Gospel Story Finder

I’d like to share with you two important lessons that I learned in my youth. When I was young, my friends and I often played ball in an alley behind our home. A woman named Mrs. Shinas rented a tiny house nearby, and she used to watch us play from her window. She rarely came out of her house, and when she did, she never smiled. We all thought that she was mean. She had a big dog, an English setter, and whenever one of our baseballs rolled in its direction—which happened often—Mrs. Shinas would send the dog to fetch it. We wouldn’t see the ball again. Soon we ran out of baseballs.

In those days, we didn’t have lawn sprinklers, and so each day I watered our lawn by hand with a hose. One day as I stood there watering our little stretch of grass, I noticed that Mrs. Shinas’s lawn looked a little shabby. It took only a few more minutes to water it, too, and soon I was watering her lawn each day.

When autumn came that year, one of my tasks was to clear our yard of leaves. I sprayed the ground with a hose, pushing the leaves into a pile with the force of the water. I decided to gather up the leaves on Mrs. Shinas’s yard as well, and as I was doing this one day, she came to her door and beckoned for me to come inside. I turned off the hose and went into her house.

She invited me to sit in her living room, and she gave me a cookie and a glass of milk. As I sat there eating my cookie, she showed me her collection of little china dogs. I could tell that they were her most prized possession. Then she thanked me for taking care of her lawn. It was the first conversation I had ever had with her.

Mrs. Shinas then went into her kitchen and returned with a box. In it were all the baseballs that her dog had taken. She handed me the box, said thank you—and smiled! It was the first time I’d ever seen her smile.

The Whitneys began to see a clearer picture of their eternal identity. Later that year, the Lord revealed to the Prophet Joseph that Newel was to serve as the bishop in Kirtland. Newel said, “I cannot see a Bishop in myself, Brother Joseph; but if you say it’s the Lord’s will, I’ll try.”

Joseph replied, “You need not take my word alone. Go and ask Father for yourself.”

After praying, Newel heard a voice from heaven say, “Thy strength is in me.”

A few years ago, at the outset of 2011, I introduced to my family an idea that had been on my mind for some time. My brainstorm, received by some of my family with joy and excitement, and by others with a little anguish and trepidation, was to plan an excursion to backpack into the High Uinta Mountains in Utah and ascend Kings Peak. The High Uintas are a beautiful and rugged mountain range with plentiful opportunities for hiking, backpacking, and fishing. Unfortunately, each year some, who underestimate the rugged nature of this wilderness, get lost. Many are rescued after a few scary nights spent wandering the hills. Others experience serious injury, and in some cases lives are lost if the appropriate care is not taken. These are mountains that demand respect and will punish those who do not give it.

Kings Peak sits atop this range and stands supreme as the highest peak in the state of Utah. It is only accessible to those willing to pay the price of an arduous outdoor adventure. I had on multiple occasions stood at the top of Utah and looked over the miles and miles of spectacular views and thought that the moment had been perfect, only to realize that the one thing that would have improved that moment would be to have my wife and children with me. That was the origin of the adventure we would embark on during the summer of 2011.

As the sun rose on August 7, so did we. We ate breakfast, broke camp, and prepared for the day. I checked with each individual, balanced the loads, and adjusted backpacks. Satisfied, we gathered at the trailhead, prayed, took this picture that I love, and then departed. It was a glorious day; there was a brilliant blue sky, the temperature was perfect, and spirits were high. This was to be an incredible trip.

We made great progress for a while, but as the miles began to pile up enthusiasm began to wane. Charlie, for example, our youngest hiker, began to realize how long this day really would be. Discouraged, he slowed, and we slowed with him. I realized we were falling behind schedule and that I needed to do something to motivate him. To this day the kids tease me about the story that I made up as I held Charlie's hand and hiked, side-by-side with him for probably five miles. Somehow, ideas came to my mind and I weaved a tale of intrigue, aliens, explosions, betrayals, and surprises.

