Gospel Story Finder

Before President Hugh B. Brown was a General Authority, he served in England as an officer in the Canadian army and had great power. Men stood at attention before him and called him “sir.” One day Brother Brown received a message that he was wanted in the hospital. When he got there, someone directed him to a little room where a sick young man lay. Brother Brown remembered that he had once been that young man’s Sunday School teacher. “Brother Brown,” said the young man, “would you use your authority in my behalf? The doctors say I cannot live. Will you give me a blessing?” All the pride Brother Brown felt in wearing the uniform of the king disappeared as he laid his hands upon the boy’s head and gave him a blessing. The help that the boy needed was not from any authority of an officer in the king’s army but from the authority of the priesthood.

I want to tell you how I am trying to be like Jesus Christ. I moved from Utah to Pacific Grove, California. My teacher gave me an assignment to make a montage about myself. My mom and I decided to make part of the montage about the Church. I am the only member of the Church in the fifth grade at my new school.
Making the montage answered a lot of questions, like why I don’t play on Sunday, why I don’t swear, and what my gospel standards are. I hope I can be more like Jesus.

Katie danced into the kitchen, where her brother, Jack sat at the table. “What are you doing?” she asked as she twirled on her toes.
“I’m writing a thank-you note to Uncle Ed,” Jack told her. “He gave me his old stamp collection.”
“I want to write a thank-you note too.”
“That would be nice, but since tomorrow is Valentine’s Day, why don’t you make valentines, instead?” her brother suggested.
Katie twirled again while she thought about that. Then she started smiling. “I have another idea,” she told Jack. Then she hurried off to her bedroom.
Katie found her colored paper and markers. She got her scissors and glue. She took some white paper and cut out five wide heart-shaped ruffles. Then she glued each one on a piece of red paper. On the first one, she drew trees on one side of the ruffle and a letter carrier waving on the other side. In the middle, she printed “Thank You, from Katie.” Next, she made one with striped balls around the ruffle, and one with a piano on each side of the ruffle. The last one she made had checkerboard squares around the ruffle. All the heart centers said, “Thank You, from Katie.”
Katie put the valentine with the striped balls into her dad’s shoe. He always played catch with her.
She put the one with the pianos into her mom’s coat pocket. Mom played the piano with Katie, and they sang songs.
She slipped the checkerboard ruffle valentine inside Jack’s desk. He was teaching her how to play checkers.
She put the last ruffled heart into their mailbox. The letter carrier always waved to her as he walked by.
Early the next morning, Katie’s dad started to get ready for work. He felt sleepy and a little cranky. When he grabbed his shoes, Katie’s thank-you valentine tumbled out. Dad looked at the striped ball and smiled because he liked to play catch with Katie. He read the thank-you in the middle and smiled again. He started whistling.
In the afternoon, Mom had to go grocery shopping. She snatched her shopping list and hurried out the door. She was in such a rush that she didn’t even wave to their neighbor, Mrs. James. But when Mom put the shopping list into her pocket, she found Katie’s thank-you valentine. She looked at the pianos on the ruffle and smiled. She read the message and smiled again. Then she stopped to show Mrs. James the special thank-you valentine and asked if she needed anything from the store.
An icy wind nipped at the letter carrier’s cheeks as he walked down Katie’s street. When he put some letters into Katie’s mailbox, her thank-you valentine blew out. He caught it and looked at the pictures. He read the message and smiled. Then he waved to Katie and smiled all the way down the street.
After school, Jack sighed as he went to his room to work on his math homework. Numbers mixed him up, and he wanted to eat supper. Jack opened his desk to get a pencil, and Katie’s thank-you valentine popped out. Jack looked at the checkerboard ruffle and smiled. He read the thank-you in the center and smiled again as he began figuring out his math problems.
Later, Jack found Katie feeding her goldfish. “I like my thank-you valentine,” he told her.
“Really?”
“Of course! Everyone likes it when someone remembers to say thank you. Now, how about a game of checkers?”
“Sure!” Katie danced off to get the game.

