Gospel Story Finder

A man I knew—one of the great men I have known—was in a bunch of roustabout boys. They were always where they should not be and never where they should be. Finally, a wise, resourceful leader got them into a Sunday School class. The teacher was this old man—just an ordinary, homely old man. More than that, he was a convert from Europe, and he did not speak English very well. They giggled, “Our teacher? Him?” These boys, I suppose, had the reputation of running any teacher out.
Then my friend said that something happened. The teacher started to speak, and they all began to listen. This friend said, “You could warm your hands by the fire of his faith.” That meant that in that older, worn-out body that did not seem to be able to erase an accent, there was a powerful spirit.
In the Resurrection the body—the dust of the earth, the carnal part of us—can be renewed and made powerful if it is to equal the spirit.
If you can understand how the Spirit operates, you will be all right. There is not enough evil put together—if it was all brought together as some kind of a dark, ugly laser beam and focused on you, it could not destroy you, unless somehow you consented to it.
In the course of your learning, “wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding” (Proverbs 4:7).
Make sure you learn the things that you are not taught overtly. If all you know is what you read or what you can hear, you will not know very much. Moments of reverence are so precious when you think and feel. That is why temples are so important. You can go to the temple and be out of the world.
The promise from the Lord is that when you receive the Holy Ghost, “he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you” (John 14:26).
You will be doing some things automatically, almost unwittingly. Without thinking, you will find you have been prompted and guided by the Holy Spirit. That is why this young elder, without knowing why, took a 20-mark note out of his wallet as he was trotting alongside the train and handed it to me as the train was pulling out. He saved us from great danger.
That is how you will do things and then later look back and know that you were guided. And also that is how you will be warned. You will be warned, “Don’t go there! Don’t do that!” You will be warned, “Don’t go with him! Don’t go with her! Don’t be with them!” And then, “Do be in this company!” You will be guided, and the Lord will watch over you.
I know that the gospel is true, that Jesus is the Christ, that He lives, that this is His Church. Find a place in the world where you can, without embarrassment, without any hesitancy, declare to yourself: first, that you accept the gospel of Jesus Christ and, second, that what you are is more important than what you do. What you do, if it is guided, will make you what you are and what you can be.

Five-year-old Dee woke to whispers and gentle nudging from Grandpa Leonard, who was dressed in his blue Sunbeam Bakery uniform. Dee sat straight up in bed, rubbed his eyes, and looked around. The clock on the nightstand next to him read 3:00 a.m.
An inviting aroma of bacon and toast came from the kitchen. “Grandma is finishing breakfast for us,” Grandpa whispered. “Hurry and dress, but don’t wake your brother. Duke can come to work with me tomorrow. Today it’s your turn.”
Excitement swelled as Dee quickly dressed. He looked across the room at Duke, his twin brother, who was sound asleep and snoring. All year long Dee and Duke looked forward to the day school would end and they could visit Grandma and Grandpa in the country. They fed the chickens, worked in the garden, and went fishing. But Dee’s favorite activity was riding in the big bread truck, helping Grandpa deliver bread to the small country grocery stores serving the Iowa townships nearby.
Dee made his way to the kitchen, his stomach growling. After prayer, he gobbled his breakfast in record time and ran out the door to the car with Grandpa. Grandma stood on the porch in her robe and waved good-bye.
When they arrived at Sunbeam Bakery, Dee was surprised to see Grandpa’s bread truck already loaded with freshly baked bread and delicious pastries. He savored the aroma. A man emerged from the idling truck’s cab and waved. “Everything’s ready for you this morning.”
Grandpa smiled. “Thank you, Charlie. I’ll just get my inventory sheet and double-check our load. Then we’ll be on our way.”
Grandpa quickly and carefully checked off each item and made a few notes on the inventory list. He lifted Dee onto the passenger seat and handed him a day-old Danish. “Here you go, Dee—dessert to top off Grandma’s fine breakfast.” Grandpa was allowed to buy the day-old breads and pastries at a reduced price after he had returned them to the bakery. Sometimes Grandpa’s boss treated them, but they never took anything unless it was offered first.
Soon they were on the road. Dee watched the sun peer over the rolling hills of corn and grain carpeting the Iowa landscape. The ride with Grandpa was fun. They sang songs together that Dee had learned in church, and Grandpa taught him to whistle a new tune. He told Dee stories about life on the farm as they passed cow pastures, sheds that held pigs, and chicken coops.
Before Dee knew it, they had arrived at the tiny town of Fairview, and Grandpa pulled the truck to the back door of the local grocery store. Grandpa hopped out of the truck and helped Dee out. Dee was happy with his small hand in Grandpa’s great big one as they approached the store. With his free hand, Grandpa reached for the ring of keys that he kept attached to his belt loop and unlocked the back door.
Grandpa spoke slowly. “These keys are a sacred trust. Do you understand what that means?” Dee wasn’t sure. He slowly shook his head.
As they walked through the door, Dee saw the many items the grocer had for sale. There were aisles and aisles of food, an aisle for cleaning supplies, and even a special aisle filled with toys and sporting goods, like fishing gear. “How nice it would be to own this store,” Dee thought, “to have all these things and never just wish for them.”
Grandpa interrupted Dee’s thoughts. “The owner of this store has given me his key to the back door because he knows that I will never harm my good name by stealing,” Grandpa said. “My father was known for his honest dealings in this town, and I am blessed to carry his name.”
Nothing more was said. Dee helped Grandpa remove the bread that would go back to the bakery to be sold as day-old goods. He helped him stack the fresh bread that was still warm. He thought about what Grandpa had said and smiled. He was happy to be a member of Grandpa’s family. He made a promise to himself that he too would someday be known for his good name.
Dee watched with pride as Grandpa reached again for the ring of keys and securely locked the door. They got into the truck again and headed for the Eddyville store, whistling as loud as they could.

