushed by hard and walked away.
Reader C: In gym class, we were practicing basketball. I was assigned to a team playing opposite Betty June’s team. At one point, I was guarding the basket while Betty June dribbled like a bear toward me. She knocked me to the floor as if I hadn’t been there and made her shot. But before she stalked away, she grumbled down at me.
Reader D: [sullenly] “Keep outa my way!”
Reader C: And I did keep out of her way. I disliked Betty June.
Reader B: People dislike those who intimidate and threaten them. But in church we were always learning about charity.
Reader C: And besides, my conscience bothered me. Valentine’s Day was coming up. I bought valentine cards with cute sayings for some of my friends. And I decided [pause] I’d give one to Betty June, too. At least the Lord would know I tried. The day came. I got to English class early. I thought, “What if it offends her?” Then I thought, “What’s the worst she can do to me? She can pound me into the ground, that’s what. But maybe being pounded into the ground isn’t as bad as letting myself be intimidated.”
Reader B: Finally Betty June came into the room.
Reader C: My throat felt dry. My scalp tingled as if my hair would stand on end. My hands felt ice cold and my palms sweaty, as if I would turn to rubbery water any minute. I felt scared, but I told myself that being scared is a whole lot safer if nobody knows it. I walked stiffly to Betty June’s desk and sputtered, “Here, this is for you.” Class was starting. So I quickly, and with relief, sat down. Through the corner of my eye, I saw Betty June open the envelope and look at the card. Then she placed it open at the top of her desk. After class I started out the door and into the hallway on my way to gym, when I felt a tall figure walk up beside me.
Reader D: [awkwardly] “You’re not mad at me or nothing.”
Reader C: “Uh, why should I be mad?”
Reader D: “ ’Cause I bumped you or something.”
Reader C: “No, uh, I’m not mad.”
Reader B: Scared maybe, but mad, no.
Reader C: But I didn’t say that, only thought it.
Reader D: “Did you get that assignment Miss Phelps gave us for next week?”
Reader C: “You mean writing a theme using at least ten similes? Yeah, I think I understand what she wants.”
Reader D: “Do you think maybe you wanna look at mine when I do it? I mean, I don’t know if I can do it right.”
Reader C: “Sure. I’d be happy to help. When do you want to get together?”
Reader D: “How about maybe Saturday?”
Reader C: “Saturday’s fine, in the afternoon. See, Saturday morning our church has an activity and service project. Would you like to come?”
Reader B: Not everyone responds easily. But most do when trust is placed in the Savior’s advice, “Love thy neighbor as thyself.”
Reader C: Because most of the time my neighbor is like me. It takes trust.

In this regard I cannot help but think of my dear sister, Susan B. Stapley. When she graduated from BYU with a degree in French, she was uncertain about how she wanted to use her degree. She was also concerned that she was not married.

Eventually she did meet a wonderful man, Michael Stapley, and they married. Children and heavy Church assignments for her husband came early in their marriage.

Susan poured her talent and energy into the demanding, challenging work of raising her children. At the same time, she was fully supportive of her husband in his work and Church callings. Together they raised eight outstanding children. Their sons and daughters have served missions in seven nations in Europe, Asia, and Latin America.

Today my sister is serving with her husband as he presides over a mission in Argentina. By the time they complete their mission, they will have led and loved some 570 missionaries from eighteen nations.

This extraordinarily bright and talented ­sister, wife, and mother is—among other things—gifted musically and speaks four languages. Yet there were occasions when the overwhelming demands of raising a family led her to question how much good she was doing. At times the loud voices of the world drowned out the still, small voice that whispered that her job was important. Sometimes there were even other voices, such as the one that said, “Mom, don’t you ever feel bad that you went to all the work of getting a college degree and then didn’t do anything with your life?” Twenty years later that same voice is saying, “Mom, how did you ever manage to do it all?” Today it would be impossible to overstate the influence she has had and will have.

Illustration by Allen Garns
My husband often has to work on Sundays, leaving me in charge of taking our four sons to church alone. One particular Sunday during sacrament meeting, my two toddlers were at odds with each other. If I got one of the boys interested in a book, his brother wanted it. I tried snacks, toys, and coloring, but nothing worked. I was overwhelmed with my boys, who just couldn’t seem to sit quietly for one hour.
I pulled a small toy out of my bag and handed it to my one-year-old. Immediately a scream came from my three-year-old, Tyson, as he pounced on his younger brother, trying to retrieve the toy. I was humiliated as I carried two screaming, fighting little boys out into the foyer.
My face was immediately wet with hot tears. Why did this have to be so hard? I was doing what Heavenly Father wanted me to do by bringing my family to church, right? But I couldn’t do it anymore. It was exhausting and embarrassing to fight my boys through sacrament meeting alone every week. I didn’t ever want to come back.
I sat with these thoughts for only about 15 seconds, and then a sister who I barely knew came out into the foyer after me. Her name was Sister Beus. She usually sat alone, as her husband served in the bishopric and her children were grown. She said, “You’re always here alone! I can see that you’re trying so hard. Could Tyson sit with me?” I couldn’t even think of a response! I just nodded as she took him by the hand and led him, now calm and happy, back into the chapel.
I wiped away my tears, picked up my baby, and humbly walked back into the chapel to enjoy the rest of the meeting in peace.
The next Sunday as we walked into sacrament meeting, Tyson searched for his new friend. At night he would pray, “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for Sister Beus. I love her so much!”
It’s been over three years, and Tyson still often searches the chapel for Sister Beus. Last year she was called to be Tyson’s Primary teacher. He was the happiest little boy alive.
I am so grateful for Sister Beus and her willingness to love and serve others. I know that we can bless the lives of others when we serve as the Savior did.

A moment in time from my own family history exemplifies a commitment to care for those in need. Many have heard of the Willie and Martin handcart companies and how these faithful pioneers suffered and died as they endured winter cold and debilitating conditions during their trek west. Robert Taylor Burton, one of my great-great-grandfathers, was one of those whom Brigham Young asked to ride out and rescue those dear, desperate Saints.
Of this time Grandfather wrote in his journal: “Snow deep [and] very cold. … So cold that [we] could not move. … Thermometer 11 degrees below zero [-24°C] … ; so cold the people could not travel.”12
Life-saving supplies were distributed to the stranded Saints, but “in spite of all [the rescuers] could do many were laid to rest by the wayside.”13
As the rescued Saints were traversing a portion of the trail through Echo Canyon, several wagons pulled off to assist in the arrival of a baby girl. Robert noticed the young mother did not have enough clothing to keep her newborn infant warm. In spite of the freezing temperatures, he “took off his own homespun shirt and gave it to the mother to [wrap] the baby.”14 The child was given the name Echo—Echo Squires—as a remembrance of the place and circumstances of her birth.
In later years Robert was called to the Presiding Bishopric of the Church, where he served for more than three decades. At age 86 Robert Taylor Burton fell ill. He gathered his family to his bedside to give them his final blessing. Among his last words was this simple but very profound counsel: “Be kind to the poor.”15