As I lay in the motel room anticipating the next day’s state cross-country race, I struggled with all the difficult emotions a 16-year-old can have. I felt I was running worse than in past years. I felt ugly. Having never had a date or a boyfriend compounded my feelings of insecurity. I wanted so badly to feel accepted.
I had gone to bed early, and my teammates thought I was asleep. I heard them giggling, and then they nudged my shoulder and said, “Here, Jenny. Have some water.” I could distinctly smell that it was not water.
I was angry at these “friends” for trying to play a trick on me. Did they think I was stupid? I was scared they might force the alcohol down my throat. I yearned for the security of my family, but that seemed childish for someone my age.
A thousand questions raced through my mind. By drinking, will I be part of the “in” crowd? Will the alcohol make me beautiful? Will it give me a boyfriend? Will I be able to run faster or even win the race tomorrow?
I knew the answers to these questions. I said firmly, “No, that’s not water, and I’m not going to drink it.” Even though both of those girls beat me in the race the next day, I knew I had won a more important race in the Lord’s eyes.
The bus trip home seemed particularly long. I was anxious to return to my family and tell my mother what had happened.
The next night at dinner Mom presented me with a gift. My five brothers and sisters watched me open it. It was to let me know my family was proud of my decision to live the Word of Wisdom.
Around the dinner table that night my family helped me feel talented, beautiful, and accepted—an acceptance I may never find at school or on a cross-country team.

Now, some of you may be thinking, "Well, that is great. But what do you do when you are seeking promptings, counsel from the Lord, warnings, and direction, and you just do not seem to receive an answer?"

Maybe you are having this concern with regard to the most important decision you will make in your life. Remember the promise to trust in the Lord with all thine heart and He will direct thy paths.

On important events in our lives, we do want clear direction, and that may be hard to find. When I was courting my wonderful bride, I wanted a clear manifestation of the Spirit that she was the right one. It would have been nice to have an angel come down and declare that to me. What I knew for certain was that I was definitely in love. I could not stand to go more than about 18 hours without seeing her.

So I did all the things outlined: I fasted, I prayed, I attended the temple, and I sought the counsel of my parents. Now, before I continue, I want to add that I believe I was raised by the greatest father that has ever walked the face of the earth. However, he could not confirm that my wife was the right one for me. I had had such a great relationship with my father that I just assumed he would help me with that most important of decisions. But he could not tell me that he had had confirmation by the Spirit. My mother, thankfully, was more helpful. She expressed that she felt good about Emily. My mother's feelings allowed me to move forward to do what was right.

Logic also played a very valuable role in the process of making a decision. I knew that Emily possessed an unusually strong commitment to the gospel of Jesus Christ. What the Lord wanted was going to come first in her life--no matter what. She was extremely kind. She was intelligent, and as we spoke about scripture study, prayer, family home evening, Church service, and many other topics, it was evident that she was founded in true principles.

So, with those assurances, on a wonderful day in April 1985, my eternal companion and I started a never-ending journey. She is the single best decision that I have ever made. Heavenly Father was definitely directing my path. That does not mean that life has been simple and without challenges. But it has been a unique journey that we have shared together. I look forward to spending another 50 billion years with her! Maybe then she will not be a mystery to me. On second thought, it will be okay if she still is a bit of a mystery.

I have had such strong answers to many prayers, so why not an unmistakable answer to the most important of all requests that I had made to the Lord up to that point in my life? I believe it was to teach me to listen to the still, small voice and not doubt. Furthermore, I have come to understand that if I am repentant, being exactly obedient, following my leaders, and making other good choices--in other words, if I am worthy--Heavenly Father will not let me make big mistakes without proper warning. Nor will He let you.

I went to a conference in President Rex Reeve’s stake. He took me through the building and showed me 2,000 chairs prepared for the people. I asked him how he knew there would be 2,000 people present, and he answered, “We sent the home teachers out to invite everyone to come, and they have given us their report. They have informed us that 2,000 people will be here tomorrow.” Evidently the word got out that I would be one of the speakers because seventy-five of those 2,000 didn’t show up. But they had an attendance of 49 percent and it has since grown much higher.

