Gospel Story Finder

In January 1989 Elder David B. Haight (1906–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles fell ill and was taken by ambulance to the hospital, where he had two abdominal surgeries. Before he was taken to the hospital, crushing pain drove him to his knees. He prayed that his life would be spared. As he prayed, he began to lose consciousness. The sound of the siren was the last thing he remembered. In his unconscious state, the pain ceased, and he found himself in a peaceful setting. He became aware of being in a holy presence.
In next month’s Liahona, look for Gospel Classics: “The Sacrament—and the Sacrifice,” Elder Haight’s testimony of the Savior and an account of what he learned while unconscious.

Such a long-range perspective will help you make good choices about learning. I remember a conversation many years ago with a very bright 16-year-old high school student. He was uncertain about his religious commitment and undecided about his career. He wondered about the possibility of becoming a doctor of medicine. He asked me a simple question: “How many years did it take for you to become a heart surgeon?”

I quickly made the calculations: “From the time I graduated from high school until I first collected a fee for service as a surgeon, it took me 14 years.”

“Wow!” he replied. “That’s too long for me!”

Then I asked, “How old will you be 14 years from now if you don’t become a heart surgeon?”

“Just the same,” he replied. “Just the same!”

I had a special interest in this young man. On occasion I took him in my car on his early-morning route to deliver newspapers. Over the years his faith became strong. He was a powerful missionary. He decided to pursue his educational goal. First, he married his sweetheart in the temple. Then, while he studied medicine and surgery, they became the parents of four wonderful children. Now he is fully board certified as a heart surgeon—after intensive education and training over a period of 14 years.

