Gospel Story Finder

“Stick close to me, girls. I don’t want to lose you!” Lexie said. Stacey and her friend Amanda hurried a little faster to keep up.
Stacey had been so excited when Amanda invited her to come shopping with her older sister, Lexie. Stacey wished that she could be as stylish as Lexie—Lexie always dressed like she just walked out of a fashion magazine. Stacey had saved up money so she could buy a shirt on their shopping trip. Maybe Lexie would help her pick out something really cute.
The girls walked into a clothing store and began browsing a wall lined with colorful shirts. Stacey ran her hand across the racks, feeling the soft fabrics.
“You should try that one on,” Lexie said, pointing to one of the shirts. “It would look way cute on you.”
“Really?” Stacey asked. She felt flattered that Lexie was paying attention to her. The shirt was orange—her favorite color—and it was the right price. There was only one problem.
“She can’t get that one, Lexie,” Amanda said. “It has spaghetti straps, and it’s really short.”
Stacey felt her heart drop. How could she be cool like Lexie now?
Lexie casually waved her hand. “It’s not a big deal. I mean, that modesty rule only really matters when you’re older.”
Stacey began to feel a little hopeful. Maybe Lexie was right. It wasn’t like it was that immodest. Besides, the wall of shirts she stood in front of had only a few modest shirts, and none of them were very cute. It would take more time to find a shirt that looked good and had sleeves.
Stacey was about to pick up the shirt to try it on when she noticed she felt uncomfortable. She knew what she was about to do wasn’t right and that the Holy Ghost was warning her not to do it. She knew that dressing modestly was an important way of respecting her body and being a good example.
She looked at Lexie and swallowed. She wanted to be as cool as Lexie was, but after taking one look at Amanda, Stacey knew what she had to do.
“I actually don’t want to wear this,” she said, turning away from the shirt.
Lexie shrugged. “OK, that’s fine. Hey, let’s look at that section over there.”
As Lexie walked away, Amanda looked at Stacey and smiled. “I’m glad you decided not to try on that shirt, Stacey.”
“I wanted to,” Stacey confessed. “But I knew it wasn’t right.”
“Well, come on,” Amanda said. “Let’s go find you a shirt that is right.”
They went to join Lexie, leaving the orange shirt hanging on the wall.

Think of the influence that the faith of a Primary-aged girl can have on her family. Our daughter’s faith blessed our family when we lost our young son at an amusement park. The family rushed around frantically looking for him. Finally, our 10-year-old daughter tugged on my arm and said, “Mom, shouldn’t we pray?” She was right! The family gathered in the middle of a crowd of onlookers and prayed to find our child. We found him. To all the Primary girls I say, “Please keep reminding your parents to pray!”

On a rainy day on our campus, President Holland—then BYU’s ninth president—saw a student caught in the downpour. The student’s name was Matt. President Holland rolled down his car window and beckoned Matt to come over. Sister Holland was in the car as well, and the Hollands offered Matt a ride home.

Unbeknownst to the Hollands, Matt was uncertain about his future and didn’t know if he could “make it.” But as they drove Matt to his apartment—in the very same complex where President and Sister Holland had themselves once lived—he opened up about his worries, and they assured Matt he could and he would make it.

“Matt, part of your problem is that you don’t believe,” President Holland finally put it bluntly.

“Oh, I’m not talking about your testimony,” he went on. Rather, “you just believe that God will work His mighty miracles for everyone but you.”

And then President Holland underscored the point: “You gotta believe, Matt. You gotta believe.”13

Elder Matthew O. Richardson would go on to serve as BYU’s advancement vice president, as a mission leader together with his wife, Lisa, as a member of the Sunday School general presidency, and now as an Area Seventy. Elder Richardson teaches on our faculty as a professor of Church history and doctrine.

You just gotta believe.

That was the same admonition President Holland received on a summer day in August 1963—also on BYU’s campus. He arrived in Provo, in his own words, with a “new family, new life, new education, [but] no money and no confidence.”