One of my favorite childhood stories happened when I was about three years old. I don’t remember the experience, but my mother has often told me about it.
My father had been called to serve a mission in the Southern States Mission. At the time, my parents and I were living in southern Nevada. Although they knew that it would be difficult to be separated, my mother and father were thrilled with the opportunity it gave my father to serve the Lord.
So my father left his wife and only child at home and headed for Salt Lake City for initial training and instruction before he left for the mission field.
The day after he left, my mother was washing clothes. In those days water had to be heated on a stove, after which it was poured into the washing machine. She had just picked up a bucket of boiling water and was carrying it over to the washing machine when I scurried past her. She tripped, and the scalding water poured all over me.
Priesthood holders were called in to administer to me. Before they began, my mother gave them strict instructions: “Bless this child that he will be healed so that his father won’t have to interrupt his mission.”
After the blessing, the pain ceased, and in a short time I was healed. I was promised that I would have no scars, and I have none.
My father was told about the accident, but he was assured that I was well on my way to recovery. In the meantime he had been set apart by a General Authority and was given the promise that his wife and son would be blessed while he served the Lord and that all would go well with them. He took the Lord at His word and went on with his mission.
My father died when I was six, leaving me with almost no memory of him and leaving my mother a young widow with two babies. But my mother never expressed regret for the time that my father had spent on his mission serving the Lord. To this day she still speaks of his mission as a blessing in our lives. She always taught me how important serving a mission is.
I have always insisted that missionary work be part of my life and part of my family’s lives. I have told this story many times to my children and to their children to help them understand the importance of serving the Lord and to teach them that a mission comes first.

For all of my life, I have heard about how important it is for us to attend the temple. I remember singing songs in Primary like “I Love To See the Temple” and “Families Can Be Together Forever,” which reminded me of how sacred the temple is and that we have to be worthy to be able to enter. I had been taught that it was the place where our Heavenly Father dwells and that it was so important to make it into those hallowed walls.
My parents had been within those very walls, though they weren’t able to frequent them as often as they would like to. They first went to the temple together a year after they were married. It was difficult because even though they knew they couldn’t afford to go, they knew they couldn’t afford not to either. It was always emphasized in our home to go to the temple as soon as we could and to make temple marriage our goal. My parents also showed me how important and sacred their covenants were. They taught me that they received many blessings from keeping their covenants, and because of their example, I decided that was something that I wanted too. Throughout the years, I kept reminding myself to “always keep the temple within my sights,”1 even though the nearest temple was far away.
Here in Barbados, we aren’t privileged to have a temple so close that we can walk or even take the bus. In order for us to get to a temple, we have to travel many miles away from home by plane. I think that’s why so many members treasure their visits to the temple.
The opportunity finally came for me to go the temple for the very first time, but for some reason, I felt incredibly anxious. The first thought that flooded my mind was that even though I was trying my best, it wasn’t good enough; I wasn’t worthy enough. This worried me tremendously. I was indeed trying my best, so why did I feel so deflated about going to the temple?
I decided that for a decision as big as this one, I needed to seek the answer from my Heavenly Father. Did He want me to go, or was I really not good enough?
The next two weeks were filled with mornings turning into nights on my knees and continual fasting. I tried my best to keep the Spirit near, and though many nights I got off my knees from fervent prayers still a bit unsure, I was sure that Heavenly Father would answer. I just needed to be patient.
The next Sunday as I sat in fast and testimony meeting, the Spirit was really strong. I had my eyes closed as the sacrament was being passed, and that’s when I got my answer. It felt like Heavenly Father was saying to me, “Zariah, if it is of Me, how could it be wrong?”
When I felt those words, tears came to my eyes and I just felt this overwhelming feeling of joy. I knew that Heavenly Father had heard every prayer I had uttered. He knew just how inadequate I felt, but He also reminded me that the Savior, through His Atonement, can help us work toward becoming better every single day. All feelings of inadequacy dissipated within that small moment.
When I reached home that afternoon, I shared my answer with my family, that I needed to go to the Lord’s house to make those special, sacred covenants that we need for eternal life.
As I had the interviews with both the branch and mission presidents, I felt even better about my choice. On both occasions, Heavenly Father kept reassuring me that I had made the right decision, that I was worthy, that I was good enough.
That feeling followed me all the way to the temple grounds. When I first set foot inside those sacred halls, it felt like Heavenly Father wrapped His arms around me and said, “Welcome home.” It was probably one of the most amazing feelings and one that I will never forget.

