Gospel Story Finder

“All right, everyone. Let’s have talk time,” Mom called. Josie had been looking forward to talk time all day. Every evening, Josie and her two little brothers, Ben and Wes, gathered in the living room with Mom and Dad to talk about what was going on in their lives.
Tonight Dad had said he would help Josie practice her script for the morning announcements. Reading the morning announcements was a special privilege at Josie’s school. Tomorrow Josie would play a small part of her favorite song over the school’s speakers and use the microphone to announce the day’s activities and lunch menu.
Josie ran to the living room, excited to rehearse her script.
“There’s our famous announcer!” Dad said when Josie hopped on the couch next to him. “How are you feeling about tomorrow?”
“I’m excited but a little nervous. I’m afraid I’ll mess something up in front of the whole school,” Josie said.
“That’s why we practice,” Dad said. “Go ahead and read through your script, and I will listen for places you can improve.”
Thanks, Dad,” Josie said.
She and Dad reviewed the script so many times that Josie lost count. Then Josie stood and performed her script one last time for her family. Mom and Dad cheered. Ben gave her a high five, and Wes smiled and clapped his hands.
Josie went to bed happy and confident.
The next day everything went smoothly. Even though she was nervous, Josie smiled when she heard her music play on the school’s speakers. She was glad she had practiced the script with Dad, and she read it slowly and clearly without any mistakes.
“You did an excellent job,” Mrs. Blake, the assistant principal, said.
At the end of the school day, Josie stood in line for the bus. An older boy turned around and asked, “Are you the girl who read the announcements today?”
Josie smiled. “Yes,” she said.
“Why did you pick that song?” the boy asked. “It was a dumb song. You really ruined morning announcements.” Then he called her a mean name and laughed with his friends.
Josie sat alone in the front seat of the bus. She felt sick to her stomach.
When Josie got home, she found Mom playing with Wes.
“Mom, I know it’s not talk time yet, but I was wondering if we could still talk right now,” Josie said.
“Of course, Josie,” Mom said. “What happened? Did something go wrong with the morning announcements?”
“No,” Josie said. “Everything was perfect. At least I thought so, until a boy told me I picked a dumb song. He called me a really mean name too.”
Mom patted the floor next to her. Josie walked over and sat down. Mom gave her a big hug. Josie and Mom talked about everything that happened that day, including Mrs. Blake’s compliment.
“I’m sorry that boy and his friends were rude to you,” Mom said. “But it sounds like other people you respect, like Mrs. Blake, were very pleased with the way you read the announcements. Dad and I are so proud of you. You worked very hard, and it paid off!”
Josie hugged Mom again. “Thanks, Mom,” Josie said. “I feel a lot better.” Josie was glad that any time could be talk time.

President Joseph F. Smith was five years old when his father, Hyrum, was killed in Carthage Jail. Later, Joseph crossed the plains with his widowed mother.
At age 15 he was called on a mission to Hawaii. He felt lost and alone and said: “I was very much oppressed. … I felt as if I was so debased in my condition of poverty, lack of intelligence and knowledge, just a boy, that I hardly dared look [anyone] in the face.”
While pondering his plight one night, young Joseph dreamed he was on a journey, rushing as fast as he possibly could. He carried with him a small bundle. Finally, he came to a wonderful mansion, which was his destination. As he approached, he saw a sign which read, “Bath.” He quickly went in and washed himself. He opened his little bundle and found clean white clothing—“a thing,” he said, “I had not seen for a long time.” He put them on and rushed to the door of the mansion.
“I knocked,” he said, “and the door opened, and the man who stood there was the Prophet Joseph Smith. He looked at me a little reprovingly, and the first words he said [were]: ‘Joseph, you are late.’ Yet I took confidence and said:
“‘Yes, but I am clean—I am clean!’”
And so it can be for each of us.