With Charlie distracted, our momentum increased. We made great progress for several miles and eventually we arrived at Henry's Fork Basin. Not long after, we came to our next obstacle. We had to cross a swelling Henry's Fork River. The bridge, constructed from trees and some rope, was safe, but crossing it tired and with the weight of the backpacks created some fear in a few of the team. After some coaching and motivation, everyone successfully forded the river.

At this point, the trail slopes into a significant ascent that would be our most challenging climb of this first day. Not long after we began to climb, we were faced with our next challenge; Doug, our son-in-law, began to suffer with respiratory problems. The closer we got to timber line, the altitude where the oxygen is too thin for trees to grow, the more serious Doug's problems became. Finally, after his courage and determination were overcome by his biological need for air, we were forced to stop again. After a prayer and a priesthood blessing, it was decided that Doug would leave his pack and begin walking. I hiked as fast as I could to the top of the ascent, dropped my pack and returned to carry Doug's to the top of the hill. From there we regrouped and moved forward to our camping spot at Dollar Lake.

That night, surrounded by my family in this beautiful place, we sang, told stories, and talked until one-by-one the kids and my wife retired to their sleeping bags. As is usually the case with me, I found myself sitting alone by a fire with an incredible sky full of stars and plenty of time to think. As I reflected on the day that had passed, I admit that a little pride set in as I mused at what a great leader I was. After all, during that day I had been presented with challenges of discouragement, exhaustion, fear, and even physical problems. In each case I had used my leadership toolkit to overcome the problems, and now, here we were. Not only that, but how awesome was it going to be to stand on top of Kings Peak with my loved ones. And how great was it going to be to send that picture out as our Christmas card to all my friends. That was going to be an accomplishment I would be proud of.

Well, there's a funny thing about pride; as soon as we begin to be puffed up in our own superiority and accomplishment, God has a knack for teaching us a lesson. The next day He took full advantage of that opportunity and taught me lessons I will never forget.

As we roused ourselves the next morning, we were excited to get moving. We were already behind schedule when we left, but I knew of a shortcut that would get us to the top quicker. As we arrived at the top of Gun Sight Pass, where a slight deviation would lead us to the shortcut, the spirit whispered, nay yelled at me, that it was not a good idea to take the shortcut. We obeyed and decided to take the longer trail considering that we could still make the top and get back down by midafternoon.

As we descended the back part of the pass, and subsequently began to climb, the rough terrain began to take a toll on my family. Over and over we rested and restarted. I started feeling anxious about our slowed progress. As we proceeded, our pace reduced even more. I began to move past anxiety to genuine worry as we were already into the afternoon hours and were not yet close to the peak. In my mind, we simply needed to move faster, so I continued to push.

We arrived at the base of the Anderson Pass. This pass marks the final ascent to the peak, an ascent that is very difficult as there is no path to speak of. From this point on it is a steep and tough climb over huge boulders. After a series of climbs and breaks, I arrived at another resting point and took a moment to look over my flock. It didn't look good. It was already deep into the afternoon, and with the exception of my wife and two daughters, the crew was moving slowly. I was becoming more and more worried and I began to come to the realization that my goal to have all of these people on top of this peak was dwindling away. We gathered in a family council to make a decision that would ultimately require the sacrifice of my badge of honor.

It became clear that getting all of us to the peak, was really not an option, so the question in front of us was whether or not we should split up to allow those still in good shape to make the peak while the others began the descent, or whether everyone would sacrifice the victory and descend together. During this council, I looked at our son Tim, then fourteen years old, and I saw the tears beginning to flow out from underneath his sunglasses. Tim has always had a tender heart and has enjoyed a special relationship with the Spirit. When I asked what was wrong, he replied, through his sobs, "we need to stay together." I was the experienced backpacker, he was just a child. In my confidence, I discounted his council.

We decided that I would turn around and help those who could not make it and still leave enough time to hike back to our camp before dark. My wife and two daughters would continue on to the peak and immediately follow us down to the camp. Yes, we were disappointed to come that close and not be able to attain the goal. It was hard to watch my wife and daughters scurry up the rocks towards the peak.