“Do you think we can do it?” he asked his wife, Pat. “Do you think we can compete with all these people in all these buildings who know so much more than we do and are so able? Do you think we’ve made a mistake? . . . Do you think we should withdraw and go home?”

“She grabbed me by the lapels,” President Holland recounted. And then Pat fiercely declared, “We are not going back. We are not going home. The future holds everything for us.”14

Thirty-six years later, as President Holland reflected in general conference on the trials of an earlier time, he offered this fervent counsel to his younger self—and, I say, by extension, to each of us here today:

“Don’t give up, boy. Don’t you quit. You keep walking. You keep trying. There is help and happiness ahead—a lot of it—30 years of it now, and still counting. You keep your chin up. It will be all right in the end. Trust God and believe in good things to come.”15

In that message and throughout his remarkable ministry, President Holland testified of the Savior in His merciful role as our “high priest of good things to come.”16

Mindy liked to help her mother. After her sisters and brothers left for school, Mindy and Mother made their beds.
First they made Mindy’s bed. They pulled the sheet and blankets back and put the pillow on a chair. Then they billowed the sheet and blankets over the bed.
Mindy patted the places where ripples appeared. And she helped pull the covers tight. She punched and plumped her pillow into a marshmallow shape. Then she plunked it over the folded-down sheet and bedspread.
Quickly Mindy and Mother slid the bedspread over the pillow and ironed any wrinkles flat with their hands.
Then they made Mother and Dad’s bed the way they had made Mindy’s bed. It was so big and bouncy that Mindy wished she could jump on the bed.
One morning just after they had lifted Mindy’s bedcovers into place, Mother hurried into the kitchen to answer the telephone. When she came back, she couldn’t see Mindy. But she did see an enormous mountainy wrinkle in the covers.
“Oh, oh,” said Mother, pretending to be surprised. “I see a great big wrinkle. I’d better smooth it out.” So she patted the wrinkle, and it twitched.
“My, my,” said Mother, “this wrinkle is hard to get out. I’ll have to poke it a little bit.” So she poked the big wrinkle with her finger, and it began to giggle and wriggle.
“Goodness, gracious,” said Mother playfully, “this wrinkle giggles and wriggles. I guess I’ll have to see what’s under the blankets.” So she threw the covers back. There was Mindy, laughing and kicking her legs and flapping her arms in the middle of the bed.
“Oh, Mommy, I fooled you,” laughed Mindy.
“So you were the wrinkle in the blankets!” exclaimed Mother in mock surprise.
“Now, Mommy, I’ll help you make my bed without a single wrinkle,” said Mindy, scrambling out of bed.

Hi! I’m Gabriel. I have a talent that can help people!
I practice my cello every day with my dad or my mom. My little brother and sister play instruments too. Playing together is fun!
Whenever I see people who don’t have homes, I want to help them. My mom and I decided we could use our talents to help.
I started learning songs on my cello. I learned 15 Christmas and Hanukkah songs. On Christmas Eve my mom and I went to a shopping area and played for the shoppers. We had a sign that said “Tips to Benefit the Food Pantry.”
I felt a little bit nervous about playing in front of strangers, so I just focused on my songs. We played until my fingers were too cold to play any more. I was happy when our music made people smile. And lots of them gave us money.
We took all the money and gave it to the food pantry. Then they could buy food for people who don’t have enough.
I’m glad I could help, and all I had to do was play songs! I want to do it again next year!

