Gospel Story Finder

In a touching letter I received just this week, a mother wrote of her Marine son who is serving for the second time in a Middle Eastern war. She says that at the time of his first deployment, “he came home on leave and asked me to go for a walk. … He had his arm around me and he told me about going to war. He … said, ‘Mom, I have to go so you and the family can be free, free to worship as you please. … And if it costs me my life … then giving my life is worth it.’”He is now there again and has written to his family recently, saying, “I am proud to be here serving my nation and our way of life. … I feel a lot safer knowing our Heavenly Father is with me.”

Jaslyn Simpson took a leap of faith in a Beehive class of only two girls in Wellington, New Zealand. The Beehive teacher of the Crofton Downs Ward challenged the girls, as part of their lesson on missionary work, to invite a friend to church. And Jaslyn decided she’d do it.
“I knew there was something missing in Amy’s life,” Jaslyn says, “so I knew I should introduce her to the gospel.” Jaslyn’s small action of love caused a major reaction in the life of her best friend, Amy Valentine. Amy came to church with Jaslyn at the first invitation and then kept coming to Sunday meetings and youth activities for the next two months, until Jaslyn and her family moved to Sydney, Australia.
“I’ve never really had a Christian background. I had no idea how to pray or anything,” Amy says. “But before they left, I decided I was going to keep going to church without them. By then, I sort of knew some other people at church.”
One of those people was Michelle Broczek, the other Beehive in the Crofton Downs Ward. Michelle invited Amy to take the discussions in her home and, with her parents’ approval, Amy was baptized when she was 13.

The love between David and Daniel is real—a love anyone in their presence can feel. They met in the fall of 1988 when David was assigned as a peer tutor to Daniel. David joined the peer tutoring program at Viewmont High School because he likes to help people. “We were instant best friends the first time we met,” says David. “Yep,” adds Daniel, “best friends, just like that.” And he snaps his fingers.
Most teens want to do all the “cool” things to be accepted by their peer group. David is obviously “cool.” He’s very popular—after all, he was elected student-body president. He’s handsome, outgoing, a good student, and a triathlete. And yet he befriends a youth who is mentally handicapped and even asks him to be his campaign manager in the school elections. Didn’t he wonder what the other kids would think? He answers, “People get too caught up in what others think. I only worry about what one person thinks. What the Lord thinks of me is most important.”
He continues, “I wanted Daniel to be my campaign manager because he’s so friendly and will talk to everybody. I wanted people to know that handicapped people have feelings just like everyone else and they want to be accepted. That’s exactly what I got.”

In July 2001, I was able to go to the National Boy Scout Jamboree in Virginia. I am an 11-year-old Scout. I wasn’t old enough to participate as a Boy Scout, but I attended with my family, who performs a Polynesian show. I have two older brothers, two older sisters, and a younger brother. We have performed in Utah, Puerto Rico, Hawaii, Virginia, Japan, and Florida. We have performed at theme parks, hospitals, schools, libraries, rest homes, orphanages, and Scouting functions.
My younger brother, James (wearing yellow in the photo), and I (wearing green) do a Navajo Indian Hoop Dance. We also do the hula, play the piano, and sing. I also play the ukulele and perform yo-yo tricks.
I enjoyed sharing my talents at the Jamboree. It made people happy. It also helped me to make friends with people from all over the world, and it helped me have a special time with my family. By sharing my talents, I know I will become a better person and build my talents. Matthew 5:16 says, “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.” I am grateful for the chance I had to share my talents at the Boy Scout Jamboree.

