Gospel Story Finder

Suddenly Vienna was placed under martial law when the government suspected a socialist uprising. Foreigners were arrested and deported. The elders, sensing danger, decided to separate. That way, if one was arrested, the other would still be free to proselyte. Elder Hammer stayed in Vienna while his companion transferred to another important city in the empire, Prague, in Bohemia (now Czechoslovakia).
Elder Biesinger found a room to rent in Prague and began talking to residents—those who spoke German—about the gospel. He won a number of friends and investigators, including Johann Klusak, a sectarian Bible agent, and Anthon Just, a dealer in furs.
On the morning of March 30 the elder was aroused from sleep and arrested by two police officers. They took him and all of his belongings down to police headquarters. There, to his dismay and shock, he found that his accuser was Mr. Klusak, the man “with whom I had conversed a great deal about Mormonism and who as my best friend introduced me to a great many people.” Also signing the complaint was Mr. Klusak’s fellow investigator, Mr. Just.
Police examined the missionary for two hours, then delivered him to the jailer. In a prison cell measuring eight by twelve feet, “a dirty hole,” he joined two accused thieves. “The cell fairly swarmed with lice, bed bugs, and fleas,” he recalled. After 48 hours in jail with nothing to eat, he was given a bowl of thin flour soup. Soon he was transferred to another prison in the city and securely locked up in Cell 34. “In the dim twilight I could discern millions of vermin, commonly called lice, crawling over wall and ceiling,” he noted. Two socialists, his new cell mates, were reclined on the floor.
Two days later he received a four-hour hearing. The judge “tried to be polite but was really bitter at heart, still I had a fair chance to testify of the organization of the Church and explain some of the principles of the gospel.” He learned at the hearing that the local newspapers had run articles about him, with his picture, calling him a great Mormon chief seeking to trap people into Mormon slavery.
In Cell 34 the missionary’s cell mate was a man sentenced to be hanged. Later Elder Biesinger was transferred to Cell 38, “where my cell mates were Rudolf Wedlich, a Socialist, and John Menedal,” a man convicted of first-degree murder. The socialist was “a pleasant companion” who joined the elder in singing the “Songs of Zion” to help pass the time. The murderer was a restless fellow who paced up and down the cell like a wild animal. Visitors were few, being the American consul, his son, and then a lawyer appointed by the consul.
Finally, after 37 1/2 days in jail, Elder Biesinger was brought to trial on May 6, 1884. The courtroom contained five judges—“Die fünf richter collegium” as they were called—two prosecuting attorneys for the state, reporters, spectators, and Mr. Pretsneider, the elder’s attorney.
The prisoner was asked to stand up during the questioning. They wanted to know why he was in the country and what doctrines he had been teaching. “In answering their questions, I had a tolerable good chance to explain the principles of the gospel and bear my testimony,” he said. Then evidence uncovered by agents in Vienna was introduced. John Klusak, who entered the complaint, did not appear. Anthon Just testified, but in Bohemian, which Elder Biesinger could not understand.
Allowed a final statement, the missionary complained that he had been very ill-treated by the first court, that as a foreigner he should have been warned concerning Austrian regulations rather than having agents spy on him and try to trap him. His attorney simply asked for leniency in case of a verdict of guilty.
While the judges deliberated, the attorneys and prisoner left the room. Elder Biesinger engaged the chief prosecutor in conversation. One charge against the elder was that he taught immoral practices by defending polygamy in Utah. “I assured him” countered the elder, “that during the 20 years I had lived in Utah I had witnessed no immorality such as I had witnessed in the city of Prague in one night.”
“Guilty,” the judges decided. The elder was guilty of violating section 304 which stated that “if any man is found guilty of canvassing as a missionary or agent for any society, church or sect with the intention of gaining them as converts to their faith providing such societies and sects are not acknowledged by the Church and authority of the state, the same is punishable with a fine not less than one nor exceeding three months imprisonment, and cost of court.”
Because of the prisoner’s good behavior, and his lengthy imprisonment to date, the judges sentenced him to the minimum possible term, one month at hard labor, and a fine of five guldens.
They asked if the elder would accept the sentence. He agreed but only on the firm condition that they understood that he had delivered his message from God to their city and nation for their salvation and that the responsibility for Prague’s rejection of the gospel rested on the authorities of the nation. The judges agreed, dropped the hard labor stipulation, and sent the elder back to Cell 38.
Ten days later he transferred to a better jail with a kinder jailer. Finally, after a total of 68 days in prison, he was released and walked out into the fresh spring air. Surprisingly, he was not banished from the country nor asked about his future plans.

Josh Rohatinsky, a deacon in the Provo Fourth Ward, Provo Utah North Stake, realized a year-long goal when he became the Junior Olympics National Champion in the 3,000-meter run for the 11–12 age group. The games were held in Gainesville, Florida. Josh outperformed the second-place winner by 19 seconds.

Josh is coached by his dad and would like to run in the 2000 summer Olympics. For now, though, he’s just glad the race is over.

"It was hard," says Josh, "but I’m glad I did it."

My dad is not a member of the Church, so when I decided to be baptized I talked with him and told him why I wanted very much to be baptized and become a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Eventually he talked to the missionaries and gave his consent, and I was baptized on 8 June 1997.
I am glad I was able to talk to my dad about why I wanted to be baptized. I am glad my mom talked to me about going to church and encouraged me to attend.

A Sunbeam teacher wrapped each of her class members one by one in a blanket to teach them how the Spirit feels like the comfort and security of that covering. A visiting mother also heard the lesson.

Many months later the mother thanked the teacher. She told how she had been less active when she accompanied her young daughter to Primary. Several weeks after the lesson, the mother suffered a miscarriage. She was overcome with grief when suddenly she felt a great warmth and peace. It felt like someone had covered her with a warm blanket. She recognized the reassurance of the Spirit and knew that Heavenly Father was aware of her and that He loved her.