Philadelphia, 1850
Members of the Philadelphia Historical Society hushed as Thomas L. Kane rose to address them. Colonel Kane, son of a prominent judge and member of a highly respected Pennsylvania family, read to them a formal paper about his experiences in the West among the Mormon refugees from Nauvoo. Eloquently, he described the exodus from Nauvoo, the poverty and hard circumstances of the refugees, their willing response to the government’s call for a Mormon Battalion, and then told of their beginning efforts in Utah.
The address was so well received that Colonel Kane, at the prodding of a Mormon elder, published it as a very nice book of 84 pages titled The Mormons. The Kanes paid for the printing of two editions of 1,000 copies each, then mailed a volume to every United States senator, most of the congressmen, the President, government department heads, and other influential people.
Why was he concerned for the Saints? Colonel Kane became interested in Mormons four years earlier when he attended a Mormon conference in Philadelphia. Afterwards he talked for hours with Elder Jesse C. Little about Mormonism. He then wrote letters to aid Elder Little among the people in Washington, D.C., and later rode west with the elder to visit the Mormon refugee camps. Near one, he happened to overhear a Saint in earnest private prayer. While listening, the Colonel shed tears. “I am satisfied your people are solemnly and terribly in earnest,” he told Elder Little.
In the camps Colonel Kane became deathly ill. Carefully nursed by Saints, he recovered, but not before witnessing much of the everyday life of Mormons. On his return to the eastern U.S. he stopped to see the nearly deserted City of Nauvoo. At Albany, New York, illness nearly killed him. Fearing death, he instructed his father, a judge, to never suffer any evil to come upon the Saints from the federal government, if he had the power to do so. The Colonel survived, and then drew on his firsthand knowledge for his address to the historical society.
Colonel Kane’s published address, some critics said, seemed too sympathetic about the Mormons. With critics in mind he inserted a preface in The Mormons’ second edition to reinforce his conclusions:
“I have been annoyed by comments that this hastily written discourse has elicited. Well meaning friends have even invited me to soften its remarks in favor of the Mormons, so the Mormons would be more easily accepted. I can only make them more express. The Truth must take care of itself. I not only meant to deny that the Mormons in any way fall below our standard of morals, but I want it distinctly understood that I ascribe to those of their number with whom I associated in the West, a general correctness of deportment, and purity of character above the average of ordinary communities.”
During his lifetime Colonel Kane became the Church’s “Sentinel in the East.” He advised Church leaders on political matters in Washington, D.C. Once, on his own initiative, he traveled to Utah via Panama to serve as a mediator between the Mormons and the federal army sent against them by President James Buchanan. In 1873 he visited Utah again, this time with his wife. While they accompanied President Young on a long trip south through dozens of Mormon villages, Mrs. Kane wrote down her honest reactions in letters home and in her journal. In 1874 her father published a book based on her Utah writings, Twelve Mormon Homes. “with the intent of getting sympathy for Mormons, who are at this time threatened with hostile legislation by Congress.”3

