Gospel Story Finder

Here I am, the Freckled Wonder, starting another year at Madsen High. I say “another year” to distinguish myself from the younger set, who look incredibly lost and frightened. Was I that bad last year? As usual, anyone new who met me today said, “Hey, I’ll bet everybody calls you Freckles!” If anyone ever says, “Hey, I’ll bet everyone calls you Gorgeous,” I’ll be his slave forever.
The particular anyone I referred to earlier—the one who made the strikingly original remark about the freckles—is Dave Johnson, class president. If he hadn’t made that remark about the freckles, I think I would be interested in him. He’s handsome even with glasses, which he wears part-time. Reminds me of Richard O’Neal, my childhood (last year’s) hero.
Ever hear of Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment, guaranteed to “lighten or totally remove unsightly freckles and facial blemishes forever”? Neither had I, until this afternoon in the library. Shelly handed me a moldy-looking book from a top shelf somewhere—Miss Gordon’s Modern Book of Beauty, Charm, and Etiquette. Needless to say, the book was actually written shortly after the Stone Age. I browsed through it awhile, not really studying anything in great detail, when suddenly, surrounded by recipes for homemade cold cream (where on earth would a person buy rose water?) and hand lotion (worse yet, wool fat?), there was the recipe for Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment.
“What a riot!” Shelly said to me as she wrinkled her smooth, unfreckled nose. “A girl would really have to be desperate to try a weird concoction like that!”
“How would Shelly know?” I thought as I carefully memorized the ingredients and amounts, trying meanwhile to look mildly amused. Shelly would laugh for a week if she knew that I went straight home and mixed one tablespoon of lemon juice, two tablespoons of vinegar, and one-half cup of flour “or enough to make a smooth, moist paste.”
Well, I was just stirring up my smooth, moist paste—and incidentally, the kitchen was beginning to smell like a pickle factory—when I heard voices and realized it was too late to hide. Voice Number One, of course, was Kevin, winner of the year’s Most-Obnoxious-Big-Brother Award.
“Gee,” he said, sniffing the aroma, “I’m glad you fixed me something good to snack on, Keri. I’m just dying (here he rolled his eyes desperately) of hunger.”
Voice Number Two then made his appearance in the kitchen. If I could have died on the spot, I would have.
“Oh, hi Dave,” I croaked feebly.
He grinned his handsome Richard O’Neal grin and asked, “Been taking cooking lessons? Smells like a real treat.”
What could I say? Why on earth did dear old Kevin pick this day, of all days of the year, to suddenly become great friends with Dave Johnson? They don’t have a thing in common other than their student government positions, debate team, and, of course, basketball. Dave is the school’s star center and Kevin is the star benchwarmer. I now noticed a basketball under Dave’s right arm. So that was what brought them together.
“Planning to really knock the team over dead this year, Kevin?” I asked, hoping to change the subject. Kevin blushed slightly and couldn’t think of a good comeback.
“I hate to ask, but what is it?” said Dave, pointing to my dish of smooth, moist paste.
“I have a rare disease and it calls for a special diet.” I was trying to be funny.
Kevin’s next act deserves the award for Putdown of the Year.
“Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment,” he read solemnly and eloquently from the notebook on the counter. I had completely forgotten about that notebook. I wanted to sink into nonexistence. He went on to read the ingredients with great flourish, adding a few choice remarks like, “A touch of bat liver improves the quality of the ointment considerably!” and “Incidentally, if this doesn’t land the man of your dreams, Madame Butterball’s Diet Salve certainly will!”
I probably would have laughed if I hadn’t been so close to crying. I’ll bet Dave thinks I’m really out to lunch. What could I do? I whisked my smooth, moist paste to the opposite end of the kitchen, returned with the cookie jar, and disappeared to my room. It wasn’t too long before they were totally engrossed in devouring Mom’s home-baked chocolate chip cookies. From my room I could hear them chuckling. See if I loyally cheer for good old Kevin when he makes his one basket for the year.
I am not only desperate about those freckles, I’m determined. I have launched forth on Miss Frodjam’s program for freckle removal. I think it may work better than my past attempts with cover cosmetics, sun lamps, and zinc oxide.