Anyway, down we went, and much to my worry, our pace had not sped up. In fact we were moving slower than ever. With time ticking away, I began to feel concerned and worried as I realized that there were no lights in any of the bags. After all, we had planned to be back at camp by midafternoon. I began to be even more worried as I arrived at the base of Gunsight Pass and looked back and saw, off in the distance, my wife, Jaime, and Maddie, following the wrong path, off into Painter Basin. This was a big problem, as it would quickly take them in the wrong direction to a very remote and unfamiliar territory with night quickly approaching.

At that moment, I began to question the decision to leave our flashlights at camp. I began to question our decision to split up. And I began to question how well I had prepared the team to navigate in the Uintas.

After a quick prayer, I made a decision, to send the crew I was with up the pass and I turned around and began to sprint back across the expanse of the valley. Once I got to the other side of the valley, I could see my girls afar off, after all they were hiking quickly to catch up with us, only they were still on the wrong path. I tried desperately to yell and wave in hopes that they would see, but at that moment, I had a serious problem. On the one hand I had the crew who were exhausted and struggling headed up Gun Sight Pass. On the other hand, although they were in good shape, my girls were headed the wrong way.

All the time, the day was turning into night. At that very poignant moment, all disappointment at not making the peak, and any other petty worry left me. I was completely helpless. The feelings of confidence and pride that I had enjoyed the night before were completely vacant.

It was at this moment that I realized that our successful reunion would be entirely out of my hands and that I was dependent on the Lord. The prayer I offered was brief but intense as I asked for guidance. I poured everything I could into it, expressed my willingness to submit to God's will, and waited for an answer.

My answer came. It was to turn around and get back with the part of my family struggling to get up Gun Sight Pass. I was not in a place to question the Lord so I turned, wiped the tears from my eyes and again sprinted back across the valley and scurried, as fast as I could up the pass. I caught up with my kids near the top and discovered that things were not going so well. Everyone was exhausted and discouraged. To top it off, my oldest daughter had a severely sprained ankle.

With determination, and after a prayer, asking the Lord to protect our family, we slowly but determinedly moved toward our camp. As we arrived, I was aware that the sun had gone down, darkness was creeping across the world, and the girls were still lost. I was terrified. After getting everyone settled, I grabbed a bag full of flashlights, enjoyed a brief drink of water, and headed back up the trail. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I needed to go back. I was listening to the Lord at this point.

As I hiked, I cried. I rethought the day and the decisions that lead us to this point. While I knew I was doing what the Lord was telling me now, I could see the things I had done wrong previously in that very long day and realized that the price of my mistakes might be catastrophic. By now, it was dark. The light was gone. I was very worried and offered another prayer.

Although the path in front of me was illuminated by the light strapped to my forehead, there were three out there who were hiking in the dark. A few moments later as I hiked with all the energy I had left in my body, I saw the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. There they were, my wife and daughters, coming around the corner. I fell to my knees, exhausted and grateful. After a quick prayer of thanks, I ran to them and hugged them.

Back at the camp, I sat, surrounded by those people who are most important to me. Each of us, through the trials of the day had all the worldly concerns and pride stripped away. Although my wife and two daughters had reached the peak, my goal was not accomplished. That didn't matter, for I had gained something more valuable. I learned lessons of critical importance. The worldlypride of boasting that my family reached the peak had been stripped away and replaced by a contentment that I cannot describe. Oh how I rejoiced as we sat there in love with one another and feeling the joy of the Lord.

Derek Fagan, 17, has excelled both in school and in seminary, and he credits an experience he had just before he received his patriarchal blessing. “We had been talking about patriarchal blessings in seminary. I prayed and asked if I should get my patriarchal blessing. Our stake did not have a patriarch at that time, but three days later, our new patriarch was called. I felt it was my answer. That was the time I decided for myself that the Church was true and I would try harder to do well and choose the right. My patriarchal blessing was amazing. I carry it around with me everywhere. Since early-morning seminary started, everything has been clearer. Even in school, I just learn very quickly now. It’s unusual to do ordinary level subjects for exams and then move up and take the exam at a higher level. The teachers were rather amazed when I moved from ordinary level to higher.”

