Gospel Story Finder

I am grateful for all the women of the Church who in my life have been as strong as Mount Sinai and as compassionate as the Mount of Beatitudes. We smile sometimes about our sisters’ stories—you know, green Jell-O, quilts, and funeral potatoes. But my family has been the grateful recipient of each of those items at one time or another—and in one case, the quilt and the funeral potatoes on the same day. It was just a small quilt—tiny, really—to make my deceased baby brother’s journey back to his heavenly home as warm and comfortable as our Relief Society sisters wanted him to be. The food provided for our family after the service, voluntarily given without a single word from us, was gratefully received. Smile, if you will, about our traditions, but somehow the too-often unheralded women in this Church are always there when hands hang down and knees are feeble. They seem to grasp instinctively the divinity in Christ’s declaration: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”

Samnang Sea from Cambodia went to BYU–Hawaii from 2002-2006 and graduated in Mathematics. He had planned to go to BYU Provo for his master’s degree, but during his last year, he met his wife who then just starting as a freshman. They were married in Hawaii in 2006.

He went on to pursue both a master’s and Ph.D. degree and had a well-paid teaching job in a school which sponsored his work visa and later obtained permanent residency in the United States. Life was very comfortable, but because of the promptings of the Holy Ghost, he returned home in 2013 with his wife and three sons. That’s when he met his in-laws for the first time. He was offered a wonderful teaching position in Siem Reap but declined it as he felt that the Lord had a different direction for him. He is now a Bishop and works for the Church as the Service Center Manager for the Cambodia office. Their sons are now 11, 8 and 6 years old. Their youngest, a girl, now 2 years old, was born in Phnom Penh.

“Wake up, everyone!” Dad called from the hallway. “We’ve overslept!” Mom pulled her robe around her and shuffled into the kitchen to make breakfast. As she opened the curtains, she frowned. “That’s funny,” she said. “The sun is coming up later than usual this morning. But what a beautiful sunrise!” She called everyone into the kitchen to see the bright orange ball coming up through the pink clouds. In spite of their hurry, everyone paused in wonder.
“Gorgeous,” Dad said.
“Wow!” Karen said.
“Awesome,” Julie said.
“Can we have pancakes?” Aaron said.
Mother pulled her attention back from the window to look at Aaron. “I’m not sure we have time for pancakes, but I’ll see what I can do.” She put the frying pan on the stove to heat and started mixing up the batter.
“I wonder why Nicky hasn’t called yet,” Karen wondered aloud. “She usually calls by now to see if I can walk to school with her.”
Dad straightened his tie. “I don’t know, honey, but I’m wondering where the bus is. It’s never been this late before.”
“Those pancakes sure smell good,” Aaron said. “I’ll set the table.”
Mother smiled. “That would be great. But shouldn’t you get dressed first?”
Julie hurried into the kitchen carrying her backpack. “I can’t be late. I have a test today.”
“Then you need a good breakfast,” Aaron pointed out as he put the plates on the table. “And maybe a song or two. And a story.”
Julie stared at him. “What are you talking about? We don’t have time to do all those things.”
“We do today,” Aaron said mysteriously. And he began to hum as he put the forks beside the plates.
Mom and Dad exchanged a puzzled look. “Do you know something we don’t know?” Dad asked Aaron.
Aaron smiled. “Somebody needs to change the calendar,” he said.
“So?” Karen flipped up the next month’s page on the wall calendar. April it said in big letters.
Mom laughed. “It’s April Fools’ Day!”*
“What have you done?” Karen asked.
“I set everyone’s clock ahead an hour.” Aaron beamed. “Now we all have time for a nice big breakfast, a song or two, and a story. Isn’t that a great trick?”
“You mean I could have slept for another hour?” Julie asked. She looked at Aaron, who wasn’t smiling anymore. Now he looked worried.
“You could have. But you would have missed that awesome sunrise,” Mom said.
“And this delicious breakfast,” Karen added.
Julie put down her backpack. “All right, Aaron, you win. I’ll pick out a song to play on the piano.” She patted him on the head before going to the living room.
“And I’ll get my flute.” Karen hurried to her bedroom.
“And I’ll pick out a story,” Dad said, opening his scriptures.
“Mom,” Aaron said softly. “I know you sometimes don’t like it when people play April Fools’ tricks. Are you mad at me?”
“Of course not.” Mom gave Aaron a hug. “What I don’t like is when tricks make other people feel bad. Your trick is great because it’s making us feel good by giving us time to be together. And that’s a wonderful way to start any morning, especially April Fools’ Day!”