Just before April conference in 1986, our missionary son David wrote home: “President Benson has been in Ohio. He’s pushing the Book of Mormon hard and wants us to use it even more in our missionary work. Our Regional Representative told us he’s going to ask the Church members to read the Book of Mormon daily. You’d better get ahead and start reading now! I’m doing great. I’ve never felt better in my life.”
How those words touched me! It had been 15 years ago that the Book of Mormon became an integral part of David’s life. I had read it to him as he lay in bed, at life’s edge.
“What are you reading, Mommy?” David asked in the faintest whisper of a sound. His delicate face closely matched the color of the snowy pillowcase. Deep red drops of blood, descending from a bottle suspended above, provided a vivid contrast as they dropped through a tube into his motionless white arm.
“The Book of Mormon,” I replied. It helped me through the endless hours of watching my son fight a seemingly insurmountable battle. It was supposed to be minor surgery to correct a small health problem, but the whole procedure had become a nightmare. Face to face with the fragile quality of mortality, I groped for an anchor with eternity.
“Read it to me,” David said.
“But you wouldn’t understand it, David,” I told him. “You’re too young. Later, when you’re well and at home, I’ll read you some stories from the Book of Mormon.”
Again the whispered words, urgent this time. “Please read it to me, Mommy.”
Not knowing what else to do, and not wishing to further upset him, I began in First Nephi: “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents, …” I intended to read a few lines while he drifted off to sleep, and then continue my silent reading. Every time I thought he was asleep, my voice quieted and quit. Then, from the hospital bed, again and again, I heard, “Read it to me.”
And so I read it to him. I read all during the hospital stay, and then at home, where he lay attached to two tubes that drained fluids from his body into bags, one on each leg. Doctors had discovered a congenital defect that gave him only part of one kidney.
I did not read stories from the Book of Mormon. I read from the book itself. One morning, after David’s two sisters had gone to school and his two little brothers were sleeping, we sat together reading as usual. I stopped and looked down at him. “David, do you understand this?”
His blue eyes looked thoughtfully into mine. “Not all. But some of it.”
When I continued reading he stopped me and said, “Mother, kneel down.” Startled by the request, I simply knelt, feeling his small body at my side. Then, totally trusting, he said, “Now pray for me. Pray that I will understand the Book of Mormon.”
By the time we finished the book, David had turned five and was able to recognize and read many of the words on his own. Eventually he read alone. His health improved and, by the time he was baptized, he had read the whole thing by himself more than once. By the time he was ordained a deacon, he was eagerly preparing for a mission.
But during his sophomore year in high school, his physical condition worsened. His one remaining kidney deteriorated rapidly, and a transplant became necessary to save his life. His father was the donor. The eve of the surgery brought our ward members together in prayer and fasting. David was the happiest one present. “I don’t know why everyone is so worried,” he said. “This just means that I can make serious plans for my mission.” And by this time, daily reading of the Book of Mormon had become a habit that sustained him through his recovery.

1 At the edge of the Congo rain forest near the equator, where the days are hot and steamy and the nights are cool and damp, Little Gorilla sleeps snuggled next to his mother on the jungle floor. Night sounds around him of softly moving leaves and a far-off leopard’s roar soon become the morning noises of chattering monkeys and twittering birds.
2 Before long Little Gorilla and his mother are following their troop leader, Silverback, in search of food. Moving slowly through the forest, they nibble leaves, wild celery, bamboo shoots, and blackberries.
3 Little Gorilla’s mother discovers more fruit in a nearby tree. She is too heavy to climb the tree, so Little Gorilla climbs the tree and gathers the fruit for both of them.
4 At midmorning the adult gorillas stop in a clearing to rest. For a while Little Gorilla plays with the other young gorillas, wrestling, sliding down a log that is slick with moss, and playing tag. Then he goes over to his mother, and she grooms him. It feels good as she parts his fur with her fingers, cleaning him from head to toe before his nap.
5 At midafternoon it is again time to search for food. As the gorillas follow Silverback, he stops abruptly and begins hooting. He places a single leaf between his lips and beats his chest. The other gorillas run to hide in the underbrush.
6 Silverback’s usually gentle brown eyes now stare in anger from under the thick, bony ridge of his forehead. He thumps the ground with his hand and begins ripping up bushes and throwing them around.
7 Little Gorilla and his mother peer between the leaves of their hiding place and watch Silverback run sideways, then charge toward a leopard. The spotted cat snarls at Silverback but swiftly retreats. Cautiously the rest of the gorilla troop again fall in line behind Silverback in search of food.
8 As Little Gorilla follows his mother, he watches Silverback. He had been depending on his mother for everything, but now he is older and will soon leave her. Part of him wants to grow up and be a fearless leader like Silverback. And part of him wants to remain a baby and stay with his mother.
9 It is hard to let go for both Little Gorilla and his mother, but tonight Little Gorilla is to sleep by himself, up in the trees. He has been practicing how to build his nest of twigs and leaves, and he can do it very well. Sitting in his nest, he hears the sound of the distant river. He is lonely.
10 Climbing down to be with his mother, he finds that she does not welcome him as she once did. She will not let Little Gorilla sleep in her nest. It is hard for her to send him away, but she must. Little Gorilla once again climbs the tree to his own nest, where he listens to the river’s current until sleep comes.