Before this calling I was a financial consultant in Houston, Texas. Most of my work was with multimillionaires who owned their own businesses. Almost all of them had created their successful businesses from nothing through lots of hard work. The saddest thing for me was to hear some of them say that they wanted to make it easier for their children. They did not want their children to suffer as they had. In other words, they would deprive their children of the very thing that had made them successful.
By contrast, we know a family who took a different approach. The parents were inspired by J. C. Penney’s experience where his father told him when he turned eight years old that he was on his own financially. They came up with their own version: as their children graduated from high school, they were on their own financially—for further education (college, graduate school) and for their financial maintenance (truly self-reliant) (see D&C 83:4). Happily, the children reacted wisely. All of them are college graduates, and several also completed graduate school—all on their own. It wasn’t easy, but they did it. They did it with hard work and faith.

At the beginning of a very busy third year of law school, I was called to serve as an elders quorum president. As I went home after accepting the call, I thought of my classwork, my responsibilities as an editor of the law review, my research fellowship that required additional work, and that I needed to devote much attention to finding good full-time employment for after graduation. I realized I was being stretched far beyond my capabilities. That night in my prayers I told Heavenly Father that I had accepted this calling, and that I would do my very best, but I greatly needed His help in every aspect of my life. I was blessed in every way, in completing my education successfully, finding a good job, and being guided in my service as the elders quorum president. Sister Funk, as she always has been, was a great support. It was a very formative time in my Church service, and I learned that the Lord truly does bless those who strive to serve Him.

May I begin with an incident from our history which, when I first read it, inflamed me and changed my life. In the 1830s there was a student at Oberlin College whose name was Lorenzo Snow. He was disillusioned with what he saw of religion in general and Christianity in particular. He wrote a letter to his sister who had become a Latter-day Saint, Eliza R. Snow, and confessed his difficulties. She wrote back and invited him to Kirtland. He came. Within a few moments, as I read the story, he was inside the temple, the building which at that time served, as many of you know, more than one purpose. It served all of the fundamental functions of the Church. As he entered, there was a meeting in progress, a small one. Patriarchal blessings were being given by the Prophet’s father, Joseph Smith, Sr. He listened, first incredulous, then open, and toward the end inspired. He kept saying to himself, “Can this be simply a man or is there something divine involved?” He came more and more to feel that the Spirit was in it.
At the end of that, the Prophet’s father took his hand (there had been no introduction as I read it) and, still filled with the light of his calling, said two things to him. “You will become one of us.” Lorenzo Snow understood that but didn’t believe it. But now the blockbuster. “And you will become great—even as great as God is. And you could not wish to become greater.” That, young Lorenzo Snow did not understand. Shortly the first prediction was fulfilled.

Although I had not found what I was looking for, we took the time to visit all the places my mother talked about. I was able to get a feel for what life must have been like in the early days of the twentieth century living in a sugar cane industry town. This gave me renewed faith in continuing my search for more information.

As I continued to search further back through my grandparents’ lines, I found many wonderful treasures. I found that my family line in Puerto Rico dates to early explorers in the Caribbean. Some had served as governors in the Dominican Republic. Some were sea captains, farmers, and businessmen. Some were maids, seamstresses, and some of nobility. I was able to do the temple work for many there in the Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Temple where we volunteered as ordinance workers once a week. I was beginning to feel a closeness to my ancestors that I thought I would never experience. My excitement and joy in the work I was doing carried me through times of disappointments. I knew that if I kept looking, I would be able to find many more, and I did.

I have prayed for guidance regarding a personal experience I might share with you, and again and again I have felt impressed to share with you the following. I pray you will hear the message that is intended.