Last night, in spite of the extreme humiliation of being discovered, I stubbornly smeared the paste all over my freckled face and then held very still while it dried to a stiff crust. The book said to leave it on four to six hours, so I went to bed looking and feeling like an Egyptian mummy. All night I had awful dreams about being encased in cement from head to toe.
But this morning when I woke up and rushed right in to wash the stuff off, my freckles—believe it or not—actually did look one-tenth of a shade lighter. I think.
I saw Dave Johnson in the hall today, but he didn’t say anything. Well, he said hi or something. But then what could he say after being a participant in the most embarrassing moment of my life? I suppose it is beneath his dignity anyway to speak to the star benchwarmer’s freckle-faced kid sister. I don’t care.
I guess tonight I’ll try Miss Frodjam’s miracle wonder paste again. It’s not that much fun, but if the treatment works, it will be worth it.
One solid week and seven applications of Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment. The results are far from striking, to say the least. I am about ready to give up. People are beginning to sniff and look baffled when I walk by. However, my freckles are now two-tenths of a shade lighter. I think.
But the crowning blow to my ego came tonight. I was in the kitchen mixing up my smooth, moist paste when Kevin and Dave strolled in, complete with Dave’s basketball again. They were grinning I might add. This week Dave has hardly noticed me, although I’ve seen him at least a hundred times at school. This fact made the moment of our meeting especially poignant.
“Here she is—Miss Freckles,” announced Kevin. “Having great success, I suppose, with your bat liver ointment?”
I ignored him—or rather glared at him—and turned to Dave to offer him the cookie jar.
“Hi, Keri.” That was all Dave said. That was it. His entire speech—two words. He could have at least laughed, or made some remark. But he just popped a cookie into his mouth, turned to Kevin, and started talking about basketball.
I feel like a real failure. Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment is not even good for a laugh.
That Dave Johnson. After school I saw him in the hall. He was going one way and I was going the other. I didn’t know whether to speak or not, so I didn’t. I kind of smiled feebly.
“Hi, Keri.” Dave Johnson, winner of the Warmest-Greeting-of-the-Year Award.
“Hi.” I thought that was a safe reply, in keeping with his warmth and enthusiasm. I was about to walk on, but he asked the weirdest question.
“Well, aren’t you going to thank me?”
“I hate to ask, but what for?”
“Last night. I could have given you a bad time, but I didn’t.”
That was a new way of looking at it. “Uh, thanks!” I answered. “Chivalry is not dead.”
“You’d be surprised,” he said. “I have some insight into the problems of being a kid sister.”
“Is that right? How did you come by this marvelous insight?” I asked.
“I’m a kid brother.”
“Which isn’t quite the same thing, you know.”
“I see your point. Which brings me to another subject,” he said, putting on his glasses. After clearing his throat very solemnly and intellectually, he proceeded. “Miss Carter, I am doing a detailed study on a little-known topic—freckles. The thesis of my study is that sunlight, far from fading freckles, actually brings out their color even more brilliantly. Now—would you be willing to be guinea pig in an experiment with direct sunlight at the football game Saturday afternoon?”
“Wait a minute!” I was really riled. “I thought you had marvelous insight?” What does he think I am, the Freckled Wonder of the World? I thought furiously. I was about to come out with a real putdown when I looked up at his face.
He didn’t look sarcastic or even funny. He looked a little awkward.
“Well, I was kidding about the insight. I was kidding about the freckle study, too. But the football game—I was serious about that. Would you like to come with me?”
Well, dear diary, I won’t go on to describe how I suddenly rose about six inches off the floor. I won’t mention what a fool I must have sounded like, trying to stammer out some sort of proper acceptance speech. I will mention that he smiled and looked almost relieved, and I just couldn’t believe that the great Dave Johnson might actually have moments of self-doubt too.
I definitely plan to discontinue use of Miss Frodjam’s Freckle Ointment. It may have worked on Miss Frodjam. And my freckles are two-tenths of a shade lighter. I think. But after all, if I am going to be part of a detailed study on a little-known topic, far be it from me to try to influence the findings of the direct sunlight thesis.