It’s Friday night in Brazil. From Recife to Rio and from Salvador to São Paulo, the great megalopolises of the country teem with life as young people fill the streets, heading down beach boardwalks and downtown drives to outdoor festivals and markets, movies and shows, restaurants and clubs.
But in a certain corner of São Paulo—Brazil’s largest metropolis with a population of 21 million—all the bustle of a big-city Friday night is forgotten as dozens of teenagers play a part in something most unusual.
They sit in small groups around a large, lit-up building, occasionally checking their watches as they quietly talk into the night. They’re not staying up late to hit a dance club. They’re not lingering for the late show. They’re anxiously awaiting something of far greater significance, something their ancestors have also waited for: their assigned time to do baptisms for the dead in the São Paulo Brazil Temple.
Because this temple is the only one in a nation of more than 700,000 Latter-day Saints, its doors are open all night every Friday until late Saturday in order to accommodate the bus loads of Church members from outlying areas who are only able to travel to the temple on weekends. Upon their arrival, stakes are assigned times round the clock to do temple work.
According to temple president Aledir Barbour, handling such large numbers of temple goers “is now our greatest challenge because so many stakes want to come, but we cannot accommodate them all as we’d like.”
He pauses, then smiles and adds, “But certainly it is a challenge we like to have.”
The white-haired, soft-spoken temple president cites an example of a group of youth and their leaders who came by bus from Belo Horizonte, a large city about 200 kilometers northeast of São Paulo. Members of this stake youth group brought with them the names of 10,000 ancestors, all of whom the teens had identified through their own research. The group stayed from Tuesday through Friday, but it wasn’t nearly enough time to do the baptisms for all their ancestors.
The temple baptistry is so full of youth patrons, individuals can usually only be baptized for four or five deceased persons each time they come to the temple. And this is after many teens and their parents from outlying areas have saved for months to travel to the temple, riding on a bus for days to get to São Paulo (Brazil is larger than the continental United States).
When the São Paulo Temple was dedicated in 1978, it could easily handle the Church membership in Brazil, which then totalled less than 60,000. But membership in Brazil has increased by more than tenfold since then, and now the temple is consistently overflowing.
Fortunately, the rapid growth that has caused such a challenge is also a catalyst that is bringing about wonderful change—change that is already beginning to bless the lives of Brazilian youth.
Peering through the rails of a barrier fence, 17-year-old Fabio Fogliatto and his friends of the Canoas Stake watch intently as men in hard hats construct a building near the southern tip of Brazil. Fabio notes with satisfaction that one of the workers leaves the construction site before smoking a cigarette. “He must know this is a sacred site for us,” he says.
On the other side of the fence from the teens is a spectacular sight. Against the backdrop of the city, the walls of what will be the Pôrto Alegre Brazil Temple are rising out of the red earth.
“Just watching them build the temple, I can feel it really is a temple of the Lord,” says Ivan Carvalho, 14, of the Esteio Ward. “It makes me feel even stronger that I want to come here to do ordinances for the dead and for myself.”
Fourteen-year-old Guilherme Recordon of the Estancia Velha Ward adds, “And now that we only have to go 20 kilometers instead of 300, maybe we’ll be able to come here every week!”
The feelings of these boys represent an excitement growing all over Brazil as temples are built. Another temple is nearing completion in Campinas (a city just west of São Paulo), and yet another will be dedicated in the northern city of Recife this summer. As temples are built into the Brazilian skies, youth here are constructing their own temple-worthy lives.
Living worthy to go to the temple is anything but easy for young Brazilians. They are teased by their peers if they don’t use drugs, alcohol, and tobacco. Extreme immodesty is common on billboards and prime-time T.V. Many students carry pornographic magazines to school. During carnaval, a week-long festival for which Brazil is famous, immodesty and immorality are paraded in the streets.
But LDS youth say that looking to the temple helps them keep the commandments despite the many temptations and trials they face. “At school, when you won’t look at the [pornographic] magazines, people make fun of you. But I have a goal to serve a mission and marry in the temple, so I already know that if they push this stuff at me, I won’t do it,” says Fabio Marques, 16, of the Campinas Fourth Ward. “I’ve already made my decision.”
Fabio says having a temple so close to his home in Campinas will strengthen him and his Latter-day Saint friends. “It’s hard to get to the temple in São Paulo, but soon we’ll be able to do baptisms for the dead more easily and frequently at the Campinas Temple. And each time you do that, you make a stronger goal to return to the temple, and to be worthy to marry in the temple.”
Whenever challenges seem too much for 18-year-old Janise Figueiró, she looks at a little bottle of red earth she received from her Young Women president in the Higienópolis (Pôrto Alegre) Ward. “Whenever I look at that soil from the temple site, I remember to live worthy.”
Fourteen-year-old Juliano Garcia of the Guaiba Jardim Ward was thrilled with the prize he’d won. Although he’d only been a Church member for just under a year, he’d managed to win a scripture chase in his multistake seminary bowl. As he began to look through the pages of his prize, a booklet entitled The Holy Temple, he became fascinated with the pictures of temple baptismal fonts and celestial rooms. Juliano didn’t know much about the temple, but as he read in the booklet about baptism for the dead, his heart immediately turned to his deceased grandparents. “I thought about my grandparents, how great they were, and I thought that more than anything I wanted to go to the temple for them.” Juliano hasn’t been able to travel to the São Paulo Temple, but is now preparing to go in Pôrto Alegre.
As Juliano and other Brazilian teens continue to construct their own temple-worthy lives little by little, they do not doubt that when the doors of the new temples are ready to be opened, they will be ready to enter.
When the Angel Moroni appeared to 17-year-old Joseph Smith in 1823, he told the young prophet about the marvelous restoration that was about to take place, quoting from Malachi:
“Behold, I will reveal unto you the Priesthood, by the hand of Elijah the prophet, before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord.
“… And he shall plant in the hearts of the children the promises made to the fathers, and the hearts of the children shall turn to their fathers” (see JS—H 1:38–39).
This prophecy is literally being fulfilled in the hearts of young Brazilians. “The Spirit of Elijah is working … especially on the young people, to do work for their ancestors. It’s something that we cannot explain,” says São Paulo Temple President Barbour.
Take 16-year-old Jeferson Montenegro of Canoas and Suelen Alexandre (15), José Meirelles (18), Priscila Cavalieri (18), Carlita Fochetto (14), and Carolina (16), Christiane (15), and Carlos Rodriguez (12), of São Paulo (pictured above). These young people volunteer in their family history centers for 10–20 hours each week, assisting Church members in their research, entering extracted names into the computer system, and searching for names of their own ancestors.
These teens aren’t unusual. Many Brazilian youth have found the names of hundreds of their ancestors and eagerly begun their temple work. Why? “I feel the influence of the spirit of Elijah,” says Jeferson. “It makes me feel a closeness with those who’ve gone before me.”

I remember teaching an extremely intelligent woman who had a hard time accepting anything until she had nailed down every intellectual loose end. However, at long last we heard her say, “I cannot deny this feeling any longer.”
She joined the Church and was very happy for the next few years, but she gradually let her intellectual doubts creep back in and ultimately left the Church.
Fifteen years went by, and she came to visit our family. We took her to Temple Square. As we started up the circular ramp leading to the statue of the Savior, she paused and tearfully said, “Here comes that feeling again. My heart still yearns for what my mind won’t accept!”