A few years ago I was having some serious medical problems. I scheduled myself into a hospital for some routine presurgery testing. I’m not sure I even told Jeff I was going in for the tests. To begin, they injected an iodine dye into my vein prior to taking X-rays, and I had a severe allergic reaction. I went into anaphylactic shock. All my bodily functions stopped. Three doctors and two nurses worked frantically to revive me. At one point during this struggle I came to enough to hear one of the nurses read my pulse which was slower then my father-in-law’s had been when he went into a coma and died.

I knew I was dying, and I knew I needed someone with absolute faith. I called out for my husband and fell unconscious again.

It dawned on them that they should have called him anyway, but they simply had been preoccupied with my condition. A nurse ran to a phone to call him. All she said to him was, “We are doing all we can for your wife, and now she wants you.”

In less time than it takes to get to the hospital, he arrived and bolted into the emergency room rather than wait outside as someone had suggested. With his usual confidence (which I have silently watched develop as his relationship with the Lord has deepened), he sort of shoved three doctors and two nurses aside and announced, “I don’t know whether any of you are LDS, but I am going to give my wife a blessing.” Midway through that blessing I opened my eyes, saw his face, and thought I had never seen anything so beautiful. And I told him so. (Later he told me this was the only evidence he had found of any brain damage.)

I add my personal witness that prayer, including priesthood prayer, is the proof of our faith. And the proof is rewarded by the Holy Ghost (and holy power) which Nephi said “will show unto you all things what ye should do” (2 Nephi 32:5). There are miracles of faith, and we should have faith in the miraculous.

The first day of his mission, Samuel walked 25 miles (40 km). He visited four homes, but no one wanted to buy a copy of the Book of Mormon. Hungry, tired, and discouraged, he stopped that night at an inn. Samuel asked the innkeeper if he would like to buy a copy of the Book of Mormon.
“I do not know,” said the innkeeper. “How did you get hold of it?”
“It was translated by my brother, from some gold plates that he found buried in the earth,” Samuel explained.
“You liar! Get out of my house—you shan’t stay one minute with your books,” said the innkeeper. So the Church’s first missionary slept that night under an apple tree on the cold, damp ground.
The next morning Samuel gave a copy of the Book of Mormon to a poor widow who fed him breakfast. Then he walked 8 miles (13 km) and shared the Book of Mormon with John Greene, a Methodist minister, who took it only to see if others he knew might be interested in buying a copy. Mr. Greene’s wife, Rhoda, was Brigham Young’s sister, but Brigham had not yet been introduced to the Church.
When Samuel returned to the Greenes’ home in two weeks, he learned that Mr. Greene hadn’t found anyone who was interested in the Book of Mormon. So Samuel agreed to return in a few months. When he did, Mr. Greene wasn’t home, but Mrs. Greene told Samuel that she had read the book “and was much pleased with it.” The Spirit prompted Samuel to leave the book with her. She was so grateful “she burst into tears.” Samuel then “explained to her the most profitable manner of reading the book … which was, to ask God, when she read it, for a testimony of the truth of what she had read, and she would receive the Spirit of God, which would enable her to discern the things of God.”