You look up in your school’s cafeteria at lunchtime and see Chloe eating alone again. She’s a young woman in your ward who usually keeps to herself. You’ve talked to her a few times, but she’s quiet and doesn’t usually say much in return. You’ve never really understood why.
You think, “We have fun activities. We’re nice people. Why is Chloe still so quiet? Maybe she just doesn’t like us.” You don’t want her to be alone, and you want to reach out, but you don’t know where to start. “Does she even want friends? Will I make her feel awkward if I go over there?” Sometimes the unknowns can really trip us up and prevent us from trying at all. It’s fine if we don’t always know how best to proceed—but we can keep trying.
Here are a few things to keep in mind while trying to befriend people like Chloe who seem shy.
First step: if you like striking up conversations and find it natural and easy to do, understand that the way you like to interact with others isn’t always the way others do, especially if they’re shy. So when you’re trying to become friends with people who are shy, don’t try to change them or force them into a situation where they’re not comfortable. Some people just prefer more solitude or one-on-one conversations rather than group chats, and that’s fine. Make sure to respect their preferences.
You’re not going to break the ice instantly. Sometimes it takes a little while for shy people to feel comfortable enough to open up. They might not respond as you might expect or want them to at first, but that’s OK! Just keep looking for casual ways to talk to them. Keep saying hi and inviting them to activities. They’ll notice and appreciate your efforts. But remember to always respect their boundaries. That’ll give them the emotional freedom to come around when they’re ready.
“Shy” doesn’t always mean “silent.” Shy people usually talk more when the topic is something they’re passionate about. So ask them what things they like and then try to find a shared interest. Maybe it’s playing a sport, listening to music, watching movies, or reading books. By discovering things you have in common, you’ll create a connection that can make a huge difference in how comfortable they feel around you.
A big group of people can be intimidating for shy people, so when you’re reaching out for the first time, try going just by yourself. Next time, maybe bring a friend. If you ever sense that shy people are uncomfortable, though, give them some space. Just make sure they know you’re there for them when they’re ready.
When you’re trying to befriend anyone, shy or not, always make sure you’re being sincere. Befriend them because you genuinely want to get to know them and be their friend, not just because they might be sitting alone. Pray about how to best get to know them and help them feel of your sincere interest in becoming friends.
Now you look over and see Chloe. You make eye contact, and you smile at her across the room. She smiles nervously and looks away. You tell your friends you’ll see them later, and then you stand up and walk over to her. “Hi, Chloe,” you say. “Can I sit here?” She nods her head yes, and you sit down. You pull out the rest of your lunch and notice the book Chloe has next to her. You ask, “What are you reading? I’ve been looking for a good book to read!” She looks down at the book, smiles, and starts to tell you a little about it.

The power of plainness in discipline in the gospel of Jesus Christ is not always appreciated and understood, but to the repentant and remorseful, it is a great blessing. Discipline in the Church is plain, and repentance and forgiveness are available by following simple steps. Not long ago a wise member was stopped in the hall of one of our ward buildings and asked in a hushed voice if she had heard that brother so-and-so had been excommunicated from the Church. When the sister indicated that she already knew of the situation, the talebearer said, “Isn’t that awful!”
To this her friend responded with, “No, I think it is wonderful. Now the burden can be lifted and he can start back with all of us helping and loving him.” Here in simplicity and love was a lesson being taught by someone who could have been a contributor to idle, hurtful conversation.

A young man recently came to see me. He was handsome in appearance, a good student, personable, but deeply troubled. He announced that he has long been involved in deviant moral activity but has now come to have serious questions about it.
“What brought this change of attitude?” I asked.
He pointed to a ring on his little finger. It was a beautiful diamond in a heavy gold setting, a handsome ring which he showed me with pride. “It was my grandfather’s,” he said. “In his old age he gave it to my father who was his eldest son; and my father gave it to me, his eldest son. The other night I was with a friend of my own kind, and he, knowing the story of my ring, asked, ‘To whom will you give it? I guess you’re the last one.’
“I was shaken by that,” he continued. “I had never thought of it before. ‘Where am I going?’ I asked myself. ‘I am walking down a blind alley, where there is neither light, nor hope, nor future.’ I suddenly realized I need help.”
We talked of the influences that had put him where he is, of the home from which he came, of associations with other young men, of books and magazines read, of shows seen. He spoke of many friends in similar circumstances or worse.
As I walked from my office toward my home that evening, I could not get from my mind the tragic figure of that young man now finding himself face to face with the fact that for so long as he continued with his present pattern, he could never have a son of his own to whom he might someday pass his grandfather’s ring. The bleakness of his future had brought him pleading for help.

