Gospel Story Finder

I couldn’t concentrate. The city library buzzed like a beehive under attack. In my irritation, I momentarily forgot just why I was studying here rather than taking advantage of the mature silence and concentration of the university library. Then my reason walked by.
She was the assistant librarian and was easily the most beautiful girl ever to walk the earth. Her name tag told me she was Miss Burton, but that was all I knew about her. She was the motive that had driven me here for the last three nights just hoping for a chance to learn her first name. So far she hadn’t even said, “Sh-h-h, you’re in the library,” much less “hello.”
But I kept coming back, hoping that this night would be better than the last. With zero enthusiasm, I turned to my books, but it was impossible to study. I pushed American History to the side, folded my arms, and gazed at Miss Burton busily working at her desk. Occasionally she would cast a furtive glance in my direction. When she did, I would grin broadly and wink at her. She’d quickly duck her head to hide her blushing cheeks, but at least she knew I existed.
I admired her beauty and grace, but I was equally impressed by her modesty. Instead of wearing faded denim jeans and a sleazy blouse, so typical of my friends, Miss Burton was wearing a dress. One that actually came down to her knees! Her make-up was not heavy; in fact, unless you looked closely, you couldn’t even tell that she wore it. Her long hair adorned her head and shoulders like a veil. Her clothes, her actions, her very appearance declared that she was a lady!
It was weird that I should be so attracted to her. I could have passed for her exact opposite. My hair and beard were both shoulder length; I wore an old pair of faded jeans, an embroidered denim vest, and worn out sandals; I looked like the king of rebellion—she was the epitome of virtue and conformity.
I had chosen my way of life; she had chosen hers. Our differences stood as an impregnable barrier between us. To penetrate that barrier, I knew I would have to cut my hair and conform to society. No, I would not put on a suit and tie again, not even for her!
The pencil snapped in my hand. Why was I so upset over a prudish librarian? Because something in her eyes, in her smile, in her very essence affected me deeply; in spite of myself, I felt I was beginning to care about Miss Burton, and I still didn’t even know her first name!
I wondered if she could ever adopt my life-style. As she stood replacing books on a nearby shelf, I tried to imagine her with kinky, frizzed hair, but it was futile. The Mona Lisa would adjust to that more readily than Miss Burton!
She finished replacing the books and turned to walk toward the desk. Her eyes caught mine; slowly, a smile crept to her lips. As she walked by me, I pushed back my chair and unfolded all 193 centimeters of me. I stood at attention, tipped a make-believe hat and whispered loudly, “How do you do, Madam!” It was a whisper, but my voice rasped loudly enough to echo through the library, causing her face to turn a glowing crimson. A ripple of laughter flowed through the library and I sat down with a wide grin on my face.
Shortly after Miss Burton had returned to her desk and the color in her cheeks had returned to normal, a freckle-faced girl, probably about 13 years old, approached her. The girl obviously had not asked the usual “where do I find” question, because Miss Burton looked deep into her eyes and placed her slender hand over the girl’s chubby one. I caught the word rebellion as they spoke with each other.
Quietly, I moved to a table closer to the desk; I was interested in what Miss Burton had to say on the subject. Holding an open magazine as a guise, I leaned back in the plastic chair as far as I dared. I strained my ears to catch every word.
The girl spoke: “I need books on rebellion so I’ll know how to act when I go to 9th grade next year.”
I started to laugh, but Miss Burton’s serious tone told me that she did not think it was funny.
“And you think you’ll stand out in the crowd if you don’t rebel, is that right?”
“Sure! Everybody rebels! Like my sister: she’s at a demonstration tonight at the university because the president won’t make it legal to smoke marijuana on campus. And my brother, Mom and Dad are always yelling at him to cut his hair, and he won’t do it even though it’s almost as long as his.” I could feel her pointing at my direction.
She continued: “My dad is on a strike, and Mom’s always away fighting for women’s rights. That’s rebelling, too, isn’t it?”
Lines of concern wrinkled Miss Burton’s smooth forehead. She seemed deep in thought. At length she spoke:
“When we rebel, we’re being selfish. We want things done our way, and if others object, we rebel. It’s like throwing a temper tantrum. We refuse to listen to the other side of the argument because it might prove that we are wrong.
“It takes courage to do what’s right, especially when it’s easier to do what’s wrong. Remember this: cowards rebel; brave men and women obey the laws and do what they know is right. When something is wrong, though, they have the courage to speak out against the wrong doing.” I was incensed! I felt personally attacked by the girl I was beginning to care for. With effort, though. I managed to control my emotions. Maybe she hadn’t said what I thought. I’d keep listening, and maybe she would clarify or retract her statement that cowards rebel.
The little girl was puzzled. “But were George Washington and Thomas Jefferson cowards? They rebelled against England didn’t they?”
“No honey they weren’t cowards, and they didn’t rebel against England. You see, Great Britain was being unfair to the new colonists in America. She taxed them heavily, but then she wouldn’t give them a voice in government. Had she been fair to them, there never would have been a Revolutionary War.”
This is madness! I tried to stand up. I had forgotten I was leaning back and fell crashing to the floor—pulling my books down with me. Before I realized what had happened, Miss Burton and half of the library’s occupants were surrounding me.
“Are—are you hurt?” she stammered, quickly surveying the disaster area.
“No, just a little shocked,” I muttered.
As I untangled my legs from the wreckage, Miss Burton ushered the crowd away. Much to my surprise, she remained.
“Did I say something that surprised you?” she asked.
“You sure did!” I blurted, a little too brusquely. I quickly scanned her face to see if I’d offended her. More gently, I added, “Miss Burton, you’ve got some strange ideas about rebellion!”
She nodded. Her silence urged me on.
“I don’t understand how you can say that rebels are cowards! And then you say that the forefathers of the United States didn’t rebel against England! You—a librarian!” I consciously restrained myself from saying any more.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you …” Her voice trailed off. Walking toward us was a quaint-looking man who could have been a twin to the tall, thin character in a story by Washington Irving (an American author).
“It’s the head librarian!” she whispered. She mouthed the word later, squeezed my arm, and quickly returned to her duties at the main desk.
Sitting down again was a painful experience, but the thought of talking to Miss Burton after the library closed served as a local anesthetic to my bruises. I mulled her words over in my mind: “Cowards rebel; brave men and women obey laws …”
She’s wrong! I argued. Just like all the others. It takes courage to be different and to rebel against the traditions of society! A coward wouldn’t dare to have “long hair” and storm administration buildings! It takes fortitude to stand up for what you believe in!
An unbeckoned thought crept into my mind and whispered, “But, Dan, what do you believe in?”
“Freedom!” I retorted.
Again it whispered, “Freedom from rules, obligations, and ties that bind?”
I fell silent. I was unable to answer these queries from within. I knew that I had not displayed courage by rebelling; rather, I had taken the easy way out. Home and religion had been too restricting. I wanted to have fun, my way, with no obligations or responsibilities.
I remembered how upset Dad had been. Mom cried. I hated myself for hurting them, but still their disappointment was easier to bear than the scoffs from my friends. I grew further and further from my family. I acted like I didn’t care, but it really had hurt me, deep inside.
“Cowards rebel! Could she be right?” I asked aloud. I smiled and breathed deeply. I felt as though a heavy yoke were being lifted off my weary shoulders. For the first time in years I felt really free.
I sensed the presence of someone near and turned around. Miss Burton smiled radiantly.
“It sounds like you’ve been having an interesting conversation with yourself,” she said.
“I have, but I’d rather have one with you!”
“Could I give you a ride home?” I asked.
“I live just a few blocks from here, so I usually walk.” Pause. “But if you would like to walk me home … ”
I responsed instantly to her cue, and soon we were outside enjoying the crisp autumn twilight. We walked in silence for a minute or so.
“Miss Burton,” I said at length, “do you have a first name?”
She laughed, “Why yes, I believe I do. Before I started to work at the library, people used to call me Rebecca.”
“Becky Burton!” I said. “That’s cute!”
“Rebecca—not Becky.” We fell silent. Then, as if to pick up the strands of conversation again, she added, “Rebecca was the wife of Isaac in the Bible. Remember?”
I nodded.
“What’s your name?”
“Dan,” I replied.
“Daniel was a biblical name, too.” she offered. “Have you ever read the Bible?”
“Parts of it a long time ago,” I had not really planned to discuss the Bible tonight.
“You know, Dan, if the library were to catch on fire, I think I’d rescue that book before all the others!” Her eyes were shining. Religion must be an important part of her life.
Sensing that I didn’t share her enthusiasm, she stammered, a little embarrassed, “I—I guess I really shouldn’t be talking about the Bible right now.” Then, almost childlike, she asked, “Are you a Christian?”
“Am I a Christian, Rebecca?” I asked, as I came back to the present. “Let’s say I used to be.” She sensed my need for silence.
We walked along the dark, tree-lined street; only the crunching sound of autumn leaves under our feet interrupted the silence. I felt so alone in the cold, dark world. More than anything else, I wanted Rebecca’s friendship. She seemed so sure of herself, so at peace with herself. I wanted to draw from her strength, to learn from her wisdom. I looked down at my feet, afraid of her warm eyes.
“Rebecca,” I whispered softly. “What is it that makes you so special?”
I could have guessed that she would say it was her belief in Diety; she impressed me as a deeply religious girl. I wondered, though, which religion was to receive the credit for making her so sensitive, tender, and caring.
I pressed further, “What is your religion, Rebecca? Are you Catholic, Protestant, or something else?”
Her lips held just a hint of a smile. “I guess I fall into the ‘something else’ category, Dan. I’m searching for truth wherever I can find it. I discover it in some unusual places. But I can’t help but wonder one thing. Is there one religion that contains all of the truth?”
Her question pricked me deeply. Her eyes were searching mine, imploring. I looked away—my past blazed before me. Silently, I bowed my head and prayed. I hadn’t done that in years! After a long moment, I returned her gaze.
“Rebecca,” I slowly began, “what do you know about the Mormon church?”