Later Mrs. Greene urged her husband to read the Book of Mormon too. He did, and they were soon baptized.
In 1830 Samuel also sold a copy of the Book of Mormon to Brigham Young’s brother: Phinehas (or Phineas) Young, a Methodist preacher. When he first met Samuel, Phinehas was returning home on horseback from his preaching circuit. He had stopped at a farm for dinner. As he and the family were visiting, a young man, dressed in rough clothes, entered the room. Book in hand, the young man said to Phinehas, “There’s a book, sir, I wish you to read.”
“Pray, sir, what book have you?” Phinehas asked.
“The Book of Mormon, or, as it is called by some, the Golden Bible.”
“Ah, so then it purports to be a revelation?” Phinehas asked.
The young man opened the book to the testimonies of the Three and Eight Witnesses and said, “Here is the testimony of the witnesses to the truth of the book.”
Phinehas read their testimonies. When Phinehas looked up from his reading, the young man said, “If you will read this book with a prayerful heart and ask God to give you a witness, you will know the truth of the work.”
Phinehas promised to read the book. Then he asked the young man’s name.
“My name is Samuel H. Smith.”
Phinehas had seen that name! “Then you are one of the witnesses.”
“Yes,” Samuel said. “I know the book is a revelation from God, translated by the power of the Holy Ghost, and that my brother, Joseph Smith, Jr., is a Prophet, Seer, and Revelator.”
After arriving home Phinehas told his wife, “I have got a book here called the Book of Mormon, and it is said to be a revelation, and I wish to read it and make myself acquainted with its errors, so I can expose them to the world.”
True to his promise, he read the Book of Mormon—twice in two weeks. Rather than finding any errors, he became convinced the book was true. On Sunday, when his congregation asked for his opinion of the book, “he defended it for ten minutes, when suddenly the Spirit of God came on him with such force that in a marvelous manner he spoke at great length on the importance of it. … He closed by telling the people that he believed the book.”
That summer, the Young family, including Brigham, and their friends the Kimballs read the Book of Mormon and believed it.
The first official latter-day missionary baptized no one and shared only a few copies of the Book of Mormon. Samuel didn’t know then that two of those copies would bring into the Church many faithful members, including Brigham Young, who presided over the Church from 1844 to 1877, and Heber C. Kimball, an Apostle from 1835 to 1868.
Like Samuel, you can fill your knapsack with copies of the Book of Mormon. Then share them, along with your testimony. As Samuel’s brief mission shows, you may not always know who will be touched by reading the Book of Mormon. But you can count on Moroni’s promise: if people pray sincerely about the Book of Mormon, God “will manifest the truth of it unto [them], by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moro. 10:4).
“Conversion to [the Book of Mormon] is conversion to Christ, because this book contains the words of Christ. …
“Additionally, conversion to this inspired book is conversion to the gospel of Jesus Christ, because it contains the fulness of the gospel of Jesus Christ. …
“Finally, conversion to the Book of Mormon is conversion to the divine, prophetic calling of the Prophet Joseph Smith. [The Book of Mormon] is the divine evidence of the truthfulness of Joseph Smith’s calling.”Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “The Book of Mormon: The Heart of Missionary Proselyting,” Ensign, Sept. 2002, 14.