The sacrament provides a time for a truly spiritual experience as we reflect upon the Savior’s redeeming and enabling power through His Atonement. A Young Women leader recently learned about the strength we receive as we strive to thoughtfully partake of the sacrament. Working to complete a requirement in Personal Progress, she set a goal to focus on the words in the sacrament hymns and prayers.
Each week, she conducted a self-evaluation during the sacrament. She recalled mistakes she had made, and she committed to be better the next week. She was grateful to be able to make things right and be made clean. Looking back on the experience, she said, “I was acting on the repentance part of the Atonement.”
One Sunday after her self-evaluation, she began to feel gloomy and pessimistic. She could see that she was making the same errors over and over again, week to week. But then she had a distinct impression that she was neglecting a big part of the Atonement—Christ’s enabling power. She was forgetting all the times the Savior helped her be who she needed to be and serve beyond her own capacity.
With this in mind, she reflected again on the previous week. She said: “A feeling of joy broke through my melancholy as I noted that He had given me many opportunities and abilities. I noted with gratitude the ability I had to recognize my child’s need when it wasn’t obvious. I noted that on a day when I felt I could not pack in one more thing to do, I was able to offer strengthening words to a friend. I had shown patience in a circumstance that usually elicited the opposite from me.”
She concluded: “As I thanked God for the Savior’s enabling power in my life, I felt so much more optimistic toward the repentance process I was working through and I looked to the next week with renewed hope.”

Not long after I was ordained a deacon, my bishop, Leon Walker, asked me into his office to give me an assignment. He handed me a bright key, the key to the chapel, and charged me with responsibility to help look after the building. I considered myself one of the most fortunate boys in the world to have an assignment from my priesthood president. I thought this would not be a difficult task. My home was just a one-minute bicycle ride away from the building. But I soon learned what I suppose all bishops know, and that is that everybody in the ward seems to have a key to the building. As soon as I had the building locked up on an evening, someone came along behind me and opened a door. As soon as I had opened a Primary classroom, some diligent soul was there behind me to lock it up again. I could hardly stay on top of that job.
But I began to learn then, as I have come to understand since, that any call, any service in our Lord’s cause sanctifies us. Whether it is performed in the glare of the public eye or in a quiet corner known only to God is of no consequence. What matters is that we do serve, for by serving we keep our covenants with Deity, and in those covenants is the promise of salvation.

When I first arrived in Brazil as a missionary, I immediately loved the beautiful, green country and the open, loving, humble people.
The work was often difficult. Representatives of another church would tell the youth to throw rocks at us. We were put in jail. It was hard for people to join the Church, because their neighbors would ostracize them. That was in the late 1950s when the Church didn’t have even one stake in Brazil.
Now there are almost 200 stakes. It has been a spiritual blessing to see the miraculous growth of the Church in Brazil as I’ve returned with my family as a mission president and member of an Area Presidency.

One youthful experience tells us much about his personality and abilities. When Spencer was fourteen, he attended a meeting in which the speaker asked how many in the congregation had read the Bible. He felt miserable that he could not raise his hand. He wrote, “That very night at the conclusion of the sermon I walked to my home a block away and climbed up to my little attic room in the top of the house and lighted a coal-oil lamp that was on the little table, and I read the first chapters of Genesis. A year later I closed the Bible, having read every chapter in that big and glorious book.”

Kim Ho Jik took a deep breath. It was his first day studying and teaching at a university in the United States.
Learning was important to Ho Jik. He wanted to learn as much as he could about nutrition. Then he could make life better for people in South Korea, where he was from.
Ho Jik carried a box of books up some steps to his new office.
“Hello,” said a man from the office next door. “I’m Oliver. I’m studying here too.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ho Jik said.
Weeks passed. Ho Jik and Oliver became friends. They talked about what they were learning. Ho Jik noticed that Oliver never drank or smoked. He didn’t work on Sundays either. I wonder why, Ho Jik thought.
One day Oliver gave Ho Jik a book. It was about the Articles of Faith. “This book tells about what I believe,” Oliver said. “Let me know if you want to learn more.”
Ho Jik finished the book in less than a week. Oliver gave him another book called the Book of Mormon. Ho Jik read it quickly too. He started going to church with Oliver. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to be baptized.
Soon it was Oliver’s last day at the university. Ho Jik saw him in the hallway. “I believe God brought you here for a special reason,” Oliver said. “But not just so you can teach your people about nutrition. You need to teach them about the gospel too.”
Ho Jik thought about Oliver’s words for a long time. Finally he decided to be baptized. He was baptized in the same river where Joseph Smith was baptized 122 years earlier!

During the summer, I was able to work with the missionaries, and had the opportunity to share my testimony. At first, it was hard. People asked a lot of questions, and I began to have doubts.
But then I prayed a lot, and the sister missionaries prayed with me. I also fasted. I asked Heavenly Father to help me feel the Spirit and to replace my doubts with something of which I was certain.
As I continued to bear my testimony, I saw my doubts change to understanding. I saw that the things I believe in are not just things that I know about; they are things that I know are true. The gospel does so much to bless me, and I can say with certainty that I know these blessings come from God. And I learned that even if other people don’t accept my testimony, I can see the influence of my testimony on them.
When we bear witness of the gospel to those around us, even if certain people don’t accept it, we have done our part and they have their agency. But maybe we have planted a seed with them, and the seed will grow.