Ever since I was little, I was fascinated by the stories of Church leaders who served in the armed forces. Many of them have been war heroes and great examples of valor and humility in their home countries. Their experiences inspired me to participate in my country’s military.
When I was 13, I entered a school known for its strict military discipline and infantry training. My schedule was demanding. I often was so exhausted by the end of the day that my scripture study and seminary participation seemed impossible.
By my second year at school, I had made plans for my life: upon finishing school at age 18, I would go directly into officer school and graduate four years later as an officer in the Guatemalan Army. All my wishes and dreams seemed to be coming true.
One day I told my mom about my plans, and she asked, “When are you planning to serve a full-time mission?” From that day forward her question lingered in my mind every time I thought about my future.
I still had a rigorous schedule, but I started to show more interest in my spiritual training. I started attending seminary, working with the full-time missionaries, and participating in Church activities. Following the advice of my older brother who was serving a full-time mission, I also began reading the Book of Mormon.
When I was training to be a paratrooper, we had very intense training each day. We would get back to our barracks almost crawling, but I always found the strength to read the Book of Mormon. Daily reading of the scriptures strengthened my spirit and helped me continue with my training.
One evening several of my friends gathered around my bed to ask me some questions about the Book of Mormon and the Word of Wisdom. It was my opportunity to be the best kind of soldier—one who defends the truth and brings freedom through a firm and convincing testimony of the Book of Mormon.
When I was 19, I enlisted again in an army—the army of God, the most powerful army of all. I had the privilege of standing shoulder to shoulder with the valiant elders and sisters of Zion in the battalion of the Mexico Puebla Mission. Girded with the armor of God, we proclaimed the gospel and fought for liberty with courage and strength.
We are fighting against the hosts of darkness, but the victory belongs to God. I want to continue to be a brave soldier, enlisted for our King. We have powerful weapons: the Book of Mormon, the Holy Ghost, and the fulness of the gospel. We are led to victory by living prophets. If we train and prepare ourselves for the coming of our Savior, Jesus Christ, He will give us crowns of honor in celestial glory.

As a child I grew to love the temple. I lived in Raymond, Alberta, Canada. Our home was about 35 miles from the Cardston Alberta Temple. I loved to see the temple; I knew I was going there someday. Our family often stopped at the temple and took family pictures in front of the temple. Even before I was old enough to figure out very many things, I knew that the temple was very important to my mother and father and to my grandparents.

I remember sitting on the floor in the dining room and watching my mother iron her temple clothing. She would tell me that, "Tonight is temple night, and your father and I are so happy to be going to the temple." She was setting an important example for me.

George Q. Cannon became a very associate of President Brigham Young. President Young recognized in his younger friend someone who was intelligent, wise, and totally committed to the work of the kingdom. During Brother Brigham's final illness in 1877, George Q. Cannon was by his side giving comfort. He watched as Brigham Young, that great servant of the Lord, breathed his last breath and passed to the other side of the veil.

After the funeral, some people began to complain about Brigham Young. Now that he was gone, they felt free to talk about his faults and wrong decisions. George Q. Cannon refused to join in the chorus of criticism.

Here is what he wrote in his diary: "The thought ever with me was: If I criticize or find fault with, or judge Brother Brigham, how far shall I go? If I commence where shall I stop? I dared not to trust myself in such a course. I knew that apostasy frequently resulted from the indulgence of the spirit of criticizing and fault-finding." George Q. Cannon recognized the dangers of the slippery slope.

I learned to avoid the spirit of criticizing and fault finding.