Thirty-eight years ago this month, Dean and I, then newlyweds, traveled to New Mexico to visit my parents. While there, my father took us on a day trip into the mountains in the northern part of the state. In the afternoon, we encountered a car stranded on the roadside with a flat tire. The driver told my father that his spare was also flat and he needed a ride to the nearest town to get the tire fixed. My father, seeing the man’s family inside the car, said to him, “You’ll never be able to get to town and back before dark. But listen, you have the same size wheel as mine. Take my spare, and the next time you come to Albuquerque, bring it back to me.”
The stranger, shocked by the offer, said, “But you don’t even know me.”
Daddy’s response, typical for him, was, “You’re an honest man, aren’t you? You’ll bring the tire back.”
A few weeks later I asked my dad about the spare tire. He told me that it had been returned.

My mom taught us to question whether is it kind, necessary, or true before we say something. That has cut back on a lot of teasing that hurts. And if we still say it, our mom will make us sing the song “Kindness Begins With Me” (Children’s Songbook, 145). After singing that song about a half a dozen times, we got tired of singing and just quit saying those hurtful things.
Rebeka M., 16, Missouri, USA

I learned in school that some children have a disease called cancer and that the medicine they take can make them lose their hair. I was sad for them because not only are they sick, but other kids might make fun of them too. I found out that I could donate some of my own long hair to these children. My ballet school is very strict and wouldn’t let me dance in their recital with short hair. I worked hard all year so I could dance in the recital, but I didn’t care. I donated my hair because I knew Jesus would say that people are more important than anything else.

In the final years of young Brother Uchtdorf’s high level training as a pilot, he was flying solo with an instructor “on his wing” in another aircraft, directing his maneuvers and giving instruction. In one particular maneuver he was to represent an emergency landing by making an abrupt approach to the runway, requiring a sharp, steep embankment of the airplane before leveling out just in time to land. As young Dieter made the maneuver and attempted his steep, angular descent, the steering control of his airplane did not respond. He had, in airplane parlance, a “stuck stick.” The result would be a continuing roll of the airplane, leading to a crash landing upside down. “Bail out!” the instructor called. “Bail out!” But the man with “the courage of a bull,” as one of his Brethren described him, reversed the stick away from the extremity he had put it in and tried again to land. Once again the mechanism froze. “Bail out,” the stern command came again, this time with genuine concern in the instructor’s voice.

Determined that he be in charge of the aircraft, not the other way around, this future Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ wrestled physically with the steering, somehow breaking it free of the earlier resistance, made his sharp descent as prescribed in what was now not an imagined but very real emergency landing, and walked away grateful for divine help in times of need. “Man könnte sich darüber ärgern, aber man ist nicht verpflichtet dazu.” Such will be Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf’s determined and faithful service to the holy apostleship he now holds. He will give his all for the Lord Jesus Christ, His gospel, and His Church. In doing so he will lead untold legions of others on to new horizons.

Or are you living your life like my friend Paul when I was growing up in southern California?

In the summer of 1958, I was 15 years old. My friend Paul was 17. At Huntington Beach with other guys from our ward, about 9:00 at night, sitting around one of those fire rings, in the midst of the conversation Paul said: "I'm going to sin until I'm 23 years old, then I'm going to repent." I'm sorry to tell you that most of these teenagers said: "Wow. Cool. Paul's got his life all figured out. I wish I was as cool as Paul."

Well, as far as I know, Paul never killed anybody, but true to his word, he did commit just about every other sin possible and guess what? When he turned 23, he didn't repent. He didn't repent because he didn't know how. And even though the Lord stood at the door of his life and knocked, (like he stands at the door of our lives and knocks), Paul could not hear his voice. He did not open the door. Consequently, the Savior could not come in unto him and sup with him.