Perhaps I can best explain this through a personal experience.
When I was the age of many of you and was attending college at the very challenging Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania, things weren’t going great, at least not academically. It was a struggle for me simply because I didn’t apply myself to the rigorous studies. After my sophomore year I went home and visited with my father. He encouraged me to change my major and to attend a college that was not so difficult. I thought about taking an easier route and remembered the wise statement a radio commentator had recently made. He stated, “Difficulty is one excuse history has never accepted.”1
I returned to college my junior year a reinvigorated, new person. I applied myself. I studied diligently. My grades skyrocketed, and upon graduation two years later I was awarded the university’s highest honors. Thus I realized between my sophomore and junior years that it was my dream I must live and not my father’s, and that I must achieve it through adversity and hard work.

And, of course, they like to have fun, too. Some of them got a chance one day when a New Era reporter and a Church photographer hit town wanting to see the countryside. Chile Osorno Mission president Lester Haymore graciously consented to serve as chauffeur, six seminary students agreed to be guides, and the trip to Los Saltos de Petrohué (Petrohué Falls) was underway.
The road lay through forests, past soaring mountains, and over rich upland meadows where cattle grazed. The group skirted Lake Llanquihue, largest lake in Chile and the home of slab-sided lunker trout. They rode through villages where oxen plodded and towns where automobiles rolled. In deep forests of green sunlight, hawks carved the sky overhead, and bird songs could be heard from the trees. Paced by guitar chords, the students sang as exuberantly as the birds.
Canta, canta, pajarito,
Canta, canta tu canción;
Canta, que la vida es triste
Y tu cantar me alegra el corazón.*
At Petrohué Falls, stone cliffs rose towering, precipice on precipice, like the edge of the world, and forests marched away to snow-crested volcanoes. The waters of the Petrohué River were an indescribable powder blue that taxed belief. This was no reflection of the sky, but the color of the water itself, a color to be found only in dreams and in Chile.
Through a thousand channels in the black volcanic rock, these menthol-blue waters frothed and roared downward into turquoise foam and delicious blue thunder. The rock walls below sent a sweet blue mist high in the air. The young men and women stood on a bridge over a fork of the falls, stung by the mist, shaken by the thunder, looking and looking and never getting enough of this magic river.
Their dark eyes filled with blue wonder; and with a hundred pauses for one last over-the-shoulder look, the students went back to their van and followed the Petrohué upstream to its source, Todos los Santos Lake. The same impossible blue as the river (varying to cold ultramarine in its depths), it stretched away to snow-capped mountains across the border in Argentina. Along its sides, towering mountains hunched down like shaggy green dragons taking long blue drinks.
Across a narrow arm of water, where the lake became the river, was a cabin. Behind it tall timber climbed the mountain to the sky. Before it rich alpine green ran down to the wind-rippled lake. On the shore was a pale blue rowboat with one oar dipped in sunlight. Just seeing the place brought thoughts of storybooks and enchanted forests, and a question. What would it be like to look out those windows every morning and see the Andes-topping sun warming the back of dragons—or to climb into the pale blue boat and row off between the deep blue sky and the soft blue waves?
Wrapped in the magic, the group walked along the black volcanic shore. Beyond, the white cones of Osorno Volcano wedged the sky. As they walked they threw volcanic rocks into the water, frolicked with a German shepherd that happened past, and sang the songs of Chile. Meanwhile, the sun curved down the sky, silvering the blue water and announcing that it was time to start for home. Reluctantly, they did.

One of the most telling of these experiences occurred in 1978, in competition for the coveted France Cup—a trophy sought by soccer clubs throughout France and its territories. Since the Tahitian football league is affiliated with the Fédération Francaise de Football, Tahitian teams also vie for the France Cup.
By a long-standing arrangement, two top clubs from Tahiti, together with two leading teams from the French-administered territory of New Caledonia, play off to see which South Pacific club will travel to France to compete against the French professionals in the annual France Cup competition. The playoff locations alternate each year between Tahiti and New Caledonia.
In 1978, Erroll’s club, Central, qualified for the local play-off with the New Caledonians, but it was to be played outside of Tahiti and the final was fixed for a Sunday. Not even the persuasive talents of Napoléon Spitz could get the New Caledonians to move the game to another day. And so, as he had the previous year after leading his team to the France Cup finals, Erroll stayed away from the game. While his teammates spent that Sunday morning preparing for the all-important clash later that day, Erroll went to Church. When the whistle signalled kick-off, Central’s captain was alone, back in his hotel room.
“I’ll never forget that day,” he recalls. “Towards the end of the match I had the strongest feeling that things weren’t going well. I wondered whether it would be right to pray to the Lord about a soccer game, but I knew He was aware of my situation and that I had tried to do what was right. Finally, I knelt and asked the Lord to help my team players do their best.”
Erroll learned later that Sabbath day that Central had been a goal down with only 60 seconds to go when the Tahitian club had equalized the score at 2–2. In the mandatory extra time that followed, Central took the winning goal. It was one of the most memorable of Central’s matches.

