Gospel Story Finder

After joining the Church, my great-grandfather, Ole Hansen, emigrated from Norway and settled in Menan, Idaho. In 1925, he obtained employment hauling sand from the Menan Little Butte quarry. As work progressed, workers would drive trucks or teams under a rock overhang to get a new load.
One morning, Grandpa Ole received a strong spiritual prompting: “This hill is going to tip over today.” His first thought was the hill could not possibly collapse, but he eventually investigated the top of the rock ledge. He was alarmed to discover a large crack along the ridge and knew he had to act. Though other workers were skeptical, Grandpa Ole finally convinced all to evacuate. Less than five minutes later, several tons of sand and rock fell where the evacuated men had just been working. Grandpa Ole’s ability to receive and respond to spiritual promptings saved more than 25 men that day.

She was 12 years old. But she somehow seemed older. Ungainly, awkward, embarrassed—it was a painful age. Our family had just moved to El Sobrante, and I was new, but even that very first day in class I noticed her. She was slower in just about everything, but there were a lot of kids in the class who had just arrived at that stage in life when arms and legs were getting longer. That wasn’t it. Somehow I could sense it—sort of an unwritten law in the tightly woven society of that classroom that barred her from the rest of the class. Almost no one would have anything to do with her—it was like a class creed.
That was the spring they put some of the fifth and sixth graders together in the same class. I remember a lot of muttering about “corresponding IQ’s” and the “revolution in the elementary school system,” but we didn’t care too much about that sort of thing. All that mattered to us was that we had to go to school.
At recess we would climb a rough dirt road that led to a huge field of long, tickley weeds, sprinkled with wild mustard flowers and tiny purple daisies and acres of golden poppies. It was a sin to pick a poppy, a brand of treason peculiar to Californians.
She would always trail behind us as we climbed up the hill. Sometimes I’d sneak a glance backwards. She wouldn’t even touch a poppy—she’d very carefully pick her way over to a clump of them and reverently inhale. I never could understand that. I could never smell anything, but she could detect a fragrance, I know—her face would betray the secret as a slight smile would form momentarily across her face. Then it would vanish.
Others of us would go running, hand in hand, across the field, or we would play catch or try to play baseball. We weren’t too good at baseball and would usually settle for a modified game of kickball. She would always stay apart from us. Not because she wanted to, I’m sure, but because she had to. It was the unwritten law.
But she withstood the giggling and smirking behind her back. It was behind her back enough so as not to incriminate any of her assailants, yet blatant enough to sting. Seemingly unsophisticated children could so easily hurt her. Yet there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t help her.
There was one other girl in the class who felt the same way I did about the situation. She was quiet. Linda would go over and talk to the girl sometimes. She would smile at her and heal over, just a little, the wounds of the day. She didn’t care about what the others thought. The girl wouldn’t ever say much to Linda, though. I think she was afraid. But every once in a while she would look at Linda and smile just a little.
I remember graduation time. It was the big event of the year. There would be graduation ceremonies for all the sixth graders. They would wear the choir robes, and all the fourth and fifth graders would watch, round eyed, and after the diplomas were handed out and all the handshaking finished, they would sing, “I Believe.” And the mothers would cry a little.
She was graduating that night. I was in the choir. I got to wear my pink flowered dress with the long bow that reached down the length of my dress. Linda was sitting next to me. She was holding a small white package with a fancy blue ribbon wrapped around it. When we were ready to sing, she inconspicuously slid it under her chair.
“I believe for every drop of rain that falls a flower grows …” The mothers cried a little. We sat down again, and Linda picked up the package. I had just about gathered up enough courage to ask her what it was, when it was time for the benediction.
It was over at last; the sixth grade class was a thing of the past. There were grins drawn across all our faces. Linda started walking across the room, and I followed, not knowing where else to go. She was looking for someone—then she saw her. She pushed her way over to the girl. Linda hesitated for a moment in front of the girl, then smiled a little, shyly, and handed her the present. “Happy graduation,” she said and walked away.
I’ll always remember the expression on that girl’s face. At first it was puzzlement. I could painfully read her thoughts. And then she started crying. Silently, to herself. And she walked out the door of the school.
That night I went home and cried. I didn’t really know why. But it hurt to think of the girl; and I hoped with everything in me that I would be able to feel for people like Linda did. And that things would get better for the girl. I wonder if she’s still crying.

