Gospel Story Finder

Richard set about building a home and planting a field of wheat. A hailstorm destroyed his crop, however, and he and his wife and infant son faced a winter with no income and little food. Despite these hardships, Richard was inspired with an idea, one that he could not ignore. He wanted to start a Sunday School for the children in the valley. With his bishop’s approval, Richard began construction on an adobe building in which to hold Sunday School. He worked long hours hauling sandstone and logs, plastering walls, and making benches.
At last it was finished. On December 9, 1849, the first Sunday School in Salt Lake Valley was held. Richard led the children in a song, said a prayer, read a short scripture, then began to tell the story of Jesus. Years later he declared, “I was early called to this work by the voice of the spirit, and I have felt many times that I have been ordained to this work before I was born, for even before I joined the Church I was moved upon to work for the young. Surely no more joyful nor profitable labor can be performed by an elder.”
For four years Richard planted crops, and for four years the crops failed. He resolutely continued with the Sunday School, though, and found peace and satisfaction in teaching the children.

One stormy winter night, Harold was traveling home. By the time he and his horse reached the stream, it was getting late.
As they crossed the stream, his horse tripped. Harold flew over its head and landed in a freezing, muddy pond.
He lay in the cold slush.
Harold: Please, Heavenly Father, send help. I’m hurt and can’t move. It’s so dark and cold.
Soon he heard his father.
Father: Harold? Is that you?
Harold: I’m over here!
His father helped him out of the water and wrapped a warm blanket around him.
Harold: I’m so glad you came. How did you know that I needed help?
Father: The Spirit whispered to your mother that something was wrong, and I knew that she was right.
Harold: Thank you for coming.
Harold and his father remembered to thank Heavenly Father that night, too.
Harold: I thank thee, Heavenly Father, for telling my mother that I needed help, and for sending my father to rescue me.
Harold B. Lee’s testimony that Heavenly Father answers prayers helped him throughout his life. He prayed for divine help many times as he served in stake callings, as an Apostle, and as President of the Church.

Tamika nodded. “Tell me about when Grammy Rose escaped.” Tomorrow they were visiting a place where her great-grandma Rose might have stayed, and she wanted to hear the story again.
“Again?” Gram laughed. “All right. That’s one of my favorites too.” She leaned back and got comfortable.
“Your great-grandma Rose lived on a big farm called a plantation with her mama and daddy. They were slaves, and they wanted to be free,” Gram said. “One day, Rose’s mama died of a fever. Her daddy decided it was time to escape with Rose.”
Gram’s fingers traced lines along the quilt as she talked, like she was tracing a map of the journey.
“They left at night and followed the North Star. It’s part of a constellation called the Big Dipper,” Gram said. “Back then, slaves called it the Drinking Gourd.”
“What’s a gourd?” Tamika asked.
“It’s like a squash. Slaves would use hollowed-out gourds as spoons to scoop water from buckets to drink,” Gram said. “Rose and her daddy followed the Drinking Gourd north. People from the Underground Railroad helped them along the way.”
Tamika nodded. She knew that the Underground Railroad wasn’t really a railroad. It was a name for the people who helped slaves escape to safety. Tomorrow Tamika and her mom were going to a house called Slave Haven, where some of the slaves hid on their journey north.
“But we don’t know for sure if Grammy Rose stayed in Slave Haven,” Tamika said.
Gram looked thoughtful. “That’s right. Rose couldn’t write, so we don’t know the exact places she stayed,” Gram said. “But when I was a girl, Rose told me her story, and I wrote it in my journal.”
As Mama tucked the blankets around Tamika, Gram told her one more thing about Rose.
“Grammy Rose always said that miracles from God brought her safely north. That taught me to look for miracles every day,” Gram said. “Like warm sunshine.”

Paul Ewing, 11, ignored his own broken leg to swim to the aid of an unconscious man after a boating accident.
Paul, of Phelan, California, was boating with his father and friend when they collided with another boat. The two men were injured and semiconscious. Even though Paul had a broken leg, he heard calls for help from the other boat. He dove into the water and started to swim to the drowning man.
Paul’s father revived and, seeing his son in the water, thought he was injured and swam to assist his son. Paul pointed out the drowning man to his father before swimming back to his own boat while his father pulled the unconscious man to safety. All four were taken to the hospital.
Paul was awarded the Honor Medal for Lifesaving from the Boy Scouts of America. This honor is considered the highest award given in Scouting.
Paul is a member of the Phelan Ward, Victoria California Stake.