After two students were killed and 22 others wounded in a tragic school shooting in Springfield, Oregon, last May, LDS teens in the area wanted to do something to help their community heal. A tri-stake youth conference was quickly rearranged to include a service project at the high school where the tragedy occurred.
Three bus loads of LDS youth from the Eugene, Eugene West, and Santa Clara Stakes cleaned and beautified the school grounds. Many of the teens who worked on the project had been at the school when the shooting took place and had friends who were wounded. For these students, the service project was as healing for themselves as it was for the community.
“It was such a good feeling to put things back together for our school and community and ourselves,” said Kawika Lawther. “Having the gospel in our lives also helped us get over our feelings so much faster,” added Corwin Lewis, student-body vice president of the school.

“Margo, who do you want to baptize you?” Mom asked as we drove home from church.
Dad! I thought. I want Dad to baptize me.
But I knew that wasn’t an option. So I just shrugged. “I dunno,” I said.
Dad isn’t a member of the Church. He reads the scriptures and prays with us, and he believes in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, but he’s never been baptized. He doesn’t have the priesthood, so he can’t baptize me.
“You should decide soon,” Mom said. “Your baptism is only a few weeks away.”
“I’m still thinking about it,” I said.
But what I was really thinking about was how sad I was that Dad couldn’t baptize me.
When we got home from church, I saw my cousin Collin in the living room with Dad. Collin was going to college nearby and liked to come for dinner on Sundays.
Dad got up to help Mom in the kitchen, and I plopped down on the couch next to Collin.
“Hey, Margo!” Collin said. “I can’t wait to come to your baptism. Are you excited?”
I looked down at my feet and shrugged.
Collin frowned. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know if I want to get baptized!” I blurted out.
“Why not?”
“Because Dad can’t baptize me,” I said. “All of my friends’ dads baptized them, but mine can’t, so it won’t be as special.”
Collin nodded slowly. “That would be hard,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean your baptism won’t be special.”
I just shrugged again.
“Let me ask you something,” Collin said. “Do you know why we get baptized and confirmed?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We talked about that today. We make promises with God and receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
“That’s what God promises us,” Collin said. “But we make promises too. Do you know what you promise God at baptism?”
I counted off on my fingers. “To take the name of Jesus Christ upon me, to keep His commandments, and to remember Him.”
“Right,” Collin said. “So when you get baptized, you make a special promise with Heavenly Father. That’s all that matters. Your baptism is between you and Heavenly Father, so it will be really special, no matter who baptizes you.”
I guess that did sound pretty special.
“You know, by getting baptized, you’re also setting a good example for your dad,” Collin said.
I perked up at that. “Really?”
“I know your dad is proud of your faith and your decision to be baptized. Maybe seeing how important baptism is to you will help him start thinking about getting baptized too.”
Collin reached in his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it and pulled out a necklace with a pretty gold charm.
“Here,” he said, handing it to me. “An early birthday present.”
“Wow!” I said. “Thanks!”
That night, as Mom and I did the dishes, she asked if I had decided who would baptize me.
I touched the gold charm around my neck. “I think I know.”
A few weeks later, I stood in a white jumpsuit and looked down into the font. There was Collin, reaching out his hand for me.
A New Video
Jesus was baptized by His cousin too! Watch a new video about His baptism at friend.lds.org during June.
I looked at the people in the room and saw Dad. He was smiling at me. I walked into the water to be baptized, and I thought about my Heavenly Father. I was excited to make this first covenant with Him. I bet He was smiling too.