This Christmas seemed the worst ever. I longed for a BMX mountain bike like snowflakes want cold weather. My friend Simon had one for his 14th birthday last month. Cool blue and chrome with 15 gears. He’s always raving about riding through the Clent hills and forests, a couple of miles from our village in the central part of England.
But I didn’t get one. Instead my presents were a track suit, new skateboard, and the promise of a job starting the day after tomorrow. A paper round. A 6:00 A.M. paper round! I mean, how bad can things get?
Not only would I miss skimming over frosted hillsides at breathtaking speeds, but I would have to get up early, starting Wednesday. And it’s holiday time. Lying-in-bed time.
What were my parents thinking of? I can guess, of course. It’s all about working for things you badly want, so you’ll appreciate them. Old-fashioned nonsense if you ask me. Of course, I’d appreciate that bike. What could be more amazing than bombing into the distance along those mountain tracks? I’d be there every spare minute. Life can be mean at times.
It felt even more mean Wednesday morning. “Come on, Robert,” Mum whispered. “It’s quarter to six. Rise and shine. There’s porridge and hot black currant on the kitchen table.”
I couldn’t even focus properly. Surely this wasn’t for real. It’s liquorice black out there, freezing cold and lonely. The whole world’s asleep except for me—and my crazy Mum.
Breakfast didn’t taste too good. Lumpy porridge bounced in thick clumps as I stumbled onto our porch. Muffled in track suit, red jacket, white scarf, red woolly hat and boots, I felt like some undersized Santa.
“Now don’t forget houses 50 and 66 don’t want papers delivered,” Mum reminded, helping me stuff endless sheets into the dirty yellow bag.
I lifted the sagging load onto my shoulder. “Mum, I don’t want to sound weak or anything, but this is killing me. Have you felt the weight of these things?”
“Never mind, dear. Think of the muscles you’ll build. Here’s your skateboard. And remember, be quiet in the block of flats. Elderly people don’t like being wakened this early.”
“Huh!” I muttered, heading lopsidedly down the path. “They’re not the only ones.”
The first morning was painful. I never realized how many different letter box shapes there are. The wide ones move along with the newspaper. But others—I nearly lost my fingers a few times. Heavy gold ones that grab before the paper’s through are the worst. They look rich and splendid, but they grab.
I got quite a shock at one house. As I slid a paper through the wide chrome flap, I heard a snarling thud as a body hit the door, snatching the paper and just missing my fingers. A little shaken, I walked down the path and rode to the next house.
A muffled figure was climbing into his car. He turned as he heard me coming.
“Ah, there you are my lad.” The man actually sounded pleased to see me. No dogs. No fighting metal slits. Human hands to receive my offering.
“I hoped you’d arrive before I left for work.” His voice was soft, kindly. “We’ve been away, so we didn’t give our usual tip this year. Here, have this.” He put two pound coins into my hand in exchange for a paper. Two solid pounds. Brilliant!
“Thanks very much, sir.” I stood, open-mouthed, wondering if I should bow or shake his hand or something. But he was in the car and gone before I could move. I made mental notes never to take shortcuts over this man’s garden.
I moved on. With feet half iced and fingers black with ink, I began dreaming of earnings. Let’s see—if I get five pounds a week for sixteen weeks, in four months there will be enough for a secondhand bike. And I already have two pounds. I could almost smell spring sunshine and scorching tyres.
As six-thirty appeared, so did a lighter sky and household stirrings. I had ten houses to go before freedom. I never even saw the small lad until I reached his doorstep, because something else caught my eye. The newspaper fell open at page 4, and there, taking up a whole sheet of pictures, were bike adverts. Oh man, how my feet itched for those pedals. And look at those wheels!
The sound of sniveling brought my head up sharply. It was too cold for anyone to be sitting outside, let alone a little tot in his pyjamas.
“Hey, what’s up, mate?” I whispered, trying not to frighten him.
Lifting his brown curly head a moment, he wiped a sleeve across his face, like my youngest brother does when he’s trying to act braver than he feels. “Nothing much,” he said.
I knew he wasn’t telling the truth. I mean, pyjamas aren’t exactly outside gear, and that stone step can’t be the warmest place on earth.
I crouched at his level. “So why are you out here freezing?”
He squinted at me, as if weighing the friendship in my voice, then screwed up his face, pushing small fists at his eyes to stop the tears.
“Look kid,” I said, wondering how to get him inside without too much fuss. “It’s Christmas week. Don’t you want to go back in where it’s warm and play with your toys?”
Gulping sobs began shaking his body. Wrong line.
“Er … what’s your name?” I asked kindly.
His feet were curling sideways on the cold stone. I took off my hat, wrapping it around his purple toes. He half smiled. I put my scarf around his shoulders.
“I’m Jamie,” he said, “and … and … I wanted a bike for Christmas.”
You too, I thought.
“But my … my dad left home before Christmas came, and …”
Giving him a slightly grey tissue from the depths of my coat pocket, I nodded slowly and patted his arm. “You mean you didn’t have the bike after all?” I interrupted, feeling pleased at my cool detective instincts.
His big eyes looked up, reproaching me for being so dumb. “Yes, I did,” he exclaimed.
“Sorry,” I muttered, mystified. “Then why … ?”
“I was trying to tell you,” he interrupted. “You see, my mum got one for me. She thinks I think it was Santa, but I know it wasn’t ’cos I heard her talking on the phone. Anyway, all over Christmas I thunk and thunk. Dad used to take me to get her a present, but …” He scrubbed at fresh tears and hiccuped. “But this year no one did, and I didn’t have anything for her and …”
He stopped, and began shivering all over. I couldn’t think what to do next. Suppose he was getting pneumonia or something out here.
That’s when the brain wave arrived.
I touched his arm again. “Look, you get inside and sit by the window, watching. I’ll be back in 15 minutes.”
He rose to his feet, staring owlishly, one finger stuck in his mouth, his face filled with awe. He nudged open the front door and his voice sounded husky, wondering, as if magic were beginning. “What you going to do?”
“You’ll see,” I called, skating up the path.
By the time I’d finished the last delivery but one, I had second thoughts. Okay, so most of the shops are closed, but Dillons will be open already. It will take all of two pounds to get a present though. My dream bike slid into the distance. My subconscious dragged it back. I needed every penny. The kid won’t really expect to see me again. It was a stupid idea. He’ll be all right. He’ll soon forget.
I battled toward the final letter box … a gold one. As my cautious fingers outmanoeuvred the gleaming flap, I suddenly pictured Jamie’s pinched face gazing at me in wonder.
That did it. I slung the bag across my back and skated fast. Dillons looked warm, inviting. The box of chocolates came to £1.80.
I raced back to number 9, my skateboard taking bumps in harmony with my legs and feet. A strange bubbling was building inside me—and it definitely wasn’t the porridge.
Some massive clouds began unloading snow just then, but I could see Jamie’s window from several houses back. His nose was flattened against the glass, face squashed and goggle-eyed.
By the time I reached his door he was out on the step, bare feet wriggling, and eyes and mouth all but meeting in one huge grin.
“You forgot these,” he whispered, swapping my scarf and hat for the brightly wrapped box.
“What will you say to your mum?” I asked, catching his excitement.
“Happy Christmas!”
I nodded, “But where will you say the present came from?”
“Santa’s helper, of course.” He spoke the name firmly, the grin shouting pleasure and satisfaction.
I glanced down at my red jacket, feeling a little foolish. “Of course,” I muttered. “Who else?”
The door closed, but curiosity got the better of me. Gently lifting the letter flap, I peeped through. It was one of those scenes you know will stay in your mind forever.
Jamie was yelling, “Mum, Mum!” She came rushing from the kitchen. As she received her gift, both their faces shared a kind of glow, as if some magnetic power were zapping back and forth.
I could almost touch the joy. My inside felt odd once more—happily odd—as if something were melting deep down, melting and spreading upwards until it reached my throat.
The scene blurred. I had to swallow hard. Softly letting down the flap, I tiptoed back to the pavement.

I have a friend who served as a priests quorum adviser. The boys and the adviser planned a kayak activity at Flaming Gorge, Utah. After some initial planning, one of the quorum members quietly approached the adviser and said: “We better not plan a kayak trip. Mike won’t be able to go because he can’t paddle.” Mike was partially paralyzed on his right side. When he learned that the quorum was not going on the activity because of him, he told the boys, “I want to go. I can paddle.” The quorum adviser placed his hand on Mike’s shoulder and said, “OK, Mike. You’re my paddle partner.”