Many years ago, I got a phone call from a good friend who had been hired to play Santa Claus at a local mall. He wasn’t the real Santa Claus but was just one of his helpers. He explained that he needed someone to take his shift. He asked if I would substitute for him for just one night. I have to admit that this job was perfect for me. I always enjoy making children smile, so I gladly agreed.
The evening arrived, and I soon found myself in a small back room at the Eastview Mall. I changed into that familiar red suit, those polished black boots, and that white beard. I needed quite a bit of extra padding to make everything fit. But with a little effort, the Santa makeover was complete.
As I walked through the mall to get to my place, I was delighted to see how excited the young children were to see Santa. Even adults couldn’t help but smile and wave.
Once I sat down, the gate to the workshop opened. A long line of parents and children kept coming in. All but the very shyest children climbed up on my knee, and I listened patiently while they told me their Christmas wishes.
I was having a terrific time. It was great to interact with all the young children who looked at Santa with such wide-eyed wonder. I am proud to say that I really played up the role. I perfected my “Ho, ho, ho!” and even managed a laugh or two that made my belly shake like a bowl full of jelly.
A woman brought a small boy to me. “Excuse me,” she said. “He just wanted to come and say hello.”
I invited him to sit on my lap, but she declined, explaining that he didn’t speak English.
“He’s from Belgium,” she said. “He speaks French.”
My first reaction was, “Oh, this is going to be fun!” Nine years earlier, I had served a French-speaking mission in Quebec, Canada. Although I was no longer fluent in French, I could still have a conversation with a four-year-old. So I turned to the boy and, in French, invited him to come sit with me. The woman’s eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped, but the boy beamed and jumped onto my lap!
After several delightful minutes, it was time to say goodbye because the line had steadily grown while we were talking. Still, I congratulated myself on what felt like a real Christmas miracle—just like the one in Miracle on 34th Street.
But then I did something out of character for Santa. I felt impressed to tell the boy, “Always remember that Santa loves you.” I recall instantly thinking, “What a strange thing for Santa to say!” But the boy hugged me. And then he smiled and waved and ran back to the woman.
She led him a few steps away and then stopped. She asked him to wait there and turned back to me. “I don’t know what just happened,” she told me with tears in her eyes. “But I need to tell you something.”
She explained that she was the little boy’s aunt. She had returned with him from Belgium only a few days earlier. “His mother and father were killed in a car crash,” she said. “I’m his only living relative. I have just brought him to the United States to live with me.”
Her tears began to fall more freely. “But it’s Christmas, and I simply had no idea how we were going to make it through this season. It’s supposed to be joyful and magical, but all I could feel was sorrow. I kept praying, ‘God, help us both get through this.’”
She decided to bring him to the mall. “I know it seems silly,” she continued, “but I thought that if we walked around and just looked at the stores and the holiday decorations, it would at least give us a little distraction.”
“But my nephew saw you and said that he had to come see you. I told him, ‘No, honey, Santa won’t be able to understand you.’ But he said, ‘Yes, he will. I need to talk to him.’ And he literally pulled me to you.”
She looked at me again and said, “I don’t know how this happened, but thank you.”
I had been enjoying playing the coolest Santa ever. But in that instant, I knew that my being at the mall that evening was not about me at all. Instead, it was about one child who needed his own Christmas miracle.
I have no idea how many children climbed onto Santa’s lap for the rest of that night. But I’m sure their loved ones were wondering why Santa seemed to be crying!
Every Christmas, I still think about that boy. I wonder if he even remembers that night he met me and brought tears to my eyes. I’ll never forget how God led me to be just where He needed me to be one winter’s night to bless one of His precious children.
That experience continues to be a strong reminder to me that God knows and loves each of us. He knows our desires—even those expressed through the pure faith of a small child who simply wanted to talk with Santa.

Upon my release as a mission president twenty-two years ago, I returned to BYU and resumed teaching responsibilities. A well-meaning associate counseled me against becoming too “preachy” in my classroom. He reminded me that I had been eating, drinking, and breathing religion for three years and that, if I were not careful, I would become overbearing to my students. I did, therefore, exercise extreme caution in mingling subject and spirit.

At the close of that first year back on the job, I received one negative comment on the student evaluation papers. It related to my reluctance to openly share my faith with those I taught. I was sorely offended by that criticism and the one who caused it to happen. And I have carried that burden of neglect with me ever since.

It might have been different, and it should have been different, for I knew then as I know now that God lives, Jesus is the Christ, our Redeemer, and our Savior, and Joseph Smith was the prophet of the Restoration.

I also know now as I knew then that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the true and living church referred to in the scriptures. It is led by the one after whom it is named through a prophet—even Gordon B. Hinckley. Of this I testify—erasing the guilt of “it might have been” related to years ago when I hesitated to share that which is more precious to me than life itself.