A true story from the Philippines.
Lhensay bounced in her seat next to her mom as their jeepney drove through town. Sunday was Lhensay’s favorite day of the week! She loved going to Primary and learning about Jesus Christ.
The jeepney pulled up to their stop. Mom held Lhensay’s hand as they walked to the church.
After sacrament meeting, Lhensay walked to Primary with her friend Maria. On the board there was a picture of a young man praying in the woods.
“Good morning!” Their teacher, Sister Cruz, pointed to the picture. “Does anyone know who this is?”
“That’s Joseph Smith!” Lhensay said.
Sister Cruz smiled. “Yes, that’s right. And what did Joseph Smith do?”
Lhensay looked back at the picture. She knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet, but she didn’t know much else.
“He was the first prophet of our church,” Maria said.
“Right again!” said Sister Cruz. “When Joseph was young, he didn’t know which church to join. He went into the woods and prayed to God to find out which one was true. He also asked for forgiveness of his sins. As he prayed, a very bright light appeared. Do you know who was in that light?”
Lhensay and the rest of her class waited.
Sister Cruz put another picture on the board. This one showed two men standing above Joseph Smith in the air. They wore white robes and shone brightly.
“Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ showed themselves to Joseph,” Sister Cruz said. “They told him that he would restore Jesus’s Church. We call it the First Vision.”
Lhensay raised her hand, eyes wide. “Was it for real?” she asked.
Sister Cruz nodded. “Yes, it was!”
Lhensay’s heart felt warm. She knew that what Sister Cruz had said was true.
That night, Lhensay kept thinking about Joseph Smith. “Mom, how can I see Heavenly Father and Jesus, like Joseph Smith did?” she asked.
Mom gave Lhensay a hug. “Most of us won’t see Heavenly Father and Jesus like Joseph Smith did. But They can still speak to us through thoughts and feelings from the Holy Ghost. Then you can know They are always with you.”
Lhensay thought about the way her heart felt warm when Sister Cruz told them about the First Vision. That was the Holy Ghost, sending her a message from Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ! She smiled and hugged Mom back. They had spoken to her, just like they had to Joseph Smith!

Do you like to work? When I was a boy growing up in Sandy, Utah, my three brothers and I learned to work hard. My family had a big garden, and my father always planted much more than our family could ever eat. He gave corn, tomatoes, and other vegetables to our neighbors. When they offered to come pick the vegetables, my father said, “Oh, no. My boys will pick them and have them ready for you.” My brothers and I learned to get up at 4:30 or 5:00 in the morning to weed the garden and pick the vegetables while it was still cool. I still get up very early in the morning.
We also worked on the neighboring farm, doing a little of everything. We herded cows, thinned and topped beets, and picked cherries. I even remember vaccinating chickens! Many years later, when I was having a medical examination, the doctor said that I was in very good health except that I had a virus in my lungs that was not a human virus. It was a virus that chickens have. I’ve been teased that maybe this is why I like to get up so early—like chickens do!
Dad got us a job mowing the lawn of our meetinghouse. We used an old push lawn mower. At that time, the Church was just beginning to buy power lawn mowers. But my father, who had a calling in the stake, said, “We don’t need a power mower. My boys will take care of it.” Some parts of the lawn were very thick and hard to mow, so we attached a rope to the front of the mower. One brother pulled on the rope while the other pushed the mower. People laughed as they went by and saw us doing this, but it worked!
Before I went on my mission, my Grandfather Bateman gave me a blessing. In that blessing, he said, “Now, boy, you go out and work hard, and the Lord will bless you.” I am glad that I had learned as a boy to work hard.
As boys growing up, we had lots of fun along with the work. Near our house, there was a hill of beautiful white sand that we called Sand Hill. We loved to roll down that hill. We also liked to explore the riverbank and hunt for flint arrowheads in some old caves where Native Americans used to live. I had a very nice collection of arrowheads.
We loved to visit Grandma and Grandpa Bateman in West Jordan, Utah, too. In wintertime, we went sledding on their big hill. One time we went sledding on my uncle’s prize sled. As we went down the hill toward the irrigation canal, we bounced off the sled, and it landed in the canal. Grandpa had to divert the irrigation water out of the canal so we could find the sled. When we got back to the house, we were cold and wet. We warmed up by the stove while Grandma laid our clothes out to dry.