So from January to August, the boys built their kayaks. They departed to the reservoir in the first week in August.

Rhythm, togetherness, and teamwork are essential to keep a kayak in a straight line. Mike and his partner had more trouble than the others getting their rhythm and strokes coordinated. Mike had almost no stroke of consequence on his right side. His adviser had to compensate by paddling easy on the left and hard on the right.

After several hours of learning to work together, Mike said to his adviser, “You wouldn’t happen to have a Band-Aid, would you?” The adviser pulled his wallet out and gave Mike a Band-Aid. He placed it over a big water blister that had just popped in the crook of his hand between his thumb and his first finger. The hand and arm that was little used now had to help hold the paddle.

Several hours later, Mike turned again to his adviser, who was in the rear cockpit, and said, “Do you have any more bandages?” The adviser pulled out several and handed them to Mike. By now the crook between Mike’s right thumb and his first finger was becoming raw. Mike applied the Band-Aids and resumed paddling.

The next day the crew set out again. The adviser encouraged Mike to rest from paddling and let his hand have a respite. The words fell on deaf ears. Instantly, Mike was paddling as he had the day before.

This day found a usual midday and afternoon wind blowing directly at the flotilla of kayak paddlers. It required stronger strokes and took much energy and time. Wincing from the hurt, Mike continued to paddle. Each suggestion that he rest intensified his will to carry his load.

Throughout the week, Mike persisted in holding his own. Though his hand was as raw as hamburger and awful to look at, he would not give up.

During the week’s trip, the conversation with his senior companion often centered around his desire to go on a mission. Repeatedly Mike asked, “I hope they will let me go on a mission. Do you think my problem will prevent me from going?” Mike walks with a noticeable limp of his right leg. He has a firm handshake with the left hand, but his right hand doesn’t open up all of the way.

How many who have no visible blemish have a heart like Mike’s? How many young men with not a single cell out of place fail to soften their hearts and desire to serve the Lord? How many who have so much forfeit their blessings because of selfish desires or inability to set lofty priorities?

My adviser friend said, “Mike taught eleven others that though one may appear to be a little less physically capable, the heart makes the difference in those who choose to overcome many odds and set a standard for others to follow.”

Mike fulfilled an honorable mission to California and is now working in his hometown.

A friend of ours in South Africa shared how she came to this realization. When Diane was a new convert, she attended a branch outside of Johannesburg. One Sunday, as she sat in the congregation, the layout of the chapel made it so that the deacon did not see her as the sacrament was passed. Diane was disappointed but said nothing. Another member noted the omission and mentioned it to the branch president after the meeting. As Sunday School began, Diane was invited to an empty classroom.

A priesthood holder came in. He knelt down, blessed some bread, and handed her a piece. She ate it. He knelt down again and blessed some water and handed her a small cup. She drank it. Thereafter, Diane had two thoughts in rapid succession: First, “Oh, he [the priesthood holder] did this just for me.” And then, “Oh, He [the Savior] did this just for me.” Diane felt Heavenly Father’s love.

Her realization that the Savior’s sacrifice was just for her helped her feel close to Him and fueled an overwhelming desire to keep that feeling in her heart, not just on Sunday but every day. She realized that although she sat in a congregation to partake of the sacrament, the covenants she made anew each Sunday were individually hers. The sacrament helped—and continues to help—Diane feel the power of godly love, recognize the Lord’s hand in her life, and draw closer to the Savior.