At the far side of Oslo, Norway, a tall, fair-haired Otto Monson could see his destination, a stately mansion. The day was pleasantly warm, and it felt good to be out.
After half an hour Otto decided the walk to the mansion would take longer than he had expected. Not wanting to be late, he turned off the main road and cut through a maze of narrow back streets. The streets were tortuous, twisting through the poorer part of the city. The area was known for its high crime rate, and Otto, dressed in a clean, pressed suit and a white shirt, felt uneasy walking alone there. A short distance from the mansion he came to a lone row of rotting, chicken-coop houses.
It was a rule in the mission that missionaries were to speak Norwegian, and it had been over a year since Otto had heard a word of spoken English. He was passing close to one of the small chicken-coop houses when he heard a commanding voice in English:
“Go into that house,” it demanded.
Otto stopped, his face a little pale. He looked around; there was no one in sight. The streets were vacant. Why go in there? he thought. He seriously doubted if anyone could live in that rotting shack. The cow sheds back home were more fit to live in than that. Looking around he continued walking. As he walked, the voice, now small but strong, repeated the command.
“Go into that house.”
I have another appointment, he thought. Besides, what in that rotting pile of rags and filth could be important, more important than an appointment with the wealthiest man in Oslo, an educated man, a man of importance, a man of influence?
Two days before, the man had contacted President Christopherson, the president of the Norwegian Mission, and asked if someone could come and explain the principles of the LDS doctrine to him. Otto, a clerk in the mission offices, had felt a sense of pride when President Christopherson asked him to go. How could he stop now? He couldn’t be late.
“Go into that house,” the voice repeated.
Otto could see the gate of the mansion when he stopped and turned back. I must be crazy, he thought. I’ll bet no one even lives there.
He knocked on the door of the shack.
From inside the building he heard the sound of shuffling feet and the creak of boards. His skin shivered. The door swung inward on leather hinges, and the sallow face of an old, old woman appeared. She looked as old as time itself, he thought. She smelled of sickness and old age, and he knew from her appearance that she was near death, but she looked up and smiled at him, a little painfully. He could sense a terrible loneliness in her. A loneliness that pricked at his conscience so deeply and painfully that he wanted to turn and run, to get away from her sight, from the warm, brown eyes.
“Yes?” she said; her voice was weak but pleasant sounding.
Otto wondered what he should say or do.
“I’m from America,” he said. It was all he could think of.
“I once knew a boy who went to America,” she said.
“What was his name?” Otto asked politely, wondering what he was doing here when he was late for another appointment, an important appointment. He wanted to tell her he had made a mistake, that he had knocked on the wrong door.
“His name,” she said, with a warm, faraway look in her eyes, “was Christian, Christian Monson, but that was a long time ago, nearly 50 years.”
Otto felt a burning, humbling excitement flood unexpectedly over his body at the sound of the name. Breathless, he asked what her name was. It couldn’t be, he thought, not after all these years!
“I am Mrs. Hotvedtvien,” she answered.
Otto felt an indescribable pleasure deep inside, and he felt warm tears on his cheeks.
“I am Otto Monson; Christian Monson is my father, and I know you well, Ann Hotvedtvien, very well.”
The street was quiet. It seemed to Otto that time stood still. Then, suddenly, he felt the boney arms of the old woman embrace him, heard her crying softly, and felt the terrible loneliness leave her.
Later Otto learned from her that not long after Christian left for America, the Hotvedtviens moved from Drammen to Oslo. The letters Christian sent from America never found them. Five years after the move, Moen Hotvedtvien became ill and died. Since then his wife had been alone, and for the last few years she had been sick and unable to earn a living. There was no one to help. She said she had been afraid she would die alone and had prayed for help.
Otto visited the old woman often, saw that she was cared for, arranged for her to have a good house to live in, good food, and medicine. Several months later she died, but she didn’t die alone or without love.

When I was a child, one of my favorite parts of the day was waiting for my dad to come home from work. I would look out the window and see him coming, and I would count each of his steps toward the house, looking forward to the joy he brought. I never thought I would have to do without that feeling.
One day when I was seven years old, in my father’s place came a man with a somber face who stood at the door and told us that my father had been killed in an accident.
That day I was silent. I looked at my four-year-old brother and my mother, so young and alone, and I did not cry. I didn’t think it could be true, so I went to the window and stared at the street. I began to feel an unbearable force pressing down on my shoulders, a weight that would not let me breathe normally, a pressure that oppressed me.
Not long after my father’s death, I went into my room alone at the fading light of sunset and, as I had been taught, prayed to my Heavenly Father. I pleaded with Him to let me see my beloved father again, just to hug him. In my heart I was certain that Heavenly Father could give me this miracle.
That day I didn’t get to see my dad or hug him, but I was given much more. It was as if I felt the hands of the Savior on my shoulders. His presence was almost tangible as He removed the weight that pressed down on my chest.
Illustration by James Johnson
Now, over 20 years later, that relief has never left me. At times I have felt sadness but never emptiness at the loss of my father. I can look back and see how many times the Spirit has come to console me, help me, and show me the way to follow the Savior’s precious steps. I can feel His presence in my life thanks to that first trial, which helps me see everyday trials with an eternal perspective. I know it is the gospel in our lives that allows us to feel the invisible caress of the Savior’s hand.
I have married for eternity, and now my husband and I have three little girls, who bring a taste of heaven into our home. When I see them, I rejoice in the peace and knowledge that every sorrow, trial, and challenge in their lives can bring with it greater faith, new witnesses, and wonderful miracles. I rejoice in the profound certainty that when they need something beyond what my husband and I can give them, they will be protected, consoled, and saved, just as I was.

I had an experience when I was in the southern states that helped me to realize what I think the Lord meant. I received a letter from a good brother from Phoenix, Arizona. He was quite an elderly man. He said that his grandfather was one of the first converts in the state of Mississippi back in 1840. He said, “Since that time my father and his descendants have given over 100 years worth of missionary service to the Church.” There were then 15 in the mission field, and we had three of them in our mission.

I told that story in a missionary meeting after I was appointed Presiding Bishop in 1940—just 100 years after the grandfather joined the Church. His grandson happened to be in that meeting and I didn’t know it. He came up to me after and said, “Brother Richards, it is now 165 years of service.” When you get to adding 10 to 15 years at a time, it doesn’t take long to add another 100 years.