Hurry! Hurry! Emily walked down the long, gray hallway. Passengers clogged up the narrow corridor. Come on—hurry! I want to see my mom! Emily stood on her tiptoes, trying to see, but all she could see were backs, shoulders, and heads. Finally she came to the doorway. A warm feeling washed over her as she saw the familiar face of her mother.
“Emily!” Mom waved and ran up to gather Emily in a hug. “You’re home! How was it?”
“Good.”
“How did you like the village? How was your flight?”
Emily’s bottom lip began to tremble.
“Uh-oh,” Mom said, sensing Emily was near tears. “You’re probably exhausted from the trip. Well, you’re home now, and Dad’s waiting in the car.”
“Well, hello there, kiddo!” Dad said when he saw Emily. “Welcome home!”
Mom got into the car with Emily while Dad went for her luggage. From the vent on the dashboard warm air blew into the car. It was August, but the Alaskan sun was buried deep among gray clouds. Emily let her tired body sink into the seat; she was asleep before Dad returned.
“I don’t know if it was a good idea to send her up there alone for her first visit to the village. It’s such a long way, and she’s so young.”
Emily recognized her mother’s concerned tone. She wiggled around, trying to get comfortable.
Dad looked in his rearview mirror and caught Emily’s eye. “Good morning!” he said.
Emily swallowed and rubbed her eyes. Mom twisted around to face her. “Well, tell us about the trip. How is Grandmother?”
Emily’s grandmother lived in a small Indian town in central Alaska. She had been to see Emily many times in Fairbanks, but before this trip, Emily had never been to the village, Ausila, because the journey was expensive and long. Her mind flashed back to the Athabaskan village and to the log cabin where her grandmother lived. The village sat on the Koyukuk River.
Emily had been surprised at her grandmother’s lifestyle. Grandmother lived so simply and so far from any large stores! Mom had grown up in Ausila and had warned Emily that it would be very different from Fairbanks.
“Grandmother is fine. She told me to give you both big hugs, and she sent some smoked salmon.”
“Mmmm.” Dad licked his lips dramatically.
“She introduced me to everyone in the village and taught me how to sew beads onto clothing. I made a beaded purse all by myself!”
“Really? Oh Emily, I’m so glad that you learned to sew beads. Beadwork was my favorite thing to do as a girl. I always dreaded smoking the fish, though.”
Emily had heard stories about catching and smoking the fish. “Grandmother said that I have a special knack with a needle. She even gave me an Athabaskan name—Nakon. It means—”
“Good with a threaded needle.” Mom and Emily said together.
Emily had felt comfortable immediately in the tiny village. She liked the tall fir and birch trees that reached their green tops into the sky. She liked the soft gurgle of the river and the reflections and patterns that appeared on its surface in the morning and late afternoons. She liked the smell that lingered in her coat from the fire and reminded her of Grandmother’s nightly stories about Great-grandmother.
“I loved the village, Mom. It was so beautiful, and I just fit in.” In a way, Emily had felt that visiting her grandmother in the village was like returning home, home to the place her mother had talked about in stories of her childhood.
Emily paused. “But now I’m all confused. Our house and neighborhood are so different from the village. Dad is from Fairbanks, and you’re from the village, but where am I from? When am I Emily and when am I Nakon?”
Mom smiled. She remembered having the same question about herself when she left Ausila to go to college in Fairbanks. Her one-room school in the village was very small and different from the large university. She didn’t know where she fit in. Now she said, “You have a rich and wonderful heritage with Grandmother in the village, and with Nana and Grandpa Phillips here in Fairbanks.”
“Grandmother told me some stories about her mother, too.”
Mom nodded. “We can trace our relatives back many generations on both sides. In fact, it would take a stack of papers to trace the history of your earthly ancestry.
“But the history of your spirit is much easier to trace,” Mom went on. “You are a daughter of God. He is the father of your spirit, and part of Him is in you.” She reached over the seat and squeezed Emily’s knee. “You have a goodly heritage through Dad and me, but more importantly, you have a Godly heritage.”
Emily felt the worry that had knotted within her stomach release. I am Emily and Nakon. And I am a child of God.

My Father has kept a garden most of his life and encouraged us as children to help him. While still rather young, he encouraged me to work a small patch of garden to try and grow my own vegetables. So, I worked, I dug, I weeded, I planted seeds, I watered, and eventually over a period of time, I was able to harvest my first rather small misshaped cucumber. To me, it was the sweetest cucumber there ever was, and I remember feeling very proud. It made me happy. I felt joy in the results of my labors.

I share this because we know that God creates, he works, he is the ultimate gardener - He is the creator of Heaven and Earth and all things thereon. The work of Creation brings him joy, and when we emulate that work in the right context, we feel good, we open ourselves and our souls up to feeling joy. When we participate or act in doing Godly things, in doing that which God does, even in the smallest or simplest of things, it resonates with who we are.

Zintle Vuyiswa Njoli, 16, remembers when she was 12 years old and drifting away from the Church. “I was a recent convert, brand new in Young Women. I felt uncomfortable and a bit kept out,” she recalls. “I started backsliding. I was discouraged and I didn’t want to come anymore.” Then music came to her rescue.
“A Relief Society sister came to my house. She knew I loved music, and she gave my mother a stack of CDs with Church music for me to listen to. I couldn’t resist. When I came to a hymn called ‘Be Still, My Soul’ [Hymns, no. 124], I cried and cried. The words said exactly what I needed to hear. After that, anytime I felt upset or disheartened, I would sing those words to remind me to be patient and trust in the Lord. That song brought me back and kept me in the Church.”