Walter and Edith were serving a temple mission and had only a few months left when he became seriously ill with cancer and was bedridden for the first time in his life. During his illness, he reflected on his life. “He could see that he had accomplished much,” says Gloria, “but he also saw that he probably could have led a more balanced life. He softened at the end, in all of his suffering. The thing that made him happiest was that his family had strong testimonies of the gospel of Jesus Christ.”

Walter Spät died on 15 May 1989.

As a bishop, I worried about members who were less active, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older, in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years had caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir, even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.

Martin follows Jesus by learning about Him. When Martin met the missionaries, they gave him a pamphlet about Jesus Christ. Martin is visually impaired, so he couldn’t read the small words. But he still wanted to learn more.
The missionaries gave Martin a copy of the Book of Mormon in braille. Braille is a form of written language for people who are blind or visually impaired.
Martin chose to be baptized with his dad. “I’m thankful for the Church of Jesus Christ,” Martin says. “I know it’s true.”

Among the many wonderful things I would like to remind you about, I love and will conclude with a brief statement from a great book written long ago. It is about a slave who lived in Christ’s time and watched him on a certain special Sunday in the midst of a multitude.

Suddenly, for no reason at all that Demetrius could observe, there was a wave of excitement. It swept down over the sluggish swollen stream of zealots like a sharp breeze. Men all about him were breaking loose from their families, tossing their packs into the arms of their overburdened children, and racing forward toward some urgent attraction. Far up ahead the shouts were increasing in volume, spontaneously organizing into a concerted reiterated cry; a single, magic word that drove the multitude into a frenzy.

“Do you know what is going on?” said Demetrius. [He was talking to another slave.]

“They’re yelling something about a king. That’s all I can make of it.”

“You think they’ve got somebody up front who wants to be their king? Is that it?”

“Looks like it. They keep howling another word that I don’t know—Messiah. The man’s name, maybe.”

Standing on tiptoe for an instant in the swaying crowd, Demetrius caught a fleeting glimpse of the obvious center of interest, a brown-haired, bareheaded, well-favored Jew. A tight little circle had been left open for the slow advance of the shaggy white donkey on which he rode. . . . There had been no effort to bedeck the pretender with any royal regalia. He was clad in a simple brown mantle with no decorations of any kind, and the handful of men—his intimate friends, no doubt—who tried to shield him from the pressure of the throng, wore the commonest sort of country garb.

It was quite clear now to Demetrius that the incident was accidental. . . . Whoever had started this wild pandemonium, it was apparent that it lacked the hero’s approbation.

The face of the enigmatic Jew seemed weighted with an almost insupportable burden of anxiety. The eyes, narrowed as if in resigned acceptance of some inevitable catastrophe, stared straight ahead toward Jerusalem.

Gradually the brooding eyes moved over the crowd until they came to rest on the strained, bewildered face of Demetrius. Perhaps, he wondered, the man’s gaze halted there because he alone—in all this welter of hysteria—refrained from shouting. His silence singled him out. The eyes calmly appraised Demetrius. They neither widened nor smiled; but, in some indefinable manner, they held Demetrius in a grip so firm it was almost a physical compulsion. The message they communicated was something other than sympathy, something more vital than friendly concern; a sort of stabilizing power that swept away all such negations as slavery, poverty, or any other afflicting circumstance. Demetrius was suffused with the glow of this curious kinship. Blind with sudden tears, he elbowed through the throng and reached the roadside. The uncouth Athenian, bursting with curiosity, inopportunely accosted him.