I stood one day some years ago with a Japanese businessman in Hiroshima, beside the monument that marks the events of that tragic August 6, 1945, when in a matter of minutes some 85,000 people were killed. He told me that he had been a member of the Japanese Imperial Army, that out of that experience had come a hatred for all Americans.

One day two of our missionaries knocked on his door. He was too intoxicated to talk with them. All purpose had gone from his life, and his only refuge was drink. Not recognizing them for what they were, he invited them back, and there followed some weeks later his baptism.

With his conversion came purpose into his life, the will to forsake old habits, the strength to turn completely around. He spoke of appreciation for the young men who had taught him and the motivation they had cultivated within him.

At the time of our conversation he was serving as a member of the branch presidency and as an active member of an elders quorum. His case, in essence, can be multiplied thousands of times. There is no other power like the reforming power of the gospel of Jesus Christ to give men the desire and the will to change their lives.

In 1872, a baby boy was born to a Shoshone family on the Fort Washakie Reservation in Wyoming. His father, Onda-Bow-Low-See, was a scout for the United States Cavalry, which meant his family often traveled by stagecoach.
One day, while on a bumpy stagecoach, the young boy lost his balance. He fell under a wheel and his leg was severely crushed, causing a deep injury. Knowing his son needed serious attention, Onda-Bow-Low-See turned to his parents: Anka-dewy-itse and his wife, Tza-gah.
The boy and his grandparents set off traveling west through a snowy pass. The boy lay on a horse-pulled sled made of deer hide. As they traveled, his leg swelled and became infected. After a long journey, they arrived at their sacred healing place, Baa-da-see (now Cache Valley, Utah) on the Shoshone “Holy Hill.” The boy was exhausted, and his grandparents set up camp under a teepee, staying by his side and praying for him for several days. Each morning, they awoke hoping the boy would recover.
Then one morning, at dawn, the boy heard a voice calling him: “Arise!” To his amazement, he stood and walked. The pain in his leg was gone. When his grandfather Anka-dewy-itse saw the boy standing alive and well, he gratefully proclaimed, “Our Damma Appa [Heavenly Father] has healed you!” Although healed, the boy had a slight limp and was renamed “Nee-a-ma-ah,” meaning “leaning to one side.”

Many times during his life, he said, he had found comfort and strength in those words. But his first, cherished experience with answered prayer emphasized the value of teaching children early.
It was his job, as a young boy, to walk 3.2 kilometers to the pasture in the early morning every day to bring back the family’s cows for milking. Along the way, he would notice the gold and orange-colored sunbeams streaming through the clouds, or see the glistening dew on tall sunflower leaves.
This particular morning, he told us, was different. There was a low fog suspended above the ground, and as he walked toward the pasture the fog became more dense. Then slowly, before the sun came over the mountains, the fog enclosed him. He began to whistle in an attempt to control the panic rising within him. But even as he whistled he began to tremble in his loneliness and in his fear of the blackness that seemed to wrap around him like a moist blanket.
Then as he seemed to feel completely lost to the elements, he remembered his mother’s counsel: “There’s no reason to be afraid, remember that your Heavenly Father is always with you.”
Six-year-old Clint knelt on the dew-soaked grass and prayed to the One who could help him. His simple faith was not misplaced. As a calmness came upon him, he opened his eyes and saw a cow on her way home, that had wandered close by. A small voice from within him told him to follow the animal. Holding on to its tail, Clint soon entered the comfortable safety of the barn where his father was preparing for the milking.
Now, as he stood before us, a young man of twenty-one, Clint said how grateful he was for the lessons and experiences of his childhood days. He had used the memory of those days to help him in many times of trial and uncertainty. He had, he declared, a strong testimony of prayer—a testimony founded on his mother’s teachings.