Paul went on to marry an LDS girl, but not in the temple. They had a couple of children. But their attendance at church came to nothing. Paul got his masters degree and then his Doctorate in Psychology. He became a distinguished professor of Psychology at Washington State University, but when I saw his son years later, playing Basketball for Washington State, I asked about Paul and about whether he himself was a member of the church. He said, "Oh, no. We don't believe in any of that."

When virtue does not garnish our thoughts unceasingly, we get lost and sometimes we never find our way back.

When GayLynn Ribeira, an art student at Brigham Young University, heard the amazing stories of the pioneer Saints in Ghana, she knew she wanted to create their portraits for her bachelor of fine arts illustration project. In the fall of 2005, she began to pursue a way to do this. The result was a grant allowing her and three other art students—Jesse Bushnell, Emmalee Glauser Powell, and Angela Nelson—to spend May and June of 2006 in Ghana. BYU faculty member Richard Hull oversaw the project. The five gathered stories and images of not only pioneer Saints but newer members also. The wealth of information found its way onto canvas in the months following the trip and onto the walls of the B. F. Larsen Gallery at BYU in October 2007. Following is some of that artwork.
2. Joseph William Billy Johnson: Holiness to the Lord, by Emmalee Glauser Powell
“Gratitude and love emanated from him,” the artist wrote of Brother Johnson of Cape Coast. “He taught the gospel for 14 years, and over a thousand people were ready for baptism when the missionaries arrived in 1978. He is a man who consecrates his life and soul to God. He inspired me to strive to make the Christlike attributes of love and charity a part of my being.”

In 1997 I found myself on what was supposed to be a 10-day working assignment in La Victoria, Venezuela. When I realized that I wouldn’t be returning home to Italy as soon as I expected, I began looking for a Latter-day Saint chapel so I could go to church on Sunday.
One day at lunchtime I made friends with a young Italian engineer who knew where to find a chapel in Maracay. He made a map for me. I had a car at my disposal, but unfortunately I hadn’t yet taken the medical examination required to obtain temporary permission to drive.
I was new to the area, I had only a sparse knowledge of Spanish, and several people had advised me against taking public transportation alone. I faced a dilemma. As Easter Sunday approached, I really wanted to renew my covenants by partaking of the sacrament. If I didn’t drive, how could I attend church in Maracay? If I did drive, I risked being stopped for driving without a permit.
As I considered my options, the 12th article of faith came to mind: “We believe in … obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.” Rather than drive, I knew that I must obey the law of the land (see D&C 58:21), even if doing so meant missing church.
A few days later I transferred to a hotel where several of my co-workers were staying. On Saturday morning, after a walk I returned to the hotel, still trying to figure out how to attend church the next day. As I passed the reception desk, to my surprise, I saw a copy of the Liahona in Spanish.
“Who is a member of the Church here?” I asked. Someone responded that the magazine belonged to one of the hotel workers. The receptionist went to his office and invited him to meet me. As we chatted about the Church, this good brother told me that there was a ward right there in La Victoria and that the chapel was located just a short walk from the hotel. He told me he would be happy to meet me the following morning and accompany me to church. What joy!
I ended up being in La Victoria for two more months. During that time I built many friendships as I happily participated in meetings and activities. Shortly after Easter, I obtained legal permission to drive, which enabled me to attend stake conference in Maracay.
While I was in Venezuela, my testimony of the importance of obeying the law of the land—even when inconvenient—was strengthened. I also obtained a testimony that Church publications are an effective way to share the blessings of the Lord.