I teach an undergraduate ethics class. Last fall I shared with my students a story based on a study conducted in 1970 at Princeton University. On the morning of the final exam, a class of students showed up to the scheduled classroom only to find a sign on the board telling them that the room had changed and the correct room was across campus. Imagine how you might feel in that circumstance. These students had to quickly get from one end of campus to the other in order to make it in time for the final exam.

The students rushed across campus to find their professor waiting for them. The professor then told them that they had just completed their final exam.

The students were quite perplexed. The professor explained that he had set up several “situations” across campus that provided opportunities for them to show their ethical behavior. For example, one person had dropped an armful of books on the sidewalk. One was seen being verbally abused by another. A third person had fallen off their bike right in the students’ path, while a fourth was frantically looking for a small child.

The professor asked the students, “Did you stop to help pick up the books? Did you check to see if those who were hurt or in danger were okay? Did you join in the search for the lost child?”

This professor was trying to tell his students that the important learning is in real-life application. You see, this life is not just about writing papers and passing tests. It is not even about working hard at your job. It is all about how we treat others.

“When I was a girl growing up on a farm in Montana, there weren’t any children living close-by. So, of course, I often felt lonesome. A lady living on the other side of one of our fields became my best friend. Her name was Delfina.
“Whenever I was bored, I would head for Delfina’s one-room home. There wasn’t much furniture in her house, but if I took off my shoes, I could sit on her bed. Then she would share the contents of her jewelry box with me.
“It was the most beautiful jewelry box I had ever seen. In fact, it may have been the only one I had ever seen—shiny ebony, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. To me it whispered of an exciting world I had only read about in books. Its red lacquered interior was filled with tiny trinkets and jewelry.
“One day I went to visit Delfina, but she wasn’t home. I opened her door and went inside anyway. For a while I played with her trinkets. Then instead of putting all the jewelry back into the box, I put some of it into my pocket. When I arrived home, Mom discovered the jewelry. She asked me where I’d gotten it. When I told her I had taken it from Delfina, she said, ‘I know you probably wanted to have something of Delfina’s because she is your friend. If these things are special to you, think how precious they must be to her! Of course, stealing is wrong, no matter whom you steal from. The important thing now is what you’re going to do about it.’
“As I walked back across the field, I looked for every excuse I could find to take more time. Delay as I might, my feet finally took me to her door. Shame and fear overcame me as I knocked.
“When she answered, I looked down at the floor. In a quavering voice I told Delfina what I had done. ‘I’m glad you brought them back,’ she said. ‘They’re keepsakes that belonged to my mother. We all make mistakes. I’m sure you won’t do it again.’
“Then to cheer me up, she fixed my favorite treat of chocolate milk made with corn syrup and cocoa. As I sipped it, I felt as though a heavy load had been lifted from me.”

This ministering to others must not always be to our own. I am reminded of a time when, as a young missionary, I was stricken with yellow jaundice, which was known to us as “missionaries’ disease.” I was so deathly sick, I was afraid I would not die. A good woman, not of our faith, nursed me back to health. I felt she literally saved my life. That surpassing service to me was unpurchased, for she accepted nothing in return. I am looking forward to seeing her in another world if I should be worthy to go where she is.

Our son is a new hematology-oncology doctor. He has had the blessing of obtaining all his medical school education and training through a scholarship from the United States Army Medical Department (AMEDD). It has provided 100 percent of his tuition, housing costs, and expenses and even a small monthly stipend during medical school. When he was working hard to qualify for that scholarship and fearing the possibility of having to take out six-figure loans if he did not, I remember a conversation we had. I will never forget what he shared. My son told me that he knew it would all work out somehow because he was committed to paying tithes and fast offerings while he was in medical school.
He wanted to know he was doing everything he could to qualify for the Lord’s help with the large task he was setting out to accomplish. His work ethic has since been tested to its limit, but he is a good example to me of never being weary in well doing (see Doctrine and Covenants 64:33). Even with his busy hospital schedule, he has happily accepted heavy Church assignments, and he and his wife and little family have been blessed.

Inside the Liberty Jail Historic Site in present-day Liberty, Missouri, is a rotunda containing a replica of the jail. In the replica are mannequins representing the Prophet and his associates who were held there. Visitors can now come, sit in a semicircle around the jail, and listen to a history of what happened there.

Jacob Tracy, a priest in the Harrisonville Ward, looks down into the dungeon of the jail. At 5?11? he wouldn’t be able to stand up straight if he were down there. He’s looking at a replica of Hyrum Smith, his fifth-great-grandfather.

He likes to come here with his brother, Joseph, 12, and his sister, Becky, 18, (opposite page) and think about the sacrifices early Church members made. Plus, Jacob says, “Knowing the history of what happened to them can help us. We have so much to look forward to here in Zion.”

In 1979, Art Hansen was wrestling with the decision to give up his personal pursuits in competitive skiing to go on a full-time mission. Back then he went to a sacrament meeting that helped him make up his mind.
Art listened to a talk given by a friend who had accepted a mission call. “I thought, hey, I’m going to go too,” he remembers. Guided by his initial excitement, he penned a letter to another friend, Elder Matthew Balkman, who at the time was serving in the Philippines. He told his missionary friend about his decision to serve. Only one problem—Elder Balkman never received that letter or the two that followed. “We didn’t communicate regularly back then,” Art says. “I didn’t know he never received my letters.”
Almost 30 years later, Elder Balkman’s son Blake was called to serve in the same location in the Philippines where his father had served. When Elder Balkman junior arrived at the mission home, he was presented with three faded letters from “Elder Hansen” addressed to an Elder Balkman. He noticed the postmarks were dated 30 years ago and sent the letters home to his father, assuming they had something to do with him. Elder Balkman senior then forwarded them on to his old friend Art Hansen, not knowing that this time the letter would arrive just at the right moment—for someone else.