I don’t remember not having a testimony; I’ve always believed the gospel to be true. But I recall a very stormy day in Utica, New York, in 1946 when I was on my mission. It was so bitterly cold and windy that we couldn’t tract.
Utica is in the area of the birthplace of the Church, and many there have heard ugly tales that are sometimes circulated about early Church leaders. My companion and I heard them frequently as we were tracting. Some of them upset me—not that I believed them, but I didn’t know enough to combat them. And so I got a copy of A New Witness for Christ in America, by Francis Kirkham.
I began to study that book with the Book of Mormon with particular respect to the beginnings of the Church in my mission area. As I read, it seemed as if I could almost place myself in those earlier settings, with Joseph and the men who loved him.
One stormy day while I was studying, I began to ponder and worry again about the stories I had heard. The sweetest Spirit came over me, just as though someone had poured warm oil over me. I sat there for several minutes. My companion, an older man, was sitting in the corner of the room, and I secretly prayed that he wouldn’t speak to me while I still felt that wonderful spirit. It lasted for several minutes. There was a deep, wonderful conviction that the Book of Mormon and the things I was teaching were true.
Now, years later, I understand the gospel much better and my love for the Savior is even stronger—but I won’t know any better when I die than I knew at that moment that the gospel is true. I guess I had grown up just assuming that it was, but until then my testimony had never been tested. I’m grateful that the Lord gave me that wonderful experience, which told me that all those things that I had believed and accepted since my youth are true.