Answer/Brother Malcolm S. Jeppsen
“The temple has always been mysterious to me,” said Mary, as she and Phil visited with me, her bishop, that Sunday afternoon. They were planning a marriage in the temple in June, and already it was the end of March. “I have always wondered what goes on inside and can hardly believe that I have become old enough to be married there for time and eternity.”
“First let me congratulate you for your wisdom in coming to me early and letting me help you with your temple plans,” I said. “You know, many young people wait until late in their plans to visit with their bishop, and occasionally this causes real problems. Especially can this be true if announcements have already been sent out telling of a planned temple marriage. But most important, let me talk to you about some of the things required of you and Phil to enter the temple and be married there. I congratulate you two for your desire to go to this sacred place and there begin your married life together. Those who do so have an eternity of possibilities before them, you know.”
Mary asked what the requirements were to enter the temple. “You know, it’s really not mysterious,” I said, “but rather something that is too sacred to discuss except within the walls of the Lord’s holy house. There are several basic requirements for a temple recommend that you and Phil have already accomplished. Let me tell you what they are. You have both been baptized by the authority of the priesthood and confirmed members of the Church. Phil, you’re already an elder and hold the Melchizedek Priesthood, and that’s a requirement. Next, you both need a testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel. President Joseph Fielding Smith said in his book The Way to Perfection that no man or woman should ever enter the holy temples of our Father in heaven before having a testimony of the truthfulness of the restored gospel. And you’ll need to each have your own endowments before you can be married for time and eternity.”
At this point Phil interrupted. “What is having one’s own endowment?”
“The endowment,” I continued, “is instruction coupled with covenants that prepare us to enter into the highest order of eternal marriage and jointly be candidates for godhood. Brigham Young said of it, ‘Let me give you a definition in brief. Your endowment is to receive all those ordinances in the House of the Lord which are necessary for you, after you have departed this life, to enable you to walk back to the presence of the Father, passing the angels who stand as sentinels, being enabled to give them the key words, the signs and tokens, pertaining to the Holy Priesthood, and gain your eternal exaltation in spite of earth and hell.’” (Journal of Discourses, 2:31.)
“What other requirements are there,” asked Mary. I then told her how important it was to be personally worthy.
“Probably more young couples fail to meet the requirements relating to this than any other,” I continued. “There must have been no unrepented moral uncleanliness prior to marriage, including heavy petting, fornication, homosexuality, or similar transgression, because the powers of procreation are most sacred. Only the simplest forms of affection should be expressed between those who date, and when passions become unrestrained during that time, it is most offensive to the Lord. Even immoral thoughts are displeasing to him. If transgressions have occurred, repentance must be complete, including sufficient time elapse before one can be admitted to the temple.”
At this point I read to them from the Doctrine and Covenants 97:15–17: “And inasmuch as my people build a house unto me in the name of the Lord, and do not suffer any unclean thing to come into it, that it be not defiled, my glory shall rest upon it;
“Yea, and my presence shall be there, for I will come into it, and all the pure in heart that shall come into it shall see God.
“But if it be defiled I will not come into it, and my glory shall not be there; for I will not come into unholy temples.” [D&C 97:15–17]
“Can you see how important it is to be morally clean before entering the Lord’s holy place?” I said.
President Marion G. Romney said in the Improvement Era (February 1965, p. 120), “God grant that we may be worthy to stand in His presence when we come here. To come unworthily into this temple and receive our endowments will not prove to be a blessing to us.”
“I can see that one must be really morally worthy to enter His house,” said Mary.
Then I outlined several other requirements. “One must live the Word of Wisdom, including abstaining from coffee, tea, alcohol, and tobacco. Abusive use of drugs should also be avoided. And one must live the law of tithing and receive the blessings that come from this expression of unselfishness.”
“These things aren’t difficult for us,” said Phil. “Are there others?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s a requirement that you be willing to sustain the local leaders and the General Authorities of the Church. Only as we stand in obedience to the teachings and commandments of the Lord, including those he gives through his living prophet and those who preside with him, can the atonement of Jesus Christ apply to us, and we be worthy to enter the temple. It’s important that we be honest in everything we do, really honest in dealing with our fellowman. We have to live righteous lives in all that we do, striving to keep all the rules, laws, and commandments of the gospel, and to attend sacrament, priesthood, and other meetings designed for our spiritual improvement. And one other thing. You can’t have any sympathetic feelings toward any of the apostate groups whose teachings are counter to the accepted doctrines of the Church.
“In summary,” I said, “it’s required of all who would enter into the temple for the purpose of celestial marriage that they be prepared, worthy, and valiant in the kingdom of God on earth. Then their blessings will abound and the Spirit of the Lord will be felt.
“There is another requirement I’d like to mention,” I said. “Because of the sacred nature of celestial or eternal marriage, it becomes doubly important that those who enter into it would be prepared to do so. I would almost think that it was a requirement that there be an intellectual preparation, if you see what I mean. Those who would so marry should be mature and in full control of their emotions. They should have, it seems to me, a distinct willingness to share and a commitment to live by principles. Someone getting married in the temple should have the ability to control his life and himself and be willing and able to sacrifice for the future.”
Mary and Phil sat thoughtfully for a moment and reflected on the discussion that they had been involved in. “Let me read you two sentences from President Harold B. Lee’s article in the Improvement Era for June 1967 (p. 144),” I said. “‘When you enter a holy temple, you are by that course gaining fellowship with the saints in God’s eternal kingdom, where time is no more. In the temples of your God you are endowed not with a rich legacy of worldly treasure, but with a wealth of eternal riches that are above price. The temple ceremonies are designed by a wise Heavenly Father who has revealed them to us in these last days as a guide and a protection throughout our lives, that you and I might not fail to merit exaltation in the celestial kingdom where God and Christ dwell.’”
“That’s quite a list of requirements and lots to ponder,” said Mary.
“I agree,” I said. “But when you kneel across the altar with your chosen companion and you know you are worthy to be in the house of the Lord, you will personally know that every effort was really worth it.”

When I receive the New Era, I open to a random page and start reading. This month I happened to open up to the Mormonad page, “They Are Ten Commandments” (Feb. 2010). I had been trying to get into the “popular” crowd, and that seemed to require not keeping the commandments. When I turned the page, I read the lyrics to the song “Be Strong.” I read the words and knew I had to change what I was doing. I need to be strong to resist the world’s temptations. I know that when we do, God will be with us always.
Alycia S., Arizona

I have a friend who as a young man couldn’t say no to a drink of alcohol. But to him, it was a special kind of poison. He became an alcoholic. It had disastrous consequences on his family, and he struggled for years to overcome his illness. Fortunately, he did so, and he has found the time to help others. However, he lost years with his young family that he can never regain. He also was separated from the Church. From all indications, it appears that his past drinking has robbed him of an eternal family.

“Before we went to the temple, it was like we had cut an apple and it was apart. But then when we went through the temple, it was like the apple went together.”
That’s how nine-year-old Amanda Baum described her family after they were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple last February. She said that they are closer now because they talk with one another and share their feelings more than they did before. Her parents agreed, saying that their home is more peaceful and that the children seem more special to them now.
For a long time the Baum family—Brandon (12), Amanda (9), Laura Lee (7), James (3), and their parents, Terry and Karla—had been working on their goal of going to the temple to be sealed. It wasn’t an easy goal, but something happened that made them realize just how important that goal was.
Preparing for the special day meant that they had to start doing things like praying more, both individually and as a family, and paying their tithing. Now prayers are a very important part of their day, and the children are usually the first to volunteer for family prayers. Another big help was the encouragement that they received from their bishop and home teachers.
Brandon admitted that at first he was a bit nervous when the day finally came to go to the temple, but they all agreed that they felt a loving spirit and were very happy to be there.
It is hard to imagine how something can go on forever and ever, but Brandon said that as he looked into mirrors in the sealing room, he saw his family reflected there in a never-ending line for as far back as he could see. That gave him some idea of what eternity is all about.

Another new missionary was so shy and bashful he could not look at me without blushing. I discovered he had been reared on a pig farm and was much more comfortable with pigs than with people. It was very difficult for him to talk to anyone, yet he had a burning desire to be a great missionary. Later, when we attended zone conference in the zone to which he was assigned, the missionary stood to bear his testimony: “President, I have discovered that becoming a missionary is like playing football.” He told of his leaving the farm to attend high school. As he registered for school, he noticed the football team practicing and decided he would like to play, but he didn’t have any football shoes or the money to buy any. Then he remembered that his cousin had been a football star at the school. He visited his cousin, asking whether he could borrow his shoes. His cousin gave him the shoes but warned, “Don’t you disgrace them.”

Our missionary got on the team. In the first game of the season, he found himself opposite a great, big, mean opponent. He took one look at that fearsome opponent, gulped, and said to himself, “‘I can’t knock him down! But my cousin could—and I’m wearing my cousin’s shoes.’ So I went ahead and knocked him down, and kept on knocking him down all through the game.”

What kind of a missionary do you think he became?