This was my thought: If that missionary who waded through the swamps of Mississippi back in 1840, when they traveled without purse or scrip and many of them contracted malaria fever, had only brought that one man into the Church, he might not have thought that he had done much. But in 100 years there was 165 years of missionary service from that one man and his descendants, without counting all the converts he had made and all the converts they had made. How can you “lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal” (Matt. 6:20) in any better manner than by performing a service like that?

As one of the best center forwards his age, this young man is said to have the ability to score from anywhere. Surprisingly, football didn’t interest David when he was young. “My older brothers had to push me into playing with them to make up the numbers,” he remembers.

But by age 11, David’s talent for the sport was obvious. Selected as the best player in his school, David was chosen to play for his hometown of Bolton. As one of the best players for Bolton, he was picked by scouts to play for Oldham Athletic. When his four-year contract with Oldham ended, Manchester United couldn’t wait to have him.

As the only Latter-day Saint on the team, he has the opportunity to raise his standards high. “The other players respect me for my beliefs. They don’t tease me about my social life when I don’t follow them to the pubs. They know I don’t drink, and they respect that decision.”

In order to keep his testimony strong, David actively attends Sunday meetings and weekday activities. “I’ve recently been set apart as a stake missionary, and I serve as a home teacher,” he says. His work as a stake missionary should have a positive effect on those in the Manchester area—many of whom follow Manchester United and may recognize David.

“The Church plays an important role in my life,” David says. “Participating in seminary helped build my testimony growing up.” Arising at 6:00 A.M. daily, David attended early-morning seminary for four years. His mother, who has taught seminary for 13 years, taught his older brothers with him.

“My brothers set good examples and uplift me,” says David. The Brown brothers wrestle and tease each other, as brothers do, but their teamwork is apparent. They care for each other and desire to see one another succeed. One by one, his three older brothers have left to serve missions: Bryce to Oklahoma, USA; Gary to London, England; and Paul to Leeds, England. As each brother graduated from seminary and left to serve a mission, the class became smaller. By his final year of seminary, David was the only student in his mother’s class. However, he didn’t mind. He continued to strengthen his testimony by studying the scriptures.

As his teacher and mother, Sister Brown has seen David’s testimony develop. “He’s got courage to live the gospel no matter what anyone else says,” she declares.

A favorite scripture that keeps David strong in the face of adversity is Doctrine and Covenants 82:10: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.” David says, “I know that when I apply this principle in my life, everything else will fall into place.”

An area in which he has put the Lord first is in Sunday matches. Though football tournaments are often scheduled on Sunday, David decided at age 11 that he wouldn’t play on the Sabbath. His coach and manager respected him for this decision and worked around it with him. David relates how the Lord blessed him for his obedience: “In England, matches are often postponed because of bad weather. At the end of one season, all the Sunday matches that had been deferred were played midweek instead. I was able to play in all six games—and I scored 32 goals.” As a result, David earned the title of top scorer for the season and a reputation as “the boy who never plays on a Sunday.”

David enjoys spending the little free time he has relaxing at home with his parents and brothers. He says, “My best friends are my brothers.” They are all close in age: Bryce is 25, Gary is 22, Paul is 21, David is 18, and Stephen is 15. With no other priesthood holders between the ages of 15 and 20 in their ward, they encourage each other to be active in the gospel.

A key to David’s success is hard work. His mum recalls how independent David wished to be as a boy. “He has always been a worker,” she says. “Whether it was homework or seminary booklets, he would just get on with it without being nagged. David coined the phrase in our house, ‘I’ll do it on me own,’ for which we always tease him. David has the ability to work hard at whatever he does.”

For others who are striving for success in any endeavor, David offers the following advice: “Try hard in anything you want to do, and always put the Lord first.” His determination to be a star football player has set him on a course for greatness. But greatness won’t come solely from developing the athletic talents he’s been given. By following the examples set by his brothers, parents, and team members, David will do what he does best—work hard, put the Lord first, and keep his eye on the goal.

I frequently found myself returning home from a busy day’s work, still under great pressures to complete an assignment before the following morning, only to find I had been committed to an act of compassionate service that night. As we would drive to our place of service, I would be mumbling under my breath, “Why me tonight? How will I ever get that job done before morning?” Then we would arrive at the place of service, and I would see the light in her eyes as she would perform her acts of mercy. I would see children dance with joy and parents weep with gratitude for her concern. On the way home I was mumbling a different tune. I was thanking the Lord for the privilege of being there that particular night.

I was 14 years then and had not entered university. I got my first degree before going on a mission. I entered university life in Nigeria. University life was different and influenced me. Then the miracles began. After you get your degree, you are required to do a year of national youth service. When I was called to do my national service, I was called to Lagos. Normally, a lot of people pay money in bribes to the government to go to Lagos, but I didn’t pay anything. While I was in Lagos, I had a mighty change of heart and I prepared to go on a mission. From Lagos I was sent to Accra as a missionary. I met my wife and came back to Accra after my mission, and we got married in 2010.