President Nelson: When my grandfather A. C. Nelson was a young husband and father, just 27 years old, his father died. About three months later, his deceased father, my great-grandfather, came to visit him. The date of that visit was the night of April 6, 1891. Grandfather Nelson was so impressed by his father’s visit that he wrote the experience in his journal for his family and friends.
“I was in bed when Father entered the room,” Grandfather Nelson wrote. “He came and sat on the side of the bed. He said, ‘Well, my son, as I had a few spare minutes, I received permission to come and see you for a few minutes. I am feeling well, my son, and have had very much to do since I died.’”
When Grandfather Nelson asked him what he had been doing, his father answered that he had been busy teaching the gospel of Jesus Christ in the spirit world.
“You cannot imagine, my son, how many spirits there are in the spirit world who have not yet received the gospel,” he said. “But many are receiving it, and a great work is being accomplished. Many are anxiously looking forth to their friends who are still living to administer for them in the temples.”
Grandfather Nelson told his father, “We intend to go to the temple and get sealed to you, Father, as soon as we can.”
My great-grandfather responded: “That, my son, is partly what I came to see you about. We will yet make a family and live throughout eternity.”
Then Grandfather Nelson asked, “Father, is the gospel as taught by this Church true?”
His father pointed to a picture of the First Presidency hanging on the wall of the bedroom.
“My son, just as sure as you see that picture, just as sure is the gospel true. The gospel of Jesus Christ has within it the power of saving every man and woman who will obey it, and in no other way can they ever obtain salvation in the kingdom of God. My son, always cling to the gospel. Be humble, be prayerful, be submissive to the priesthood, be true, be faithful to the covenants you have made with God. Never do anything that would displease God. Oh, what a blessing is the gospel. My son, be a good boy.”
A. C. Nelson, grandfather of President Russell M. Nelson.
Illustrations by Bjorn Thorkelson
Sister Nelson: I just love all those B’s. “Be humble, be prayerful, be submissive to the priesthood, be true, be faithful to the covenants you have made with God. … Be a good boy.” Six B’s brought to you by your departed great-grandfather. He certainly sounds a lot like President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) with his six B’s.1
President Nelson: He does, doesn’t he? It’s so precious to me that my grandfather would leave that record for us. We learned that his father’s children were subsequently sealed to him. So the reason for his visit was accomplished.

When I was 17 years old, I knew my bishop was going to approach me in the near future and ask me about serving a mission.
While I grew up in a home with devout and active parents, I wasn’t yet fully committed to serving a mission. I went to church and prayed when asked, and sometimes I prayed on my own. I believed in the Church, but I didn’t yet know that it was true. I didn’t yet have my own testimony, and I didn’t feel that I could go and tell others to join the Church unless I could look into their eyes and say, “I know.”
So I decided to find out for myself whether the Church is true. I started with reading the Book of Mormon. However, when I finished reading the Book of Mormon, I didn’t feel any different from when I’d started reading.
One evening, I sat in my bedroom thinking, “How do I come to know?” To my mind came the impression that I should read the Joseph Smith story in the Pearl of Great Price. As I read Joseph’s story, I began to see that his story was the same as mine. Here was a young man who wanted to know which church was true and which he should join. There were many different voices and opinions on the subject of religion swirling around Joseph Smith.
That was how I felt.
As I read how Joseph Smith determined to ask God what was true and what he should do—and what happened to him as a result—I realized I needed to do the same. I needed to pray and ask God. Unlike Joseph Smith, I didn’t have a grove of trees to visit. I was living in a big city, in Long Beach, California, USA. The only quiet place I could go to was the quiet of my own bedroom.
So I closed the door, knelt at my bed, and put my face in my pillow. I offered what, for me, was my first real vocal prayer on this subject. I addressed Heavenly Father and humbly asked Him if He was really there, if Jesus Christ was really His Son, and if Joseph Smith had really seen the two of Them.
As I did so, I had an experience that just overwhelmed me. A feeling of love and peace fell upon me and completely consumed me. I was filled with deep spiritual knowledge. In that moment, I knew—and have known ever since—that there is a God in heaven and that He is my Father. I knew that Jesus Christ is His Son, who atoned for me and all mankind, and that Joseph Smith saw both of Them.
I also got something more that I hadn’t actually asked for: a knowledge that out of all the people on the earth, God knew and loved me.
Knowing that God was answering my prayer, and knowing that He loved me, caused me to weep.
This experience fundamentally changed my life. While I haven’t been perfect since this experience, I’ve tried very hard to live up to the knowledge I gained that day—that I was a son of God and that He loved me enough to speak to me in prayer. I moved forward with conviction to serve a full-time mission and did so. Afterward, I was married in the temple to a wonderful, worthy young woman, my wife now of 30 years. And I have tried to serve faithfully in all that God has asked me to do and to keep the covenants I have made with Him.
My whole life has been based on that revelatory experience and the knowledge that came to me as a 17-year-old young man.
Sometimes people will ask me, “You’re now a General Authority. What have you come to know about the Lord since becoming a General Authority?” I say that while I’ve come to know more, the spiritual knowledge I gained at age 17 remains among the most significant of my life.
The scriptures describe the Seventies as “especial witnesses” (D&C 107:25). I’ve had many revelatory experiences in my life, and all of them have added to what I know to be true. But if there’s one thing that qualifies me to be today an especial witness of the Savior, it is that witness which I received at age 17.
From this I say that youth can receive as much witness as a General Authority has. The reason I say this is because, for me, I received that witness in my youth. It has been the foundation of everything I’ve done since.