The last barrel was rushing toward me.
“Your horse isn’t on the right lead, Susan,” shouted Grandma from the fence.
I know, Grandma. You don’t need to tell me, I thought.
Leaning low over Ginger’s withers, I shifted a little to the left and tapped my horse emphatically with my right boot. Underneath me, I could feel Ginger’s long stride switch left—but not in time. Ginger went so wide around the barrel she nearly knocked me against the corral fence.
As I urged her toward the imaginary finish line, I could see Grandma shaking her head.
“That’s no way to win a rodeo prize. Those other barrel racers will whip you good.”
“Grandma, you know Ginger isn’t usually this bad!”
“That’s just the point! You’ve been working her too hard. She’ll go sour on you before she ever makes it to her first contest.”
I stuck out my lower jaw. “I can train my own horse, Grandma.”
She didn’t seem to hear me and went right on. “The way I see it …”
The trouble with Grandma living across the road is that she usually isn’t across the road. She’s at our house giving advice to everyone. Last week it was my hair for the school dance. The week before it was my “mediocre” A minus in journalism class.
“There isn’t any excuse for it,” she said. “You can write 10 times better than those other youngsters.” But Grandma’s favorite hangout was on the corral fence watching me train Ginger.
Grandma reached to scratch behind Ginger’s ears. “That sassy little blonde down in Glenville who won rodeo queen last year, she can hardly rein left or right. You better not let her beat you at the barrels.”
I leaned down and yanked the wire latch off the corral gate.
“Just push open the gate for me, Grandma,” I asked.
“You better let that horse cool down before putting her away.”
“I know, Grandma,” I sighed impatiently.
She opened the gate for me. “If you’re going to win,” she said, “you better shorten your stirrups a notch and hang more with your horse.”
I exploded. “Grandma, I’m riding, not you.”
Grandma looked up at me in surprise. Ginger danced underneath me.
I was heating up. “What do you know about horses, anyway! Have you even been on one in the last 50 years?”
I was staring right at her. I could see the hurt come into her gray eyes. But I didn’t stop. “Just leave me alone. Don’t come watch me anymore.”
I jerked Ginger toward the hay field and galloped away. My face was hot with anger. I knew Grandma was standing stiff and hurt behind me. I fumed, gritting my teeth. But as the breeze cooled my face, I knew I would apologize. I’d never seen Grandma look so hurt. I fingered Ginger’s black mane. Tomorrow would be a good day. I’d apologize tomorrow.
“Dead? Dead!” My voice started to squeak, and I felt the tears coming. I didn’t want Mother to see. “But Grandma is too young to die.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mother, putting her hands on my shoulders. “The doctor said her heart just gave out in the night.”
“But, but—not today! Grandma can’t die today! I was going to make things right.”
At the funeral I sat hunched on the bench beside my two brothers. I kept looking down, but the only thing I could see was Grandma’s hurt gray eyes. In my head pounded the words, “What do you know about horses? Don’t come watch me anymore.”
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” I murmured. But I knew it was too late.

When Grace and I were a young married couple life was very tough. We always struggled to make both ends meet. In some miraculous way, they always do. There was a time when bills were due and there was no food on the table, neither was there any money to take care of both. We actually considered pawning our wedding ring but the appraisal was not very promising. It wasn't worth much so we ran the risk of losing it for almost nothing. So, we abandoned that plan. Again, we survived that crisis.

We bought our first washing machine 4 years into our marriage. What a relief that was. We got our first beat up van when our oldest child was 10 years old.

Sometimes, as married couples, we become impatient, and we want things to happen faster, we want comfort to come faster. We wish we had parents who were millionaires and would give us a big inheritance when we get married, so we didn't have to go through those things again. If you asked us now, would we go through all of those struggles again? The answer is a resounding: "Yes we will!" Those were times when we were experiencing a lot of growth and strength of character individually and as a couple. Those were times when our love for each other started to really blossom from what we thought was already a perfect relationship when we got married.

So, be patient and do what the Lord tells you to do. Pay your tithes and offerings without fail. They always come first. That is the only way the Lord can perform miracles for you to witness.

At the age of 19, I was conscripted into the military for a period of two years. I was sent away to the Army Gymnasium in Heidelberg (formerly Transvaal) for the first year of national service and to Natal Command (formerly Natal) for the second year. During this time, I had very little exposure to the Church. As a result, I became less active. Towards the end of my military service, faithful home teachers—Brother Basil Smith and his companion—came into the army barracks one afternoon to minister to me. Once again, my spirit resonated with what they said and I was so surprised that they would make this effort to visit me, I responded positively to their invitation to come back to Church.

Shortly afterward, a wise bishop, Sheridan Jakins, called me to serve a mission, which I accepted. This call and opportunity to serve as a full-time missionary had a profound effect on my life for the good.