When I got home from school, Jerry was sitting on the living room floor, cutting pink tissue-paper snowflakes. “Hey!” I said as we slapped hands in our usual greeting. “How’s it going?”
Jerry held up his hand for me to examine. “Blisters?” I asked, not really surprised. “I’ve been cutting all day,” he said. “Do you think I have enough?” He held up a thick stack of snowflakes.
“It looks like you have enough there to decorate the gym for the grand ball,” I said. I guess Jerry’s a little young to appreciate my sense of humor. Every time I say anything funny, he just looks at me with his big brown eyes as though I’d just said something profound that he should store away for later use.
I snickered, not really sure if I was laughing at Jerry’s gullibility or at my desire to tease him. I tease Jerry a lot, I guess. It’s pretty easy to do because he’s so serious and so believing.
Jerry had been cutting snowflakes almost steadily since Sunday morning. Mom had given him the idea and the pink tissue paper. She had explained to him that even though it wasn’t white, it would be easier to cut through ten layers of tissue paper than typing paper.
“Besides,” I had added, “just think what the world would be like if it snowed pink snow.” Jerry’s eyes got that trusting, faraway look in them as I continued: “Pink lakes, pink trees, pink oceans. …”
Mom gave me a warning look, and I shrugged my shoulders as if to say, “Hey, I can’t help it if he believes everything that I say.”
Jerry had immediately made five snowflakes, and everybody made quite a fuss over them. They were pretty good snowflakes, considering that they were cut by a five-year-old with kindergarten scissors. I even told him that I thought they were pretty neat. But Mom added the clincher. “What beautiful snowflakes, Jerry—snowflakes of love.”
Well, you could just see the gears turning in Jerry’s head. He spent the rest of the morning cutting snowflakes. He took them to church and gave them to everyone—the bishop, the ward clerk, his Primary teacher, his classmates, the organist. I think that Jerry was trying to make his own personal pink snowstorm with his snowflakes of love.
He didn’t stop with those, though. He kept at it the next day. I even pretended patient indifference when my good buddies, Mark and Wayne, came over to play basketball and Jerry presented each of them with three pink snowflakes.
They looked at me, hoping for a logical explanation for the gift. “It’s his contribution to world peace and brotherly love,” I explained and went in for a perfect lay-up. The guys were nice about it and folded their snowflakes and put them deep into their pockets.
After family home evening, while I pondered some math problems in our room, Jerry was still cutting snowflakes. When I caught him watching me, he’d just smile and keep on cutting. I’d chuckle and nod and go back to calculating. I didn’t think any more about it until the next day.
The morning hadn’t gone well at all. I had hit the snooze button on my alarm one too many times, and I was going to be late for school. I grabbed my books and folder and bounded down the stairs, trying to put on my jacket as I went. Jerry was sitting at his usual spot at the kitchen table. “Hi, Jer,” I mumbled as I shoved some scrambled eggs into my mouth.
“I made a surprise for you,” he said.
“Great!” I said, grabbing a piece of toast and heading for the door.
I ran the two blocks to school and hit the front door just as the second bell sounded. I dashed down the hall, opened the door to my first-period history class, and in one gliding motion threw my books onto the desk and slid in behind them. But the books didn’t stop. I grabbed for them, but they sailed on out of my reach and across the aisle, bumped against the opposite desk, and flew in every direction. Fifty-four eyes were riveted on my folder as it flew open and released a pink snowstorm of pastel, tissue-paper snowflakes.
The air currents from the heat vent sent the snowflakes sailing into the air. Everyone watched as they twisted and turned and fluttered down to cover the floor like a soft, pink blanket. I watched in a trance until the last snowflake had fallen. Suddenly, Jerry’s words registered in my mind: “I made a surprise for you.”
All eyes in the classroom were focused on me, waiting for the explanation that they felt they deserved. What could I say? I threw open my arms in a gesture of helplessness and admitted to the world, “My little brother loves me.”
And as I bent to gather each gift of love, my heart sang out, “I love you, too, Jer.”

In my senior year of high school I signed up for the marines, and while my classmates were attending graduation exercises, I was in an airplane headed for boot camp at Parris Island, South Carolina. Three months later, I was back home on leave and my parents invited me to attend church.
I had always been a scrappy person, but after graduating from marine corps boot camp, I felt as though I could lick the world and probably would have tried with little hesitation. I accepted my parents’ invitation to attend church services and immediately began preparing my uniform so that I might present an impeccable appearance.
I rose at 0600 that morning to check my uniform to make sure it was in immaculate condition. Sure enough, my brass was so shiny you couldn’t look at it directly, and when you growled at my leather, it was so brilliantly shined, your reflection growled back at you. My swagger would have made John Wayne turn green as we neared the church entrance. I was prepared to lick anyone who met my gaze with anything less than the fear of death. I opened the door and stood aside, letting my mom pass through, and then the rest of the family. I sidestepped through the door so that my shoulders wouldn’t rip the wood from the sides of the door frame. As I corrected my body position to its original stance and faced the occupants of the room, I felt as though I had been slapped in the face.
I was flabbergasted as I stared into a sea of genuinely smiling faces. Everyone present had a light in his eye that I had previously seen in only a few individuals. There was a spirit of happiness and contentment present that was hard for me to comprehend. I think it would have been impossible to provoke one of these fine people into a fist fight.
I never regained my composure after making my way through the tidal wave of handshakes and back pats that met me. I sat meekly through the entire service—like a lamb among wolves, or perhaps the reverse.
Back on duty I took up my usual way of life. Once in a while I thought of the LDS Church back home, especially when letters came from my family as there were always a few lines about their Church activities.
Two years dragged by and my tour in Vietnam drew close. I stopped drinking and smoking and found myself wishing I could wash off my tattoo.
By some stroke of luck, I was selected to be attached to the Department of State for what was to be a year in Nicosia, Cyprus, and a year and a half in Jerusalem, Israel.
I’m sure that gnawing feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you leave home is a feeling you never get used to. It’s worse when you are single, in the service, or on a mission and aren’t sure what to expect. For some reason I was unusually homesick as I waited for my orders. My imagination made my plight seem worse. As I lay on my bunk I envisioned myself as the last of the good guys, alone without a friend in the world, sworn to uphold justice and virtue, a knight in shining armor, the champion of damsels in distress, and a slayer of dragons. Yet there was nothing foreseeable in my future but the “devil and the deep blue sea.”
At the height of my misery a glimmer of hope and truth shone through. Stored in my “gourd” for two and a half years were memories of smiles, love, virtue, warmth, and a strong moral environment. I remembered that the Mormon members possessed all those personal qualities that characterized the knights of old: personal dignity, self-reliance, initiative, and loyalty to their own. I kicked myself mentally as I thought, “You should have joined that outfit before you even thought of going into the marines.”
The next Sunday I looked up the address of the nearest LDS chapel and told the cabbie to take the fastest route. Out of the cab, I raced down the sidewalk and jumped into the foyer. Standing there was a small group of distinguished looking gentlemen. I made a beeline for them and zeroed in on the gentleman with silver-gray hair and piercing eyes. Trying to stop within three feet of him, but having slid to within six inches, I counted three silver fillings as his mouth flew open. I suppose he thought the ward was about to be invaded by the entire marine corps.
I tried to be tactful but had built my momentum to a fever pitch. Standing within six inches of his nose, I caught him by the arm and shrieked, “Sign me up, coach; I don’t smoke!”
I know that God lives and that Jesus is the Christ. How thankful I am for the fine example of the members of the Church for it was that example which brought me into the only true church on the earth.