One summer while traveling in a remote area, our family spent an evening sleeping outdoors under a cloudless sky. Clearly visible above us was the magnificent Milky Way, filled with innumerable stars and the occasional shooting star. While we marveled at the majesty of God’s creation, we felt a reverent connection to Him. Our young children, who had grown up in Hong Kong, had never experienced anything like this before. They innocently asked if we lived under the same sky back home. I tried to explain to them that it was the same sky, but air and light pollution where we lived prevented us from seeing these stars even though they were there.

The humbling experiences of the last year of my marriage were particularly difficult. Learning about my spouse’s infidelity, opening my private life to my bishop and stake president, dealing with my husband’s decision to leave, beginning divorce proceedings, and watching my children suffer because their father was no longer in the home were only the beginning of what seemed to be wave after wave of challenges. I also lost the close relationship I had enjoyed with my in-laws; had to seek financial assistance from my family, ward, and state; agonized over an injury to one of my daughters; endured a cancer scare of my own; recovered from a serious car accident; struggled to complete my bachelor’s degree; and suffered job-search disappointments. By the end of that year, I was stripped of pride. I felt unencumbered before the Lord—humbled by a “sense of [my] nothingness” (Mosiah 4:5) and by a complete dependence on Him as my only anchor in a sea of change.
Yet instead of feeling despondent, I saw my state as an opportunity for Heavenly Father to work His will in my life. I began to understand the relationship between adversity and spiritual refinement. During my troubles, I frequently asked myself, What would Heavenly Father want me to do in this situation? I sought specific answers through prayer, scripture study, pondering, and temple attendance. Through this process of seeking and receiving divine guidance, I acquired increased patience and deeper trust in Heavenly Father.

I recently learned a modern story that parallels this situation from Old Testament times:
A Latter-day Saint couple bought a restaurant that had not previously been highly successful, but they planned changes to put new life into the business. Sunday had been one of the restaurant’s busy days, and some of their acquaintances—including a close friend who had loaned them money to buy the business—urged them to keep it open on Sunday. The couple agonized over whether to close the restaurant on Sunday; after all, it defied good business logic. But they finally decided to close it, follow their own beliefs, and trust in the Lord. The succeeding months saw an immediate increase in sales, and since then the business has steadily and consistently grown.
This couple’s experience, along with the experiences of others, teaches us that the Lord rewards those who obey his commandments. Just as he promised the Israelites of Moses’ day a double amount of manna on the day before the Sabbath (see Ex. 16:29) and a more bountiful harvest during the sixth year to provide for the seventh and eighth years (see Lev. 25:3–7, 20–22), in a modern restaurant, he can increase sales on Friday and Saturday to compensate for—and often exceed—what could have been earned on the Sabbath.

A number of years ago, our son, who was four years old at the time, was involved in a serious road accident away from home. After a week or so in hospital, he was able to be transferred the 200 miles (320 kilometres) to our local hospital. When we arrived home, there was a note from a loving and caring ministering sister with details of who would collect our other four children from school, who would provide meals and who would do our laundry. During the subsequent five weeks our son remained in hospital, my wife gave birth to our youngest son. With a son in one end of the hospital, a wife and new baby in the other end, four children to care for, and a full-time job to fit in, we would not have coped without the significant help given to us by our fellow ward members. How grateful we were for their selfless ministering. We know that the common question “Can we do anything to help?” is always sincerely offered, but this wonderful, thoughtful sister went the extra mile, anticipated our needs and ministered accordingly.

Then recently, half a world away, I sat with another good man. He had brought light and warmth and good humor into the room with him, and I was listening with deep interest as he told his “before and after” story. The “before” involved his life as a nominal but nonpracticing Christian employed in a stressful occupation with rough associates and with a tendency to follow the crowd in all their bad habits. He was not attentive to his wife and children, was worried about his family, suffered from an unhappy conscience, and had developed a serious physical ailment.
Then two young men came to his door. They represented the Lord, they said, with a message of eternal truth for him and his family: the gospel of Jesus Christ is restored to the earth, the church of Jesus Christ reestablished; every individual and every family are important to God and through his plan can find purpose and meaning; families are meant to be together forever; and there is a way to know for oneself the truth of these things, they said, for the Holy Spirit will confirm the knowledge for those who sincerely seek.
He listened and believed. Immediately he put aside bad habits. His wife and children responded also. Their lives changed. They studied and prayed and worshiped, joined the Church, and lived in the light of the Spirit. His work improved, and soon new opportunities and trust and renewed reputation for dependability resulted.
At the conclusion of his story came a ringing declaration of faith, without self-consciousness, without bluster, without guile. “I am like the Lord in one thing,” he said; “my specialty is mercy.”
My specialty is mercy!

Years ago, while immersed in the task of preparing a talk for general conference, I was aroused from a sound sleep with an idea impressed strongly upon my mind. Immediately I reached for pencil and paper near my bed and wrote as rapidly as I could. I went back to sleep, knowing I had captured that great impression. The next morning I looked at that piece of paper and found, much to my dismay, that my writing was totally illegible! I still keep pencil and paper at my bedside, but I write more carefully now.

There is another temptation to be resisted. It is to yield to the despairing thought that it is too hard and too late to repent. I knew a man once who could have thought that and given up. When he was 12 he was ordained a deacon. Some of his friends tempted him to begin to smoke. He began to feel uncomfortable in church. He left his little town, not finishing high school, to begin a life following construction jobs across the United States. He was a heavy-equipment operator. He married. They had children. The marriage ended in a bitter divorce. He lost his children. He lost an eye in an accident. He lived alone in boardinghouses. He lost everything he owned except what he could carry in a trunk.

One night, as he prepared to move yet again, he decided to lighten the load of that trunk. Beneath the junk of years, he found a book. He never knew how it got there. It was the Book of Mormon. He read it through, and the Spirit told him it was true. He knew then that all those years ago he had walked away from the true Church of Jesus Christ and from the happiness which could have been his.