I now look back with immense gratitude and love to:
Sister Lucy Carr—for taking that step of sharing the gospel in a normal and natural way with my sister Carol, which led to my baptism and conversion.
Brother Basil Smith and his companion—for ministering as faithful home teachers and inviting me to come back to church.
Bishop Sheridan Jakins—for extending a call and helping me prepare for full-time missionary service.
These acts of love and service by fellow members of my country—sharing their love for the gospel of Jesus Christ—has affected me and my family immeasurably. We have come to love this gospel with all our hearts, and to appreciate its goodness, light and truth. I think of the blessing it has been to have the programs of the Church to help my wife, Mandy, and me to raise a righteous family unto the Lord. In this troubled world with the dangers that our children face, we need all the help we can get.
Through the teachings of the gospel, I have come to know who I am as an eternal son of our Heavenly Father. This has given me confidence and purpose in life. I recognize the feeling described by Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf, when he said, “We are surrounded by such an astonishing wealth of light and truth that I wonder if we truly appreciate what we have.”1
These faithful members, through their small acts of love and service have brought me true happiness. “Our Heavenly Father places loving individuals on important crossroads to help us so that we are not left alone to grope in the dark. These men and women help by example and with patience and love.”2 This has been my experience.
I must admit that this joy and happiness did not come directly after joining the Church. In fact, I felt a lack of it at first, but when I look back on my life, I realise, as a new convert, my faith and testimony were weak. I had one foot in the world and the other foot in the gospel. Only when I had planted both feet firmly on the covenant path, did I start to experience the joy of the gospel. For me, this happened when I started to prepare for missionary service.
It is up to us to respond positively to these acts of love and service and allow them to bless our lives. More importantly, we need to participate in these acts of love and service, or good works as mentioned by King Benjamin: “Therefore, I would that ye should be steadfast and immovable, always abounding in good works, that Christ, the Lord God Omnipotent, may seal you his, that you may be brought to heaven, that ye may have everlasting salvation and eternal life, through the wisdom, and power, and justice, and mercy of him who created all things, in heaven and in earth, who is God above all.”3

One example of this attitude occurred when Elder Lee was a grandfather and a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. His daughter, Helen, had planned to attend a Relief Society meeting and asked her mother to tend her two little boys. Her mother became ill, so Helen decided to stay at home. In mid-morning her father called from his office and said, “Dear, you plan to go to your meeting, and I will come tend the boys.” Helen protested that she couldn’t take him from his important work to tend babies. He replied, “Why, my dear, who is to say which is the most important work of the Lord—to stay at my desk at the Church Office Building, or to tend two choice little grandsons while their mother goes to her Relief Society meeting?” She attended her meeting.

For example, one missionary, we’ll call her Maria, told of a dream she had at the age of nine or ten about God as an individual person, not three in one, and of a Heavenly Father whose son was Jesus Christ. Maria’s belief in this idea caused problems for her and her family during the time she went to private religious schools. She would ask her school friends and teachers, “Do you believe God is a person who has a son?” After a while, getting no satisfactory answer, she stopped asking.
Years later at work, when Maria was in her early twenties, she started talking with a co-worker about religion. Eventually, the woman asked Maria to attend church with her. “I must ask you a question first,” Maria said, and was thrilled at the woman’s answer: “My church teaches that God is the father of us all and has a son who is Jesus Christ.”
Maria gladly accepted the gospel message, was baptized, and as soon as possible she began serving on her own mission. On her first day at the Missionary Training Center, she recognized her instructor as the elder who had taught her the gospel months earlier.

When I returned home to the Philippines after my mission, the first thing I wanted to do was meet a worthy priesthood holder whom I could marry in the temple and build a Christ-centered family with.
I thought that finding him would be easy. But now it’s been quite a few years since I returned home, and I have yet to find someone to marry.
I’ve been goal-driven all my life. In high school, I made goals for my future, specifically goals that would help me progress on the covenant path—the only path that will ultimately lead me, and all of us, back to live with Heavenly Father.
I made goals to graduate from seminary and institute, to finish my studies, to get endowed in the temple, to serve a mission, to find a job in line with my degree, and to build an eternal family.
I’ve achieved all those goals apart from one, and despite being proud of all I’ve accomplished, I’ve sometimes felt as though I’ve stopped progressing.
For years I’ve spent so much time searching and praying to find someone to be with for eternity. I’ve always obeyed the commandments, applied the teachings of the prophets and the leaders in my life, and striven to be worthy to enter the temple. So, in frustration, I’ve sometimes wondered why, after trying so hard, I am still unable to reach this one goal and often feel unable to move forward on the covenant path.
What am I lacking?
One night when I was feeling extra discouraged about my marital status and seeming lack of progression, I poured out my feelings to Heavenly Father. I felt stuck, lonely, and lost. As I prayed and pondered, a clear reminder came to me:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart. …
“In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths” (Proverbs 3:5–6).
In that moment, I realized that those “paths” included the covenant path.
I was reminded that if I “let God prevail” in my life, as President Russell M. Nelson taught,1 He would direct me toward Christ and grant me spiritual strength, promised blessings, and eternal progression.
Elder Marvin J. Ashton (1915–94) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught: “Set your goals. … But don’t become frustrated because there are no obvious victories. Remind yourself that striving can be more important than arriving.”2
For so long I had focused only on my hopes for marriage and my “failure” at not achieving that covenant. I had forgotten the significance of the covenants I had made and how those covenants had helped me move toward Christ.
I had forgotten how beautiful my circumstances were. Right now, because I don’t have children or many obligations at home, I have time to develop more skills for the future. I’m able to give a great amount of my time to serving others and ministering to those in my ward. I am able to meet more people and learn from them. I get to spend time improving my relationships with my parents and siblings. And most importantly, I still have plenty of opportunities to continue becoming more like the Savior.
I’ve realized that if I’m still walking on the path that leads me to Jesus Christ, then I’m right where I need to be.
I am moving forward on the covenant path.