“See him—close up?” he asked.

Demetrius nodded.

“Crazy?” persisted the Athenian.

“No.”

“King?”

“No,” muttered Demetrius, soberly—“not a king.”

“What is he, then?” demanded the Athenian.

“I don’t know,” mumbled Demetrius, in a puzzled voice, “but—he is something more important than a king.” [Lloyd C. Douglas, The Robe, chapter 4]

I learned an important lesson about service after the birth of my second son, Derek. I had just come home from the hospital and the Relief Society called to tell me that they would be bringing in dinner for my family. That was a nice thing to do and I was appreciative of their thoughtfulness. That evening the doorbell rang and I was very surprised when I opened the door. There was my visiting teacher, Paula Sonderegger, with soup, bread, and homemade doughnuts.

Now it isn't unusual for a visiting teacher to bring dinner, but Paula's family had been going through a very hard time. Her husband had recently been ill and they had a son that was facing treatment for a brain tumor. Yet here she was with dinner for my family. I responded to her that she shouldn't have done this for me when her need was much more than mine. Her response has stayed with me all these years and has been a great lesson in my life. She said that it was good for her family to reach out and serve others during their challenging time. They could forget their own worries for a little bit as they concentrated on others. Her husband, Ferron, even made the doughnuts for us. I gratefully accepted their gift of dinner, which was wonderful, but even more so I gratefully accepted the lesson on service. Over the years I have remembered this many times when it felt like I had too much on my plate to take the time to give service. But giving when it is a sacrifice is often the time that it means the most.

From my personal chronology of courage, let me share with you an example from military service.

Entering the United States Navy in the closing months of World War II was a challenging experience for me. I learned of brave deeds, acts of valor, and examples of courage. One best remembered was the quiet courage of an 18-year-old seaman—not of our faith—who was not too proud to pray. Of 250 men in the company, he was the only one who each night knelt down by the side of his bunk, at times amidst the jeers of the curious, the jests of unbelievers, and, with bowed head, prayed to God. He never wavered. He never faltered. He had courage.

I have the privilege of serving with a great Church leader from Indonesia, Subandriyo. He joined the Church as a young man. He is from a poor home without many of the material things of this life. When Subandriyo fell in love with Steffi, he went to ask her mother if they could marry. He had no money, nothing for a traditional wedding party. But this is the promise he made to Steffi's mother. "I have no money for a wedding, but I promise you that I will make your daughter the happiest woman on earth and I will always take care of her." He has kept that promise.

In the village where my wife grew up, her parents, who were good churchgoing people, embraced the gospel as a young married couple with my wife as their two-year-old daughter and only child at that time. Their decision to become members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints had a great impact on their lives as they were shunned by the villagers and by their family. It took many years, loving notes to family members, and service to the community before they were finally accepted.

A few months ago a call came from a sister whose husband had been dead for some years, whose son and his wife had recently been killed in an airplane accident, leaving several small children. Alone, in deep anguish, this sweet woman with many regrets told me that these young victims of the airplane crash had not been married in the temple. They were middle-aged, both coming from good families. They had either ignored it or postponed it. They had lived the majority of their lifetime on the earth and still had not had this ordinance performed. They became single, and their children orphans.

At death our sympathies, of course, are gravely stirred. And oftentimes at funerals speakers, in their kindness, make to the living mourners many promises that could not be substantiated by scripture. I have heard them many times promise that this good man will go direct to eternal life, and yet he has not been married in the temple, and his life didn’t warrant it anyway. He had the gospel; he had the opportunities; he ignored his privileges. He will unfortunately drink the dregs of the bitter cup. And so will you if you fail this important thing.

