Gospel Story Finder

This sister who helped us—we call her our “Sister Miracle” now—invited us to her home, wanting to know more of our family’s story. Our two families enjoyed talking over waffles about missions, temple work, family history, and all our blessings from Heavenly Father.

As the evening ended, Sister Miracle asked for a priesthood blessing of comfort as she had just been diagnosed with aggressive cancer and was preparing for chemotherapy, surgery and radiation.

Together with her husband, I pronounced a blessing that her life would not be cut short, that she would see her children serve missions, and enjoy watching her grandchildren grow up.

Later, Sister Miracle shared with me about our visit:
“It was a tender mercy from the Lord, knowing that He was aware of me and my new trial with cancer. My faith was strengthened in Jesus Christ. I am blessed to have had this experience with my new friends from New Caledonia.”

She continued to share what she is learning:
“We all experience different trials and challenges in our lives. I am choosing to center my life on Jesus Christ and keep my covenants with Him. I have confidence that He will bless me in His perfect way. I often use the phrase ‘but if not’ in my prayers. I ask for healing and strength, but if I am not cured from cancer, I trust that He will bless me in His perfect way. I have confidence that He will provide miracles as well as little tender mercies along the way; to help me know He is aware of me.
“This message from Elder Soares explains how I feel: ‘I know that when the Lord sees even a spark of desire or a flicker of righteous effort in our willingness to center our lives on Him and on the ordinances and covenants, we make in His house, He will bless us, in His perfect way, with the miracles and tender mercies we need.’”

From the day of our first visit, we prayed for Sister Miracle. Treatments became more complicated, and her white blood cell count was often too low to continue chemotherapy at the same pace. Even with these complications, I had faith and trusted the Lord for her recovery.

Seven months later, Sister Miracle and her husband called me on my way to work. Through video chat, they explained the post-surgery results, after the cancer growth had been removed. Miraculously, the doctors found no cancer cells in that tissue. Words could not describe my joy and tears over this new miracle!

While such a miraculous response is not always the outcome in life’s challenges, Heavenly Father is aware of our needs and has provided strength through covenants with Him.

Indeed, for Sister Miracle, the sustaining help and love she felt from Heavenly Father was the real miracle in her life. As President Russell M. Nelson has said: “All those who have made a covenant with God have access to a special kind of love and mercy.”

“How much money do I have in my mission fund, Mom?” asked Hyrum, age eight.
“About 75 dollars,” I answered.
“How much do missions cost?”
“Lots.”
“Will you pay for my mission, Mom?”
“There will be four of you on missions at the same time while two others will be in college. Since money will be stretched pretty thin, you had better plan on paying for your own mission.”
“Where will I find lots of money? If I were Rumpelstiltskin I could turn straw into gold, but I don’t even have straw,” he said.
“Why don’t we ask the missionaries we know how they financed their missions?” I said. We did.

Hyrum learned a lot from the missionaries as he said, “I don’t have to be Rumpelstiltskin to turn straw into gold.”
He and his brothers and sisters learned to paint house numbers on curbs. Their story appeared in the local newspaper, which helped business. Another family wanted to form a similar business, so the children charged a learning fee. They have ideas of hiring other kids and expanding their business.
Hyrum worked with a companion, gathered equipment, memorized a door approach, kept records, advertised, corrected sloppy work, cleaned messes, paid tithing, and met savings goals. He learned to overcome disappointment by going on to the next house when turned down at the first one, the second one, and so on.
Hyrum spun paint into gold, several kinds of gold—the kind a boy saves, the kind a mother treasures, and the kind Heavenly Father honors.

Later, when I was a young married man, another person who influenced me for good was Elder L. Aldin Porter, formerly a member of the Presidency of the Seventy. I served as his executive secretary for three years. After our meetings each week, we would often talk about the prophets and their lives. President Spencer W. Kimball was the prophet at the time, and a book about his life had just been published. Elder Porter encouraged me to read it. I did. As I read, I came to realize what it means to have a prophet on the earth. My testimony grew. I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is led by living prophets.