Each day at sunset, I sat on a rock looking out over the Pacific Ocean. I often imagined that on the other side of the water was our Heavenly Father’s temple, near which many of my brothers and sisters were living in happiness. I couldn’t help but weep, remembering the wonderful times I had had with my fellow Saints in the Saigon chapel.
From that day forth, our small branch awakened as if from a deep sleep. A presiding elder was chosen to lead us. We were able to communicate sometimes with the Church and other members through VASAA (Veterans Assisting Saints Abroad Association). I was finally given permission to leave Viet Nam. VASAA had helped to arrange with the Canadian and Vietnamese governments for my exit visa. My oldest son living in Toronto, Ontario, sponsored me.
Less than a year later, in March and April 1988, I was finally able to visit Salt Lake City for ten days and attend general conference. I met many friends, missionaries, and General Authorities. The first time I saw Temple Square I could not help but weep for my blessings. In the Tiger’s Den, it had been my greatest wish to see the temple. At last, I was able to receive my endowment in the Lord’s House.

One night Sister Linda S. Reeves’s daughter came home feeling upset. Sister Reeves asked what was wrong. Her daughter told her that at a friend’s house, she had accidentally seen bad pictures on television. The pictures made her feel bad inside, and she wished she could get them out of her mind.
Sister Reeves told her daughter that through our Savior’s Atonement she could feel relief and stop hurting. Together they knelt and prayed that Heavenly Father would help her feel better. (See “Protection from Pornography—a Christ-Focused Home” from the Saturday morning session.)

Some time ago, I was asked to escort a group of visitors through the Church Office Building in Salt Lake City. They wanted to know something more about the doctrines of the Church, the functions of Church leadership, and the organization of the Church. They seemed very interested, and we had a pleasant discussion period.
During the tour, one young woman held up her hand and asked, “Brother Sill, have you ever seen God?” I was a little bit startled, as I had not expected this kind of a question. I said to her, “If you don’t mind, I would like to give you three answers to that question.
“Answer Number One, which I am sure comes closest to the spirit of your question, is no, I have not. But that answer by itself is not complete, nor is it altogether accurate. So I will add a second answer and say, I have not seen Him since the day of my birth on March 31, 1903. But I saw Him many times prior to that time.”
The scriptures are very clear about the fact that we lived with God in heaven before our earth-life began. He is our Eternal Father. Each of us has seen and heard Him many times.
The great philosopher Socrates contended that all learning is merely remembering. God is our teacher, and much of what we are we brought with us from His presence in heaven.
“Now for the third answer: While it is true that I have not seen God during my mortality, it is also true that I have not seen my own spirit since my mortal birth, and yet I am sure I have one.”
While I have not seen the Lord personally during this life, I have read very carefully several times the four great volumes of scripture He has caused to be written. I know how He thinks. I know what He wants me to do. I know from the testimony of people who have seen Him what He looks like. And I know many other things about Him.
For example, the resurrected Jesus appeared to John the Revelator on the Isle of Patmos. John says that he was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day when he heard behind him a great voice, as of a trumpet. John turned to see who had spoken to him, and he saw “one like unto the Son of man, clothed with a garment down to the foot, and girt about … with a golden girdle.
“His head and his hairs were white like wool, as white as snow; and his eyes were as a flame of fire.” (Rev. 1:13–14.)
When the Prophet Joseph Smith had his vision of the Father and the Son, he said that their “brightness and glory defy all description.” (JS—H 1:17.)
There are some experiences, even in this life, that we have trouble describing. For example, if I were to attempt to describe the look in my little granddaughter’s eyes when she is happy, I might have a little trouble in doing so. I might try by saying “her eyes sparkled,” or “her face was aglow.” In actuality, neither of these are so. My granddaughter’s eyes are always the same size, the same shape, the same color. But when she is happy, something is shining out through her face that I can understand but may have difficulty describing.
In describing the resurrected Jesus, John said His eyes were as a flame of fire. This quality of radiance and glory is magnified many times. John tried to describe the voice of the resurrected Lord by saying it was a great voice, as of a trumpet. I have a very good friend who has one of these “trumpet” kind of voices. It has a clear, harmonious resonance that is easily understood and beautiful to listen to. His enunciation is near perfect.
Some speakers have another kind of trumpet which Paul described by saying, “For if the trumpet give an uncertain sound, who shall prepare himself to the battle?” (1 Cor. 14:8.) Some speakers have a trumpet that is not loud enough to be heard nor clear enough to be understood nor interesting enough to hold attention.
I imagine the voice of the resurrected Jesus to be as far above my friend’s voice in resonance and beauty as the glow in the Lord’s face excels that of my granddaughter.
The Prophet Joseph Smith also saw the Lord face-to-face after the dedication of the Kirtland Temple. In describing what He looked like, the Prophet said, “His eyes were as a flame of fire; the hair of his head was white like the pure snow; his countenance shone above the brightness of the sun.” (D&C 110:3.) That is very bright!
But these are qualities that other of God’s children may possess in some degree. For example, the resurrected Moroni also appeared to Joseph Smith, and the Prophet gave us a detailed description as follows: “His whole person was glorious beyond description, and his countenance truly like lightning.” (JS—H 1:32.)
Not only was his person glorious, but even his clothing was brilliant. The Prophet said: “He had on a loose robe of most exquisite whiteness. It was a whiteness beyond anything earthly I had ever seen; nor do I believe that any earthly thing could be made to appear so exceedingly white and brilliant.” (JS—H 1:31.)
Socrates was said to be a very homely man; but he prayed to God and said, “Make me beautiful within.” We have all seen plain people who have become beautiful by the working of a radiant spirituality. A godly spirit can make the plainest body beautiful.
Although I have not seen the Lord in this life, yet I know His word. I know of the great Atonement made on behalf of all of God’s children. I know about the Lord’s glorious, celestial resurrection, a resurrection similar to that which He has promised to all of those who keep His commandments. I know the course of that strait and narrow way and how to follow it so that we might qualify for the celestial kingdom.
On one occasion the Lord said to Thomas, “Because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed: [more] blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.” (John 20:29.) The Lord himself promised, “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.” (Matt. 5:48.) With all of these advantages, I should be able to make it on my own until He comes in clouds of glory for His millennial reign upon the earth when every eye shall see Him and every heart shall rejoice in His blessings.
In preparation for that great event, let us strive to get a more radiant light in our eyes, a greater glow in our hearts, and a finer fire in our souls. Then at that day, when we do see Him for ourselves, we too can be made glorious.