Adding to our joy, Elder Snow was assigned to Warrnambool as his first area. I decided to send him an account of how our family joined the Church there. Here is an excerpt of what I shared:
Your great-grandfather Frederick Michael Wilhelm Meurs was born in Holland in 1926. He was one of 12 children. His mother was a devout Catholic who took her children to mass each Sunday. Fred attended Catholic schools and developed deep faith in Jesus Christ and a love for the scriptures.
Your great-grandmother Lois Ellen Meurs was also born in 1926 in Warrnambool. She had two brothers, Ralph and David, and was raised in a faithful Methodist home. She admired her parents’ charitable service and developed a strong Christian faith.
Fred and Lois were married in Warrnambool in January 1954. Julie was born later that year, and Peter (me) in December 1956.
In their early marriage, Fred and Lois wanted unity in their faith. They attended both the Catholic and Methodist churches and studied the New Testament together. As they read, they wrote down many questions—about the nature of the Godhead, resurrection, priesthood authority, the Church’s structure, and baptism by immersion.
They sought answers from local religious leaders, but most said those matters were “mysteries” or struggled to respond. Their search for truth led them to visit several Christian churches in Warrnambool. Still unsatisfied, they turned to God in prayer, asking Him to send them answers.
At that time, Elder Jones (from Utah) and Elder Erickson (from Canada) had been sent by President Thomas S. Bingham to open missionary work in Warrnambool. Local ministers warned townsfolk not to speak with them, claiming they would “brainwash your children.”
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson faithfully knocked on doors for three months and experienced total rejection. They were discouraged and depressed. Their faith was wavering. They wrote to President Bingham and asked to be transferred out of Warrnambool.
Eventually, a letter arrived from President Bingham. After prayerful consideration, he wrote, he had the strongest impression that there were people in Warrnambool ready to receive the restored Church. He encouraged them to go back to work and to visit places they had not been before.
The elders received the letter around the same time that Fred and Lois were praying for answers. A few days later, they knocked on the Meurs family’s front door at 68 Jamieson Street, Warrnambool. Lois answered, and the elders said they had a special message about Jesus Christ and His Church to share.
Lois replied, “We have been praying for you to come—but you can’t come in just now. Our children (two-year-old Julie and six-month-old Peter) have chickenpox, and they might infect you.” She asked them to return in a week.
Lois told Fred about the visit, and they continued to pray that the missionaries wouldn’t forget to come back. They didn’t know who they were dealing with!
Elder Jones and Elder Erickson returned the following week and began teaching Lois and Fred. As they taught, they answered every question on Fred and Lois’s long list. They explained the nature of God, priesthood authority, the Resurrection and life after death, the purpose of life, developing faith, and the ordinances of baptism and the sacrament.
Fred and Lois opened their scriptures—already marked from their earlier study—and found confirmation for everything the missionaries were teaching.
Years later, when I was called as an Area Seventy, I spoke with Elder Bruce Jones about this experience. He told me that their time in Warrnambool, up to the point of meeting my parents, had been a great trial of his faith. But teaching Fred and Lois and having them respond with confirming scriptures from the New Testament rekindled his faith and became a turning point in his life.
Lois and Fred were baptized and confirmed on 5 July 1957—just three weeks after meeting the missionaries. Soon other families joined the Church, and the new branch began holding meetings in the Meurs home on Jamieson Street.

We need to make our homes a place of refuge from the storm, which is increasing in intensity all about us. Even if the smallest openings are left unattended, negative influences can penetrate the very walls of our homes. Let me cite an example.
Several years ago, I was having dinner with my daughter and her family. The scene is all too common in most homes with small children. My daughter was trying to encourage her young, three-year-old son to eat a balanced meal. He had eaten all the food on his plate that he liked. A small serving of green beans remained, which he was not fond of. In desperation, the mother picked up a fork and tried to encourage him to eat his beans. He tolerated it just about as long as he could. Then he exclaimed, “Look, Mom, don’t foul up a good friendship!”
Those were the exact words he heard on a television commercial a few days earlier. Oh, what impact advertising, television programs, the Internet, and the other media are having on our family units!

There were two ranchers living side by side in southwestern Montana. They bickered and fought because each thought a rusty barbed wire fence that separated their ranches was not the true property line. Each felt the other was encroaching upon his land. The real estate records were unclear at the county courthouse.
They forbade their children to play with one another. The conflict became worse. Finally, after years of exchanging words and threats, one of the ranchers said to himself, “Enough of this.” He drove down the lane from his place onto the county road and then down the long driveway to his neighbor’s place.
“What do you want?” his adversary asked.
“Look, you take your hired men and your sons, and I’ll take mine; and we’ll put the fence wherever you’d like it. I’ve had enough of this. I want us to be friends.”
His raw-boned neighbor softened, and tears ran down both of their faces. The neighbor responded, “Hey, let’s drive to Virginia City and record that the present fence is where both of us want the property line to be.”
They did and the problem was solved. Why? Because a neighbor wanted to be one with the family next door.