Annelise is a third-generation Church member. Her grandma and grandpa were baptized many years ago, her dad grew up in the Church and married a member, and Annelise is a lifelong member. She is now a member of the Frederiksberg Ward, and Annelise, a Beehive, is, along with Pia, one of the few young women in the ward.
The ward currently meets in a rented building. The elevator in the building is pretty slow, so Annelise takes the stairs. Three flights of stairs get her to the top floor, where she enters the chapel. The building is clean and nice, but Annelise says there is a temporary feeling about where the Frederiksberg Ward meets. She looks out the window of the chapel and points.
“That’s our old chapel right there,” she says. She’s looking at a beautiful brick building one block away, one of the first the Church built in this country. And it sits empty—for good reason.
“That is where our temple is going to be,” Annelise explains.
The temple in Copenhagen will serve the members in Denmark and other parts of Scandinavia. Having a temple 10 minutes from her house instead of the 12 hours it takes to get to the Stockholm Sweden Temple is a real blessing. Annelise knows it is worth the sacrifice.
But there is still the issue of a new meetinghouse. The lease on the temporary building will expire soon. So this Sunday, the Frederiksberg Ward is holding a fast, praying that the city will give the Church approval to build on property it has purchased.* Annelise is joining other ward members in fasting and praying for this special purpose.
This morning Annelise admits she’s hungry. “But when I fast I feel close to God and I feel more humble,” she says. “I don’t feel fasting is that much of a sacrifice, and I believe if everybody in this ward prays for the same thing, then our Heavenly Father will help us.”
After sacrament meeting, with her fast almost complete, Annelise doesn’t dash home to eat. Instead, she walks out the door holding the arm of Christel Petersen, a 96-year-old ward member. Sister Petersen joined the Church in 1958 and taught Annelise’s father in Sunday School. Each month Annelise gets to know her better by taking some time to visit with her.
“Sister Petersen is nice to talk with. I think she is a strong woman because she is the only member of the Church in her family. Her husband never joined, and her children were already grown when she was baptized,” Annelise explains. “She is 96 years old, and she still comes to church each Sunday.
“I admire people like Sister Petersen who are close to Heavenly Father,” Annelise adds. “And when I do things like fasting, it brings me closer to Him too.”
* A few months after Annelise and others fasted, the Church received a permit to construct a new building for the Frederiksberg Ward.

In the words of a well-known song, I wish you could “come fly with me” to eastern Germany, where I visited last month. As we traveled along the autobahns, I reflected on a time twenty-seven years before when I saw on the same autobahns just trucks carrying armed soldiers and policemen. Barking dogs everywhere strained on their leashes, and informers walked the streets. Back then, the flame of freedom had flickered and burned low. A wall of shame sprang up, and a curtain of iron came down. Hope was all but snuffed out. Life, precious life, continued on in faith, nothing wavering. Patient waiting was required. An abiding trust in God marked the life of each Latter-day Saint.
When I made my initial visit beyond the wall, it was a time of fear on the part of our members as they struggled in the performance of their duties. I found the dullness of despair on the faces of many passersby but a bright and beautiful expression of love emanating from our members. In Görlitz the building in which we met was shell-pocked from the war, but the interior reflected the tender care of our leaders in bringing brightness and cleanliness to an otherwise shabby and grimy structure. The Church had survived both the war and the Cold War which followed. The singing of the Saints brightened every soul. They sang the old Sunday School favorite:
If the way be full of trial; Weary not!
If it’s one of sore denial, Weary not!
If it now be one of weeping,
There will come a joyous greeting,
When the harvest we are reaping—Weary not!
Do not weary by the way,
Whatever be thy lot;
There awaits a brighter day
To all, to all who weary not!
I was touched by their sincerity. I was humbled by their poverty. They had so little. My heart filled with sorrow because they had no patriarch. They had no wards or stakes—just branches. They could not receive temple blessings—neither endowment nor sealing. No official visitor had come from Church headquarters in a long time. The members were forbidden to leave the country. Yet they trusted in the Lord with all their hearts, and they leaned not to their own understanding. In all their ways they acknowledged Him, and He directed their paths. I stood at the pulpit, and with tear-filled eyes and a voice choked with emotion, I made a promise to the people: “If you will remain true and faithful to the commandments of God, every blessing any member of the Church enjoys in any other country will be yours.”
That night as I realized what I had promised, I dropped to my knees and prayed, “Heavenly Father, I’m on Thy errand; this is Thy church. I have spoken words that came not from me, but from Thee and Thy Son. Wilt Thou, therefore, fulfill the promise in the lives of this noble people.” There coursed through my mind the words from the psalm: “Be still, and know that I am God.” The heavenly virtue of patience was required.
Little by little the promise was fulfilled. First, patriarchs were ordained, then lesson manuals produced. Wards were formed and stakes created. Chapels and stake centers were begun, completed, and dedicated. Then, miracle of miracles, a holy temple of God was permitted, designed, constructed, and dedicated. Finally, after an absence of fifty years, approval was granted for full-time missionaries to enter the nation and for local youth to serve elsewhere in the world. Then, like the wall of Jericho, the Berlin Wall crumbled, and freedom, with its attendant responsibilities, returned.
All of the parts of the precious promise of twenty-seven years earlier were fulfilled, save one. Tiny Görlitz, where the promise had been given, still had no chapel of its own. Now even that dream became a reality. The building was approved and completed. Dedication day dawned. Just a month ago, Sister Monson and I, along with Elder and Sister Dieter Uchtdorf, held a meeting of dedication in Görlitz. The same songs were sung as were rendered twenty-seven years earlier. The members knew the significance of the occasion, marking the total fulfillment of the promise. They wept as they sang. The song of the righteous was indeed a prayer unto the Lord and had been answered with a blessing upon their heads.
At the conclusion of the meeting we were reluctant to leave. As we did so, seen were the waving hands of all, heard were the words, “Auf Wiedersehen, auf Wiedersehen; God be with you till we meet again.”