In October 1981, Sister Renlund was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She underwent two surgeries and nine months of chemotherapy. Struggling to take care of Ruth and their daughter, Elder Renlund recalls, “I was hurting, and it seemed as if my prayers wouldn’t go heavenward.”
When he brought Ruth home from the hospital, she was weak, but they wanted to pray together. He asked Sister Renlund if she would pray. “Her first words were, ‘Our Father in Heaven, we thank Thee for priesthood power that makes it so that no matter what happens, we can be together forever.’”
In that moment, he felt a special closeness to his wife and to God. “What I’d previously understood about eternal families in my mind, I now understood in my heart,” Elder Renlund says. “Ruth’s illness changed the course of our lives.”
To take her mind off the illness, Sister Renlund decided to attend law school. “I just thought, ‘This will only be a bad experience unless we make something good of it,’” Sister Renlund says. “It wasn’t in our plan for me to have cancer as a young woman and have only one child. And my survival was in doubt. But we felt like law school was the right thing.”
She pursued her studies even as she continued treatment for her illness and her husband continued his residency.
As Elder Renlund was transitioning from three years on the medical house staff to a cardiology fellowship, he was interviewed to be the bishop of the Baltimore Ward. Brent Petty, who was the first counselor in the Baltimore Maryland Stake at the time, remembers that interview. Both he and the stake president, Stephen P. Shipley, felt “the strong influence of the Holy Spirit” as they interviewed him.
Brother Petty recalls that “he distinguished himself as a superb bishop,” even with the professional and family challenges he was experiencing. When Elder Renlund received his call to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles last year, Brother Petty notes that members of the Baltimore Ward as well as Elder Renlund’s medical colleagues, most of whom are not Latter-day Saints, were pleased. They expressed their love for him and their admiration for his service and exceptional moral character.
In 1986, after Sister Renlund graduated from the University of Maryland School of Law and Elder Renlund completed his three-year internal medicine residency program and three-year cardiology fellowship, they returned to Utah. Sister Renlund began practicing law at the Utah attorney general’s office, and Elder Renlund became a professor of medicine at the University of Utah. For 18 years he was the medical director of the Utah Transplantation Affiliated Hospitals Cardiac Transplant Program.
In 2000 he also became the director of the Heart Failure Prevention and Treatment Program at Intermountain Health Center in Salt Lake City. The program included implantable cardiac pumps and the total artificial heart. Donald B. Doty, M.D., an internationally recognized heart surgeon, was a colleague and friend of Dr. Renlund at LDS Hospital. Dr. Doty says, “His remarkable training, in-depth focus, capable administration, and compassion were exceptional.”
Dr. A. G. Kfoury, a devout Catholic who worked closely with Dr. Renlund for many years, states that Dr. Renlund was the lead transplant cardiologist in the region, “unmatched in his character, integrity, humility, and compassion.” He says Dr. Renlund “brought out the best in people. He did it quietly. He listened well and cared, and he was immensely interested in the success of those who worked with him.” Dr. Renlund led quietly by example and was always concerned about the families of his co-workers.
Dr. Kfoury particularly noted Dr. Renlund’s compassion for patients. For example, if a patient didn’t have means of transportation, Dr. Renlund would drive significant distances to the patient’s home, lift him or her into his car, and then drive the patient back to the hospital. Dr. Kfoury said this was extraordinary.
After serving as stake president for five years in the Salt Lake University First Stake, Elder Renlund was called in 2000 to serve as an Area Seventy in the Utah Area. Then in April 2009 he was called to be a General Authority Seventy. His first assignment was to serve in the Africa Southeast Area Presidency, an area that has Church units in 25 different countries.
Sister Renlund shares their response to the calling: “It was a surprise, of course. And people have said, ‘You’re leaving your careers at their peaks.’ And that’s probably true. But if the Lord needs the peak of our careers and this is when we can be of service, then that’s the time to go.”
Speaking of his wife as his hero, Elder Renlund says, “She made the greater sacrifice.” Sister Renlund left her job as the president of her law firm and left positions on several prominent boards to serve with him. “We were sent to Africa and tutored by the Saints about what really matters,” says Elder Renlund.
One Sunday in central Congo he asked the members what challenges they were facing, but they couldn’t think of any challenges. He asked again. Finally, an old gentleman in the back of the room stood and said, “Elder Renlund, how can we have any challenges? We have the gospel of Jesus Christ.” Reflecting on that experience, Elder Renlund explains: “I want to be like these Congolese Saints, who pray for food every day, are grateful every day for food, are grateful for their families. They have nothing, but they have everything.”
Serving in the Area Presidency for five years, Elder Renlund traveled thousands of miles through the vast Africa Southeast Area, visiting members and missionaries. He studied French because it is spoken in several of those countries.
Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, who was the member of the Twelve assigned to work with the Africa Southeast Area Presidency at the time, says of Elder Renlund: “No one could have invested himself in the area and its people and their needs more than Elder Renlund did. He labored unceasingly to know the people, to love their cultures, and to help move the Saints toward a place of redeeming light.”
On September 29, 2015, he received an unexpected call from the Office of the First Presidency. At the Church Administration Building, “I was welcomed warmly by President Thomas S. Monson and his two counselors. After we were seated, President Monson looked at me, and he said, ‘Brother Renlund, we extend to you the call to serve as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.’”
Elder Renlund was stunned. He humbly accepted the calling and recalls, “I think President Monson sensed that my bones had dissolved, and so he looked at me, and he said, ‘God called you; the Lord made it known to me.’”
Elder Renlund returned to his office, closed the door, and fell to his knees in prayer. After collecting himself, he called his wife. “Her reaction was one of astonishment,” he says, “but of absolute commitment to the Lord, His Church, and to me.”
Their daughter, Ashley, acknowledges, “My dad has excelled because of the blessing of heaven and has been prepared by a lifetime of service for this call. He has a big heart; it is full of love.”
Similarly, Elder Renlund’s brother, Gary, says Elder Renlund “was prepared from a long time ago, both by challenges and by service for the call that has come to him. This is part of the larger plan that is in place, and it is easy for me to sustain him.”
Reflecting on the magnitude of the calling, Elder Renlund says, “I don’t feel qualified, with the exception that I do know that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world. I can witness of His living reality, that He is my Savior and your Savior. I know that that’s true.”