“No one sits alone” also means no one sits alone emotionally or spiritually. I once went with a brokenhearted father to visit his son. Years earlier, the son was excited to become a new deacon. For the occasion, his family bought him his first pair of new shoes.
But at church, the deacons laughed at him and his shoes. His shoes were new, but not fashionable. Embarrassed and hurt, the young deacon said he would never go again to church. My heart is still broken for him and his family. …

Anna liked going to Sunbeam class. She liked her teachers, Brother and Sister Lee. She liked the lessons about Jesus. She liked knowing the words to the songs.
But now she wouldn’t be in the Sunbeam class anymore. Today she would be in a new Primary class. She would have new teachers. She would sit in a new row in singing time. She would have a new classroom.
Anna was nervous. She wanted to sit with Sister Lee. She tried not to cry as she walked into the Primary room.
One of her new teachers smiled at her. “Hi, I’m Sister Ball. What’s your name?”
“I’m Anna,” Anna said.
Sister Ball patted the chair next to her. “Would you like to sit by me? This is my first time in Primary.”
Anna sat down by Sister Ball. “I can help you. I know all the songs!”
“Thank you,” said Sister Ball. “That would be a big help.”
Soon her friend Beth came in. Last year she was in the Sunbeam class with Anna. Beth sat by Anna.
“This is Beth,” Anna told Sister Ball.
Anna smiled. She liked her new Primary class after all!