It was my second week in the mission field. I was fresh out of the missionary training center, ready and willing to face anything that came my way.
One night we rode our bikes along a slightly icy road and then came to some trolley tracks that were part of the road. My companion made it past them, but by the time he looked back to warn me, it was too late. My bike tire caught in the track, and I flew off my bicycle and slid about three feet.
I panicked. I knew I’d been hurt, so I checked my head, my arms, my knees—all were sore. Then I checked my face and discovered that some of my teeth had been knocked out. I sat on a cold, dark street wondering why this happened to me. What had I done wrong? Did the Lord not want me to serve? Questions and concerns raced through my mind as my companion sat by me and offered words of comfort. Nothing seemed to help.
I felt lost and alone, but suddenly an overwhelming sense of warmth and peace came over me, and the dark clouds of fear and hurt disappeared. I became calm. My personal relationship with the Savior grew as I felt His Atonement work on me. I realized that the Lord has taken upon Himself all of our pains and afflictions so that He can help us through them (see Alma 7:11–12).
Many good things came from my accident, and I learned that the Lord really does see the big picture. If we follow Him and seek to understand His plan for us, He will bless us through our trials.

Creak, creak. Bang, bang, bang!
John looked up from his plate as he heard footsteps and then a loud pounding at the door. It was early evening on a steamy summer Sunday, and five-year-old John was finishing supper with his parents, two brothers, and three sisters. He wondered who could be visiting his family.
Father got up and opened the door. “Let us in, Zachariah!”
John groaned inside as he turned to see his father’s cousins. Dan and Marv were loud and swore a lot, and they didn’t like Mormons. Ever since John’s family had been baptized six years ago, their relatives had harassed them about being Mormons. Lately it had been getting worse.
Dan pushed past Father and stepped into the room. “We’re here to say that you have to stop associating with those missionaries and leave that church of yours,” he said. “Your relatives are tired of being called ‘Mormon-lovers.’”
“I’ve told you we’re not leaving our church,” Father firmly replied. “We joined because we know it is the true Church of Jesus Christ.”
Cousin Marv’s face darkened in anger when he heard Father’s answer. Marv leaned toward Father and spoke in a threatening tone. “If you won’t leave that church of yours, you’d better leave Tennessee. If you don’t, we’ll take care of you just like they took care of Gibbs and Berry.”
John shuddered. He was named after the missionary who baptized his parents, Elder John Gibbs. Five years ago, Elder Gibbs and Elder Berry had been martyred by a mob.
Father straightened his back and stood tall. “I will not leave my church or stop supporting the missionaries,” he replied in a steady voice. “I would rather die a martyr than renounce my faith in Jesus Christ and His Church.”
John’s eyes widened, for Father’s face seemed to shine as he spoke. John felt a warm and peaceful feeling replace his fear.
“Leave our home now,” Father told his cousins. “I will take my family to Zion. You won’t be bothered with our presence here much longer.” His cousins glared at him, then tromped out the door and slammed it behind them.
Mother stood up and walked over to Father. She put her arms around his waist and looked up into his eyes. “We’ll have to leave sooner than we thought,” she said.
John’s family was trying to save money to move to Zion, but they barely had enough to survive. He wondered how they would get enough for the eight of them to make the journey from Tennessee to Utah.
As if reading John’s mind, Father spoke to the family. “We don’t have enough money saved to travel all the way to Zion, but we will start our journey next week. We’ll have to work along the way to earn money for the rest of the trip.” He paused, then quietly added, “The missionaries taught us that no sacrifice is too great for the Lord. Now it’s time for us to follow their example.”
As John finished his supper, he thought of the journey ahead. How long would it take? What would Zion be like? John didn’t know what lay ahead, but he would stand tall in faith, just like his father.