I have had hard times in real life too. In 2021, I tore my ACL in gymnastics. I was devastated and didn’t know what I was going to do.
I remember sitting in church before my surgery. Someone was speaking, but I wasn’t listening until they said one verse: “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me” (Philippians 4:13). That moment helped me because I knew I needed to pray and get close to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ so I could receive Their strength.

A few years ago, I knelt to pray for the first time in my life. Earlier that day, I had had my first meeting with the missionaries, and they shared the message of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ and gifted me a Book of Mormon.
Presented with my first opportunity to ask my Heavenly Father any question at all, I didn’t ask if any of what I had heard or read was true. I also didn’t ask Him about the confusing and worrisome rumors I had heard about the Church from popular culture.
Instead, I begged Heavenly Father to bless me with the desire to know that what the missionaries were telling me was true.
And through that prayer, I was led to the truth—that the gospel and Church of Jesus Christ really had been restored to the earth again.

Emilee Dolberg, 12, of Stockton, California, came out on top in several subjects in her grade. She placed first in the handwriting contest, first in spelling, first in the math contest, first in essay writing, and first in the talent competition (she plays the piano).
Emilee went on to compete with individual winners from other schools on a district level. She was first in handwriting, third in math, and first in essay writing. Her essay placed fourth nationally.
Emilee is secretary of her Beehive class in the Stockton Fourth Ward.

Gus German is only 17 years old, but he cannot remember a time when he wasn’t visiting Church members with his father. In Delaware, members are spread out in different directions and in many cases they’re miles away from one another. With that in mind, members try to check up on each other. Of course, Gus didn’t become a home teacher until age 12, when he received the Aaronic Priesthood and was assigned by his bishop to be his father’s companion. But he’d already learned a lot about caring for people and about preparing and presenting meaningful lessons, so he stepped right into his home teaching role.
“Scripture stories were my staple home teaching lessons,” says Gus, a priest who grew up in the Wilmington (Delaware) West Ward. “I’d studied them in story books from the time I was five, so I knew those stories cold. Some people wonder who Nebuchadnezzar is. I know who he is.”
Over the years, Gus and his father regularly visited Sister Joyce Miller, at the time a less-active member of the Church who was battling cancer.
“The thing I remember most about Gus as a young boy was that whenever I asked him to say a prayer, he would stand up and do it,” Sister Miller says. “A lot of young boys and girls roll their eyes when you ask them to do something like praying. Not Gus.”
Now the young man who stopped by was a deacon with a priesthood responsibility. “I wasn’t active when they first started visiting me,” Sister Miller continues, “but their visits meant everything. I wanted to come back to church, but I was smoking and didn’t want to go because I was afraid people would smell the smoke on me.”
“All I knew is we always went to Sister Miller’s house and had fun when we home-taught her. I didn’t think any different of her when I found out she smoked because we were already really good friends,” says Gus. “I was pretty impressed and proud of her when she did stop smoking because I have heard how tough it is to quit.”
When she did stop smoking, Sister Miller began going to church again. “I was so glad because I liked seeing her. I would be able to see a smile on her face and be able to tell she really liked being at church,” Gus adds.
When Gus turned 16 and got his driver’s license, he was able to see that smile more and more. As her condition worsened, Sister Miller was unable to drive. Gus happily volunteered to pick her up and take her to church. “Sometimes she couldn’t stay past the sacrament in sacrament meeting so I would take her home.” Now, other ward members pick up Sister Miller when she’s able to go to church. And when she wasn’t, guess who went to her house to take her the sacrament.
“Sometimes I went with my dad, and sometimes I went with the Young Men president or one of the guys from my quorum,” explains Gus. “It’s something I did that helped her out. I liked doing it.”
Something else he did to help her out: Gus and his dad took Sister Miller to receive her patriarchal blessing.
“When we went for my blessing, Jack (Gus’s dad) took us in his car, the hot rod (a Chevy Nova). We laughed all the way down there. Gus was in the backseat laughing, and my face hurt from laughing,” Sister Miller remembers. “When I had my blessing, Jack and Gus were as quiet as church mice. After all that laughing we did on our way down, it was pretty quiet on the trip back. That is very memorable. We always have a good time, the three of us.”