During the television documentaries shown throughout the fiftieth anniversary of the D-Day invasion of Normandy, the terrible toll in human life was graphically illustrated, and gripping firsthand experiences of soldiers who were there were shared. I particularly remember the comments of an American infantryman who told that, after a day of ferocious fighting, he glanced up from his shallow foxhole to see an enemy soldier with his gun barrel leveled at the American’s heart. Said the infantryman: “I felt I was soon to cross over that bridge of death which leads to eternity. Incredibly my enemy, in broken English, said to me, ‘Soldier, for you this war is over!’ He took me prisoner and thus saved my life. Such mercy I shall remember forever.”

The Prophet Joseph was allowed to see the Nauvoo Temple in vision. Concerning its appearance, he recorded this experience: “In the afternoon, Elder William Weeks (whom I had employed as architect of the Temple), came in for instruction. I instructed him in relation to the circular windows designed to light the offices in the dead work of the arch between stories. He said that round windows in the broad side of a building were a violation of all the known rules of architecture, and contended that they should be semicircular—that the building was too low for round windows. I told him I would have the circles, if I had to make the Temple ten feet higher than it was originally calculated; that one light at the centre of each circular window would be sufficient to light the whole room; that when the whole building was thus illuminated, the effect would be remarkably grand. ‘I wish you to carry out my designs. I have seen in vision the splendid appearance of that building illuminated, and will have it built according to the pattern shown me.’” (N. B. Lundwall, Temples of the Most High [Lundwall, 1941], pp. 51–52.)

While I was serving as a mission president in Toronto, Canada, one of my assistants approached me and said, “President, how can I be a better missionary?” My first response was, “You are doing great.” And in truth, he was. But he persisted in his question, so I thought for a moment and then offered a suggestion. With a smile, he responded positively.
I shared this simple experience with our other missionaries. Soon other elders and sisters came to their interviews and asked, “President, how can I be a better missionary?” That simple question from one missionary caused a spirit of improvement throughout our entire mission.