The Parable of the Nursery Leader
A certain sister was called as the nursery leader in her ward. She was well-trained in child development and had many ideas for activities and crafts the children could make. She decided to make the nursery a showcase.
After many weeks, the sister was discouraged. Nursery was a burden. She dreaded facing the children. Despite her plans, the children fussed and cried every week. Nothing she tried worked well.
In frustration she cried out: "I have done my best; what more can I do?" A thought came into her mind: "Ask Heavenly Father." Wiping away her tears, she knelt in prayer. She prayed about the nursery-her hopes, her frustration, and her disappointment. She prayed for His help and guidance.
Heavenly Father answered her prayer. She was impressed with the thought that her focus needed to change. The Lord taught her she needed to focus on the children-learn to know them and love them.
The sister knew she had to repent. She needed a new attitude and a new approach to the nursery. She prayed for forgiveness of her pride, her reliance on the arm of flesh, and her attitude toward the children. She sought inspiration from the scriptures asking herself: "What would Jesus do?"
When the sister went to the nursery the next Sunday, she had new hope. She did not know all that she would need to do, but she trusted the Lord. Rather than setting up when the children arrived, she met them at the door with a personalized greeting. Some of the children cried and fussed, but there was a different feeling in the nursery that week.
Little by little as the sister got to know the children better, her feelings about them changed. She looked forward to Sundays. She was excited and happy to be with her nursery kids.
And, inspiration came. One week she took a camera to nursery and took each child's picture. She prepared a picture board, mounted each child's picture on the board, and took the board to nursery every week. The children loved seeing themselves on the board. They not only felt important, they felt loved.
After a time, the children loved nursery so much they would run to nursery after sacrament meeting. The children loved being in the nursery, and the sister loved them.

During the recent open house of the Washington D.C. Temple, a member of the open house committee witnessed an insightful interchange as he escorted several prominent journalists through the temple. Somehow a young family became attached to this media tour. One reporter kept asking about the “journey” of a temple patron as he or she moves through the temple. He wanted to know if the temple journey is symbolic of the challenges in a person’s journey through life.
A young boy in the family picked up on the conversation. When the tour group entered an endowment room, the boy pointed to the altar, where people kneel to make covenants with God, and said, “Oh, that’s nice. Here is a place for people to rest on their temple journey.”
I doubt that the boy knew just how profound his observation was. He likely had no idea about the direct connection between making a covenant with God in the temple and the Savior’s stunning promise:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; … and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
“For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

“There were several very nice young men in our company, especially one. He used to say such lovely things to me, told me that I was beautiful and intelligent, and even went so far as to say that I was amiable, something I had never been accused of before, said I was the only woman that he ever loved, and that we were just suited to each other.
“I began to believe him and when he proposed what could I say but yes? Well, the course of true love did run smooth, at least until we got into the Valley. And then we had the usual lovers’ quarrel but not the usual making up. In a short time, he let me know that another girl appreciated him, if I did not. He married one of the girls of our company, whose ignorance he had ridiculed to me many times while on our journey. Such is the constancy of man! I understood she made him a good wife, but stood in great awe of him, the man had honored her so highly. The fates sometimes seem to interfere with our plans, all for our best good.”

One of our daughters and her family recently suffered a tragedy. Their house burned down, leaving little in the place of all their worldly possessions. The blessing was that even though five of their six children were at home, their two teenage sons remembered the training they had been given, picked up the little ones, and ran from the house. All were safe. And they felt great comfort from their ward and neighborhood, who rallied around with food, clothing, and offers of help. Such a blessing it is to belong to “the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). No one simply turned away or sailed calmly on.

For this family, as for others who experience trials and grief, love and help were extended, along with priesthood blessings and the assurance from the Father of us all that “blessed are they who are faithful and endure, whether in life or in death, for they shall inherit eternal life” (D&C 50:5). They have the same promise given to Joseph that “thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a … moment” (D&C 121:7).