Later, he was my more-than-70-year-old district missionary companion. I asked the people we were teaching, as I testified of the power of the Savior’s Atonement, to look at him. He had been washed clean and given a new heart, and I knew they would see that in his face. I told the people that what they saw was evidence that the Atonement of Jesus Christ could wash away all the corrosive effects of sin.

That was the only time he ever rebuked me. He told me in the darkness outside the trailer where we had been teaching that I should have told the people that while God was able to give him a new heart, He had not been able to give him back his wife and his children and what he might have done for them. But he had not looked back in sorrow and regret for what might have been. He moved forward, lifted by faith, to what yet might be.

One day he told me that in a dream the night before, the sight in his blind eye was restored. He realized that the dream was a glimpse of a future day, walking among loving people in the light of a glorious resurrection. Tears of joy ran down the deeply lined face of that towering, raw-boned man. He spoke to me quietly, with a radiant smile. I don’t remember what he said he saw, but I remember that his face shone with happy anticipation as he described the view. With the Lord’s help and the miracle of that book in the bottom of a trunk, it had not for him been too late nor the way too hard.

Bienvenida moved to New York from the Dominican Republic in 1974 and was baptized into the Church seven years later. Leury was born and raised in New York and joined the Church when he was 10 years old. At age 7 Leury started taking piano lessons and developed into a fine young pianist, winning several competitions. After serving a mission Leury hopes to attend college, where he plans to major in computer animation and programming and to minor in music.

What is the Perez family’s secret to keeping it all together? “Knowing the commandments helps us to stay focused on the important things in life,” says Bienvenida. “As a single mom with two jobs, I know that the Church is very important. Seeing Leury blossom in the faith gives me a sense of happiness that I cannot quantify.”

Once I learned an important lesson from my wife. I traveled extensively in my profession. I had been gone almost two weeks and returned home one Saturday morning. I had four hours before I needed to attend another meeting. I noticed that our little washing machine had broken down and my wife was washing the clothes by hand. I began to fix the machine.
Jeanene came by and said, “Rich, what are you doing?”
I said, “I’m repairing the washing machine so you don’t have to do this by hand.”
She said, “No. Go play with the children.”
I said, “I can play with the children anytime. I want to help you.”
Then she said, “Richard, please go play with the children.”
When she spoke to me that authoritatively, I obeyed.
I had a marvelous time with our children. We chased each other around and rolled in the fall leaves. Later I went to my meeting. I probably would have forgotten that experience were it not for the lesson that she wanted me to learn.
The next morning about 4:00 a.m., I was awakened as I felt two little arms around my neck, a kiss on the cheek, and these words whispered in my ear, which I will never forget: “Dad, I love you. You are my best friend.”

A young woman named Amy recently taught me this lesson when she wrote: “It is hard being a teenager these days. The path is getting narrower. Satan is really trying. It is either right or wrong; there is no in-between.”

She continued: “Good friends are sometimes hard to find. Even when you think you have best friends who will never leave, that could change for any reason. That is why I am so glad that I have family, Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost, who can be my companions whenever things with friends go wrong.”

Amy went on to say: “One night I was troubled. I told my sister I didn’t know what to do.”

Later that night her sister sent her a text and quoted Elder Jeffrey R. Holland when he said: “Don’t give up. … Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead. … It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”

Amy explained: “I remembered reading that and just praying that I would feel love from God if He really was there for me.”

She said: “As soon as I asked and believed that He was there, I felt the most amazing, happy, warm feeling. Words can’t describe it. I knew He was there and that He loved me.”

Certainly there are times when firmness, tempered with love, is required. I like the example of a well-known lecturer who, after the speech to a group of college students, was answering questions from the audience. One young man prefaced his question by commenting on some of the negative effects of television on our society. In particular, he mentioned “women and their lousy soap operas.”
The speaker didn’t let the remark pass. “Before I try to answer your question,” he said, with kindness in his voice, “let me say that I am uncomfortable with the feelings you expressed about women and soap operas. I think it’s an unfair and inaccurate stereotype. And even if it were true, we men have enough bad habits of our own that we should be very timid indeed about giving any kind of criticism …” And then he went on in a friendly way.
No one in the audience was offended. In fact, an invisible wave of approval swept through the audience, and, to his credit, the young man nodded, acknowledging that he felt chastened but not offended. The rest of the discussion was very relaxed and open.