The sun shone warmly on an outrigger canoe as a father and son dipped their paddles into the smooth water. Mapa, the boy, stared into the clear depths, not conscious of the beauty there or of the beautiful morning around them. Somewhere deep inside he hurt, like a leg hurts when the water is too cold for swimming and a boy goes swimming anyway. But the ache was even worse whenever he looked down at his little Puaka Tea asleep near his bare feet—all curled up and scrubbed clean and pink. She’s not very big yet, he thought sadly. How he wished he could keep her until she was grown and the mother of many little pigs. But she must be sold at the marketplace, because it would soon be time for school and there was not enough money to buy the uniforms and sandals all Tongan students wear.
Father had planned on cash from his crops, but the hurricane winds had destroyed most of them this year. Then Mother had tried to help by weaving baskets and mats and making tapa cloth to be sold at the market. Little brother Sione had sent his two best chickens in a cage to be sold. Their legs tied together, they seemed quite content just to be blinking out at the world.
The whole family was anxious to help Mapa get ready for school. And when he thought about their concern for him, a good feeling began to push away some of the hurt about having to sell Puaka.
“Rest awhile, Mapa,” Father advised, as the canoe slipped gracefully across the water. “There will be much to see and do when we reach Tongatapu Island.”
“Have I ever been there?”
“When you were very small.”
Mapa leaned back against the boat. “I want to go to a store and buy something for Mother and Sione,” he said.
Mapa reached inside his vala (dressy skirt-like garment) to make sure his twenty-seniti (cent) coin was still there. Nestled there also was something else. It was hard and round. Mapa frowned. He had forgotten to leave his newfound treasure home. He and Sione had been playing with it just before Father called him to the boat. It was a different color from the tui tui nuts the boys usually played with. He had found it that morning inside a shellfish. It was silvery white and lustrous.
The gentle rocking of the boat lulled the boy to sleep. He saw himself running with Puaka Tea at his heels. His bare legs, bronzed by the sun, were strong and fast. The wind blew warm on his smiling brown face. The pig followed him wherever he went, through the tall grass, along the sand on the beach, even into the shallow water. He heard her squealing.
Mapa opened his eyes. Puaka Tea was awake and squealing loudly. The boat trembled and lurched sideways.
“Father! What is happening?” Mapa shouted.
The chickens clucked and banged their beaks against the side of the cage.
“Hold on, son!”
Another plunge. The frightened pig scampered back and forth in the bottom of the canoe. Mapa reached for her just as the boat tipped again. Puaka Tea tumbled into the ocean, her feet flailing as she went under.
“Oh, no!” Mapa cried, as he jumped in after her. Then up the pig came, floundering near an overturned basket. He grabbed the animal and pulled her with him to the boat. Still squealing, Puaka Tea went up over the side to safety.
“What happened?” Mapa asked as soon as he had pulled himself inside the canoe.
“Well, I think a young whale wanted to visit us. Thank goodness, I was able to nudge it away. This serves for more than just rowing!” Father declared, holding up a long paddle. Mapa and Father laughed together, and the animals settled themselves.