As the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is now being embraced around the world, we are all pioneers in our own sphere and circumstance. It was in the turmoil of post–World War II Germany when my family first learned about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. George Albert Smith (1870–1951) was the President then. I was only a young child, and we had lost all material belongings twice within only seven years. We were refugees with an uncertain future. However, during those same seven years, we gained more than any amount of money could ever buy. We found a supernal refuge, a place of defense from despair: the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and His Church, led by a true and living prophet.
The good news that Jesus Christ has made the perfect Atonement for mankind, redeeming all from the grave and rewarding each individual according to his or her works, was the healing power which brought hope and peace back into my life.
Whatever our challenges in life may be, our burdens may become light if we not only believe in Christ but also in His ability and His power to cleanse and console our lives. Our lives are healed as we accept His peace.
President David O. McKay (1873–1970) was the prophet during my teenage years. I seemed to know him personally. I could feel his love, kindness, and dignity; he gave me confidence and courage in my young life. Even though I grew up thousands of miles away in Europe, I felt he trusted me, and I did not want to disappoint him.
Another source of strength was a letter written by the Apostle Paul while he was in prison, addressed to Timothy, his most trusted assistant and friend. He wrote:
“For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.
“Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Timothy 1:7–8).
These words from one of the ancient Apostles of our Savior rang with great importance for me in postwar times, even as they do today. Yet how many of us permit our fears to take control of our lives in this time of international tension, economic and political uncertainties, and personal challenges?
God is speaking to us in a consistent voice. God will deal with all the human family equally. We might be in a large ward or a small branch, our climate or vegetation may differ, the cultural background and language might vary, and the color of our skin could be totally different. But the universal power and blessings of the restored gospel are available to all, irrespective of culture, nationality, political system, tradition, language, economic environment, or education.
Today, we have again apostles, seers, and revelators who are watchmen on the tower, messengers of supernal, healing truth. God speaks to us through them. They are profoundly aware of the different circumstances we members are living in. They are in this world but not of this world. They point the way, and they offer help for our difficulties, not through the wisdom of this world but from an eternal Source.
Only a few years ago, in a First Presidency Message, President Thomas S. Monson said: “The problems of our day loom ominously before us. Surrounded by the sophistication of modern living, we look heavenward for that unfailing sense of direction, that we might chart and follow a wise and proper course. He whom we call our Heavenly Father will not leave our sincere petition unanswered.”
We have a living prophet on the face of the earth again, even President Thomas S. Monson. He knows our challenges and fears. He has inspired answers. There is no need to fear. We can have peace in our hearts and peace in our homes. We can each be an influence for good in this world by following the commandments of God and relying on true repentance, the power of the Atonement, and the miracle of forgiveness.
The prophets speak to us in the name of the Lord and in divine plainness. As the Book of Mormon confirms, “For the Lord God giveth light unto the understanding; for he speaketh unto men according to their language, unto their understanding” (2 Nephi 31:3).
It is our responsibility not only to listen but also to act upon His word that we may claim the blessings of the ordinances and covenants of the restored gospel. He said, “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise” (D&C 82:10).
There may be times when we feel overwhelmed, hurt, or on the edge of discouragement as we are trying so hard to be perfect members of the Church. Be assured, there is balm in Gilead. Let us listen to the prophets of our day as they help us to focus on the things that are central to the Creator’s plan for the eternal destiny of His children. The Lord knows us, He loves us, He wants us to succeed, and He encourages us by saying: “And see that all … things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that [men or women] should run faster than [they have] strength. … [But] it is expedient that [they] should be diligent” (Mosiah 4:27).
Are we diligent in living the commandments of God, without running beyond our strength? Or are we just leisurely strolling along? Are we using our time, talents, and means wisely? Are we focused on the things which matter most? Are we following the inspired counsel of the prophets?
One example of great importance for humanity is strengthening our own families. The principle of family home evening was given to us in 1915. President McKay reminded parents again in 1964 that “no other success can compensate for failure in the home.” In 1995 the prophets of our day called upon all the world to strengthen the family as the fundamental unit of society. And in 1999 the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles lovingly stated: “We counsel parents and children to give highest priority to family prayer, family home evening, gospel study and instruction, and wholesome family activities. However worthy and appropriate other demands or activities may be, they must not be permitted to displace the divinely appointed duties that only parents and families can adequately perform.”
Let us in humility and faith refresh our dedication and our commitment to follow the prophets, seers, and revelators in all diligence. Let us listen and be instructed and edified by those who hold all the keys of the kingdom. And as we listen and follow them, may our hearts be changed that there will be a great desire to do good (see Alma 19:33). Thus we will be pioneers in building a spiritual foundation that will establish the Church in every part of the world, that the gospel of Jesus Christ may become a blessing for each child of God and unite and strengthen our families.