Fifteen years passed and then two missionary elders knocked at our door. My mother answered it and said, “No thank you”, and shut the door. When my mother told my father about the two American missionaries who had just called, my father responded in a surprising way. He jumped up and ran out of the house after them. The elders were knocking on our neighbour’s door and eagerly came back to our house at my father’s invitation.
This was 1966. The elders were dressed in dark suits and raincoats with trilby hats. They looked a bit like FBI agents. They introduced themselves as Elder Jackson and Elder Garlock. They were ushered into our front room, kept for special visitors. Elder Garlock had just come out on his mission and was suffering from jet lag. His companion kept nudging him to keep him awake. About four weeks later, my parents and my older brother were baptised at Epsom chapel. My twin brother and I were too young and had to wait a year before we were baptised, at Reading chapel.
Why did my father react so eagerly to hear the missionaries? He remembered the words and feelings he had when he heard the missionary on Brighton Beach in 1951. I believe that every testimony borne in faith can touch a heart.

Lance Reynolds can understand that feeling. Football had become an important part of his life at an early age, beginning with children’s football teams. He played for the team at Granite High School in Salt Lake City and was chosen to be on the team of top players of the region when he was 16 years old. He was selected to the top team in the state and again to the top team of the region.
The year Lance entered Brigham Young University was the first year that first year students were allowed to play on the first (top) team representing a university, and he played with the varsity football team enough to win a school letter. His second year he was on the starting team, and his third year promised to be a great one—he would have been the only player in his position on the team returning. But it was time for Lance to go on his mission, and although he had always planned to go, the final decision was a difficult one to make.
“At the time,” he remembers, “leaving on a mission seemed like the end of all hopes for a football career.” It seemed like a choice between football and a mission. He chose the mission.
Five years and a professional contract later, Lance no longer feels that you have to make a choice. “Why not do both?” he asks. “Young students and athletes don’t have to ‘give up’ things to go on a mission—only postpone them for two years.”
And he should know. Having kept himself in good physical condition during his mission by exercising during personal time (before 6:30 A.M.) and watching his weight, Lance was able on his return to slip back into his uniform and the game with ease. Within two weeks he felt at home on the field. The following season he was on the starting team at BYU. His fourth year he was honored by the Western Athletic Conference, received All-American honorable mention, and was chosen by the Pittsburgh Steelers, a top professional football team. He is now playing with the Philadelphia Eagles football team.
Lance feels he gained in intensity, concentration, and self-control. And all three felt an increased confidence upon returning to their sport.
Although some missionaries do return and do not continue in sports, it is usually due to a change in interests rather than inability. Ed, Mark, and Lance are convinced that any athlete who serves a mission will be able to regain his previous ability upon diligently applying himself.
And even if that were not the case, Lance wouldn’t have missed his mission for anything. “I would trade all of my athletic experiences for the opportunity of going on a mission,” he insists.

When I was about 10, I made my first attempt to read the Book of Mormon. The first part was easy-flowing New Testament language. Then I came to the writings of the Old Testament prophet Isaiah. I could not understand them; I found them difficult to read. I laid the book aside.
I made other attempts to read the Book of Mormon. I did not read it all until I was on a troop ship with other bomber crew members, headed for the war in the Pacific. I determined that I would read the Book of Mormon and find out for myself whether it is true or not. Carefully I read and reread the book. I tested the promise that it contained. That was a life-changing event. After that, I never set the book aside.