Mapa saw a faint line on the far horizon as he shaded his eyes with the palm of his hand. Soon a shoreline began to take shape. Anticipation brought a smile to his face. He could see the same expression reflected in his father’s dark eyes. “We will soon be there, son. Look, there is the king’s palace.”
Stately Norfolk pines towered above tall white walls. The red roof matched the colorful hibiscus and poinsettia flowers blooming in the courtyard.
“Red and white, the colors of the kingdom,” Mapa said softly. “I have never seen anything so magnificent. Look, there is a big ship in the harbor. Where do you think it came from?”
Father’s eyes studied it. “From Australia, I think.”
Soon the outrigger was securely tied to the dock and, with the pig pattering along beside them, they carried their wares to market. Mapa had never seen so many people. He tied Puaka Tea to a pole and she began to root around contentedly in the soft ground.
“May I go to a store now?” Mapa asked.
Father knew the boy wanted to be away when someone came to buy the pig. “Yes, but be careful.”
Mapa’s heart was heavy. “Good-bye, my little Puaka Tea,” he whispered, and turned and hurried across the street.
The store seemed very big, for Mapa was used to only the small thatched huts of the village. This building was made of wood and filled to capacity with all kinds of supplies. The pungent odor of spice cake and new leather filled the room. Three small children at the counter were laughing and playing with their new toys. The trinkets from New Zealand, Japan, and India fascinated Mapa most. He was so engrossed, his curly head bent over the shelf, that he did not notice a lady customer come into the store.
Finally he reached into the folds of his vala for the coin, and out fell the stone. Clattering to the floor, it rolled across the boards almost to the lady’s feet.
“Malo-e-lelei (Hello),” she greeted him. Her voice sounded strange.
Mapa’s eyes opened wide. The voice was not nearly as strange as the lady herself. Her skin was very white, and her eyes were as blue as the horizon where the ocean meets the sky. Her hair was golden like a sun blossom.
“Malo-e-lelei,” he answered and picked up his treasure.
The woman smiled and came closer to him. “May I see it?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’m,” he replied and handed it to her.
“It is lovely.” She studied it closely. “I would very much like to buy it. Will you sell it to me?”
Mapa thought for a moment. I wonder why this lady wants it? Perhaps I can find another one.
“Yes, you may buy it.”
He was astonished at the many slips of paper pa’anga (dollars) the lady placed in his hand.
“Malo’aupito (thank you very much),” he said.
Mapa ran back to the marketplace. His father would be surprised, for his son held more money in his hand than anyone would pay for baskets or chickens or a little pig. He could keep Puaka Tea!
“Father! Father!” Oh, if only I’m in time!
A tall, neatly dressed man stood by his father, holding onto the rope tied around Puaka Tea’s leg.
“What is it, Mapa? What has happened?”
“Do not sell my pig! I have money. It is enough. See, here!”
Father’s mouth opened in disbelief. “But where did you get it?”
“I sold a stone I found to a lady from the ship. I can keep Puaka Tea and still buy things for school.”
“That was not an ordinary stone, son. It must have been a pearl! I am happy for your good fortune,” Father said.
The tall man, understanding, left in search of another pig.
Mapa bent down and untied Puaka Tea, who gave a happy little squeal.