Mallory and Susan left Sister Swan’s old stone house with cookies in their hands and the usual happy feeling in their hearts that being with Sister Swan always gave them.
“Isn’t she the nicest lady!” Susan said, munching on her cookie.
Mallory nodded. “It’s been six years since she was our Sunbeam teacher in Primary, and she still treats us just the same.”
“When I had my tonsils out, she brought over something cool and creamy for me to eat every day that week,” Susan said as she skipped over the lines in the sidewalk.
Mallory brushed the cookie crumbs off her hands, “When I was trying to earn money for my bike, she’d send me to the store for something about every other day and pay me a quarter.” Both girls were quiet for a minute, enjoying the warm spring sunshine.
“You know,” Mallory said, “I’d like to do something really nice for her, something special.”
“Like what? What could we do?” Susan asked, “I don’t have any money to buy her anything.”
“Neither do I,” Mallory said. They thought for a few minutes. “She really loves flowers. Remember the other day when she said she missed having cut flowers in the house now that she’s getting too busy to work in the yard?”
“That’s right,” Susan said. “But where would we get flowers? We don’t have any in bloom in my yard right now.”
“We had a few tulips, but they’re gone now,” Mallory said.
Both girls stopped and looked at the Jensen’s yard. All along the fence enormous red and white peonies were blossoming, and the rosebushes by the house were covered with blooms. They walked on silently and came to the Allreds’ house. In the middle of the lawn was an oval flower bed full of irises and tulips. They stopped and looked.
“What are you thinking?” Susan said. “Would they let us pick any?”
“Maybe,” Mallory said thoughtfully. “But I’d like Sister Swan to have a really huge bouquet, something so big you could hardly get through the door with it. That would show her how much we really love and appreciate her.”
“Well, we couldn’t ask anybody for that many flowers.”
“No.” Mallory was thoughtful again. “What if we got our bikes and went around and just picked a few flowers from everybody’s yard?”
“You mean without asking?”
“Well, yeah, but they wouldn’t miss just a few flowers.”
“Mmmm,” Susan mused. “There are lots of flowers around that we could make into a giant-size bouquet. … Let’s do it!”
The girls were soon making their way around the block, plucking a few flowers from each yard and filling the baskets on their handlebars. Susan had even remembered to get a paring knife to cut some roses. No one seemed to notice them. Soon they were back in Susan’s garage, their baskets overflowing with blossoms of every color.
“Aren’t they beautiful!” Susan exclaimed.
“Sister Swan will love them! What can we put them in?” asked Mallory.
“My dad has some old plastic milk jugs in here somewhere. Let’s find one and cut off the top and put on some pretty contact paper.”
They worked hard arranging the flowers, putting the huge peonies in the center, the irises and tulips around the edges, and the roses throughout. When they were finished, they sat back and admired the magnificent bouquet.
“She’ll love them!” Mallory repeated. They left their bikes and walked to Sister Swan’s. Mallory carried the bouquet very carefully—it would be disastrous to stumble. They climbed the steps to Sister Swan’s house and rang the bell.
Sister Swan opened the door and peered out. “My goodness,” she said. “Come in.” She stepped back and opened the door wide. “What’s all this? I can’t even see you. Is that you, Mallory? Susan?”
The girls giggled. “Yes, it’s us,” Mallory said. “We brought you a bouquet.”
“It’s beautiful. Bring it into the kitchen and put it on the table.” The girls followed her into the kitchen, and Mallory set the bouquet carefully in the center of the round oak table. Sister Swan looked at the bouquet. “Where did you get all these gorgeous flowers?”
The girls looked at each other. Somehow it had never occurred to them that Sister Swan would ask this question. “We wanted you to have a great big bouquet because we really love you,” Mallory said.
“And because you do so many nice things for us,” Susan added.
Sister Swan nodded. “Sit down,” she said. The two girls sat, and Sister Swan stood between them and looked first at Mallory and then at Susan. She moved the bouquet over so that she could see them better. The fragrance from the flowers hung heavy in the silence.
“You said you missed having cut flowers, and we wanted you to have a whole bunch,” Susan ventured.
Sister Swan looked at the flowers, then said thoughtfully, “I wonder if this enormous bouquet will last any longer than a small one would. I wonder if it will last any longer than one rose in a vase would.”
Susan and Mallory looked at each other. Sister Swan wasn’t as pleased as they had thought she would be.
“I’m touched that you wanted to do this for me”—tears welled up in Sister Swan’s eyes—“but you didn’t answer my question, and now I’m not sure I want to hear the answer.”
Mallory looked down at the linoleum under her feet. Susan looked sadly at the flowers. “What should we do?” Susan finally asked. “We can’t take them back.”
“No,” Sister Swan said quietly.
“I guess we could go back to the houses and tell the people we’re sorry.”
Mallory looked up. “Every one? We went to a lot of houses.”
“It would take a lot of time,” Sister Swan said. “And some courage.”
Mallory faltered, “It’ll be embarrassing to knock on their doors and apologize. But Susan is probably right.”
“We could even do some yard work for some of them, especially the ones where we took a lot,” Susan suggested.
Sister Swan smiled a little. “Another good idea.”
“But what can we do for you?” Mallory asked. “We wanted to do something special for you.”
Sister Swan stood up and went around the table. She leaned over and put an arm around each girl. “I know,” she said, “and I love that. But here’s some advice from your old teacher: Never express your love for someone by doing something wrong. It never works out.”
Standing up straight, she smiled again at the girls and added, “You know, if you have time after making amends with the neighbors, I’ve been wishing someone would spade up that little spot by my porch and plant me some snapdragons.”
“We could do that!” Susan whooped.
“Yes!” Mallory shouted. “Come on, Susan, let’s get going!”