By worldly standards falling in love is an easy thing to do. Unfortunately, falling out of love can be easy as well. But falling back into love after falling out is extremely difficult. People don’t fall back into love; they climb back in. This can be a long, difficult journey, but it is extremely rewarding. I know from experience.
“Heavenly Father, I don’t know what to do!” I had stormed out of the house after a particularly nasty argument with my husband. It was November and very cold. I left without shoes or a coat, but I was so upset I hardly noticed. Our marriage wasn’t physically abusive, but it seemed we fought all the time—or at least whenever he was home, which wasn’t very often. He stayed late at work almost every day and seemed to spend the rest of his time at the golf course. I couldn’t blame him. Home was just as miserable for him as it was for me. So there I was in the cold, wearing just a thin T-shirt and jeans, pouring out my misery to Heavenly Father. As I prayed I realized I no longer loved my husband. I didn’t particularly like him either.
It seemed I had two options. I could leave and get a divorce, or I could stay and be miserable. Neither option seemed very inviting. If I left, my marriage would fail and I would have to give up my hope for an eternal family. I would force my children to suffer because of my decision, and they would spend their childhood in a home with only one parent.
On the other hand, if I stayed, I would be ignoring the fact that we were failing anyway. I would not have an eternal family, because we certainly weren’t heading toward the celestial kingdom. I would be forcing my children to live in a very unhappy home because Mom and Dad didn’t like each other and could barely look at one another without taking offense.
“Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “neither choice is good. Please tell me what to do.”
That’s when a new thought entered my mind. The right choice was one I had ignored. I could stay, love Mark (name has been changed), and be happy. That seemed a much better choice. Although I had no idea how I was to accomplish such a thing, the thought of having my happy family back made me feel I could turn around and go home.
During the next few weeks I tried to fall back in love with Mark but found only frustration. My best efforts seemed to fail. I tried to be nicer to him. But when I cooked him a fancy dinner I knew he liked, he showed up late. When I did small things for him that I thought showed love, he didn’t notice, which upset me even more. Despite all my efforts, he didn’t experience the miraculous transformation I was hoping for. After three weeks I was closer to giving up than ever before.
I returned to Heavenly Father in prayer. I’m ashamed to say it wasn’t the most humble of prayers. “It won’t work,” I informed Him. “Mark’s too much of a jerk. I can’t love him if he’s not willing to help me out a little. I tried and it didn’t work.
“Can’t You help me?” I asked. “Can’t You make him a little nicer? Could You please just fix him?”
Almost at once came the strong impression: “Fix yourself.”
“I’m not the problem,” I thought. I was sure of that. I started listing all Mark’s terrible traits that just couldn’t be overlooked and that were, most definitely, the problem.
Again inside my troubled mind I felt, “Fix yourself.”
“OK,” I prayed more humbly now, “I will but I don’t know how. Please guide me. Please tell me what to do.”
Each day I prayed, pleading with the Lord to guide me. I knelt in many lengthy prayers, informing Him how important this was, trying to convince Him to help me, but it seemed nothing came.
Insight finally arrived through our Gospel Doctrine teacher. During class we read Moroni 7:47–48: “But charity is the pure love of Christ. … Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ.”
We discussed what charity is. It is love that Jesus Christ has for each of us. I learned that the Savior knows what is good in each of us. He can find something worthy of loving in every person.
The teacher referred us back to the scriptures. “It says in verse 48 that charity is a gift from the Father that is bestowed on you. Charity is not something you can develop on your own. It must be given to you. So there’s a neighbor who makes you angry or someone you don’t like. What’s the problem? The problem is you don’t have charity, the pure love of Christ, toward him or her. How do you get it? You need to ‘pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart’ and ask Him to give you charity toward that person. You need to ask to see that person through the Savior’s eyes so you will be able to see him or her as good and lovable.”
This was my answer. If I could see Mark from the Savior’s perspective, I couldn’t help but love him. It seemed such an easy thing to do, much easier than anything I had tried so far. I would just ask for charity, God would give it to me, and that would solve my problem. But I should have known Heavenly Father would require at least a little work from me.
I knelt in prayer that night and asked for charity toward my husband. I asked to feel a portion of the love that Jesus Christ felt for Mark, to see the good things about him that He could see. Then the thought came to me very strongly that I should already know good things about Mark and I should name them. I thought for a long time. I hadn’t focused on good things in quite a while. Finally I said, “He looked nice today.” I was prompted to say another thing. “He takes out the garbage when I ask.” Another. “He works hard.” Another. “He’s good with the kids.” Another. I couldn’t think of anything else.
The next night before bed I asked for charity and was again prompted to say good things about Mark. This was hard work. I wasn’t used to focusing on the positive. I was used to cataloging all his faults so I could correct them.
I soon realized I would be saying good things about him each night for a while and decided it would be infinitely easier if I paid attention throughout the day. The next day I watched closely and came up with 10 good things about him—a new record! This became my goal: 10 good things before I went to bed. On good days it was easy. On bad days the last three were along the lines of “His hair looked good” or “I liked the jeans he wore.” But I did it every night.
After a while I started making myself name 10 positive things each time I had a negative thought. With those odds, I didn’t let myself dwell on Mark’s faults very often.
Slowly something wonderful was happening. First, I began to realize that Mark wasn’t the big jerk I thought he was. He had many wonderful traits that I had overlooked or forgotten. Second, in the absence of my nagging, Mark started fixing a lot of the bad habits I had hounded him about for so long. As soon as I stopped feeling I had to be responsible for his actions, he started taking the responsibility upon himself. I was enjoying my time with Mark, and there was more of it because he stopped working so many hours.
We had come so far, but there was still one problem: I felt no love for Mark. It just wasn’t there. I longed for that feeling of connection, the feeling that we belonged together. I had been praying every day for five months now, asking to feel the love that Christ felt for him. I pleaded with God even harder to give me love for Mark. “I am happy with our progress,” I told Him. “Our family is much stronger than ever before. If this is the best I can have, I will be satisfied. But if I could just love Mark, even a little, that would be the most cherished blessing I could receive.”
I remember vividly the moment that blessing was bestowed. We were playing games at my parents’ house one evening. I looked across the table at Mark, and suddenly, out of the blue, the strongest, most vibrant, most intense love I had ever felt hit me almost like a physical force. My eyes welled up with tears, and I was awed by the strength of my feelings. There, sitting across from me, was my eternal companion, whom I loved more than words could express. His infinite worth was so brilliant I couldn’t believe I had ever been able to overlook it. I felt to some degree what the Savior felt for my Mark, and it was beautiful.
It has been several years since that special evening, and the memory still brings tears to my eyes. It’s frightening to think I almost gave up, almost missed this experience.
My marriage is very good now—not perfect, but very, very good. I refuse to let my love slip away again. I make a conscious effort each day to nourish the love I have for Mark. And I feel the deepest gratitude to a patient, loving Heavenly Father for helping me fix myself.