For almost two decades, I served on the board of directors of Marriott International, the hotel company founded by J. Willard Marriott. When he died, his son, Bill Jr., took the reins of the company. At that point, the company had only a handful or two of hotels and several dozen restaurants. Bill Jr. grew the business to over five thousand hotels.

Today, it is the largest hotel company in the world.

Every year, the members of the board were presented with a survey of travelers that compared Marriott hotels with those of the competition. One thing that stood out to me was that Marriott employees were regularly seen as being more attentive and service-oriented than those of other brands. I wondered how that came about.

One day, I drove Bill to a Marriott hotel in Weston, Massachusetts. As we entered the hotel, Bill shook hands with the general manager, but then, rather than secluding himself with the manager in an office, he went behind the counter to meet the staff. He asked their names, how long they had been with the company, how, and what their family was doing, and what they saw as their future with the company. He held their hand in his, looked them in the eyes, and seemed to actually care about them. And then it hit me: this was the answer to why Marriott employees were perceived as caring for their guests. It was a reflection of the example of Bill Marriott himself.

There are 170,000 people who wear a Marriott name badge, but in some way, they had been influenced by the values of one person, one leader.

On May 1, 2016, the Dakar Branch was organized with Jacques Niambé as president. Under his leadership and with the help of Elder Gary and Sister Helen Parke, the branch grew steadily. In February 2018, eight members of the branch traveled to Accra, Ghana, to attend the temple. In April, less than two years after the Dakar Branch was organized, it was divided, and Alphonse Samadé was called as president of the newly organized Parcelles Branch. Just weeks later, during a visit to Dakar, Elder Ulisses Soares of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles marveled at the potential he saw in the branches in Senegal. “The little branch I attended [in Brazil as a boy] became three stakes,” Elder Soares said after his visit. “I can see a similar future in Senegal.”

Emo’onahe (eh-moh-oh-nah) decided to share her talent of hoop dancing, which is part of her Native American culture. “One of my friends who went to FSY before me told me that they had this talent show and that I should perform,” she says.

“I was a little bit nervous, so I tried not to focus on the crowd.” But it was kind of hard not to! “I could hear everyone going crazy,” she says. “They were so loud I could barely hear the music, so I was barely able to keep on beat!”

Emo’onahe has worked hard to get good at hoop dancing. She says, “There was definitely a learning curve.” But the more she practiced, the more she learned about herself.

Hoop dancing is a form of personal storytelling. “You start off with one hoop representing your beginning, and then you continue adding hoops to show more things about your life. In my performance, you could see a butterfly, an eagle, and a cowboy,” Emo’onahe says. “When I’m telling my story, I feel like I’m telling the story of those I’ve learned from and experiences I’ve had.”

Emo’onahe is from the Cheyenne and Arapahoe tribes of Oklahoma, and is also Fort Peck Sioux and Assiniboine. She says, “I used to feel so different from everyone else,” and sometimes “that made me uncomfortable.” But hoop dancing embraces individuality. Each dancer creates their own choreography, and “that’s what makes it so unique and personal to you,” she says.

Emo’onahe feels closer to God as she prays, reads the scriptures, and strives to follow Jesus Christ. She also feels closer to God as she strives to improve in her talents. “When I pick up my hoops and dance, I can feel joy.” She recommends: “Find the things you love and find good people who will help you so you can use your talents to strengthen yourself and others. Serving others can help you strengthen your testimony of Jesus Christ as well.”