When Mrs. Johnson’s poodle, Ricky, died, all the children in the neighborhood were sad. Ricky had been a nice dog, and the children loved to pet him and play with him. They thought that the man who ran over him must have been very mean, and they wanted to help Mrs. Johnson get even with him.
One day when Julie and Sandy were on their way home from school, they saw Mrs. Johnson sitting in the swing on her porch. They thought about passing by her house without talking to her because they didn’t know what to say. But Mrs. Johnson called to them, and they knew that it wouldn’t be very nice to just ignore her.
“I guess you heard about what happened to Ricky,” Mrs. Johnson said. Her voice was very sad.
“Yes,” said Julie, “and if we ever find out who did it, we’ll help you get even.”
“We’ll make him sorry that he ever ran over a nice dog like Ricky,” Sandy chimed in.
Mrs. Johnson moved to one side of her swing and asked them to sit next to her. “I don’t want you to get even for me,” she said. “It wouldn’t be right.”
“Wouldn’t be right?” Julie asked.
“After what he did to you,” Sandy said, “I thought that you would want to get even.”
“Oh no,” replied Mrs. Johnson. “I miss Ricky very much. But getting even with the man who hit him won’t bring him back to me.”
“Well, that’s true,” Julie said, “but it should make you feel better to know that you made him feel as bad as you do.”
“Oh no!” Mrs. Johnson said quickly. Then she asked, “How would you feel if you had been the one who ran over Ricky?”
“I would feel awful,” the children said together.
“Well,” Mrs. Johnson told them, “I think that the man who hit Ricky felt very bad too.”
“You mean you talked to him?” Julie asked.
“Oh yes,” replied Mrs. Johnson. “He came to my door right after it happened and told me that he was sorry. I could tell that he really meant what he said.”
Just then a car pulled up in front of Mrs. Johnson’s house, and a young man got out. He was carrying something small wrapped in a blanket. “Mrs. Johnson,” he said softly, “I have something for you. I know that he won’t take Ricky’s place, but I hope that you’ll like him.”
When the young man opened the blanket, the children saw a small black puppy. It did not look like Ricky, but its tail was wagging and it had big brown eyes.
Mrs. Johnson smiled as she picked the puppy up and gave it a hug. “Thank you,” she said. “That was very nice of you.”
“I’m glad that you like him,” said the young man. Then he went back to his car and drove away.
Sandy and Julie stayed to play with the new puppy while Mrs. Johnson went to the store to buy dog food. They were very happy that Mrs. Johnson had a new friend to stay with her now. They were also surprised that the man who had run over Ricky was so nice.
“You know, there is one thing that I’m glad we didn’t do,” said Sandy to Julie after a while.
“What’s that?” asked Julie as she rolled a small rubber ball across the porch for the puppy to chase.
“I’m really glad that we never had a chance to get even,” Sandy replied.

Elder Andersen also told a story of a boy named Joshua who reached out to another child at church.
When Joseph, a boy from Uganda, went to church for the first time, he didn’t have any family there to help him know where to go. Then the missionaries introduced him to Joshua.
Joshua told Joseph he would be his friend. He gave Joseph a songbook for Primary, and he sat next to him. Then the Primary class sang “I Am a Child of God” to Joseph. Everyone made Joseph feel very special, especially his new friend, Joshua. When they were older, Joshua and Joseph served as missionary companions!