Last week Dad took me with him to a town called Winchester. For his work he had to take some field strength measurements there and at some places along the way. I don’t know much about field strength measurements, but I do know about my dad.
One of the things I know is that he likes to take me places and do stuff with me. On the way to Winchester, for instance, we stopped and hiked across a big field with yellow flowers to a real pretty waterfall. We waded in the shallow parts of the pool under the falls and talked and laughed at a squirrel that was scolding us worse than Mom did the day Dad and I rode my go-cart down the steep part of Willow Lane and crashed through out little white picket fence and into her daffodils.
Another thing I know about Dad is that he loves Mom. He always opens the car door for her and helps her wash dishes and takes her on dates and hugs her a lot.
And he never yells. Well, almost never. I can only remember three times he did. One was at my soccer game when I made a winning goal. He ran out onto the field, put me on his shoulders, and hooted like he did the day my baby sister, Patience, was born. That was the second time he yelled. The third time was when our cat, Guinevere, ate Aristotle, his sixty-five-dollar tropical fish.
I know other things about Dad, too: He likes to jog, and he counts to ten a lot (like when he hammers his finger or steps on my baby sister’s loud, squeaky toys when he’s trying to tiptoe out of her room at night). He likes country-western music and Mom’s cheese enchiladas, but he hates cauliflower as much as I do. And he cries sometimes when he goes to Sky Hill, where Grandma and Grandpa are buried. They’re Dad’s mother and father, and they died in a plane crash about three years ago.
Something I don’t know about Dad is why he doesn’t go to church with Mom and me anymore. Oh, he still takes us to church, but it’s just to drop us off. Sometimes when kids ask me why he doesn’t come to church, I pretend I don’t hear them or I just say that I don’t know. I feel bad—not because their dads are there and mine isn’t, but because, well, because I love him a lot and I want him to be with us. It’s hard to explain. It’s just that Dad’s part of Mom and Patience and me, and we’re part of him. And what are families for if it’s not to be together? I get lonely, sort of, deep inside. As I said, it’s hard to explain.
Dad sometimes goes to pack meetings at the ward with me—when I earn a Scouting achievement award or when we have our Pinewood Derby. But that’s about all.
Once, when we were flying my kite behind the school, I asked him why he didn’t go to church with Mom and me. He looked like I did the time Mom asked who tracked mud across her clean carpet. But he just gave a little tug on the kite string and said, “Look at that thing climb, Arny!” And I knew better than to ask him again.
I know that Dad thinks about Church, though. And about God and Jesus. I know because when I was baptized, Dad was there, sitting right next to Mom and Uncle Henry, and he squeezed me afterward in a way that I will never forget. I can still feel it. There were tears in his eyes and the same kind of look that he had the day I scored at that soccer game and the Sunday Bishop Huxley blessed my baby sister. And I know because when my pet lizard died, Dad said that God would look after it, that Heavenly Father wouldn’t have taken the time to make something that He didn’t love.
When I asked Mom if she thought Dad would ever go to church again, her eyes shone as brightly as Aunt Margaret’s rosewood music box, and her chin jiggled like it does every time she bears her testimony. She said that she hoped that he would and that until then we should go on loving and supporting him as he does us and letting him know every day that we think he’s the greatest guy on earth.
“That won’t be hard,” I said, “because he is!”

by Sandra Dawn Brimhall
The lights in the cultural hall are dim. All backstage noise comes to a halt as the scenery is put in place and the actors take their positions. An expectant hush falls over the audience. It is road show night at the Salt Lake Utah Monument Park Stake. The imminent performance by the Monument Park 15th Ward has everyone more attentive, and some a little more apprehensive, than usual. The word is out that the 15th Ward has had only one rehearsal.
The concept of a one-day-of-rehearsal road show was not born of poor management or procrastination. It was intentional. After road show veteran Gayle Clegg accepted the calling to direct the ward road show, she said, “There must be a way to take the pain out of road shows.” With the busy schedules of most of the youth, weeks of practice was a nearly impossible commitment. Sister Clegg received permission to try her one-day approach.
Advanced preparations included writing the script, planning and making costumes, and painting scenery. The show itself was divided into six segments with a leader assigned to each segment. Overcoming the young people’s initial concern that they would end up on stage unprepared, the leaders got commitments from nearly 100 percent of the youth.
On the day set aside for the one big rehearsal, the six sections practiced their parts and were rotated onto the stage every 45 minutes. Great things were happening in addition to preparing the show. Older participants were helping the younger, and a feeling of unity was emerging. Mindy Richards, 13, commented, “I never became bored at the rehearsal. When our group was through I enjoyed watching the others rehearse. We were not tired of it. It was new to all of us.”
The night the road shows were presented, the Monument Park 15th Ward was ready. The road show was a success. Richard Schettler had been in other road shows. He felt that this was “the best road show I have ever been in. All the youth in the ward were involved, and it didn’t take all of our time.”
In the end, the big success was not just the road show; it was also the great feeling of nearly every young person in the ward working together. Tina Clegg said, “We have never had so many kids in the road show before. It was great!”