Sometimes the tables are reversed. A dear and cherished young friend, Wendy Bennion of Salt Lake City, was such an example. Almost seven years ago, she quietly departed mortality and returned “to that God who gave [her] life.” She had struggled for over five long years in her battle with cancer. Ever cheerful, always reaching out to help others, never losing faith, her contagious smile attracted others to her as a magnet attracts metal shavings. While ill and in pain, a friend of hers, feeling downcast with her own situation, visited Wendy. Nancy, Wendy’s mother, knowing Wendy was in extreme pain, felt that perhaps the friend had stayed too long. She asked Wendy, after the friend had left, why she had allowed her to stay so long when she herself was in so much pain. Wendy’s response: “What I was doing for my friend was a lot more important than the pain I was having. If I can help her, then the pain is worth it.”

“I have a friend who learned this truth in a very personal way. His son was raised in the gospel, but he seemed to be wandering spiritually. He frequently declined opportunities to exercise the priesthood. His parents were disappointed when he declared that he had decided not to serve a mission. My friend prayed earnestly for his son, hoping that he would have a change of heart. Those hopes were dashed when his son announced that he was engaged to be married. The father pleaded with his son to get his patriarchal blessing. The son finally agreed but insisted on visiting the patriarch alone.
“When he returned after the blessing, he was very emotional. He took his girlfriend outside, where he could talk to her privately. The father peeked out the window to see the young couple wiping away each other’s tears.
“Later the son shared with his father what had happened. With great emotion he explained that during the blessing, he had a glimpse of who he was in the premortal world. He saw how valiant and influential he was in persuading others to follow Christ. Knowing who he really was, how could he not serve a mission?”

A violent wind pulled at my hair and hurled me towards the automatic doors. “I hate hospitals,” I murmured to myself as I entered. “Why do I always have to be sick?” I was at Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City for yet another round of tests, which would later reveal that I had epilepsy. I felt as if all I ever did was spend time in the hospital.
On this autumn day, I was feeling particularly unpleasant and detested the fact that at 14, I was still forced to stay at a hospital that I thought was just for babies. It just wasn’t fair! How could all my other friends live in one big whirlwind of teenage fun while I was forced to bear such a heavy burden?
In the midst of my self-pity, my eyes were drawn to a boy who was about five or six years old, sitting in a wheelchair in the gift shop with his mother.
“Please, Momma,” he said softly, holding up a toy, “please can I get this?”
His mother looked at the toy, then at the little boy and said, “No, sweetheart, we can’t afford that.”
Although I was sure he was disappointed, the little boy’s reaction surprised me. He smiled and set the toy back on the shelf.
As his mother wheeled him back down the hall, I picked up the toy, paid for it, and rushed out of the gift shop. When I caught up with them, I handed the little boy the toy and said, “This toy wants to go home with you!”
The little boy’s face turned serious, and he said, “You got this for me?”
I smiled and looked at his mother, who had tears coming down her cheeks, but she was smiling.
I turned to walk away, and as I turned the corner down the hall, I heard the little boy say, “I know who that was, Mommy. That was an angel.” His mother laughed quietly and said, “I know.”
Giving him a small gift seemed to make a big difference, not only for him but for me too. At that moment, I forgot to be selfish, and despite the fact that my problems didn’t magically disappear, I suddenly felt a whole lot better.

We had a missionary in our mission who was particularly devoted and obedient. I said to him one time, “Elder, what is the source of your motivation?”
“Brother Monson,” he replied, “I slept in one morning. As I did so, my mind turned to thoughts of my mother and my father, who are operating a little cleaning establishment, working around the clock to earn sufficient money to support me on a mission. As I thought of my parents performing that strenuous work in my behalf, all signs of laziness left me; and I determined that I had an opportunity to serve the Lord in my behalf and in behalf of my own mother and my own father.”