At the top of Mr. Gellért, high above the magnificent city of Budapest, Hungary, two sister missionaries search for a secluded spot in a grove of trees where they can be alone and unobserved.
They open their scriptures and bring out a typewritten copy of a prayer—the apostolic blessing, newly translated into the Hungarian language, that Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve pronounced on Hungary in April 1987. It was here on Mt. Gellért—overlooking the Danube River, with the hills of Buda on one side and the plains of Pest on the other—that Elder Nelson originally gave this prayer, asking the Lord to pour out his blessings upon the nation and its people. Now, kneeling reverently among the trees, the sisters quietly review the prayer aloud in their own tongue. Overhead, a warm breeze gently stirs the leaves, and the bright sun shines in a cloudless sky. For a few moments, the sisters are enveloped in a spirit of warmth and peace.
Sisters. They love the sound of that word. There’s no family relationship between Sister Nagy Erika and Sister Pálinkás Bernadett. (Hungarian surnames are used first, followed by the given names.) And they met for the first time after becoming missionaries. But no sisters could feel more united in purpose and spirit. Their mission is filled with a sense of history in the making: These sisters are sharing the privilege of being the first two Hungarian citizens ever to serve as full-time missionaries in Hungary.
“For me,” says Sister Pálinkás, “it’s unbelievable that we Hungarians can actually do this now—hear the gospel message and then serve as missionaries.” Indeed, the events that brought them to this opportunity are miraculous. For nearly 40 years, Hungary was a communist-controlled socialist state, with no freedom of religion. In June 1988, just one year after Elder Nelson gave his dedicatory prayer, the Church received official recognition in this land. In October 1989, Hungary became a democracy, and in July 1990 a mission of the Church was opened in Budapest. Sister Nagy and Sister Pálinkás were baptized within a month of each other in 1992.
“I believe Elder Nelson was an instrument in the hands of God when he gave this blessing,” Sister Nagy says. “As I studied it again today, I thought about all the missionaries who are here right now and all the missionaries who will come later, after us. The prayer talks about all of them. I thought about the youth. I thought about all the stakes and wards that Elder Nelson prophesied would dot this land. I thought, too, about our Hungarian national anthem, which starts out ‘God Bless the Hungarians.’ God really has blessed the Hungarians!”
“Of course, we Latter-day Saints aren’t the only ones proselyting in Hungary,” says Sister Pálinkás. “Missionaries from many, many other churches are here now, too. This makes it hard for the people. After a long period of everything being forbidden, now it’s completely free as far as religion goes—and the people are a bit scared and confused and overwhelmed with all of these churches. Many keep to themselves a little bit and don’t want to make any decisions.
“That’s why our way of spreading the gospel is so important. If we do it with love, with Christlike love, and show them that we care for them and are not doing it for other reasons, then I don’t think there’s a person in the world whose heart won’t be touched.”
Both of these sisters know firsthand the religious confusion and uncertainty some of their investigators are feeling. Sister Pálinkás Bernadett is from Dunaújváros, a factory city built by Joseph Stalin as a model Communist city. For many years, there were no churches at all in the city. “My parents are not believers in God,” she says. “But somehow I felt close to Him and felt that He loved me.
“I often thought about what I was doing here on earth, what the purpose of life was, why I was born here in Hungary and not somewhere else, and why now and not earlier or later. Something was missing in my life, but I didn’t know exactly what.”
When Bernadett was almost 20, two American missionaries came into the store where she sold office supplies. “My co-workers and I could tell from the very first that these young men were different from others,” she remembers. “There was something shining from their eyes that made me very curious as to who they were and what they were doing here in Hungary. I felt that they could show me something that I didn’t know—something that I needed to know.”
Bernadett and a co-worker arranged to hear the first discussion. Although her friend soon lost interest, Bernadett attended sacrament meeting alone the following Sunday and was baptized a month later, on 22 August 1992. A year and a half later, she became a full-time missionary. None of her family has yet been baptized.
Bernadett’s parents are not happy with either decision—to be baptized or to serve a mission. “It hurts them because they don’t understand what I’m doing and why, even though I’ve tried to explain it to them. When I decided to be a missionary, my first goal was to somehow bring my parents closer to the Church. Now I recognize that each person has to personally walk the road to get to God, and it takes some people longer than others. I write to my parents every week and pray for them always.”
Although Bernadett doesn’t hear from her family, she is grateful for letters from branch members—especially the youth—back home. And she has a lot of support around her in the mission. Her first zone leader was the missionary who had baptized her in Dunaújváros a year and a half earlier! “When he baptized me, he was a beginner missionary,” she says. “Now I was a beginner, and he was more experienced. I felt very proud to be able to work at the same time with him.”
In April 1992, Nagy Erika was 20 years old and was living with her family in the city of Nyiregyháza when a friend encouraged them to listen to the missionaries. Erika’s father, a devout Christian, had taught his family about God, and the whole family had attended their own church earlier that day. “But when the two elders came in the door and greeted us—my parents and all eight of us children—we felt a surprising feeling of happiness because of the spirit that came from them.”
With that spirit, the missionaries “became our friends,” says Erika. “It was wonderful how they showed their love to us—to my younger brothers and sister, to us older children, and to our parents—and how they talked about their own parents with such love and respect. We thought that if someday, somehow, we could show this much love to other people, that would be a great thing. When they began talking about God and Jesus Christ, a wonderful discussion flowed between us.”
After the second discussion, the family suddenly lost contact with the missionaries. First, one of the elders was transferred. Then, unexpectedly, Erika’s family had to move to Budapest. “Every evening I tried to pray—the best I knew how—and I asked God to help me find somebody to talk to about what the missionaries had taught us.”
Two months after moving to Budapest, Erika had one of those days when everything seemed to go wrong. First, she missed her bus. Then she had to walk a great distance in the rain. When she finally reached a subway station, she was feel’mg pretty discouraged. “Then, whi1e waiting for the subway, I suddenly noticed two elders-and one of them was the one who had taught us in Nyiregyháza! I couldn’t believe it—in a city of more than two million people!”
The discussions immediately resumed with the family, and Erika was baptized alone on 13 September 1992, just five months after first meeting the missionaries. By December, seven of the ten family members had also been baptized. And she is confident the other three will follow. “In every letter, I send them good spiritual messages, and they are progressing,” she says with a smile.
A year after her baptism, Erika received her mission call to Hungary. “I was happy to be called to serve my own people in my own language. But I worried whether I was worthy to be the first Hungarian citizen to serve in Hungary and if I would be able to give the people what they needed. I prayed about it and felt many special feelings that night. I knew that God loved me and my family. I felt very close to God.”
As the two sisters reminisce about experiences they are having as missionaries, it is obvious that they are being richly blessed by the Lord in their efforts. “When I went to my first city as a new missionary,” says Sister Pálinkás, “my companion and I looked in our planners and there was nothing scheduled. I said, ‘Oh no, what are we going to do?’ But we went out and worked hard. I learned that when there’s an empty day in our planners, we can say, ‘No problem; we’re going to teach three or four discussions.’ Then we include in our prayers a plea to the Lord to help us with that righteous desire. I’ve learned that if we ask with real faith and real intent, the Lord will help us with it, as long as it’s according to his will.”
The joy of seeing a person change his life and be baptized is the greatest reward. “I can’t express how excited I was for my first baptism as a missionary,” says Sister Pálinkás. “I felt as if I could fly because of the happiness. It was a great thing to know that this wonderful person was going to be a member of the Lord’s church—a person whom I and many other members could learn from.”
As these sisters see it, the preaching of the gospel in Hungary is both a beginning and an end. “The gospel gives us Hungarians a new start,” says Sister Pálinkás. “We have a chance to come to know God and his gospel and to know ourselves. Maybe this means an end to the feeling some people have had that they needed to be apart from everyone else, that they couldn’t love each other.”
“Big walls are falling down and gates are opening up because of the gospel,” says Sister Nagy. “Over the years, we’ve built walls to protect us from things that were going to happen in our lives, and love and brotherliness were missing. But the gospel helps us open the gates to love and service.”

A true story from Argentina.
“Can we go to the plaza?” Ivan’s sister Cristal asked.
Ivan looked outside. “I want to,” he said. “But maybe we should wait until the sun goes down. It’s really hot.”
The plaza was a big field of grass near their home. They loved to play tag or hide-and-seek there with their friends. But the plaza didn’t have any shade for them to rest from the heat. And this summer, it was a big problem.
Cristal was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “What if we planted some trees? That way the plaza would have shade. Then we could play even when it’s hot!”
Ivan smiled. “I love that idea!”
Ivan and Cristal told Papá all about their plan. “I’ll ask the city for permission,” he said.
A few weeks later, they had the permission they needed and were ready to start! Papá took Ivan and Cristal to the big tree that grew behind their house. Under the tree, a bunch of little trees were growing.
“When the big tree blooms, it drops seeds to the ground,” Papá explained. “Then little trees grow from them. They’re like tiny miracles of nature!”
Papá showed them how to carefully dig up the little trees. Ivan and Cristal gently planted them in flower pots.
Then, one Saturday afternoon when the sun was hidden behind the clouds, Ivan and Cristal loaded the little trees onto a cart. Slowly, they pushed it to the plaza. Ivan’s younger brothers and sisters helped carry buckets of water. Mamá and Papá brought some shovels.
Together, they picked out a spot for each tree. They dug holes and planted each tree with love. Mamá showed them how to dig trenches around the trees to water them. “Trees need sunlight, water, and lots of nutrients to grow strong,” she said. “Just like kids!”
Ivan thought of the tree behind their house and imagined what the trees would look like someday. “Can you believe it?” he said. “Someday these trees will be taller than us!”
In the spring, the trees would dazzle everyone with their beautiful, bright pink flowers. In the summer, their shade would stretch across the plaza. And in the fall, the leaves would cover the ground in a yellow carpet.
Every day, Ivan and Cristal visited the plaza to check on the trees. They made sure each tree had enough water. And every time a new leaf or branch sprouted, they felt so proud. Their hard work was paying off!
Ivan felt happy thinking of all the people who would enjoy the shade at the plaza someday. He had helped make the earth a more beautiful place for all of Heavenly Father’s children.