In the Rose Bowl football game of 1929, a player named Roy Riegels recovered a fumble and ran almost the length of the field toward the wrong goal line. He was tackled and brought down by one of his own teammates, thus preventing a score for the other team. He had lost his sense of direction in a moment of stress. His mistake cost his team a victory. He was a great player, but ever afterward he was remembered as the man who ran the wrong way.

In January 2013, I was called to serve as the first African American stake president in Alabama. Our family had moved to Alabama about fourteen months earlier, so we were relatively new to the stake, which covered more than fifteen hundred square miles and had twelve congregations. Thus I felt the need to visit each of the twelve congregations so they could get to know me and I could get to know them.
On one of my first visits, I was invited to meet with a brother after the sacrament services. As we met, he reached into his pocket to hand me his temple recommend. This brother was serving as a temple ordinance worker. As he handed me his temple recommend, he explained that he could not sustain or support a person of color serving as his stake president. He also shared that he had a problem with me being married to Stephanie, a person not of my race.
This brother was sincere and honest with his problems and concerns. He was self-aware enough to recognize how the disease of racism was affecting his ability to come unto Christ. He felt unworthy to worship in the house of the Lord, to receive ordinances, and to make and keep his covenants with the Lord. I responded by giving this brother back his temple recommend and then sharing that if he had a problem with me because of my race and my marriage, then he needed to worship God in the house of the Lord more, not less.
Temple worship can help us appreciate the beauty of God’s creation in all its variety. The temple can help us see beyond ourselves, our neighborhoods, and our nations. As we truly come to understand the ordinances and covenants of the temple, we come to recognize that the Lord loves diversity. The Lord observed when He finished His work, “And I, God, saw everything that I had made, and, behold all things which I had made were very good.”18 The Lord loves diversity. He loves me and He loves you. He wants us to know that we belong to His family. We are children of God. We are truly brothers and sisters.
Later, I shared with this struggling brother that if he had a problem with me, it was a problem he needed to work out with the Lord. Please know that I have no problem with the way I look. I am comfortable in my own skin. Furthermore, I have no problem with the way Stephanie looks. She is beautiful beyond comparison. I then shared that I was more than willing to help this brother overcome his problem if he would let me. I sensed that he desired to change. He was humble and loved Christ just as I did.
In this instance, I asked if I could bring Stephanie with me to have dinner with him and his family in their home as their stake president.
Two months later, I again visited the area, and we had dinner in his home with his family. A friendship developed over the next five years, and when I was released as his stake president, we embraced each other with such a feeling of love and brotherhood. We both had come to understand the spiritual power that is received from priesthood ordinances and through keeping covenants with the Father and His Son. President Nelson declared that “yoking [ourselves] with the Savior [through ordinances and covenants] means [we] have access to His strength and redeeming power.”20

Robbie wiped the sweat from his face. The sun beat down on him as he played ball with other fourth-grade boys.
Seth threw the ball to Robbie. A boy on the other team lunged for it, but missed. Robbie dove for the ball and caught it before it hit the ground. The other boy called Robbie a mean name.
“Don’t let him get away with saying that, Robbie,” Seth said.
Robbie ignored the mean name and took his position. Some of the boys snickered.
Robbie couldn’t get the word out of his mind. When his team won the game, he didn’t feel like celebrating with his teammates.
That evening, Robbie told Dad what happened. “Why did he call me that word?” Robbie asked.
“Not everyone believes what we do,” Dad said. “Some people think using words like that makes them seem cool. Words have a lot of power. They can build people up or tear them down.”
“Seth told me not to let the boy get away with saying what he did,” Robbie said.
“What did you do?” Dad asked.
Robbie looked down. “I ignored him and kept playing,” Robbie said.
Dad hugged Robbie. “You did the right thing. I’m proud of you.”
Robbie was happy to hear Dad say that. “I guess you’re right,” Robbie said, smiling. “Words do have a lot of power.”