“This is far enough, Mom. You can drop me off here,” Jill said to her mother as they pulled up to the gates of Cannondale Heights. “I’ll just walk the rest of the way. I need the exercise.”
“Sorry I couldn’t have Jeeves bring you ’round in the limo,” Jill’s mother said in her best Harvard accent. “But he had to take your father to the airport to catch the Concorde for the summit meeting.”
Jill hadn’t fooled her mother for a second. She never could. It was all too obvious that she didn’t want to be seen pulling up to Courtney Pennington’s palatial mansion in the family’s clunky old blue-or-grey-or-whatever-color-it-used-to-be Impala. Jill was five-foot-eight and not just thin; she was skinny. She ate all the time to gain weight, and now she was telling her mother she needed to walk for exercise on a cold, dark night? She felt guilty about the pretense, so she leaned over and gave her mom an extra big hug, momentarily catching her thick brown hair on the button of her mother’s jacket.
“Have a good time,” her mother said with a smile as Jill jumped out of “Sherman.” That was the affectionate nickname the family had given the car because of its resemblance to a tank.
The night was chilly and as Jill began walking up the hill to the Pennington’s driveway, she wished she would have stayed a little longer in her mother’s soft, warm, cinnamon-smelling embrace.
The huge wrought-iron gate that guarded what looked like a very long lane automatically swung open as soon as Jill neared it. She looked around before entering and noticed she’d crossed through an electric beam that must have alerted whoever was looking at her through a small T.V. camera mounted on the gatepost. “I can’t believe this,” she said to herself. “The Pennington place is unreal!”
Jill thought about the situation as she continued through the gate and up the long, tree-lined drive. Courtney Pennington was the new girl in the ward. She was in Jill’s Mia Maid class but hadn’t immediately drawn a lot of attention because she was quiet—the nice kind of quiet, where you know she’s shy rather than stuck-up. She had long blond hair that was probably curly or wavy, but she kept it pulled back in a braid or a ponytail all the time so it was hard to tell. She dressed well but not flashy, and no one even realized she was rich until one day they saw her hop into a very large, very shiny Mercedes that had come for her after church. The windows were tinted, so no one could see the driver.
Courtney became a sort of enigma after that. No one wanted to be rude and ask too many questions, but everyone in the class was curious about her. They hadn’t ever seen the rest of her family, although one day she showed them a picture she carried in her wallet. The miniportrait revealed one of the best looking brothers they’d ever seen, and two incredibly handsome parents.
The girls just about fell over when she gave their adviser a home address that had to be located in prestigious Cannondale Heights.
They were ecstatic when Courtney offered to host the Mia Maid class party they were planning. Most of them had never even driven through Cannondale Heights, let alone visited one of the elaborate estates there. They couldn’t wait to see what life was like in the lap of luxury.
Courtney, whom Jill had befriended the very first day by offering her half of the candy bar she usually carried in her purse, had asked Jill to come by, see her home, and help plan the party from there. Jill had jumped at the chance.
And now she was standing in front of the Pennington’s massive brass door. What if a butler answers? she wondered. What would you say to a butler? “Good evening. I have come to visit with Miss Courtney. She is expecting me.” Could she say that with a straight face? How about, “Yo! Butle me in!” Or “Beam me up, butler!” The possibilities were endless. She couldn’t help but giggle.
She was relieved when Courtney opened the door just as Jill was reaching for the carved ivory knocker. “I’m so glad you’re here! You’re just in time,” Courtney bubbled, surprising Jill with her enthusiasm. “My parents are on their way out, and I want them to meet you before they go.”
“She wants them to meet me?” Jill thought as Courtney led her through a marble-floored entry and down a wood-paneled hall. She’d heard that Courtney’s father was a very powerful movie executive, and she was sure he met famous movie stars every day. Why would he want to meet some insignificant, skinny kid from the ward?
Courtney opened the door to a room that seemed to be all glass and garden. There were huge bouquets of fresh flowers blooming everywhere. On the other side of the room stood Courtney’s parents, silhouetted against a giant window through which city lights sparkled below.
“You must be Jill,” said a dazzling blond lady, all dressed in gold and black velvet. Could that be Courtney’s mom? Nobody’s mom dressed like that! Most moms Jill knew dressed in sweats or jeans, except on Sundays when they pulled out their flowered dresses.
“Of course that’s Jill,” Courtney’s father answered before Jill could say anything. “It’s so good to get to know Courtney’s friends. C’mon babe, we’ve got to get going—they won’t hold the premiere—not even for me!” he said as he began striding toward the door. He was the only man Jill had ever met who you could actually say “strode.” The tall man in the tuxedo gave the impression that he would never merely walk.
Courtney reached out to give her mother a hug, but only caught her hand as she hurried out behind her husband. “Watch the nails, hon,” Mrs. Pennington said as she quickly drew away. “Monique just did them today. Have a good time.” And they were gone. All that remained was the spicy scent of Mrs. Pennington’s expensive perfume.
“Well, those are my parents,” Courtney said, almost apologetically. “They’re always off somewhere. I wish it was off to church sometimes, but you’ve probably noticed they’re not big on attendance. They haven’t been for a long time.”
“I wasn’t sure if they were members or not,” Jill responded honestly. Then she quickly added, “It’s good they are.”
“Well, I guess you can say they’re members,” Courtney continued. “Dad joined the Church so Mom would marry him, but he never really got into it. Mom’s not into it much anymore either, but at least they’re nice about letting me go.”
“That’s not bad,” Jill said philosophically. She was beginning to wonder about the girl with the beautiful house and glamorous parents. “My parents have to wrestle with us half the time to get us to church. I think it’s good you try so hard to come on your own. I don’t see how you do it.”
“I don’t see how I can’t,” Courtney responded, a small smile crossing her face. “A long time ago I realized that I felt things at church I couldn’t feel anywhere else. The things they taught me there I couldn’t learn anywhere else, and I’ve been a lot of places. Now that I’m older and understand a little more about how the Spirit works, I don’t want to do anything that would separate me from it—like not going to church. I need all the spiritual help I can get. I don’t have a family like yours to teach me and help me learn. I envy you that.”
“Courtney envies me?” Jill thought. “That’s really funny.” And the humor in it grew as Courtney took her from room to room, showing her possible places for the party. The house was amazing. The Persian rugs and rich polished floors were such a contrast to the matted shag and scuffed linoleum in Jill’s house. There were about ten bedrooms—more than half of them guest rooms. They were so different from the bedrooms at Jill’s, where three bedrooms accommodated a family of nine. Two of the rooms were shared by three kids each. And Jill’s older brother Matt slept on the sofa bed in the living room, tormenting the littler kids by tickling them when they crossed through the room to the kitchen at night to get a drink. Oh, and then there were the Pennington’s “recreation rooms.”
“How about if we go swimming in the indoor pool?” Jill suggested when they’d returned to the glass-and-flower room to do the actual planning.
“I thought about that, but Dad said the insurance risk was too high to have a bunch of kids whose parents we don’t know swimming there,” Courtney answered.
“No problem then. Maybe we can get a film and watch it in that neat theater?”
“I don’t think dad would want us fooling with his equipment,” Courtney said.
“That’s all right.” Jill tried again. “I noticed you have a huge kitchen. Maybe we could make some goodies in there. Everybody likes food—especially me. And we could make enough to take to the homeless in the park the next day.
“I think Mom would have a heart attack if we tarnished her copper kitchen stuff,” Courtney said. At this point, she was getting embarrassed.
“Well, we can always just come over and talk girl talk right here,” Jill said, not wanting to disappoint Courtney anymore.
“We can always just come over and talk girl talk!” screeched a Munchkin-like voice that pierced them from every direction. It startled Jill so badly she thought she jumped ten feet in the air. Suddenly, from a slit in the ceiling above a huge white and gold fireplace, a movie screen started descending. When it stopped, a video of their little planning session, played at double speed backwards, started flashing across the screen, their voices screeching in those weird Munchkin tones.
“Selwyn, you dog!” Courtney yelled as she jumped up and ran across the room to a control panel that was neatly concealed behind a tapestry on the wall. She hurriedly flicked a switch that killed the sound.
“It’s my stupid big brother,” Courtney stuttered on the verge of tears. “He takes his video camera everywhere, and he films everything. Then he edits them in weird ways and shows them to everybody. He makes me so mad!”
The girls stood there motionless for a few minutes, watching their images flicker bizarrely across the silent screen.
“Hey—I’ve got a great idea!” Jill said, regaining her composure. “This is a beautiful place, but you’d probably like to get out once in a while. You’ve never been to any of our houses. Why don’t we have the Mia Maid party at mine? Mom will help us make cinnamon rolls. Oh, and Matt has a priests quorum activity that night, so we won’t have competition for the living room. As a matter of fact, I bet Matt would take Selwyn with him, if he wants to go.”
“He’d probably like that,” Courtney said slowly. “He doesn’t have many friends. But do you think your mom would mind?”
“My mom mind? Are you kidding? She loves having people in the house—all over the house,” Jill said, walking over to the golden phone she’d noticed on a desk against the wall. “I’ll call her right now, and we can make plans over there. What’s the exact address of this place so I can have her come right up to the front door and get us?”