I know of one family who took their children to a welfare farm in the Salt Lake valley. The three, ten, and eleven-year-old children were given the opportunity of pulling weeds in a sugar beet field with their father. As the work became harder, the ten-year-old girl suddenly stopped, turned to her father, and asked, “Why are we doing this, Dad?”
He explained that all the work they were doing was helping the sugar beets grow. After the beets were grown, harvested, and processed, the sugar would be taken to the Bishops Central Storehouse. The processed sugar, along with all the other different kinds of food from welfare farms throughout the Church, would be put into bishops storehouses for those members of the Church who don’t have enough money to buy the food they need.
The Welfare Services program, however, involves more than this. It means learning and planning how to help ourselves and our families in many areas.
More than a hundred years ago President Brigham Young counseled mothers and fathers in the Church this way:
“If the little girls want dolls, shall they have them? Yes. But must they be taken to the dressmaker’s to be dressed? No. Let the girls learn to cut and sew the clothing for their dolls, and in a few years they will know how to make a dress for themselves and others. Let the little boys have tools, and let them make their sleds, little wagons, etc., and when they grow up, they are acquainted with the use of tools and can build a carriage, a house, or anything else.” (Discourses of Brigham Young, p. 210.)
Young friends, it is necessary now as it was then that girls and boys learn how to make things. The time to learn the skills needed when we grow older is while we are young. You girls and boys should learn today how to cook and sew and build. You can have fun while you learn and at the same time help your families.
Our prophet, President Spencer W. Kimball, has suggested other ways in which we can help ourselves and others. He has asked every family in the Church to store a year’s supply of food and clothing. He has also asked every family to raise a garden.
One family in Virginia with eight small children had a large garden where each child had his own row of plants to tend. While he learned how to take care of his part of the garden, the whole family was helped.
Two boys in another family were given the responsibility of keeping a list of all the food the family had stored. They were also given the important job of checking their food supply and letting their parents know when any items needed replacing.
Whether you take care of a garden, keep a record of foods stored, sew clothes, cook, build, or contribute any other useful skill, the more things you know and do, the more you can help your family. How exciting it is to grow and to learn skills that will help you be good mothers and fathers someday!
These are just a few ways in which young people can be a part of the Church’s Welfare Services program. As you learn and help your families and serve your neighbors and friends, you will find great happiness, and our Heavenly Father will bless you for your faithfulness. In the Doctrine and Covenants, we read:
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, ye are little children, and ye have not as yet understood how great blessings the Father hath in his own hands and prepared for you; … nevertheless … The kingdom is yours and the blessings thereof are yours, and the riches of eternity are yours … Wherefore, do the things which I have commanded you …” (D&C 78:17–18, 20.)

“Being adopted means having a family that loves you,” says nine-year-old Kimberly who was adopted and sealed to our family five years ago. Often adoptive parents think they will teach and guide the adopted child, but in our family Kimberly is the one who often does the teaching.
Kim recently entered two events in a track-and-field competition. She had never raced before but wanted to give it a try. She positioned herself on the track to compete with the 20 or so other girls her age in the 100-meter race. A shot rang out to begin the race and, with hundreds of spectators looking on, Kim started running. I was waiting near the finish line with camera poised to capture her coming down the lane, when I realized that she was in last place. I expected to see a disappointed little girl, but Kim had a huge smile on her face! When I retrieved her from the group of girls, she blurted out, “Mom, that was so much fun! When’s my next race?” She then rushed off to sit with her new friends.
Feeling shocked, but extremely proud of my daughter’s positive attitude, I took my place once again at the finish line to see her race in the 50-meter dash. The starter’s gun fired again, and I caught sight of Kim’s beaming smile as she ran with all her might toward me. As I watched my beautiful daughter cross the finish line, parents around me were jumping up and down, congratulating their own daughters. I stood calmly as a warm, peaceful feeling of gratitude filled my heart. Only I knew how far Kim had come in the years since she came to our home. She was once a frail, malnourished, and withdrawn child, and now her strength and confidence couldn’t be contained. She cried out, “I came in third, Mom!”
I gently replied, “No, Kimmie, you didn’t come in third. The winners are over there receiving their awards.”
“I meant I came in third to last, and I want to race again!” I hugged her tightly, and we both giggled out loud as we walked off the dusty track. I knew that Kim was the real winner and had been blessed with gifts and talents far greater than speed and agility. How blessed I felt at that moment to be her mother. I can only hope that I will face my challenges and trials in life with a smile on my face and the same positive outlook that Kim showed me that day. I thank Heavenly Father for bringing us together and pray that I can continue to learn from her example.

After my baptism I helped clean the chapel and the grounds every Saturday. Nobody asked me to. I did it because I felt it was a great honor. When I was ordained a deacon, I learned that one of my responsibilities was to clean the meetinghouse. I kept doing so, and it was still a pleasure. But in some sense it had been more rewarding when it wasn’t expected of me.
So, children, always do your duty. But don’t hesitate to do more than you are asked to do. You will find great joy in that kind of service.