There is power in the office. The Lord stands with His stake presidents. This is from a stake president in Ecuador: “I observed a man in the stake who often appeared unhappy. One day I received a strong impression that I needed to visit this man. I drove immediately to his home. He told me that he was very sad because for many years he hadn’t exchanged a single word with his father. He explained that his father was a hard man and had cut off their relationship. I asked him if he would like to fix the situation. After driving to his father’s house, I stopped the car in front. I knocked on the door and heard a voice ask, ‘Who is it?’ I recognized the voice of his father and answered, ‘Your stake president, Brother.’ He opened the door and saw me standing side by side with his son. Without a single word, they embraced each other and began to cry. The situation was fixed.”

When I was 11 years old, I lived with my family in the attic of a farmhouse near Frankfurt, Germany. We were refugees in a new place, far away from our previous home. We were very poor.
Because I was a refugee, and because I spoke with an East German accent, other children often made fun of me and called me names that deeply hurt. Of all the times of my youth, I believe this may have been the most discouraging.
Even though I still remember the hurt I felt, I can see now that this was a time of great personal growth. During this time, our family bonded together. I watched and learned from my parents. I admired their determination and optimism. From them I learned that we can overcome adversity when we have faith and courage.
refugees—people who have to flee from their home because of danger
adversity—something that happens that is very hard or challenging
I think back on that 11-year-old boy in Frankfurt, Germany, who worried about his future and felt the lasting sting of unkind remarks. While I would not be eager to relive those days of trial and trouble, the lessons I learned then were a necessary preparation for future opportunity. Now, many years later, I know this for certain: it is often in adversity that we learn those most important lessons that form our character and shape our destiny.