My younger brother, my dad, and I planned a camping trip that would begin the day before my 13th birthday. It was a great way to spend a birthday.
We went camping at Duck Fork Reservoir and had taken our two horses with us. Babe is white in color and extremely calm. Toast is brown and exactly the opposite in personality. We were all enjoying being in the mountains, except Toast. He would not settle down and kept Dad up all night.
We tied Toast to a log on a long rope to graze. We let Babe loose with a bell around her neck. Horses have strong herd instincts and usually stay close to each other. While we were cooking breakfast, Babe wandered where Toast couldn’t see her. He started running, dragging the log behind him. We caught a glimpse of Babe heading down the canyon. My dad and I went to catch her, hoping Toast was nearby. Half a mile later, Babe turned and was heading back to camp when the hail started. I was dressed in just jeans and a T-shirt and was soon drenched.
Dad beat me back to camp, and when I got there, he was saddling Babe to go look for Toast. As my brother, Allen, and I watched Dad ride away, I thought of the log Toast was dragging and how many ways he could kill or hurt himself. I had joined the Church two years before with my mother, sister, and brother. At that moment, I knew we needed God’s help. I stood in the rain and prayed that we would find Toast alive and well. Then I went into the tent, crawled into my sleeping bag, and tried to get warm.
Dad came back in an hour. He hadn’t found Toast. I was getting nervous sitting around, so Allen and I went for a walk. We looked up and saw Dad walking toward us. I could tell by his face that the news was bad.
“He’s dead,” Dad said, forlornly.
“Where?” I asked.
“Downstream.”
When we got to the place where Toast lay, tears made my eyes warm. He was soaking wet, lying on his side in the middle of the stream. Then a shiver shook his whole body, and he slowly raised his head. He was alive! A smile crept across my face.
Toast had been cut deeply by the rope and large patches of skin had been torn off his back legs. The cold stream water had stopped most of the bleeding, but he had hypothermia. We untangled Toast, but he couldn’t stand up. We tried to drag him out of the stream, but we were no match for a thousand-pound horse. I tied a rope to Babe, and Dad tied the other end to Toast’s halter. Dad pushed on Toast, and I dragged Babe. Finally, with much effort, Toast stood up.
We headed to camp where we put blankets on Toast. We gave him warm water and hot mash for the hypothermia. Even though he was hurt, Toast was alive. For a few moments, I hid behind the horse trailer and sobbed out a prayer of thanks.
We decided to wait until morning to try to get him down the canyon and to the vet. We were afraid he would collapse in the trailer, and we would not be able to get him up. Allen asked Dad if we should say a prayer. We bowed our heads and gave thanks for prayers already answered.
Toast is healing. The vet says he should heal completely, but it will take a long time. I learned that, although Heavenly Father did not answer our prayers in exactly the way we wanted him to, he did answer our prayers and is still answering them.

My dear brothers and sisters, I desire more than anything this hour to bear witness, a personal witness, of the love of God for me, for you, and for all mankind. What man is sufficiently adequate to be able to express the depth of his gratitude in recognition of the love of God? How blessed I have been for so many years to be with you and to have found the pure love of Christ emanating from you. I am deeply indebted to you and to God.
The Lord said that charity is “the pure love of Christ,” that which is “most joyous to the soul,” “the greatest of all the gifts of God,” “perfect” and “everlasting.”
As difficult as charity is to describe, it is rather easily recognized in the lives of those who possess it.
An aged, crippled grandmother who subscribes to an afternoon newspaper, knowing it will bring her delivery-boy grandson to her home every day where, at her knee, she teaches him to pray.
A mother who, in hard economic times and scarcity of meat, seems to savor only chicken wings, to the puzzlement of all.
A man who suffers an undeserved public chastisement, but humbly receives it anyway.
Is not the common thread in these examples charity, a selflessness, a not seeking for anything in return? All of our divine attributes seem to flow from and be encompassed by this one. All men may have the gift of love, but charity is bestowed only upon those who are true followers of Christ.
The very power of God is found in His attributes of godliness. The power of the priesthood is maintained by these attributes. We seek these attributes, especially charity, the pure love of Christ.
Yet there stands the devil, the destroyer of this love, replacing it with anger and hostility. My friend William felt that way: hostile. It seemed that whatever happened, it was the Lord’s fault—an illness, a death, a wayward child, a personal weakness, an “unanswered” prayer—all of which hardened his heart. His inner anger, which could flare up in but a moment, was directed toward God, his fellowman, and himself. From his heart emanated unbelief, stubbornness, pride, contention, and a loss of hope, love, and direction. He was miserable!
These destroyers of peace blinded William to God’s feelings for him. He could neither discover nor feel God’s love. He did not see, especially in those dark moments, that God was richly blessing him even still. Instead, he returned anger for love. Have we not all felt that at times? Even when we have merited love the least, He has loved us the most. Truly, He loves us first.

Recently I learned of a fearless young Laurel. She was invited to participate in a statewide competition for her high school on the same evening she had committed to participate in a stake Relief Society meeting. When she realized the conflict and explained to competition officials that she would need to leave the competition early to attend an important meeting, she was told she would be disqualified if she did so.

What did this latter-day Laurel do? She kept her commitment to participate in the Relief Society meeting. As promised, she was disqualified from the statewide competition. When asked about her decision, she replied simply, “Well, the Church is more important, isn’t it?”