Merrell: Besides Indian and Three Warriors we have done Take Down and most recently Harry’s War. Would you like to hear the story connected with my doing Take Down?
Merrell: Kieth told me they probably wouldn’t use me on Take Down because the investors wanted someone with a big Hollywood name to help sell the film. My opportunity to do it began, strangely enough, when the BYU basketball team lost to the University of Utah. That night as I was trying to sleep, an arrangement of the “Cougar Fight Song” that I hadn’t heard before kept running through my mind. I finally got up, took a tape recorder, and dictated what I was hearing. A week later I orchestrated it, went to London, and at the end of the regular recording session, recorded the National Philharmonic playing my new “Cougar Fight Song.” It had a combination Star Wars-Rocky-disco sound and I loved it! I wanted it to be perfect because I planned to give it to Coach Arnold to help inspire his team to win.
Well, the day I returned to Utah I was in the studio listening to it and received a call from Kieth. He said, “Merrell, I’m totally frustrated; I’ve gone through composer after composer and no one strikes a bell. Do you have anything with a sports theme that sounds like Rocky and Star Wars combined?” I couldn’t believe it! I told him what I had and then sent him down a rough mix. After listening to it, he called in the investors and had them listen to it, and within three minutes they decided they wanted me to do the music for Take Down.
Later when Kieth talked to me, he said, “I don’t care what you do in the rest of the picture, but I want the end titles to sound like your Cougar song without the Cougar melody.” And that’s how close I came to getting the exact music he wanted before he had even asked me to submit a song. To me that was really a faith-promoting experience because I had been inspired several months earlier to be almost overwhelmed by a certain sound, write it down in the specific style Kieth wanted, record it, and have it ready the very day Kieth called.

One of those I would like to mention this morning was President David O. McKay, who came into my life as the first prophet to teach and influence me personally.
I was called to be a stake president in California just before President McKay was sustained in a solemn assembly as the President of the Church and as our prophet. My wife, Ruby, and I drove to Salt Lake to be in attendance at that conference. I felt of that spirit, of that leadership, and of the direction that President McKay gave to the Church at that time. Later on I invited him to come to California to dedicate a Church building that we had just finished. That was in the days when we would raise half the money to buy the land and half the money to pay for a building—not like it is today, but where we felt a real ownership in the Church property and in buildings. President McKay came as a result of my invitation, which surprised me. We met him at the train and were pleased to have him in our home. That gave me a new vision of the magnitude and the breadth and the importance of the mission that we have here upon the earth to fulfill.

Choosing to be modest has always been easy for me. I grew up in a house where standards were high, and when I married in the temple, my garments reminded me to dress modestly.
Swimsuit shopping, however, turned out to be a struggle for me. Without the guideline of garments, I found myself wanting to wear swimsuits that I would be ashamed for anyone I knew to see me in.
My husband and I were planning a cruise for just the two of us. I thought the cruise would be the perfect time to wear such a swimsuit. I wouldn’t see anyone I knew, and therefore I wouldn’t feel guilty. No one would know I was a Latter-day Saint, and all the other women on the ship would most likely be dressed like me.
Because I was already married, there was no real reason for me to have a modest swimsuit, or so I thought. Modesty guidelines were just for teenagers, right? But I had a nagging feeling in the back of my mind. I had been married in the temple. I had accomplished my goal to stay worthy and find a worthy husband. And I wanted to continue choosing the right.
I decided to look up “Dress and Appearance” in For the Strength of Youth. It had been a while since I had reviewed the booklet, so the words jumped out at me: “Through your dress and appearance, you can show that you know how precious your body is. You can show that you are a disciple of Jesus Christ and that you love Him” ([2011], 6).
Those words echoed in my head. Was I a disciple of Jesus Christ? Was I willing to be true at all times and in all places (see Mosiah 18:9)?
Since then I have decided that even in my late 20s, I must maintain the principles I learned in my youth. Those principles definitely still apply to me. I want to be a good example to my children. I want them to know that I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.