I closed one chapter in my life when I became a widow in October 2010. At that time, I worked as an educator in southern France. An accident at work limited my mobility, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t quickly regain my health and strength. I had enjoyed a rewarding professional life for 11 years. I loved my work. I had many friends. But I could no longer meet the requirements of my job.
I must admit that, after more than 33 years of practicing the Word of Wisdom, I wondered why I was unable to “run and not be weary” or “walk and not faint” (see Doctrine and Covenants 89:20). Finally, I had to retire earlier than expected, closing another chapter in my life.
I was living with my daughter when she received notice that her work was transferring her to the Paris area. I decided I should go with her and open a new chapter in my life in a new place.
Shortly after arriving, we were both called to work in the Paris France Temple. My call to serve in the temple confirmed to me that I was in the right place at the right time because the Lord had brought me here. I have found much joy serving on a regular basis in the house of the Lord, and it’s fantastic to share moments in the temple with my daughter. It fills my heart with joy!
Today, I see the great blessing that was at first hidden behind an affliction. Being reduced in my mobility, unable to practice my profession, and having to retire early was difficult. But I know that our Lord Jesus Christ carried me. He has helped me to slow down and find the rest, hope, and peace that are now such a large part of my life.
Every time I walk through the doors of the temple, I feel the Holy Spirit. In difficult times with so much pressure from the world upon us, it is wonderful to know that the Lord has given us holy places where everything is orderly and beautiful. I feel immense gratitude for this new chapter of temple service in my life. It is magnificent!

There’s a backstory, possibly anecdotal, surrounding the composition of this poem: Moore married a legendarily beautiful actress. While in her prime, Bessy, as she was known, contracted smallpox—a viral disease, now eradicated, that often left its sufferers heavily scarred. Apparently, Bessy was so affected that she locked herself in her bedroom, refusing to leave. Believing herself to be unsightly and therefore unlovable, nothing her husband said could convince her otherwise. In desperation, Moore did what any self-respecting poet would do: he wrote her a poem to compel her to re-emerge and re-engage. (If you’re a romantic, or at all gushy, and you brought tissues with you today, now would be a good time to pull them out.)

"Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today, Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away—Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will; And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still!
It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear! Oh, the heart, that has truly loved, never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close; As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose!"

After the recitation, there was no response. Dejected, Moore turned and began descending the staircase . . . when he heard the door unlock and slowly open. Bessy tearfully emerged, encouraged by her husband’s proof of unconditional love. She had convinced herself that he was going to abandon her because of her altered appearance; he never did.

Once upon a time there was a banker. He was a good, thoughtful man, and, like most bankers, was thinking about that which is close to the heart of all bankers: the interest rate. If you were to ask this banker to list the greatest inventions of all time in order of their importance to mankind, he would unhesitatingly rank the charging of interest as the most important of all, even above electricity, the steam engine, atomic power, etc.
You see, if you lend money at interest, you hardly have to work to make a profit. You need only make wise decisions as to whom you can trust to return the money at the appointed time with the agreed interest. The banker keeps the interest for himself, his employees, and his patrons and turns around to loan the same money out again. It is a nice business! Everyone seems to come out ahead. The person who puts his money in the bank as savings can get more money back than he deposited at any time he wants it back. The person who borrows makes a profit on his business transaction, so he is happy to split that profit by returning more to the bank than he borrowed.
So our thoughtful banker was happily meditating upon this miraculous circle of mutual benefits to the depositor, the borrower, and of course, the banker. Then he remembered that the Savior had good things to say about interest too.
He turned to the parable of the talents in Matthew. This parable tells of a servant who took his master’s five talents and traded them until he had doubled the money. The second servant took his two talents and did likewise. But the third servant did not use the money; he hid it so as not to lose it, earning nothing with it! When the master returned and asked for an accounting, he commended both the first and the second servants equally for having been faithful. He promised them increased responsibilities in the future, with implied higher benefits for them. He scolded the third, called him slothful, and said, “Thou oughtest therefore to have put my money to the exchangers [the bankers of that day], and then at my coming I should have received mine own with usury [what we call interest” (Matt. 25:27). The banker realized that the Savior did know the advantage of interest.
He then thought of the several different kinds of banks: money banks, blood banks, eye cornea banks, and royal jelly banks. Why not have a love bank! He quickly organized and opened the new love bank in his city. Anyone depositing acts of love would receive more in return when they withdrew them. The only restriction was that those who borrowed love could not use it for themselves but had to give the love to someone else. The love bank grew and prospered with all the increased love.
A father borrowed some love from the bank and gave it to his children. He was amazed at what happened! Not only did he receive blessings in his relationship with his children, but it seemed as though he suddenly received more love from others: his wife, his parents, his neighbors, his quorum president, and his fellow workers.
A wife borrowed some love from the bank and used it on her husband. With the loan she gave much more love and affection than ever before. The more she did for her husband, the more she loved him, and the more he returned that love. The children noticed how much love mom gave dad, and they too gave dad and mom more attention, more obedience, and more love. The wife became such a happy person that love just came to her from all sides. The Relief Society work went better. The sisters gave her more love than ever before. The grouchy neighbor changed into a person happy to see her, loving her as a sister. Her mother-in-law, seeing such a loving family, changed her mind and said that her son had made a wise choice in his marriage. The children also found that they could borrow love from the bank. They gave love to each other. Astounding results! There was no more rivalry or quarreling. They shared happily. They willingly completed their assigned chores and did extra things.
The borrowing families had so much love left over after paying back their loan at the bank, with interest, that they didn’t have any place for all the extra love. So just like we share our surplus from our gardens with neighbors and friends, they began to share the surplus love with their neighbors and friends. They ran errands, tended children, mowed lawns for vacationers, and helped those who were ill with meals and tasks. They made phantom cookie deliveries and performed phantom car washes while no one was looking. The blessings they received in return were greater if no one knew who had done it.
This made the surplus of love grow even more. It was unbelievable! The friendshipping and fellowshipping just wouldn’t stop. The only thing left was to share and teach the gospel to everyone. They bore testimony of the influence of the gospel of love in their lives. They told about Christ and his miracles of love. They asked the Golden Questions. They loaned the Book of Mormon. They brought friends to church. They took them to baptismal services. They invited the missionaries into their homes for group discussions. They became missionaries all day long and were examples of unselfish love in action.
You know what happened? The people were full of love; the city was full of love; the bank was full of love. They had discovered the secret!
I have it from a good source—the bank and the banker really did exist. But I have searched all over the world and can’t find them anywhere, so they must have gone where Enoch and his city went.