Frequently the heavenly virtue of patience is required. As a bishop I felt prompted one day to call on a man whose wife was somewhat active, as were the children. This man, however, had never responded. It was a hot summer’s day when I knocked on the screen door of Harold G. Gallacher. I could see Brother Gallacher sitting in his chair reading the newspaper. “Who is it?” he queried without looking up.

“Your bishop,” I replied. “I’ve come to get acquainted and to urge your attendance with your family at our meetings.”

“No, I’m too busy,” came the disdainful response. He never looked up. I thanked him for listening and departed the doorstep.

The Gallacher family moved to California shortly thereafter. The years went by. Then, as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I was working in my office one day when my secretary called, saying: “A Brother Gallacher who once lived in your ward would like to talk to you. He’s here in my office.”

I responded, “Ask him if his name is Harold G. Gallacher, who, with his family, lived at Vissing Place on West Temple and Fifth South.”

She said, “He is the man.”

I asked her to send him in. We had a pleasant conversation together concerning his family. He told me, “I’ve come to apologize for not getting out of my chair and letting you in the door that summer day long years ago.” I asked him if he was active in the Church. With a wry smile, he replied: “I’m now second counselor in my ward bishopric. Your invitation to come out to church, and my negative response, so haunted me that I determined to do something about it.”

Harold and I visited together on numerous occasions before he passed away. The Gallachers and their children filled many callings in the Church. One of the youngest grandchildren is now serving a full-time mission.

The Young Women of the Ventura California Stake met the year-long challenge to finish their four-generation sheets, get to know one ancestor better through research, and write in their journals regularly.
To kick off the challenge, a gathering was held with covered wagons and Mormon memorabilia. Each girl listed the name of a special ancestor on her name tag, and she became that woman for the day. After lunch, the girls reenacted a pioneer trek through a rural area following an “emigrant’s guide” that gave directions and interesting information as they traveled.

Let me tell you a true story, from my life, that will likely strike a chord in your memories of your own spiritual life.

Years ago I was asked to chair a committee of faculty from this university and others with this question to study: What should be the future of higher education in the Church?
Elder Neal A. Maxwell was then the commissioner of education. I told him I didn’t think I could do it without the help of heaven. He asked if I would like a blessing. I’ve forgotten how it was arranged that I would see Elder Alvin R. Dyer. That was especially pleasant for me, since I had been a priest once in a ward where he was the bishop, the president of my quorum. He listened sympathetically to my story, put his hands on my head, and gave me a blessing that included words like this as a promise: “In this assignment, and in many others which will come to you, your mind will be guided in channels toward the truth.” That blessing gave me confidence, maybe too much confidence. The committee began its work. And after months of what seemed to me futile effort, I felt some desperation, much as you do when heaven seems to withhold its help in a task you know matters and is beyond you.

I somehow managed to arrange another interview. This one was with President Harold B. Lee. He received me in a kindly way. In my anxiety, I soon blurted out my question: “President Lee, how do I get revelation?”
He smiled. I am glad he didn’t laugh, since it was an odd question to ask. But he answered my question with a story. It was essentially this. He said that during World War II he had been part of a group studying the question “What should the Church be doing for its members in the military service?” He said they conducted interviews at bases up and down the country. They had data gathered. They had the data analyzed. They went back for more interviews. But still, no plan emerged.

Then he gave me the lesson, which I now give to you, in about these words: “Hal, when we had done all we knew how to do, when we had our backs to the wall, then God gave us the revelation. Hal, if you want to get revelation, do your homework.”