Eric Coulson was the only Latter-day Saint in his high school, and everyone knew it because he was the student-body president.
In his leadership position, he found a way to introduce the whole senior class to the Church.
Every year the graduating class from his high school takes a trip to Washington, D.C. Eric checked with the principal, then arranged for the bus drivers to take the class to see the Washington Temple one night during their visit. While there, Eric explained the purposes of the temple. Everyone was impressed with the sight of the temple lit at night.
Eric is a member of the Boone Ward, Des Moines Iowa Stake, where he served as first assistant in his priests quorum.

We were fortunate to attend the Melbourne Temple in November 2019 for a few days. Little did we realise it would be our last trip for a significant amount of time. Before the pandemic, my husband and I would attend the temple anywhere between one and four times a year. To get there we would either take a flight or a ferry. Some years that has been hard financially, so we made the trip less often. Some of those trips were day trips; others lasted a few days.
When the temple and our state borders closed during the COVID-19 pandemic, I wondered how I would keep the temple as a meaningful part of my life. I felt strengthened by feelings of the Holy Ghost that even though the temple was closed, the blessings of my temple covenants were not closed to me. I felt an added closeness to the Lord, particularly when I focussed on serving others, whether in my own family or those I minister to.
I spent time reviewing in my mind the covenants I have made, the feelings I have experienced in the temple, and the knowledge I have gained. I reviewed in my mind the wording of the ordinances. I continued researching my family history, entering names and sources into FamilySearch, and sharing those names with the temple. I look forward to seeing the list of shared names start to be completed when the temples reopen.

I recall an event described by a man I met at a stake conference in the Midwest more than a decade ago. The setting was a beautiful campus in central Illinois. My informant, a participant in a summer workshop, saw a crowd of young students seated on the grass in a large semicircle about 20 feet from one of the large hardwood trees that are so common and so beautiful there. They were watching something at the base of the tree. He turned aside from his walk to see what it was.
There was a handsome tree squirrel with a large, bushy tail playing around the base of the tree—now on the ground, now up and down and around the trunk. But why would that beautiful but familiar sight attract a crowd of students?
Stretched out prone on the grass nearby was an Irish setter. He was the object of the students’ interest, and, though he pretended otherwise, the squirrel was the object of his. Each time the squirrel was momentarily out of sight circling the tree or looking in another direction, the setter would quickly creep forward a few inches and then resume his apparent indifferent posture. Each minute or two he crept closer to the squirrel, and the squirrel apparently did not notice. This was the scene that held the students’ interest. They were silent and immobile, attention riveted on the drama—the probable outcome of which was becoming increasingly obvious.
Finally the setter was close enough to bound at the squirrel and catch it in his mouth. A gasp of horror arose, and the crowd of students surged forward and wrested the beautiful little animal away from the hound, but it was too late. The squirrel was dead.
Anyone in that crowd of students could have warned the squirrel at any time by waving their arms or crying out, but none had done so. They just watched while the inevitable consequence got closer and closer. No one asked “Where will this lead?” and no one wished to interfere. When the predictable outcome occurred, they rushed to the defense, but it was too late. Tearful and regretful expressions were all they could offer.

Some years ago while on a family vacation, we acquired a rather unusual pet—a water snake from the beaches of Puget Sound. My children named him Sneaky, short for Sneaky Snake.
Early one morning while the family was out walking, Sneaky somehow got out of his cardboard box. When the room attendant entered to tidy the room, Sneaky headed for the open door. The attendant slammed the door in absolute terror, and since Sneaky got caught in it, we might say he came all apart.
It was the end of Sneaky, the beginning of a nervous breakdown for the attendant, and a time of weeping on the part of our children. Now, there is a lesson here. The attendant had erroneously perceived Sneaky as something less than the friend he was.