When I was a little girl, I had a lot of daydreams. Sure, almost all children have fantasies. But these were not your ordinary, everyday, run of the mill, childhood dreams. I was not a normal child. Yet, what child is normal, and what fantasy is ordinary? Anyway, as I was saying, I had some extraordinary ideas.
First, and probably most unusual, I believed I was a blonde. Don’t ask me why; imagination usually doesn’t provide a “why” or a “because.” I believed the dark-haired, fair-skinned image in the mirror was someone else who had been hired to trick me into believing that I resembled Snow White more than Cinderella. I would stand in front of the mirror for hours on end trying to catch her blinking at the wrong moment or making some other false movement that would give her away. Apparently she had been trained well in the art of imitation, and I never caught her off guard.
Long flowing blonde hair reminds me of gold and sunshine. Angels have blonde hair, and so do all the beautiful princesses who live happily ever after.
There is something magic about blonde hair, and since I imagined I had blonde hair, there was something magic about me.
It’s funny some of the strange things a person can do when she’s magic. Dolls talk, elevator doors open when she waves her hand, and cardboard boxes become sleek new cars. I had traveled in parts of outer space where the shuttle flights hadn’t been. I could talk to bumblebees, make friends with warring natives, and even turn a single pink balloon into an entire birthday party.
Of course, being as magic and as beautiful as I was, I was naturally the center of the universe. When I skinned my knee, the whole world felt the pain; when my goldfish died, everyone mourned with me; when I played the harpsichord for the PTA in the second grade, the room was packed, and they had all come to listen to me.
It was a wonderful world I lived in. It was a good feeling knowing that everyone loved me and that the whole world was watching out for me. It is too bad that kind of fantasy can’t last forever.
One day, as I was looking in the mirror, I felt a strange sense of realization, and reality slowly filtered through the magic. That girl, standing there, staring back at me, was me. Those were my eyes, those were my eyes, those were my freckles, that was my skin, and that, like it or not, was my hair. It was not sunshine or gold. It didn’t shine or gleam or make me look like an angel. It was black.
I stared at the girl for a long time in one last futile attempt to discover her identity. She didn’t flinch. I moved ever so slightly to the left. She moved with me. I lifted my hand above my head, then suddenly jerked it back down. She did it also.
I went into my room and shut the door tightly. Then I lay down on my bed and thought.
I thought about all the people who went to PTA, but not to hear me play the harpsichord. I thought about all the people who were laughing the day my goldfish died. I thought about cardboard boxes and elevator doors. I thought about pink balloons and dolls. I thought about gold and sunshine and everything I could think of.
Then I got up and went back to my mirror. There I was—me—black hair and all.
A smile tickled the corners of my mouth and then leaped boldly to my lips.
Long flowing black hair reminds me of night and the manes of wild stallions, and there is something magically alive about night and wild stallions.