Scott* and Jeri* reaped the benefits of living among Saints who loved and comforted them. Scott had been excommunicated from the Church for 12 years when he and Jeri and their four children moved to another part of the country. They decided to go to church, they said, “for the sake of the kids.” Scott steadfastly maintained he would never rejoin, although he knew the Church was true.
From the moment they arrived, they were warmly welcomed. When ward members learned of Scott’s Church status, they didn’t gossip or expect him to give a long explanation of his past. No one judged him. “They liked me for who I was,” says Scott. “After that first Sunday, we never missed church again.”
About a year and a half later, Scott was rebaptized, and eventually his priesthood blessings were restored. A son and daughter born when he was not a member were sealed to Scott and Jeri in the temple. “We’ll never forget watching our two children walk into the sealing room dressed in white,” Jeri reminisces. “There must have been at least 70 members of the Church with us. Everyone there seemed to be part of our family! These people had loved us through our ups and downs and comforted us in our times of discouragement. Without our friends we wouldn’t have made it.”
Scott’s bishop at the time observes: “Knowing that a loving ward presents the best climate for individual growth and development, we worked hard as a ward at ‘having [our] hearts knit together in unity and in love one towards another’ (Mosiah 18:21). As bishop, I saw the Lord direct many people like Scott to our ward because of the climate that existed there.”

By now our children had joined with us in the discussions, and the two sisters who had originally knocked on our door had been replaced by another pair of lady missionaries. I would put the baby in his playpen, and then we’d start bombarding the missionaries with question after question. We found that the two sticks mentioned in prophecy were the Bible and the Book of Mormon. “Do we get to see the Book of Mormon? When? When can I read it? Next discussion?” This was going to be a long week—I could hardly wait.
The week was long. I kept thinking about the Book of Mormon and could hardly wait to get my hands on it. The day finally arrived, and I hoped in my heart they wouldn’t forget the Book of Mormon. I even thought they might finally have a cup of coffee with us.
As we discussed the Book of Mormon, they told me of a wonderful promise contained in it. Yes, we’d give it a try. We’d pray about it.
It took only a few pages of the Book of Mormon to convince me that it was true. It’s true! This is the word of God! And so, each morning at 6:00 I would take my cup of coffee out on the back steps of the house in the cool morning air and read until the children woke up. How forceful were the words! Who could ever deny, after reading this book, that it was the word of God? It is the word of God! What a feeling of excitement, of discovery, of awe, of warmth, of wonder.

In December of 2019, while serving in Baltimore, Thierry and Nathalie were invited to meet with President Russell M. Nelson. The meeting was virtual. The prophet asked mission president Mutombo what the most important thing was they had learned on their mission. President Mutombo answered, “trying to follow the Savior’s footsteps every day.”

President Nelson then extended a call to Thierry to serve as a General Authority Seventy. Thierry was 43 years old. For the next nearly 27 years, he will devote his life to the Savior’s work. On Saturday afternoon, April 4, 2020, while watching general conference as a family in Baltimore, Maryland, the six Mutombo children learned of their father’s new assignment. Walking in the Savior’s footsteps would continue for many years.