When I was a junior in high school, I was on the varsity cheerleading squad. Every summer we attended the NCA Cheerleading Camp at the University of Georgia. That year, as my roommate and I were unpacking, I took out my scriptures and my picture of a temple and put them on the desk in the room, something my Laurel adviser had challenged us to do. When my roommate saw that I had taken those things out, she moaned and said that she couldn’t take being around someone so religious and picked up her mattress and walked out of the room. She went into the next room and sat down with the rest of the cheerleading squad. I could hear them saying horrible things about my beliefs and me. I was shocked. I just sat there on my bed and wondered what to do. I looked at my scriptures and the temple picture and thought, “Who do I want to please? Do I want to please Heavenly Father or these girls?” I remembered that Heavenly Father would never forsake me, and I knew that I wanted to please Him.
I endured a week of being excluded and shunned. I sat alone in my room every night and listened to the other cheerleaders laughing. At mealtime, they would crowd me to the end of the table and turn their backs to me. The only time anyone would talk to me was if they needed to communicate about a cheer we were doing. I wanted so badly to go home, but I could not. I spent a lot of time that week praying for Heavenly Father to help me. I prayed for strength to make it through the week. I prayed that I would treat the other girls nicely in spite of how they were treating me. I prayed that their hearts would be softened towards me.
This situation continued until it was the last day of camp. In the morning, we practiced and prepared for the final competition that afternoon. Our squad was good, and we came in first or second place every year. That year, however, our routines were not going well. Nothing seemed to be working for us that morning. The girls felt hopeless. We sat in a circle and talked about what we could do to improve our cheer and make it come together.
One girl said, “We need help. We need to pray.” A few of the girls said they didn’t know how to pray. Then, in the same instant, I saw 11 heads turn in unison and look at me. “Kathy, you know how to pray. Will you pray for us?” asked one of the girls. I couldn’t believe it. The Spirit touched me, and I felt so much love for them. I was excited for the opportunity to pray and so happy that I had remained faithful to Heavenly Father, even in the face of ridicule. I felt such responsibility offering that prayer. The cheer came together, but the bigger miracle was the change that took place in the hearts of the girls. From that day forward, we were friends, and they respected my beliefs and values. On top of that, before every football game, our cheerleading squad would gather together in a circle joining hands, and they would ask me to offer a prayer.

I grew up a member of the Church in Belize, but I wasn’t always a faithful follower of the Lord. My family was among the first members in Belize, but we had many trials. My father left us, leaving my mother jobless with three kids.
My mother’s faith in the Lord allowed us to overcome our trials. My mom worked hard to support us and to bring us to the Lord, but I had to gain a testimony for myself. For a time I chose wrong paths, mainly because of the company I spent my time with. They influenced me to draw away from—rather than near to—the Lord.
My turning point was when I started to spend most of my time with youth of the Church. I witnessed the marvelous spirit they had. It brought an unusual joy in my life. Seeing my friends going out to serve the Lord on their missions brought an even greater spirit.
Serving a mission was the last thing on my mind until I decided to turn to the Lord in prayer to find out if this was the way for me. As I prayed I felt the Holy Spirit’s power bursting in my heart. I have never before witnessed such marvelous power. It led me to know that a mission was right for me. I talked to my branch president, prepared spiritually and financially, and later served a full-time mission.
I can now say without any doubt that I know that this is the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and that President Gordon B. Hinckley is a living prophet, seer, and revelator, called by God to declare His word and to bring all people to our Heavenly Father’s fold. As Moroni said, you need to read the Book of Mormon, ponder it in your heart, pray, and you will receive answers to the questions in your heart (see Moro. 10:3–5).