“He doesn’t remember me,” Jeremy sobbed, burying his face in a pillow. “How could Grandpa forget me?”
Mom sat down beside him. “Remember the doctor told us that because of Grandpa’s illness his memories will come and go. Later, he may not remember much at all.”
Jeremy sniffed. “I just didn’t think he’d forget me.”
“He hasn’t forgotten you in his heart,” Mom said. “This life is a short time. Our family will be together for eternity, and then Grandpa will remember everything.”
Jeremy went to his room and tried to read a book, but he couldn’t concentrate. All he could think about was how to help Grandpa. Suddenly, a picture on his desk caught his eye—a picture of him and Grandpa on a fishing trip. “That was the most exciting thing we ever did together,” he thought. Then it hit him. “Pictures,” he murmured. “Of course!”
Grabbing the picture, he raced downstairs, skidded around the corner, and headed to Grandpa’s room. He knocked quietly just in case Grandpa was sleeping.
“Yes?” Grandpa called out.
“It’s me, Jeremy. May I come in?”
“Sure.”
With the photo in his hand, Jeremy stepped through the door. “Remember this, Grandpa?”
Grandpa adjusted his glasses. “You bet I do! That’s my favorite fishing spot. I’ve been going there since I was a boy.”
Jeremy fought back the tears. Grandpa remembered the fishing spot, but not him.
“You took me fishing there,” Jeremy said. “We fished all day. I got my nose sunburned and you fell in the stream trying to net my fish! Then we made a fire and cooked the fish for dinner. Remember, Grandpa?”
“Well, I can’t recall,” Grandpa admitted. “Let’s have another look. Hmm, is that my old truck? I bought that when my son was about your age. The boy in this picture looks a lot like my son.”
“The boy in the picture is me, Jeremy—your grandson. Your son is my dad, and we look a lot alike.”
“Oh, now I remember,” Grandpa said, looking hard at Jeremy. “We went there for your birthday, didn’t we? We had a great time, as I recall. Say,” Grandpa said slowly, “didn’t we lie on the ground at night and count stars?”
“Yes!” Jeremy squealed. “We counted as far as I could. You said that no matter how old I got, I’d never be able to number all the stars that Jesus scattered in the heavens. You said stars were to help boys like me learn how to count.”
“Maybe so. That was a great fishing trip. We should do it again sometime.” Grandpa’s head began nodding and Jeremy knew he needed a nap, so he patted him on the hand and quietly slipped through the door.
“Mom!” Jeremy yelled as he burst into the kitchen. “He remembered!”
“Who?” Mom questioned.
“Grandpa. He remembered me and the fishing trip we took. He actually remembered counting stars! I even forgot that. And now I know how to help him remember lots of things.”
Running back to his room, he pulled a shoebox from the closet and dumped the contents on his bed. All afternoon Jeremy worked. He cut. He pasted. He wrote. Finally he was finished. He took his project to Grandpa’s room.
“I made a book for us, Grandpa. I want us to remember all the great things our family has done together, so I got all my photos and I put them in this notebook. It’s like our own family picture book!”
“Family picture book?” Grandpa asked, opening to the first page. “Well, well!” he murmured. “This is my son, James, and his wife. James is my oldest son, you know.” Squinting his eyes and holding the book close, Grandpa murmured, “The writing under the picture says ‘James, Carolyn, and Jeremy.’”
“I know, Grandpa. They are my parents. See the baby James is holding? That’s me, Jeremy. This picture was taken the day I was born. And look at this one, Grandpa,” Jeremy said, turning the page. “That’s you holding me. I was eating the cake Mom made for my first birthday.”
“My, my,” Grandpa said. “It’s all over both of us!”
“See this one, Grandpa? That’s all of us at the lake one summer. We camped for a whole week.”
Page after page of pictures told the story of the family’s life together. Grandpa remembered some, and Jeremy described the others. When Jeremy got up to leave, Grandpa took his arm.
“Come back soon, Jeremy. I’d love to see that book again.”
Jeremy looked down at Grandpa and saw tears in his eyes. “I’ll be back later, Grandpa. I’ll show you some more. I love you and I’m so glad you’re my grandpa.” He bent down and gave Grandpa a hug.
“I love you too, Jeremy. You’re the best grandson in the whole family!” he said with the old twinkle in his eyes.
“Grandpa! I’m the only grandson in the whole family!”
“Yup. And you’re the only one I ever counted stars with!”