May I illustrate this truth with a personal experience. Many years ago, while serving as a bishop, I felt impressed to call upon Augusta Schneider, a widow from the Alsace-Lorraine area of Europe who spoke very little English, although she was fluent in French and German. For years after that first impression I would visit with her at Christmastime. On one occasion, Augusta said, “Bishop, I have something of great value to me which I would like to present to you.” She then went to a special place in her modest apartment and retrieved the gift. It was a beautiful piece of felt, perhaps six by eight inches in size, to which she had pinned the medals her husband had been presented for his service as a member of the French forces in World War I. She said, “I would like you to have this personal treasure which is so close to my heart.” I protested politely and suggested there must be some member of her extended family to whom the gift should be given. “No,” she replied firmly, “the gift is yours, for you have the soul of a Frenchman.”
Shortly after presenting this special gift to me, Augusta departed mortality and went home to that God who gave her life. Occasionally I would wonder concerning her declaration that I had “the soul of a Frenchman.” I didn’t have the slightest idea what that meant. I still don’t.
Many years later, I had the privilege to accompany President Ezra Taft Benson to the dedication of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, which temple would serve German-, French-, and Dutch-speaking members. In packing for the trip, I felt impressed to take along the gift of medals, without any thought concerning what I would do with them. I’d had them a number of years.
In a French-speaking dedication session, the temple was filled. The singing and messages presented were beautiful. Gratitude for God’s blessings penetrated each heart. I saw from my conducting notes that the session included members from the Alsace-Lorraine area.
During my remarks, I observed that the organist had the name of Schneider. I therefore related the account of my association with Augusta Schneider, then stepped to the organ and presented the organist with the medals, along with the charge that since his name was Schneider, he had a responsibility to pursue the Schneider name in his genealogical activities. The Spirit of the Lord confirmed in our hearts that this was a special session. Brother Schneider had a difficult time preparing to play the closing number of the dedicatory service, so moved was he by the Spirit which we felt there in the temple.
I knew that the treasured gift—even the widow’s mite, for it was all Augusta Schneider had—was placed in the hand of one who would ensure that many with the souls of Frenchmen would now receive the blessings the holy temples provide, both to the living and for those who have passed beyond mortality.

Jeff wanted to be a missionary just like his older brother who was on a mission in Colombia. But how can I be a missionary when I’m afraid to talk to people? Jeff wondered.
Just last week the Primary president asked all the children to be missionaries and bring somebody new to Primary.
“We have a wonderful Primary,” she told the children, but think how much better it would be if we had more children to share our Primary with.” Then she asked the boys and girls to raise their hands if they thought they could bring a friend the next week. Jeff raised his hand. Now he wondered why he had done it. How was he ever going to get the courage to talk to anyone at school about the Church?
Jeff and Jimmy were the only two LDS boys their age in school. They were also the only Blazer boys in the Primary. They had a good teacher and Jeff knew that one of the reasons why he had raised his hand to be a missionary was to please her. He knew that if other boys came, they would like Sister Labrador and the good lessons she gave.
Jeff remembered one time the two full-time missionaries in their sacrament meeting telling them about the good feeling they had when they shared the gospel with others. Jeff wanted that good feeling too. But how was he ever going to have it when he was so timid?
Jeff walked into the kitchen and slumped down in a chair by the table where his mother was decorating some dish towels with her textile paints. Jeff asked, “Won’t that paint wash out of the cloth, Mom?”
“No, Jeff, the paints are made to stay right in the fabric.”
“Hey, that’s neat. Can you paint anything on the towels you want to?” asked Jeff.
“Sure, son. You sound excited about something,” replied Mother.
Jeff was excited. He had an idea. “Mom, can I paint something on my yellow T-shirt?” he asked.
Mother laughed. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but go ahead.”
Jeff was back in a few minutes, grinning and waving his shirt. He laid it on the table and smoothed out all the wrinkles. Then, with Mother’s black painting pen, he drew on the front of the shirt a great big face with two round eyes and a large smile. Underneath the face he wrote, HAPPINESS IS GOING TO PRIMARY.
When the paint was dry, Jeff turned the shirt over and on the back he printed in large letters, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT PRIMARY—WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE? He could hardly wait to wear his shirt to school. The next day they were having a school activity and they could wear their play clothes, Jeff put on his yellow T-shirt and went to school. When he walked into the coat hall there were several boys there already. As Jeff took off his jacket and hung it on the hook, one of the boys was quick to notice the bright yellow T-shirt with the big face painted on the front and the letters on the back. “What does your shirt say, Jeff? Let me read it,” said Andy.
Jeff stood still, his heart pounding. All of a sudden he thought, what if they make fun of me?
Andy read the words on the shirt out loud. “Primary?” he questioned? “What’s Primary?”
Here was Jeff’s big chance. He prayed inside that he would say the right thing. “Well, in Primary we learn to—” Jeff’s voice tightened upon him and the words got stuck in his mouth.
All of a sudden, Greg, one of the other boys, interrupted. “Hey, Jeff, isn’t Primary where you learn about Scouting and other neat things you were telling me about the other day?”
“Scouting?” questioned Andy. “My dad was a Boy Scout and he wants me to be one too. Can I go to Primary with you Jeff? Can just anyone go?”
Before Jeff could answer, Greg said, “Me too! I never have anything to do after school. My parents both work and nobody’s ever home.”
Jeff could hardly believe what he was hearing. His voice came back and he felt relaxed and happy. “Sure,” said Jeff, “anybody can come—the more the better. It’s on Tuesday and we learn lots of neat things besides Scouting. You’ll really like our teacher. She’s just great.”
The bell rang and the boys filed into the classroom. Jeff’s seat was by his Primary friend Jimmy. As Jeff sat down, Jimmy looked at Jeff’s shirt and said, “Do you think that’s going to work?”
Jeff’s smile got bigger and bigger as he whispered, “It already has!”
At recess Jeff told Jimmy about Andy and Greg. He could hardly believe what had happened. Jimmy became excited about painting a missionary T-shirt too.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “If we can get the whole Primary wearing these shirts to school, a lot of kids will soon be interested. Our Primary will grow bigger and bigger.”
Even shy boys can be missionaries. It just takes some doing, Jeff concluded.
Already Jeff was beginning to have that good feeling that the missionaries had talked about. Wouldn’t they be surprised when they heard about the first T-shirt missionary!