For two young women, Alisha, 18, and Nicole Bennett, 20, of the Highland Utah East Stake, one particular room is truly beautiful because of their efforts. They, along with their mother and another sister, assembled the crystal sconces and the large chandelier in the bride’s room.
Nicole explains, “Mom was asked to help work on the chandeliers. After the first day, she was asked to bring some people back with her because they needed more help. She asked us if we wanted to go.
“The next day we found that a lot of people were helping in the celestial room. They asked us to do the bride’s room. We assembled the ten sconces for the walls quickly, but when we started unpacking the big chandelier pieces, we couldn’t find the instructions. We asked one of the engineers, and he said the instructions had accidently been thrown out with the trash. All we had was an eight-by-ten picture of what it was supposed to look like. They gave us the picture and said to do our best.”
The four of them unpacked all the boxes. They had to wear gloves so they didn’t get oil from their fingers on the crystals. They had the brass framework, but the crystals were meant to fit together like an intricate puzzle. The women didn’t know where to start. It was overwhelming just looking at all the crystals with no clues about how they went together.
They turned to prayer. “We just asked for help in seeing where things should go,” Alisha says.
They worked the rest of the afternoon, and for eight hours the next day. The chandelier was large, wider at the bottom than the span of Nicole’s arms and more than five feet tall. But slowly they figured out how it was designed. “We would find one piece,” said Nicole. “Then we would find another that fit with it. Some of the pieces had to be put in first, or you couldn’t get the ones that followed in. We found you could not do them out of order.” Receiving the inspiration they needed was “just amazing. It showed us that the Lord had his hand even in simple things.”
Now that they think back about it, putting together this puzzling light fixture compares to “putting together” their lives. They must do so in such a way that they are led to the temple. Just like the chandelier that required certain parts to be done in a certain order, so their choices must follow an order, such as being baptized, attending church regularly, participating in Young Women activities, keeping themselves morally clean, dating only young men with the highest of standards, and living righteously as they prepare for a temple marriage. These things too must be done in order, with one thing leading to the next.
For Nicole and Alisha, the bride’s room at the Mt. Timpanogos Temple is a place where they feel at home. Their work has made it beautiful. It is one of the rooms they will go to on their wedding days. A temple marriage, always a goal, now has become more defined and clearer. They are resolved to visit “their” room again.

The Sunday School teacher introduced herself and then began to teach about the gold plates, the Urim and Thummim, and the story of the Prophet Joseph Smith’s First Vision. I was fascinated and listened intently.
In priesthood meeting I met the Young Men president, his counselors, and members of the bishopric. Our discussion was about Adam and Eve. I knew by the Spirit that what they taught me was true. In one day I was convinced that these were the most fun and the most spiritual people on earth. By the end of church, I felt so welcome that I came back Sunday after Sunday.
These people provided the fertile soil that helped nourish the gospel seed in my heart. I began to look forward to Sundays, and I enjoyed going to church.
I marveled at the amazing things I was learning about the Prophet Joseph Smith, the Restoration, the premortal existence, the three degrees of glory, the temple, eternal marriage, and the Atonement. My testimony grew, and I found that I knew the Book of Mormon was true and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I knew that God lived, and I knew He was literally my Father.
I was baptized almost two years later on 26 July 1998. I marvel now as I look back at the fellowship, the friendship, and the examples of those people who were willing to extend a hand to a stranger.

Seven-year-old Jamie loved her mother dearly. The family had known for nearly a year that their wife and mother was dying of cancer. The father and seven children fasted and prayed; they pled with the Lord to heal her. Everything possible was done for their mother, yet at the end of three painfully difficult months, she passed from this life.
In the first hours following her death, the father brought the grieving family together. After prayer, the children went to their own rooms to prepare for bed. Jamie, who had spent many hours with her mother and was devoted to her, knelt at her own bedside. “Heavenly Father,” she prayed through her tears, “we thank thee for the great mom you gave us. We thank thee for helping us try to make her well. Help us to be good so we can live with her again.” Without a hint of bitterness, this little seven-year-old girl continued for several minutes in a sweet attitude of peaceful prayer, reflecting her understanding and acceptance of her mother’s death.
Jamie was a child at peace. How did she come to that peace? She had been prepared by parents with spiritual understanding. Such preparation brings peace.