On the way to a Sunday meeting, the stake president and I saw a couple walking along the road with a baby and two small children. We stopped to offer them a ride. They were surprised and delighted. When I asked how far they needed to walk to the chapel, the father replied that it could take 45 minutes to an hour, depending on the children’s pace. They faced this journey back and forth, every Sunday, with no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.

At the time of the commencement of work on the Kirtland Temple my great-great-grandfather, Artemus Millet, was a wealthy construction contractor living in the area of Toronto, Canada. He was also a non-member of the Church. It has been said that he was surprised to find Brigham Young at his door saying that he had been sent by Joseph Smith to convert him to the Church and that he was to leave his business and come to Kirtland to assist in the construction of the temple. Brigham also said that Joseph wanted him to bring $1000 so they could buy supplies. Artemus was baptized, left his business in the hands of employees, and went to Kirtland where he worked tirelessly on the temple. Accidents and fatigue weakened him physically, he gave liberally of his funds and in the end had little of economic worth left. His wife died leaving him with four children. In short he, along with numerous others, gave everything he had to the building of the temple. He later followed the Saints to Nauvoo where he again worked on the temple, giving all that he had and more. Is there any doubt in your mind that Artemus loved the temple? It is probable that most of you have ancestors about whom a similar story could be told. It almost seems improper to even raise the question: do you think they loved the temple?

I was a 13-year-old Latter-day Saint young woman living in Gilbert, Arizona, and each year our stake held its yearly girls’ camp in the mountains of Prescott, Arizona.
That year, at the beginning of camp, our leaders gave us each a small spiral notebook. On the inside cover of each was written our name, the name of the camp, and “Summer of ’76.” On the first page of the notebook was the heading, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
We were instructed to write in this notebook our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams for the future. We were also told to put our notebooks somewhere safe. Our leaders hoped that when we were grown up, we would take our notebooks out and see what our dreams had been and if we had achieved them.
I took our leaders’ words to heart. I filled page after page with my hopes for the future. When I came home from camp that year, I unpacked my suitcase and took out the little spiral notebook and set it carefully inside my hope chest.
Years went by, and I gave little thought to the notebook. Over the next 20 years, I went through many moves. I transferred the contents of my hope chest to a cardboard box, which I labeled “Mementos,” and that box followed me wherever I went.
One day, 20 years from the day that I wrote in that notebook at camp, I walked into my garage and saw the box labeled “Mementos.” I decided to get it down and see what was inside. I began pulling out items. Then I came across the little spiral notebook. I opened it to the first page and read, “I hope, I wish, I dream.”
I began to read and ponder what I had written—of my desire to be married to a good man in the temple and my desire to have a big family and a happy home. I had written of my desire to keep the commandments. I continued reading about how important it was for me to not compromise my principles and to keep the light of the gospel in my life.
I paused for a moment from my reading and thought about how my life had turned out. I had not compromised my principles. I had married a good man in the temple. We had three children at that time. We were a happy family, and we taught our children the gospel. All that I had read had come true or was coming true.
I then went on to read of a more specific dream I had. The last sentence I had written was, “I want to write a book.”
After reading this, I found myself standing perfectly still, in awe. Then my heart began pounding, and I smiled as my entire being was filled with a warm tingly feeling. I closed the little notebook and held it close to me. A publishing company had just accepted my manuscript for publication.
I received a strong testimony that day of the power of goal setting. I received a testimony that our Heavenly Father loves us and will help us in achieving our hopes, our wishes, and our dreams. I believe that when I was 13, I knew what I wanted to do in my life, and I knew what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. I believe in the importance of setting righteous goals now and not compromising your principles. If you do set righteous goals, they will become reality.