The only thing Jenny wanted in the whole wide world was a horse of her very own. Mr. Bonner, whose backyard connected with her own, had a pair of Morgan horses, the very breed Jenny wanted. Jenny visited Mr. Bonner every chance she had, helping him feed and groom the two horses. Their bodies were smooth and glossy after they had been brushed and curried.
Jenny sat on the porch steps, her elbows on her knees, chin cupped in the palm of her hands as she gazed across the yard and fence at the Morgans lazily munching the grass.
The screen door snapped shut behind her, and her mother sat down beside her, still wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“Pretty, aren’t they?”
“Mom, can’t I have a horse? I promise I’ll take care of it.”
“Jenny, we’ve been over this a hundred times. You know why you can’t.”
Yes, Jenny knew the reasons. For one thing, they didn’t have a large yard, not to mention a barn or lean-to to shelter a horse against the harsh North Dakota winters. Nor did they have the extra money it would take to feed a horse and care for it.
“I wish you could have a horse, Jenny,” Mother said later, as she returned to the kitchen.
Knowing that it was close to feeding time, Jenny got up, brushed a hand across the seat of her jeans, climbed over the fence, and sauntered over to the Bonner barn.
Mr. Bonner was already at work, scooping grain out of the wooden bin into two separate pails. “I wondered if I was going to see my favorite girl today.”
Jenny grinned. Mr. Bonner always called her his favorite girl. She grabbed a pitchfork and started cleaning a stall.
“So what’s my girl been doing on this gorgeous summer day?”
Jenny shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing much.”
“Anxious for school to start? How many more days left?”
Jenny laughed out loud. It was a game he played with her every year. He knew exactly how many more days were left—he was the school’s principal.
“Fifteen.”
“Is that all?” Mr. Bonner said, appearing shocked. “I guess I’ll have to get busy, or we won’t be able to open the school on time.”
Jenny knew better. She had seen workers at the school painting and cleaning whenever she accompanied her mother to town. School would start on time, as always.
In a more serious voice he said, “Jenny, I have a favor to ask. I’ve already talked to your mother about it, and she said that it was up to you.”
Jenny’s heart thudded wildly in her chest. For Mr. Bonner to get her mother’s permission, it must be something big.
“I have to go away for ten days on school business. I leave tomorrow. Would you take care of the Morgans while I’m gone?”
“Really? Honest? All by myself? With no one helping me? Wow! Oh yes! When do I start?”
Mr. Bonner laughed. “Tomorrow—if you’re sure you can handle the job.”
“Oh, I know I can. I’ve helped you feed them, brush them, clean the barn, put them out to pasture for … for … well, for years!”
Mr. Bonner nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m asking you now. I think that you love these two old horses as much as I do.”
“Oh, I do!”
“OK then. It’s a deal,” he said, sticking out his hand.
Early the next morning Jenny stood in Mr. Bonner’s driveway and waved as Mr. Bonner drove away. Then she turned toward the barn to start her first day of chores all by herself.
She had fun the first few days, spending much of her time tending the horses. By the fifth day, however, the charm had worn off. Taking care of these horses is hard work, Jenny decided. The hay was heavy to move and scratched her legs when she wore shorts. Cleaning the stalls was dirty, smelly work, especially on those two days when the temperature rose to ninety-five degrees.
The sixth day Jenny had to turn down an invitation to see a movie with her friend Rebecca because the outing interfered with her stable chores.
On the seventh day she overslept. One of the horses, unhappy with his late breakfast, stepped on her foot. Jenny was sure that he did it on purpose. Limping home, she wondered why she had agreed to do the work.
It rained on the eighth and ninth days, turning the barnyard into a thick, slimy sea of mud. As she was dumping the wheelbarrow after her chores were done, Jenny slipped and fell into the muck.
The tenth day finally arrived, the day Mr. Bonner was to return home. It was midday, and Jenny was sitting on the steps once again. The Morgans were in the pasture.
All they do is eat, Jenny thought, watching them. If I’m not feeding them, I’m cleaning up after them. And by the time I’m finished, I’m either too tired or too hungry to stop and play with them.
“They’re always pretty to look at, aren’t they?” Mom said, returning from the garden with a basketful of vegetables. “You’ve taken excellent care of them. Their coats look shiny and soft.”
“Yeah,” Jenny mumbled. Her arms ached all over again as she thought about their tall backs and even taller necks and about how difficult it was for her to brush their heads.
“They look well fed, too,” her mother added.
“They should,” Jenny said. “All they do is eat.”
Her mother laughed. “Animals have a way of doing that. So,” she said, a more serious look on her face. “I bet taking care of those two made you want a horse of your own even more.”
“Oh, I do. But not right now,” Jenny said, surprising both her mother and herself.
“Oh?”
“I love horses, and I want to own one someday, but not right now. They take up so much time that I haven’t been able to enjoy them all week. What’s the use in having something if you can’t enjoy it?”
Jenny received a squeeze from her mother and a kiss on the forehead. “You know, I’m really proud of you. It takes courage and honesty to understand things like that.”
Jenny smiled back at her mother. She was proud of herself too. Someday she would have her very own Morgans—but not right now.