I have just returned from a visit where I welcomed into the world our newest little granddaughter, Elizabeth Claire Sandberg. She is perfect! I was awestruck, as I am each time a baby is born, with her fingers, toes, hair, beating heart, and her distinctive family characteristics—nose, chin, dimples. Her older brothers and sister were equally excited and fascinated by their tiny, perfect little sister. They seemed to sense a holiness in their home from the presence of a celestial spirit newly united with a pure physical body.
In the premortal realm we learned that the body was part of God’s great plan of happiness for us. As it states in the family proclamation: “Spirit sons and daughters knew and worshiped God as their Eternal Father and accepted His plan by which His children could obtain a physical body and gain earthly experience to progress toward perfection and ultimately realize his or her divine destiny as an heir of eternal life” (“The Family: A Proclamation to the World,” Liahona, Oct. 2004, 49; Ensign, Nov. 1995, 102). In fact, we “shouted for joy” (Job 38:7) to be part of this plan.
Why were we so excited? We understood eternal truths about our bodies. We knew that our bodies would be in the image of God. We knew that our bodies would house our spirits. We also understood that our bodies would be subject to pain, illness, disabilities, and temptation. But we were willing, even eager, to accept these challenges because we knew that only with spirit and element inseparably connected could we progress to become like our Heavenly Father (see D&C 130:22) and “receive a fulness of joy” (D&C 93:33).
With the fulness of the gospel on the earth, we are again privileged to know these truths about the body. Joseph Smith taught: “We came to this earth that we might have a body and present it pure before God in the Celestial Kingdom. The great principle of happiness consists in having a body. The Devil has no body, and herein is his punishment” (The Words of Joseph Smith, ed. Andrew F. Ehat and Lyndon W. Cook [1980], 60).
Satan learned these same eternal truths about the body, and yet his punishment is that he does not have one. Therefore he tries to do everything he can to get us to abuse or misuse this precious gift. He has filled the world with lies and deceptions about the body. He tempts many to defile this great gift of the body through unchastity, immodesty, self-indulgence, and addictions. He seduces some to despise their bodies; others he tempts to worship their bodies. In either case, he entices the world to regard the body merely as an object. In the face of so many satanic falsehoods about the body, I want to raise my voice today in support of the sanctity of the body. I testify that the body is a gift to be treated with gratitude and respect.
The scriptures declare that the body is a temple. It was Jesus Himself who first compared His body to a temple (see John 2:21). Later Paul admonished the people of Corinth, a wicked city teeming with all manner of lasciviousness and indecency: “Know ye not that ye are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwelleth in you? If any man defile the temple of God, him shall God destroy; for the temple of God is holy, which temple ye are” (1 Cor. 3:16–17).
What would happen if we truly treated our bodies as temples? The result would be a dramatic increase in chastity, modesty, observance of the Word of Wisdom, and a similar decrease in the problems of pornography and abuse, for we would regard the body, like the temple, as a sacred sanctuary of the Spirit. Just as no unclean thing may enter the temple, we would be vigilant to keep impurity of any sort from entering the temple of our bodies.
Likewise, we would keep the outside of our bodily temples looking clean and beautiful to reflect the sacred and holy nature of what is inside, just as the Church does with its temples. We should dress and act in ways that reflect the sacred spirit inside us.
A short while ago as I visited one of the great tourist-filled cities of the world, I felt an overwhelming sadness that so many people in the world had fallen prey to Satan’s deception that our bodies are merely objects to be flaunted and displayed openly. Imagine the contrast and my joy when I entered a classroom of modestly and appropriately dressed young women whose countenances glowed with goodness. I thought, “Here are eight beautiful girls who know how to show respect for their bodies and who know why they are doing it.” In For the Strength of Youth it says: “Your body is God’s sacred creation. Respect it as a gift from God, and do not defile it in any way. Through your dress and appearance, you can show the Lord that you know how precious your body is. … The way you dress is a reflection of what you are on the inside” ([2001], 14–15).
Modesty is more than a matter of avoiding revealing attire. It describes not only the altitude of hemlines and necklines but the attitude of our hearts. The word modesty means “measured.” It is related to moderate. It implies “decency, and propriety … in thought, language, dress, and behavior” (in Daniel H. Ludlow, ed., Encyclopedia of Mormonism, 5 vols. [1992], 2:932).
Moderation and appropriateness should govern all of our physical desires. A loving Heavenly Father has given us physical beauties and pleasures “both to please the eye and to gladden the heart” (D&C 59:18), but with this caution: that they are “made to be used, with judgment, not to excess, neither by extortion” (D&C 59:20). My husband used this scripture to teach our children about the law of chastity. He said that the “word extortion … literally means to ‘twist out [or against].’ Our use of … the body must not be twisted [against] the divinely ordained purposes for which [it was] given. Physical pleasure is good in its proper time and place, but even then it must not become our god” (John S. Tanner, “The Body as a Blessing,” Ensign, July 1993, 10).
The pleasures of the body can become an obsession for some; so too can the attention we give to our outward appearance. Sometimes there is a selfish excess of exercising, dieting, makeovers, and spending money on the latest fashions (see Alma 1:27).
I am troubled by the practice of extreme makeovers. Happiness comes from accepting the bodies we have been given as divine gifts and enhancing our natural attributes, not from remaking our bodies after the image of the world. The Lord wants us to be made over—but in His image, not in the image of the world, by receiving His image in our countenances (see Alma 5:14, 19).
I remember well the insecurities I felt as a teenager with a bad case of acne. I tried to care for my skin properly. My parents helped me get medical attention. For years I even went without eating chocolate and all the greasy fast foods around which teens often socialize, but with no obvious healing consequences. It was difficult for me at that time to fully appreciate this body which was giving me so much grief. But my good mother taught me a higher law. Over and over she said to me, “You must do everything you can to make your appearance pleasing, but the minute you walk out the door, forget yourself and start concentrating on others.”
There it was. She was teaching me the Christlike principle of selflessness. Charity, or the pure love of Christ, “envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own” (Moro. 7:45). When we become other-oriented, or selfless, we develop an inner beauty of spirit that glows in our outward appearance. This is how we make ourselves in the Lord’s image rather than the world’s and receive His image in our countenances. President Hinckley spoke of this very kind of beauty that comes as we learn to respect body, mind, and spirit. He said:
“Of all the creations of the Almighty, there is none more beautiful, none more inspiring than a lovely daughter of God who walks in virtue with an understanding of why she should do so, who honors and respects her body as a thing sacred and divine, who cultivates her mind and constantly enlarges the horizon of her understanding, who nurtures her spirit with everlasting truth” (“Understanding Our Divine Nature,” Liahona, Feb. 2002, 24; “Our Responsibility to Our Young Women,” Ensign, Sept. 1988, 11).
Oh, how I pray that all men and women will seek the beauty praised by the prophet—beauty of body, mind, and spirit!
The restored gospel teaches that there is an intimate link between body, mind, and spirit. In the Word of Wisdom, for example, the spiritual and physical are intertwined. When we follow the Lord’s law of health for our bodies, we are also promised wisdom to our spirits and knowledge to our minds (see D&C 89:19–21). The spiritual and physical truly are linked.
I remember an incident in my home growing up when my mother’s sensitive spirit was affected by a physical indulgence. She had experimented with a new sweet roll recipe. They were big and rich and yummy—and very filling. Even my teenage brothers couldn’t eat more than one. That night at family prayer my father called upon Mom to pray. She buried her head and didn’t respond. He gently prodded her, “Is something wrong?” Finally she said, “I don’t feel very spiritual tonight. I just ate three of those rich sweet rolls.” I suppose that many of us have similarly offended our spirits at times by physical indulgences. Especially substances forbidden in the Word of Wisdom have a harmful effect on our bodies and a numbing influence on our spiritual sensitivities. None of us can ignore this connection of our spirits and bodies.
These sacred bodies, for which we are so grateful, suffer from natural limitations. Some people are born with disabilities, and some suffer the pains of disease throughout their lives. All of us as we age experience our bodies gradually beginning to fail. When this happens, we long for the day when our bodies will be healed and whole. We look forward to the Resurrection that Jesus Christ made possible, when “the soul shall be restored to the body, and the body to the soul; yea, and every limb and joint shall be restored to its body; yea, even a hair of the head shall not be lost; but all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame” (Alma 40:23). I know that through Christ we can experience a fulness of joy that is available only when spirit and element are inseparably connected (see D&C 93:33).
Our bodies are our temples. We are not less but more like Heavenly Father because we are embodied. I testify that we are His children, made in His image, with the potential to become like Him. Let us treat this divine gift of the body with great care. Someday, if we are worthy, we shall receive a perfected, glorious body—pure and clean like my new little granddaughter, only inseparably bound to the spirit. And we shall shout for joy (see Job 38:7) to receive this gift again for which we have longed (see D&C 138:50). May we respect the sanctity of the body during mortality so that the Lord may sanctify and exalt it for eternity. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.