When I first saw the old barn, I figured that it had to be at least a thousand years old. The gray slate roof was half gone, and the huge side doors wouldn’t shut. Inside I could see mounds of hay heaped so high that I knew that there had to be rats living in them—and bats flying around the rafters at night! My pa told me that I could explore the barn as long as I was careful. But every time I thought of that barn, the hair on my arms stood straight up. I spent a lot of time sitting on a rail fence near the garden, just staring at the sagging barn. I felt like it was staring right back at me, daring me to come inside.
I met Doughnut the summer that we moved to the farm, the same year that I turned ten. His real name was Teddy, but everyone called him Doughnut because he was heavier than most kids and his face was round. We played baseball together or walked along the fence, pretending that we were high on a trapeze.
Doughnut and I had a lot of fun together—until one day when he said, “Hey, Elliot let’s go inside the barn and make a fort.”
“Nope,” I said. “That barn is alive.”
“Alive?” Doughnut laughed. “Elliot, you’re just chicken.”
My face felt real hot. I had never been called chicken in my life. “Well, OK,” I said reluctantly. My knees began to shake as I marched up the small path leading to the barn. When I reached the doors, I stopped and tilted my head back to see just how high the barn was. “Wow!” was all I could say.
“Come on.” Doughnut nudged me closer. “Let’s go in.”
Doughnut followed me inside. I was glad that the doors didn’t shut—I might want to make a quick getaway. The beams that supported the roof were as thick as tree stumps. And the wind whistled through the open cracks in the walls.
“Wow!” Doughnut exclaimed. “Our barn isn’t nearly this big.”
“Or this scary,” I told him. I felt my heart pound hard against my chest.
Doughnut climbed the ladder to the loft and grabbed a thick hemp rope. “Come on, Elliot, let’s swing across and drop into the hay.”
“Are you crazy?”
“You’re just a red-bellied chicken.”
I climbed to the loft and pushed Doughnut so hard that he rolled across the floor. I was furious at him for calling me a red-bellied chicken.
Doughnut got up, grabbed the rope, and whooped as he sailed across the barn and dropped into the hay.
Before I knew it, I was swinging across the barn and landing in the hay too. We decided to build forts and tunnels on each side of the barn. Everything about it became new and exciting. I never wanted to leave.
Every morning, when I got out of bed, I hurried and did my chores. I wasn’t afraid of the barn anymore, and I couldn’t wait to play in it. It was wonderful. Some afternoons Doughnut would come over and we’d play in the barn the whole time. I liked it best, though, when I was alone in the barn and could bounce my voice off the rafters or just listen to myself think. I began to think of the barn as a friend. I started taking care of it. I made repairs inside, swept up the scattered hay, and even stuffed hay in the draftiest chinks in the walls.
Early one morning I was eating my breakfast as fast as I could so that I could go out to the barn and tighten the hinges on the side doors. I wasn’t listening to my parents’ conversation until I heard the word barn.
“We’ll start tearing down the barn Saturday afternoon,” Pa said to Mother. “The Amish people will come load up the wood. I told them that they could have it for nothing. It isn’t worth much.”
My mouth dropped. “You can’t tear it down, Pa,” I choked out. “I have it all fixed up inside. Maybe we could rebuild it.”
“Elliot, it would cost more than it’s worth.” He gave me an inquiring look, then said, “Now, finish your breakfast.”
I felt miserable and angry. And I felt sorry for the barn. Was I a normal kid to think that a barn had feelings? I curled up in a chair in my room and drew pictures of how the barn could look if we fixed it up.
All week Doughnut begged me to let him come over. I told him no. I told him that I didn’t feel like playing in that stupid barn anymore. Anyway, it was going to be torn down. I think that that was the only time that I was ever really mad at my pa.
Saturday morning I did my chores and decided to stay in the house. I peeked out my bedroom window to take one last look at the barn. I tried to convince myself that it was just a broken-down building.
After lunch Pa came into my room. He sat down on the edge of my bed and looked me straight in the eyes. “Did I ever tell you about the oak tree that I used to play on when I was about your age?” he asked.
“No, Pa.”
“Well, I found this old tree that had fallen across Miller Creek. The trunk of that tree was about as big around as this room. My folks always knew where to find me in the summertime. I would play on that tree until dark. I pretended that I was shipwrecked and that I was the captain. I fought off dangerous pirates and enormous sharks. I had the greatest adventures on it that I could imagine.”
I hadn’t really known much about Pa when he was a kid. It felt strange to imagine him as a little kid on that tree, letting his imagination run free. I wished that I could have been there with him.
“My adventures on that fallen trunk are some of my happiest memories,” Pa continued. He looked over at me. “I think that every youngster ought to have something happy to remember about growing up. Something he can hold on to.”
“Yes, Pa,” I said.
“So,” he said with a crooked grin, “I’ve thought a lot about what you said and how you feel about that barn. Maybe that’s what you’ll remember when you’re older.” Pa leaned down and picked up the drawings off the floor. “Do you still want to try to rebuild that old relic out there?”
“Oh yes, Pa!” I hugged him as hard as I could.
Pa stood and walked toward the door, then stopped, held out his hand, and said, “Well, come on then. We’d better get started.”