Last month I had the opportunity to attend the temple wedding of a young woman I have known since she was born. As I sat in the sealing room, looking at the beautiful chandelier sparkling in the light of the temple, I remembered that day when I first held her. Her mother had her dressed in a little white dress, and I thought she was one of the most beautiful babies I had ever seen. Then this young woman walked through the door, once again dressed in white. She was radiant and happy. As she entered the room, I wished with all my heart that every young woman could envision that moment and strive to always be worthy to make and keep sacred covenants and receive the ordinances of the temple in preparation to enjoy the blessings of exaltation.
As this couple knelt at the sacred altar, they received promises beyond mortal comprehension that will bless, strengthen, and assist them on their mortal journey. It was one of those moments when the world stood still and all of heaven rejoiced. As the newly married couple looked into the large mirrors in the room, the groom was asked what he saw. He said, “All those who have gone before me.” Then the couple looked into the large mirror on the opposite wall, and the bride said with tears in her eyes, “I see all those who will follow after us.” She saw her future family—her posterity. I know that she understood again in that moment how important it is to believe in being chaste and virtuous. There is no more beautiful sight than a couple, properly prepared, kneeling together at the altar of the temple.

About halfway through my last year of high school, the school counselor was calculating my credit hours. After pulling up my class schedule, she turned to me and said, “If you want to graduate from high school, you cannot take seminary during the school day.”
I was shocked. I felt like I was standing at the end of a street looking at two roads, both of which I wanted to take: graduating from high school and taking seminary. I had been looking forward to graduating for a long time. Should I drop seminary so I could get the credit needed to graduate?
I left the counselor’s office feeling upset and frustrated. When I got home I went to my room and got down on my knees. I told my Heavenly Father that I wanted to take seminary very much, but I also wanted to graduate from high school. After praying, I felt calm. I didn’t know how things were going to work out, but I knew everything would be okay.
The next day I was back in the counselor’s room looking at possible class choices. One class caught my eye—Peer Tutoring. I had talked to people who had taken this class and liked it, so I decided to enroll.
On my first day in Peer Tutoring, the teacher went over basic classroom procedures. We would be helping special-needs students do schoolwork. The teacher said some of us would be going with these students to their classes so we could help them. She began to assign us to different students that we would work with. Then she asked, “Are any of you willing to take Tony to seminary?”
“For what church?” asked one of the students.
“For the LDS Church,” she answered.
I was the only Latter-day Saint student in the room, so I was assigned to Tony. At that moment I realized that Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. For the next three months, I went to seminary with Tony and got to partake of the Spirit. I was also able to graduate from both seminary and high school.
I know my experience was not just pure luck. My Heavenly Father heard my prayer and answered it. This experience has taught me that prayer works and is a powerful tool in our lives.

In today’s world, making Sunday a holy day will surely set us apart—giving us chances to share the gospel in a natural way as others notice the difference in our weekly routine. The Davies family experienced this while living on the island of Grenada with their young daughter, Adrielle. “None of Adrielle’s friends are members of the Church, and while many of them believe in God, Sunday to them is simply another day of the weekend,” explained Sister McKenzie Lawyer Davies, Adrielle’s mother.

A few months ago, Adrielle was invited to a birthday party at a movie theater on Sunday. Her family decided to drop off a gift instead of going to the movie and party. “Because we simply stopped by to wish them well, we were able to share our beliefs about the Sabbath with them in a friendly and open way,” Sister Lawyer Davies said. “It made me happy that my little girl was already sharing the gospel.”

On one occasion, a missionary in the final week of his mission reminded me that I had given him clearance two years previously to serve a mission. The clearance had been extended with some reservations on my part because his life before his mission had been dotted with transgressions. He said, “You allowed me to go into the field after due repentance and after I promised that I would be strictly obedient and would work diligently. I can assure you that I have worked hard and have obeyed every rule.”

Then he said something very significant. “I will always wish I had never done those things in the first place. But I feel that my sins have been forgiven. I feel perfectly clean.” He had been cleansed through selfless service and by developing a close association with the Holy Spirit. He had been through the refiner’s fire, and impurities had been burned away.