Michael was going to Suzanne’s and Sara’s baptisms with Sister Ferguson. Sister Ferguson always invited her Primary class to the baptisms of their classmates. Michael was glad his family wasn’t going. Suzanne and Sara would be baptized by their fathers, and having his family there would remind him that his father would not be baptizing him.
He was going to be eight soon, but he felt more worried than excited about his birthday. Sometimes that made him angry. Wasn’t a birthday supposed to be fun?
The ride to church was nice because Sister Ferguson didn’t mention his birthday. She talked about Michael’s school and friends, his bike, and his cat.
Lots of people were at the baptism. Some were from the ward; others seemed to be Suzanne’s or Sara’s relatives. Michael recognized Primary leaders, home teachers, bishopric members, friends, and even the missionaries with some investigators.
It is nice they are all here, he thought. I wonder if they came just because it is part of their job. It seemed to Michael that parents cared the most about your baptism. And if one or both of your parents didn’t care, you felt all alone.
Michael listened to a sister talk about baptism. She said that Suzanne and Sara were making promises to Heavenly Father and that Heavenly Father was making promises to them. The sister said that it is comforting to have a Father who always keeps His promises. That made Michael feel a little better, but he was still sad and worried.
He got close to the font to watch the baptisms. Afterward, he watched Sara and then Suzanne receive the gift of the Holy Ghost and wondered if Suzanne and Sara liked having all those hands on their heads. Did they know all those men?
After the service, Sister Ferguson asked Michael, “Did you like being at the baptism?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you thinking about your own baptism?” she asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Why are you looking so worried?”
Michael stared at the floor. “Because I don’t have anyone to baptize me.”
Sister Ferguson gave Michael a hug. They walked over to a quiet place away from the others. “Do you remember hearing in the baptism prayer the words ‘Having been commissioned of Jesus Christ’?” she asked.
Michael thought a moment. “I think so.”
Sister Ferguson explained, “Being commissioned of Jesus Christ means acting for Him, using His power to do His will. Whoever baptizes must have His power, which is the priesthood. It doesn’t matter who actually says the prayer and puts you down into the waters of baptism because that person is acting for Jesus Christ, not for himself.
“We are all brothers and sisters, children of Heavenly Father. We’re family. All the people at this baptism are here because they are happy to see Suzanne and Sara obeying the Savior’s commandment to be baptized and making a promise to follow Him. All the men who helped confirm them want to share the love and happiness they feel as members of Christ’s Church. Any one of them would be honored to be a representative of Jesus Christ and baptize you. The important thing is for you to obey the commandment to be baptized and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Michael understood, but tears came to his eyes anyway. “But I want my dad to baptize me.”
“I know,” Sister Ferguson said. “I wish he could too. All I can do is tell you how much I love you and how much more Heavenly Father loves you. And you won’t be the only one who wasn’t baptized by his or her father. The Savior Himself was baptized by John the Baptist. Converts are often baptized by missionaries. Sometimes older brothers baptize their younger brothers or sisters. You can ask any worthy priesthood holder who has been ordained a priest or received the Melchizedek Priesthood to baptize you. Why don’t you talk to your mother about it when you get home?”
Michael nodded. Then he went to talk to his friends. He felt good knowing so many people really did care.

When I started reading the Fulfilling My Duty to God booklet, I felt that many duties were waiting for me. Although I only recently decided to read, apply, and share what is written in this booklet, it has already influenced my spirituality. Using Duty to God helps me grow and become a little better. Before using this booklet, I had never taught or testified of the gospel to my family. After reading and applying what was written in the booklet, I started finding opportunities to teach and testify to my family.