One of the most precious gifts my parents have shared with me during my childhood, was their love for the temple. Their desire to worship in the house of the Lord was constant and never wavering, despite the long distance and high cost of traveling to the closest temple.
In the late ’80s, during the renovation of the Bern Switzerland Temple, our family traveled to Frankfurt, Germany. I still clearly remember the day we arrived at the temple. I was only nine years old and, even though my brother and I had accompanied our parents to the temple many times, this experience was different for me. As we stepped into the reception of the patron housing, I felt a sense of joy and belonging that I had never experienced before. I remember sitting there with a sensation that was new to me, overwhelmed with embracing love. I remember my mother explaining that those feelings were given by the Spirit of the Lord, who was testifying to me that I was in His holy house. Even though I did not fully understand it then, it was clear to me that what I was feeling was a personal gift from the Lord.
In the tenth century BC, after many generations, the people of Israel had finally built a temple to the Lord. The first book of Kings records the dedicatory prayer offered by King Salomon. The king had gathered the people to offer a dedicatory ceremony and a feast unto the Lord. After placing the ark of the covenant into the “most holy place”1, a cloud descended on the temple and “the glory of the Lord…filled the house of the Lord”2. Like for their fathers traveling in the desert, the Lord was offering to His people a clear manifestation of His own presence in the temple3. The Lord had made no distinction between a temporary tabernacle of fabric and a precious one made of stone; both were accepted by Him, as they represented the best sacrifice the people had to offer at that time.
As part of the dedicatory prayer, King Salomon pleaded several times to “hearken thou to the supplication of thy servant”4 and to hear His people whenever they will repent and turn towards His house. As Salomon prays, he knows that the temple not only blesses peoples and nations, but also especially individuals and families, and therefore adds “What prayer and supplication soever be made by any man…which shall know every man the plague of his own heart, and spread forth his hands toward this house:
“Then hear thou in heaven thy dwelling place, and forgive, and do, and give to every man according to his ways, whose heart thou knowest.”5
Over the years, the personal joy and love I felt that day in Frankfurt, have grown to become knowledge and greater understanding of our Father in Heaven, and have provided me with the blessing of experiencing His love and tailored counsel. In the temple, I have come to know that the Lord knows the plague of my own heart, and hears me when I turn to the temple with faith. Another thing I have learned is that building a personal relationship with and knowledge of Christ in the temple require sacrifice, faith and desire. In the words of Elder David A. Bednar: “There is a difference between church-attending, tithe-paying members who occasionally rush into the temple to go through a session and those members who faithfully and consistently worship in the temple.”6
President Russell M. Nelson also added “Building and maintaining temples may not change your life, but spending your time in the temple surely will”7. May we all discover the joy of worshiping in His holy house, where God knows “the plague of (our) own heart”8 and will hearken to our supplications.

I recall an experience with a zone leader in England who came to me during the lunch break at zone conference. He said, “We are teaching a lady who is blind and nearly deaf. She wants to know if the Book of Mormon is true. What shall we do?” I did not have an answer at that moment, but I said, “I will let you know after our conference.” During the afternoon session I had the distinct impression come as to how to help her. After the meeting I said to the zone leader, “Have this sister hold her copy of the Book of Mormon and turn its pages very slowly. When she has done this, have her ask if it is true.” Though she could not read nor hear the words, she felt the spirit and power of the Book of Mormon, and it changed her life.