It all began in April 2023 when a young couple, Pascal and Fanny Adokou, who had just returned from their missions, got married. They then moved to Notsé as part of the young man’s work as a community manager. With the permission of their bishop, Komivi Kotiko of the Be-Kpota 1st Ward, and their stake president, Anani Kouegan of the Lome Togo Be Stake, the young couple were able to organize the sacrament at home, and eventually set up a church group in the Notsé community.
With the assistance of missionaries from the Benin Cotonou Mission, the Adouko family began teaching missionary lessons to members of the community and many were baptized.
On 24 March 2024, the Notse Branch was organized. Presiding at the creation of the branch was President Kelvar J Lundeen of the Benin Cotonou Mission, assisted by his counselor, Comlan Amegandji. Attending the meeting was the king’s special representative, Togbe Afanwubo III, who helped make the branch creation possible.
Following the organization of the branch, brother Kodjo Pascal Adokou was called and set apart by the mission president as president of the Notsé Branch. The saints in Notsé then witnessed the ordination of their very first Melchizedek Priesthood holders. Brother Thimothée Atchavi was first ordained an elder and was followed by brother Fovi Kedagni. These brothers were then called and set apart as the first and second counselors in the branch presidency. “A new page in the history of the Church in Togo is being written with the creation of this Notse Branch,” noted President Amegandji.
“March is a period full of blessings to me. A baby boy was given to me at the beginning of the month, we got a building for our brothers and sisters in Notsé and now we’ve become a branch! God is always on my side!” exclaimed President Adokou.
Isaac Valentin, a friend of the Church attending the meeting said, “It’s a good thing to know that this Church that I have visited as a young boy in Lome is now available in Notsé. We are not going to stop participating after the branch creation ceremony, but we will keep on coming to the church until we become a full-time member.”
Despite the blazing sun and intense 35°C heat of the day, all participants in the ceremony stayed until the group photo. President Lundeen and his counselor spent time teaching the new presidency how to lead in the Lord’s way. With joy and fellowship, the members, friends, and missionaries departed, leaving with eager hearts to meet again on Sunday for a sacrament meeting with the newly called leaders.
Church History specialist in Togo, Gaston K. Tozo noted of the occasion,” The Church has thus started its expansion across the whole country. We can say with faith and certainty that the stone which the prophet Daniel saw loosened without the help of any hand, and which broke on iron and brass before filling the surface of the earth, will also go to all the towns, villages, and hamlets of our dear country Togo.”

Brothers, sisters, and friends, in 2013 my wife, Laurel, and I were called to serve as mission leaders in the Czech/Slovak Mission. Our four children served with us. We were blessed as a family with brilliant missionaries and by the remarkable Czech and Slovak Saints. We love them.
As our family entered the mission field, something Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin taught went with us. In a talk titled “The Great Commandment,” Elder Wirthlin asked, “Do you love the Lord?” His counsel to those of us who would answer yes was simple and profound: “Spend time with Him. Meditate on His words. Take His yoke upon you. Seek to understand and obey.” Elder Wirthlin then promised transformative blessings to those willing to give time and place to Jesus Christ.
We took Elder Wirthlin’s counsel and promise to heart. Together with our missionaries, we spent extended time with Jesus, studying Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John from the New Testament and 3 Nephi from the Book of Mormon. At the end of every missionary meeting, we found ourselves back in what we referred to as the “Five Gospels,” reading, discussing, considering, and learning about Jesus.
For me, for Laurel, and for our missionaries, spending time with Jesus in the scriptures changed everything. We gained a deeper appreciation for who He was and what was important to Him. Together we considered how He taught, what He taught, the ways He showed love, what He did to bless and serve, His miracles, how He responded to betrayal, what He did with difficult human emotions, His titles and names, how He listened, how He resolved conflict, the world He lived in, His parables, how He encouraged unity and kindness, His capacity to forgive and to heal, His sermons, His prayers, His atoning sacrifice, His Resurrection, His gospel.
We often felt like the “[short] of stature” Zacchaeus running to climb a sycamore tree as Jesus passed through Jericho because, as Luke described it, we “sought to see Jesus who he was.” It was not Jesus as we wanted or wished Him to be, but rather Jesus as He really was and is. Just as Elder Wirthlin had promised, we learned in a very real way that “the gospel of Jesus Christ is a gospel of transformation. It takes us as men and women of the earth and refines us into men and women for the eternities.”
Those were special days. We came to believe that “with God nothing shall be impossible.” Sacred afternoons in Prague, Bratislava, or Brno, experiencing the power and reality of Jesus, continue to resonate in all of our lives.