David would not budge. “I don’t want this church. I want my church.”
“It will be OK, I promise,” Mom said.
David did not want to go. But he did not want to stay in the car, either. So he climbed out and took Mom’s hand.
Dad held open the big glass door as David and Mom walked in. David saw a second door. He put his nose to the glass and his hands next to his eyes so that he could peek in. Then he said, “My church has two doors, just like this one.”
“Yes, it does,” Mom said.
A tall man in a blue suit walked up to them. He shook Dad’s hand and said, “I’m Bishop Morris.”
“We’re the Bennetts. My name is Greg. This is my wife, Sharon, and this is our son, David,” Dad said.
The bishop shook David’s hand.
“My church has a bishop,” David said.
“He’s a little homesick for our old ward,” Mom explained.
“Welcome, David,” the bishop said.
David walked over to the chapel doors with his parents. A boy gave him a program. Then the family sat on a side bench. David picked up a hymnbook. “My church has benches with book holders.”
“Yes, it does,” Dad said.
David listened to the song and prayer. He watched the podium go up and down. He saw the priests stand up to prepare the sacrament. When the deacons passed the sacrament, he took one piece of bread. Later, the water came, and he remembered to return the sacrament cup.
“My church has the sacrament. And I know that’s the time to think about Jesus,” he whispered.
“Yes, it is,” Mom whispered.
While the speaker told a story, David drew pictures about it on his program. Soon it was time for Primary.
A tall lady with a nice smile walked up to the Bennetts. “I’m Sister Lee. Can I help your son find his Primary class?”
“My church has a CTR class,” David said.
“We have one, too,” Sister Lee replied. “I can take you there.”
David kissed his mom and went with Sister Lee. They walked by a drinking fountain. Sister Lee pointed to a door with a word on it. “That’s the boys’ restroom, in case you need it,” she said and winked at him.
“My church has restrooms,” he said, winking back.
He went to class and listened to a lesson about faith. They colored a picture of Nephi building a ship. Then the class went to Sharing Time. They stopped for a drink on the way.
“What song do you want to sing?” the music leader asked. David sat up tall and raised his hand. The music leader pointed to him.
“My church has ‘Book of Mormon Stories,’” he said.
“Would you like to sing it?” she asked.
He nodded. Everybody sang, including David.
After closing exercises, his parents came for him. They walked down the hall, and David pointed to a picture of President Gordon B. Hinckley. “My church has a picture of the prophet right there.”
“No, it didn’t,” Dad said.
“Yes, it does,” David said. “This is my church now.”

For some members, temple covenants offer strength in the face of trials that few could otherwise endure. Soft-spoken António Edison Berrocal manages government highway projects. A member of the Ahú Ward, Curitiba Brazil Bacacherí Stake, he joined the Church in 1988. It took a few years before his wife was prepared to join with their five children. Then, he recalls, “the gospel ran in our blood, in our veins. We were doing everything the gospel asks us to do.” The family was on their way to the temple, in fact, when they were in a car accident. Only Brother Berrocal survived; he awoke in the hospital to learn that his wife and children had already been buried.
He has since been sealed to his family in the temple. His neatly trimmed beard covers physical scars from the accident. Eternal truth has prevented scarring of his spirit. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if that had occurred without the gospel of Jesus Christ. The most important thing now is for me to keep myself clean and worthy so I can have my family forever. My heart is in the hope of the gospel.”

He had only a few missions left to fly before his tour of duty ended, but welcomed his leave time, which he spent in Naples, Italy. While there, he sent a package and a letter home to his mother, which promised that “he knew the Gospel was true and that he was going to live it and was going to share it with his friends. He also sent his tithing home which included everything he owed, to bring it up to date.” Post was slow and uncertain during war time, so it would be weeks before his family received the letter and package.
In the meantime, on 7th July 1944, George H. Robinson’s plane was shot down over Klagenfurt, Austria, where he and his comrades were subsequently buried. The inscription on his gravestone reads: “Now he’s in the Lord’s safe keeping and wanted on the other side. Sadly missed."

After crossing an ocean, Elizabeth found herself in a completely new culture. She traveled by train to Iowa, USA, the end of the westbound railway at the time. Arriving in July 1856, Elizabeth joined the Willie handcart company.
Ever Onward, by Joseph Brickey
The suffering of the Willie and Martin handcart companies is well chronicled. The companies left late in the season and got caught in an early winter in the Rocky Mountains. Freezing and low on food, more than 200 died.
Among the rescue party sent by President Brigham Young was Elizabeth’s husband, William. The couple was reunited in deep snow and freezing wind.
After recovering in Salt Lake City, the couple ended their journey in Cedar City, only a few miles from where Rosalene’s began.