The Vernal Utah Temple is built largely within the walls of the former Vernal Utah Uintah Stake Tabernacle, constructed in 1907. Thus, one of the newest temples was built, in part, by faithful Saints long dead. In a happy mingling of the old and new, children of today joined their ancestors in raising a temple to the Lord. At the groundbreaking, President Gordon B. Hinckley invited children to help turn over the soil. He said, “Every boy and girl who lives in these stakes would take pride through the years to come if he or she, through a little sacrifice, were to make a contribution of a dollar or two … or five or ten toward the construction of a house of the Lord, and each time he or she passed it or came into this building, he or she could say, ‘I had a part in the building of that sacred and beautiful structure.’”
The boys and girls of the temple district listened to the prophet and contributed not only their dollars but their talents and hard work as well.
Some of the bricks in the tabernacle were damaged and needed to be replaced. N. J. Meacher, who is not a member of the Church, donated a beautiful old home whose bricks matched those of the tabernacle. Matt Foley was assigned to supervise tearing down the house and salvaging the bricks. His three grandsons, Greg (7), Corey (10), and Dallen (11), volunteered to help him. The bricks had to be removed one at a time and carefully cleaned and tested for strength. The Foleys, along with many other volunteers, were able to save sixteen thousand bricks, which are now in the temple walls and the walls enclosing the grounds.
When the temple was completed, Greg attended the open house. “The Spirit was so strong!” he said.
“I’m eager to go back to the temple when I’m twelve,” Dallen stated. “I can’t describe how good it feels to know that we actually helped to build a temple.”
Their cousin Corey agreed. “It was a great experience, preserving the bricks for a temple. It’s a very special building that will help people for a long time.”
Forty-two children from the Altamont Second Ward, Altamont Utah Stake, traveled fifty miles to Vernal to sing for visitors waiting in line at the temple open house. They sang “I Love to See the Temple,” “Families Can Be Together Forever,” “Reverence Is Love,” and “Eternal Things” to an appreciative audience. It was an act of service and love. Haylee Toland (11) said, “The temple is a spiritual, peaceful place, and I’m glad we could set the mood for people’s visits.”
The Primary girls of the Vernal Fifth Ward, Vernal Utah Ashley Stake, created a beautiful and original design for tissue box holders to be placed in the temple where needed. They stitched plastic canvas with white yarn, making sure that the boxes were perfect. They donated many hours to this gift for the house of the Lord.
The girls also tied a beautiful white baby quilt to be used for the baby crib in the temple nursery, where children wait to be sealed to their parents. Amy Lefevre said, “I’m happy and excited because I know I’m making something important and special for the temple.”
The ward Primary leaders also decided to use a penny bank to collect money for the temple. A counselor in the bishopric designed and built a bank that looked like the proposed temple, with a window in the bank so that the children could see their money grow. They donated $350, mostly in pennies, for their gift of love.
Brother Brownie Tomlinson helped to demolish the interior of the old tabernacle and excavate the ground under and around it. His sons, Russell (13) and Shawn (11), assisted by hauling bricks and stones and doing other jobs that were safe for boys their age. They donated long hours and worked hard to prepare the site. Brother Tomlinson noticed that as Shawn became covered with white dust, it looked as if an angel were working among them. Although Shawn can’t remember feeling like an angel, he reported that it felt good to help build the temple. “I got to thinking about all the people who would be married and sealed and baptized there, and it was really special to be part of it.”
The Valiants of the Naples First Ward Primary, Vernal Utah Uintah Stake, started something big when they decided to collect aluminum cans from their families, the bishop, and along the road. They gave the bishop $9.51 for the temple. After that, at an Achievement Day activity, the girls made it their goal to collect cans everywhere they could. They made arrangements with Western Park to collect cans each night after the Dinosaur Roundup Rodeo. Wearing old coats and surgical gloves, they crawled around under the bleachers and in the dumpsters at Western Park. They and their advisers worked from 10 P.M. to midnight for three nights.
Many ward members donated cans to the project, and in July, Primary children brought cans to a pioneer activity. The total donation was $80. Inspired by the children, the whole ward gave generously, donating enough to pay for three chandeliers, the furniture, and the carpeting in the celestial room. When Stephanie Romane (11) went to the open house, she was so overwhelmed with the beauty of the celestial room that she just stood in the doorway for a while. “Who would have thought that those cans could turn into this elegant room?” she said.

Another homemaking art that was apparent was Becky’s ability to save and use money wisely.
Beginning in her early teens she began working at such part-time jobs as teaching piano lessons, tutoring second graders in reading, and selling chicken at a drive-in restaurant. Through her savings she was able to purchase a sewing machine, cookware set, typewriter, silverware service for eight, and a set of fine dishes.
“I never bought anything that wasn’t on sale and that I wasn’t sure I really wanted. I was in no hurry, so I could take my time and find the best buy. When I became engaged, I realized that if I had waited to buy these things until I was ready to set up housekeeping, I would probably have had to pay whatever price was asked.”

I must confess to you that, up until 24 years ago (I got married about 24 years ago), I had but one prayer in my heart. There was only one thing that I wanted to do. I prayed morning and night, unashamedly, that I could be the shortstop for the New York Yankees. That was my prayer. I don’t pray that anymore.

My prayer changed. It became, “I want to be the father of lovely and virtuous young ladies.” I’ve been blessed with four fine daughters. I’ve observed families that have done a great job with their children. I went to one couple, friends of ours, and asked, “How come your kids are so good? What is it you do with them?”

They said, “Oh, we do this, this, this, and we give them plenty of love.”

I asked some other friends, “How come your kids are so good? What is it you do?”

“Oh, we do this, this, this, and, oh, by the way, we give them plenty of love.” That seems to be the common denominator—give them plenty of love.