While visiting with a young man a few years ago, he told me that when he was twelve, his father, the ward bishop, upon finishing his Aaronic Priesthood interview, said, “Son, I have talked with you as your bishop. Now I want to visit with you as your father. I can honestly tell you that I have never smoked or drunk or touched tea or coffee. And I want you to know how good it makes me feel to be able to say that to you. Now I would like you to covenant with me that when your own son or daughter is twelve years old, you will be able to tell him or her the same thing.” The covenant was made. Just one year after this, this same man, still the bishop, still a prominent dentist, was just finishing his dissertation prior to receiving another doctors degree, this time in education; he went to his medical doctor for a physical and was told he was in perfect health. Yet that night he cancelled all of his appointments for the next day and arranged to take his wife to the temple. On the way he discussed with her many family financial matters. Upon returning home he went into my friend’s bedroom, reminded him of the covenant they had made a year earlier and then told him that if anything should happen to him that he (my friend) was the man of the house and that he should take care of his mother. Concluding, he bore his testimony that he knew Jesus was the Christ and that the Church was led by prophets, and then he left the room. A little later, hearing a scream, my friend rushed to his parents’ room, and finding his father lying on the floor, he administered mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. He heard his dad pronounced dead when the ambulance arrived. As he told me of this experience, tears came to his eyes, and as he looked at his own three-month-old son, whom he held in his arms, he said, “When he is twelve years old, I will be able to tell him that I have never tasted tea or coffee, liquor or tobacco, and how good that makes me feel.”

This story happened in Canada.
“Mamá, guess what?” Ana’s older sister, Mila, said. She held up her report card from school. “I have As in all my classes!”
Ana rolled her eyes. Why did Mila always have to be so perfect?
“That’s great,” Mamá said. “I’m proud of you.” She turned to Ana. “And how are your grades?”
Ana handed Mamá her report card. “They’re fine,” Ana said, looking down. Ana tried hard in school. But she didn’t have perfect grades like Mila did.
“I’m proud of you too,” Mamá said. She gave Ana a hug.
She’s just saying that to make me feel better, Ana thought. Mila had always been smarter than her.
But Mila wasn’t just better at school than Ana. She was better at everything. She had more friends. She had prettier hair. She was better at sports. Everyone loved Mila.
Ana’s parents tried to help.
“You are so important, Ana,” Papi would say.
“You are beautiful and smart,” Mamá would say.
But Ana didn’t feel important or beautiful or smart. Not compared to Mila.
One day Ana and Mila were playing a board game. “Looks like you won again,” Ana groaned.
“Want to play something else?” Mila asked. “We could go outside. I bet you’ll beat me at soccer!”
“No!” Ana snapped. “I’m tired of losing, and I’m tired of you always being better than me.” She felt like there was hot water boiling inside her.
Mila’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry—”
Ana turned and ran to her room before Mila could finish. “I’ll never be perfect like you!” she said, and slammed the door.
Ana lay on her bed with her face in her pillow. She felt so angry!
She huffed some deep breaths. When she was calm, Ana knelt to say a prayer. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she said, “please help me. I’m always jealous of Mila.” Her voice got quiet. “I feel like I’ll never be good enough. Do You really love me?”
A warm feeling spread from Ana’s head down to her toes. Then she had a thought. Heavenly Father loved people because they were His children. Not because they were the best. Maybe Ana didn’t have to be better than anyone else to be loved. She was loved right now.
Ana stayed on her knees. She didn’t want the good feeling to go away. Heavenly Father did love her—a lot.
Then there was a gentle knock at the door. It was Mamá. She sat on the bed next to Ana. “I heard you were upset.”
Ana nodded. “Yeah. I feel better now though. I know I shouldn’t be angry at Mila for getting good grades or winning. And I said a prayer, which helped a lot.”
Mamá put her arm around Ana. “How did you feel when you prayed?”
“Good,” Ana said. “I felt like I was really important to Heavenly Father.”
Mamá pulled Ana close. “You’ve always been really important—to Heavenly Father and to us. But I’m glad that you know that now.”
“Me too. I’m going to tell Mila I’m sorry for yelling at her.” Ana smiled. “And ask if she wants to play soccer!”
Illustrations by Marina Martin