A number of years ago, when we were living in Boston, Massachusetts, I had just finished a particularly bad week. You know what a bad week is, don’t you? It’s seven bad days in a row. By the end of the week I was feeling depressed and a bit sorry for myself.
Finally, one night after my family had gone to bed, I determined to stay up longer and really go before the Lord in a more determined way than when I say my regular night and morning prayers.
As I knelt in the downstairs study of the darkened house, my circumstances made it easy to approach the Lord in the depths of humility, and I freely expressed my deepest feelings. As I prayed, I felt a need for a confirmation that He was there and that He cared. From past experiences I knew these things, but there are times when one needs the strength of reconfirmation. As I prayed and made this specific request, I had a most remarkable experience. I had had spiritual experiences before, but this, to me, was more. There was an outpouring of the Spirit so real that I could feel it. It filled my whole soul and was not just a single experience but came again and again within just a minute or two.
I came from that room that night with a reconfirmed and absolute knowledge, born of the Spirit, that not only did the Savior live, but that He knew me and cared for me with a love that was truly divine.
The influence of that experience lingered with me for days and caused me to have a feeling of genuine concern and love for my fellowmen, even people on the street whom I did not know! While previously I would pass them with little or no thought, I now felt a concern for and interest in them. Even my family seemed to be more dear to me. I felt a bond with the Saints everywhere and wanted to serve my fellowmen.
I can’t remember the trials I was facing at that particular time. They passed as trials usually do. But I will always remember the experience of that evening when the Spirit healed me. It reconfirmed to me that if our hearts are right, we can go before the Lord and in one degree or another and in one way or another he will send the healing influence of the Spirit, and that the Spirit not only heals, but it also unites. This need not be a singular experience but can happen often.

The Kaohsiung Seventh Branch at the Taipei Taiwan Temple in December 2001.
In 2000 we were called to serve as branch president and Primary president of the smallest unit in the Kaohsiung Taiwan Stake. We had about 20 people at sacrament meeting, including our young family, four active elders, and the missionaries. We later sent out two elders on missions, trusting that the Lord would replenish our branch.
As we worked with our branch, we remembered President Gordon B. Hinckley’s (1910–2008) counsel that every convert needs “a friend, a responsibility, and nurturing with ‘the good word of God.’”1 We felt impressed that our new members should quickly be given callings so they could grow by serving. The missionaries introduced us to each investigator, and within two weeks of each of their baptisms, they received a calling. They developed friendships as they served with other members.
Within a month, every newly baptized brother received the Aaronic Priesthood, and each blessed and passed the sacrament. We also prepared them to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood by the next stake conference.
New elders were taught how to perform ordinances, and then these elders taught the newer elders. We believed in learning by doing and in retaining learning by teaching. Branch members were responsible to model and mentor, teach and train, and sustain and support each other.
We used home and visiting teachers, family home evenings, ward activities, and potlucks to fellowship new converts. They were nurtured with the word of God through Sunday and weekday religious instructions. Institute grew from 2 to 25 students. To further nurture our small branch, we attended and served in the Taipei Taiwan Temple every month—a 10-hour round-trip by bus. Normally, our stake struggled to fill a second temple bus. As our branch grew and families prepared for their temple blessings, we set a goal to fill our own bus. Twice that first year, while the rest of the stake filled one temple bus, our small branch filled a second one. Soon after, the stake asked each ward to fill one temple bus at least once a year.
By the second year, our convert retention increased from 30 percent to more than 90 percent, and our sacrament meetings grew to about 100 people, including 25 active elders. Our branch became a ward, and our old building was renovated into a new chapel.
The smallest branch had become the strongest ward in the stake because every convert had been blessed with friends, callings, and nurturing with the word of God.

“Did you notice the Jacksons are driving another new car?” Jim asked his wife. “That’s their second new car in less than three years. I don’t know how that man does it, but he sure knows how to make money. He makes me feel like a failure. We haven’t had a new car for eight years.”

“Yes, but you spend much more time in church service,” Jim’s wife says “You just don’t have time to concentrate on making money.”

I used to be the same way. I reserved my best behavior for people I didn’t live with and let my family have what was left over. My mom and I fought constantly for years. I exploded over stupid things, and I was grouchy all the time. I’m a little older now and married. I don’t even know where most of my friends are, let alone what they’re doing. The people I thought were most important to me are gone. Now I realize that my best friends are at home.