After I got baptized, my boyfriend, JP (who was already a member of the Church), and I planned to get married, but we delayed our wedding day because I wanted to have a big celebration.
On Tuesday, January 12, 2010, my fiancé and I went to school to attend our classes. As I sat at my computer waiting for the professor to start class, the building started to shake. I didn’t dare run outside because the shaking was so terrible.
I stood in a corner and closed my eyes, praying to Heavenly Father in my heart: “Please give me a chance to marry JP in the temple.”
Moments later, the shaking stopped and I looked around. I couldn’t see anything because dust was raining down. I cannot remember how I got out of the room, but I eventually found myself outside. With tears in my eyes, I started screaming JP’s name.
I soon found JP’s sister. “He is OK!” she shouted. “He’s trying to help some students who are stuck under the rubble.”
I am not more special than others who were unable to escape, but I know that Heavenly Father answered my prayer. JP and I were married in the temple on April 6, 2010, a little more than a year after my baptism and almost three months after the earthquake. It was a day of peace and joy that I will never forget. We didn’t have a big party, but it was the most wonderful thing to me.
Marie Marjorie Labbe, baptized in Haiti in 2009

As you approach old age, you will face new challenges to self-mastery. Symptoms of the deteriorating body can be painful, even disabling. Deep aches of sadness are caused by the departing of loved ones. For some, these deepening trials come early in life. But when yours are thrust upon you, remember a concept expressed by my father some time after my mother had passed away. Your grandparents had been married for sixty-four years. When someone asked how he was doing, my father simply stated, “I’m lonely, but I’m not lonesome.” Do you know what he meant? Though he was now without his sweetheart, he was so busy assisting family and friends, he had replaced sorrow with service and had displaced self-pity with selfless love. He had found joy in following the timeless example of the Master.

Other milestones were trips to the Freiberg Germany Temple to be baptized for the dead in April and August 1994. Latter-day Saint youth from all over Hungary crowded onto buses to make the 22-hour journey. Then they returned home with a mission: to tell others about it so everyone could share in the power and beauty of the experience.
“I didn’t know who the people were who I was being baptized for—or when they lived,” says Somodi Zsuzsanna, 18. “About halfway through, without warning I suddenly felt the Spirit. I felt that perhaps that person had accepted the gospel in the spirit world and had been waiting for somebody to be baptized in her name. I have never felt such a wonderful thing, before or since.”
“When I was inside the temple,” says Borsos Péter, 18, “I had the sensation that the temple had no roof—that there was direct contact with heaven!”

Nearly 12 years ago, young friends Richard Moore, Mark Sandridge, and Graham McBride of the Memphis (Tennessee) Second Ward dressed in white as they prepared to make sacred covenants. The three boys were baptized by their fathers in the same baptismal service.
Last year, the three friends again dressed in white to make covenants, this time in the same endowment session of the St. Louis Missouri Temple. Their fathers were once again by their sides, and the session was officiated by Graham’s grandfather, a temple worker.
Although these three young men live many miles from each other now, they continue to dress in white as they baptize others while serving in the California Ventura, Japan Nagoya, and Honduras Tegucigalpa Missions.

Let me share with you a rather private but joyful example from my own experience.

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought one day as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily Fullmer lived. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association. Ben and Emily had not been in our sacrament meeting for many years. Ben, a former bishop, would sit constantly in his front room reading and memorizing the New Testament.

I was en route from my uptown sales office to our plant on Industrial Road. For some reason I had driven down First West, a street which I never had traveled before to reach the destination of our plant. Then I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on my way to a meeting. I did not heed the impression at first but drove on for two more blocks; however, when the impression came again, I returned to their home.

It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. I heard the tiny fox terrier dog bark at my approach. Emily welcomed me in. Upon seeing me, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today is my birthday?”

I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”

In the quiet of their living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I really don’t know why I was directed here today, but I was. Our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. As we arose from our knees, I said to Brother Fullmer, “Ben, would you come to priesthood meeting when we meet with all the priesthood and relate to our Aaronic Priesthood boys the story you once told me when I was a boy, how you and a group of boys were en route to the Jordan River to swim one Sunday, but you felt the Spirit direct you to attend Sunday School. And you did. One of the boys who failed to respond to that Spirit drowned that Sunday. Our boys would like to hear your testimony.”

“I’ll do it,” he responded.

I then said to Sister Fullmer, “Emily, I know you have a beautiful voice. My mother has told me so. Our ward conference is a few weeks away, and our choir will sing. Would you join the choir and attend our ward conference and perhaps sing a solo?”

“What will the number be?” she inquired.

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’d like you to sing it.”

She sang. He spoke to the Aaronic Priesthood. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day forward. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and souls saved. Ben and Emily Fullmer had come home.

Seventeen-year-old Mackenzie H. took President Pickup’s challenge to heart and began indexing, and she helped her siblings, parents, and grandparents become involved as well. In less than two years, Mackenzie indexed more than 44,000 names. More importantly, Mackenzie and her family felt prompted to seek out their own family names, take them to the temple, and participate in the saving ordinances.