When I was in my 20s, I had to take a very hard exam to get into a prominent business school in France. I had been studying long hours every day for two years. But I always went to church and institute and fulfilled my Church responsibilities.
The most important part of the exam was the interview. I had an interview with one school, and when they found out I was a member of the Church, it didn’t go well.
Then I took the exam with the school I wanted to go to most. After some time in the interview, the interviewers started asking questions about what I did outside my studying hours. I knew that it was a go/no-go question for me. But I decided in a second I would be faithful to my principles.
I said, “I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” and then I spent 15 minutes explaining what I did in the Church.
The director of the school said, “You know, I’m glad you said this. When I was a student, I studied in the United States, and one of my best friends was a Mormon. He was a great man, a very kind person. I consider the Mormons to be very good people.”
What a relief! I was one of the first candidates that year to be accepted to this school.

Grettel Garcia: “I remember being in Young Women when I was twelve and asking my dad, ‘Why can’t we just be at home?’ I didn’t want to go to an activity. He told me, ‘Sometimes we go for ourselves, and sometimes we go for the people who are there.’ And I really felt it in my life. Even this last Sunday I was struggling, and I was able to be helped by somebody at church. And then during the week, one of my friends was struggling, and I was able to enlighten her.”

Among those who remained in France were Louis and Marie Gaston of Nice. In 1950, Louis, searching for Christ’s church, systematically attended each local church. However, it was his wife who told him of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after she had learned of it from a friend at the market. Marie was touched when she heard the words “the church of Jesus Christ.” They rang true to her because she had often heard Louis say that the church of Jesus Christ must be on the earth.

The Gastons attended church the next Sunday. The meeting place was only a small room. Besides the Gastons and the missionaries, two other members were present. Louis’s heart was touched when he heard each member bear testimony of the Savior. After the meeting he stood on the sidewalk in front of the building and, with great emotion, said to his family, “This is the true church of Jesus Christ.”

On 22 December 1950, the entire family was baptized in the Turkish baths in Nice. Eight months later, Louis was ordained an elder, and in the fall of 1951 he was called to serve as branch president. He talked about the gospel to everyone who came into his scales repair shop. Marie cared for those who were old or alone or ill. Her service and loving spirit also helped spread the gospel. Within two years, more than 100 people were attending the branch in Nice.

A ribbon of black asphalt wends its way through the mountains of northern Utah into the valley of the Great Salt Lake, then meanders southward on its appointed course. Interstate Highway 15 is its official name. This super-freeway carries the output of factories, the products of commerce, and masses of humanity toward appointed destinations.
I remember a time when driving to my home years ago, I approached the entrance to Interstate 15. At the on-ramp I noticed three hitchhikers, each one of whom carried a homemade sign that announced his desired destination. One sign read “Los Angeles, California,” while a second carried the designation “Boise, Idaho.” However, it was the third sign that not only caught my attention, but also caused me to reflect and ponder its message. The hitchhiker had lettered not Los Angeles, nor Boise, on the cardboard sign he held aloft. Rather, his sign consisted of but one word and read simply “Anywhere.”
Here was one who was content to travel in any direction, according to the whim of the driver who stopped to give him a free ride. What an enormous price to pay for such a ride! No plan. No objective. No goal. The road to anywhere is the road to nowhere, and the road to nowhere leads to dreams sacrificed, opportunities squandered, and a life unfulfilled.

In 1989, Robert M. and Lola Walker, a missionary couple in Ghana, were transferred to Ivory Coast. They could speak no French, so they were instructed to hire a translator and seek help from American families living there.
The Walkers accepted their assignment with some trepidation but with faith that the Lord would help them meet their new responsibility. At Church meetings in Abidjan, the Walkers initially understood only what the Spirit helped them understand. During one meeting, a young man approached them and asked in fluent English if he could help. That young man, Adolphe Mande Gueu, was the first of four translators the Walkers hired, taught, and baptized during their 14 months in Ivory Coast.
Before his baptism, Adolphe quickly became acquainted with the gospel through his translation of lessons and talks. His translation work for the Walkers prepared him to understand and gain a testimony of the Book of Mormon, which he read in three days. He says the Holy Ghost bore such a strong witness to him of the book’s truthfulness that he read it almost nonstop.
“This book testifies to me that your message comes from God,” Brother Gueu told the Walkers, “and my family and I must be a part of the gospel.”
Brother and Sister Gueu, along with their four children, have been stalwarts in the Church ever since their baptism in 1988. He was a branch president and later became the first teacher for the Church Educational System in Ivory Coast. Today he is the regional director for CES. Sister Gueu also has served in many callings, including president of the district Young Women organization.