I remember an article in a local newspaper, telling of a young couple married in Salt Lake by a man who had only civil authority—no power beyond the grave. They had a brilliant wedding breakfast. They got into the car to travel to another city for an evening wedding reception, where hundreds of friends and relatives would come to wish them well. They did not reach their destination. There was no reception. A car accident took their lives. Their mortality was ended. An eternal life had not been provided for. About three hours of marriage, and the end of it came like a flash of lightning. And the sad thing was that their three-hour marriage was performed within a mile of the holy Temple, where a man with the sealing power would gladly have saved them from the bitter cup.

They’re in eternity now. I don’t know what they’re thinking or what they’re doing, but they’re not prepared for eternity. They had grown to twenty years or more of life and they didn’t go to the temple, even though they were members of the Church. They ignored it. They left it. If they ever gave a serious thought, do you suppose they were saying, “Oh, we can have the sealing ordinance performed later”? Do you suppose the bereaved family was thinking, “Well, it’s too bad; but then, we can go to the temple in a year and have the work done for them”?

Yes, the family can go to the temple a year later. Yes, they can do the ordinance work for them. And the records will show it. But the question is, Will the young deceased couple accept the ordinances when they were of such little consequence to them while they lived? And more important than all else, do you think that God is going to be mocked? He is the God of the living, not of the dead. And they were dead, both physically and also, it would seem, spiritually. He has identified this ordinance as one to be done in mortality while you have your body and your spirit together. Perhaps not any scripture emanating from the mouth of God has been so definite and positive and unchangeable as those we are quoting. It has been said that we rise from the grave much as we lie down in it. We change little in our attitudes and moods and desires in that period when our spirit is freed from our body that is in the grave. The process of change in the body does not necessarily change the inner man. If the gospel truths mean little to us as we die, they are not likely to mean very much to us when we rise.

Part of honoring parenthood is honoring children. There is a great temptation to believe erroneously that our children are our possessions. They are not. They are sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father. Their spirits are eternal as are ours. This was brought forcibly to my attention many years ago when our youngest was about four years of age. I came home from work one night to find my sweetheart very weary from a full day with nine children underfoot. My day had been heavy also, but I offered to get the children ready for bed. I began to give the orders to our little four-year-old daughter: take your clothes off, hang them up, brush your teeth, get your pajamas on, say your prayers, etc.—commanding in a manner befitting a tough sergeant in the army. She then cocked her little head to one side, looked at me with her wistful eyes, and said, “Daddy, do you own me?”
Then I realized that I was using coercive methods on this sweet spirit and that to rule children by command or force is the technique of Satan, not of the Savior. She taught me this important lesson: We don’t own our children; we have them for a brief season. As parents, it is our privilege to love them, to lead them, and then to let them go.

At this time Peter was going though a series of 28 operations to reconstruct his features and correct injuries suffered in his accident. He was approached by his bishop, who asked what he would be doing if he could do anything he wanted.
Quickly it slipped out because it was a great desire of mine, but it seemed so totally impossible. I said, “I’d love to serve a mission.” And without even thinking twice he said, “Well, let’s get you ready.” I said, “Oh, bishop, I can’t do that.” I started to go over my finances and how much I owed and how my leg hadn’t mended yet and all the operations I faced and the way people reacted to me. But he just said, “Let’s get you ready.”
With his confidence in himself established on a spiritual basis, Peter was ready to work toward going on a mission. After submitting his papers and undergoing a special interview with Elder Thomas S. Monson, Peter received his call to the Northern California Mission.
Up until then Peter had always worn dark glasses in an attempt to cover the slits that had been sewn closed over his eyes to compensate for his lack of eyelids. He had been so self-conscious of his appearance that he never went anywhere without his glasses. On the way to his mission interview, he took his dark glasses off and never wore them again. Surgery later corrected the problem with his eyelids.
His new attitude about himself helped him serve a successful mission. He was able to influence people and encourage them to become members of the Church.