When I was a student in dental school, the financial outlook of our local economy was not very encouraging. Inflation dramatically decreased the value of currency from one day to the next.
I remember the year when I was to enroll in surgery practices; I needed to have all the necessary surgical equipment before enrolling that semester. My parents saved the needed funds. But one night something dramatic happened. We went to buy the equipment, only to discover that the amount of money we had to buy all the equipment now was sufficient to buy only a pair of surgical tweezers—and nothing else. We returned home with empty hands and with heavy hearts at the thought of my losing a semester of college. Suddenly, however, my mother said, “Taylor, come with me; let’s go out.”
We went downtown where there were many places that buy and sell jewelry. When we arrived at one store, my mother took out of her purse a small blue velvet bag containing a beautiful gold bracelet with an inscription that read, “To my dear daughter from your father.” It was a bracelet that my grandfather had given her on one of her birthdays. Then, before my eyes, she sold it.
When she received the money, she told me, “If there is one thing I am sure of, it is that you are going to be a dentist. Go and buy all the equipment you need.” Now, can you imagine what kind of student I became from that moment on? I wanted to be the best and finish my studies soon because I knew the high cost of the sacrifice she was making.

In 1898, President Wilford Woodruff recounted an experience he had as a new member in 1834 at a priesthood meeting in Kirtland. He related: “The Prophet called on all who held the Priesthood to gather into the little log school house they had there. It was a small house, perhaps 14 feet [4.3 m] square. … When we got together the Prophet called upon the Elders of Israel … to bear testimony of this work. … When they got through the Prophet said, ‘Brethren I have been very much edified and instructed in your testimonies here tonight, but I want to say to you before the Lord, that you know no more concerning the destinies of this Church and kingdom than a babe upon its mother’s lap. You don’t comprehend it. … It is only a little handfull of Priesthood you see here tonight, but this Church will fill North and South America—it will fill the world.’”4

May I share with you a personal experience? We had spent nearly four years in South America and returned just in time for our eldest son to enter Brigham Young University. Several months after school had begun we received a call—I think it was a collect call—and the conversation proceeded something like this:
“Hello, Dad?”
“Yes.”
“This is David.”
“Yes, what do you want now?”
“Oh, nothing.”
“Nothing! Well, why did you call then?”
“Oh, I just wanted to tell you about school. I love it. It’s great. I am glad to be here. I like the place where I live. I like my roommate. I like my professors and I like the spirit here.”
And I said, “Yes, but what do you need?”
“I don’t need anything.”
“Well, why did you call?”
“I just called to say ‘Thank you.’ I am grateful for your helping me to be here.”
Well, there was considerable silence on our end of the line and we muttered something about, “We’re glad you’re happy.” Later that night as his mother and I prayed, we thanked the Lord for a thankful son. The lesson, of course, came clear to me. I appreciate a son who says, “Thank you” for things that parents have done, as all parents do. But I am a son also. I have a Father in heaven, who, like me, appreciates a son or a daughter who frequently says, “Thank you.”

Could I share a story with you? It’s a story about a friend of mine whose home was in the direct path of the Teton Dam flood. I have shared this story before.

My friend’s name was Marion Forsyth. I share this story with you to illustrate just how a man can move to higher ground and come to love God and yield his heart to Him. This was a man that learned to give his agency, so to speak, to our Heavenly Father. He trusted that if he could learn of what God’s will was—and do it, he and his family would be blessed.

Sometime before the Teton Dam broke, President Spencer W. Kimball, who was then the President of the Church, invited all of the members of the Church in a General Conference talk, to fix up their homes, yards, barns, and to take care of all that the Lord had provided for them.

As a prophet of God he explained that those who were not members of the Church would judge the truthfulness of the gospel and the Church by how well we took care of what we had been given.

My friend, Marion Forsyth had chosen to use his agency to be obedient to the living prophet of God. He had a forty-acre farm and, if I remember right, about forty milk cows. Knowing Marion and his wife, they had cows not to make any money, but to help them raise their seven children—to teach them responsibility and how to work. All of us do better in moving to higher ground when we have a responsibility and meaningful work to do.

Just a short time before the Teton Dam broke, my friend was out in his front yard on a Saturday morning to paint his fence and plant petunias with his wife. He had painted his barn the week before. One of his neighbors pulled up in front of his home. The neighbor lowered his vehicle’s window and asked my friend what he was doing painting his fence and planting those flowers. My friend Marion kindly responded that President Kimball had asked members of the Church to fix up their homes and their yards. He said he wanted to be obedient to the counsel of the prophet.

My friend’s neighbor chided him a bit, saying, “Painting your barn and fence and now planting those flowers—that’s not going to increase your milk production.” My friend Marion simply said something like: “You are probably right, but President Kimball has asked us to do it and I want to do it.”

Within two weeks, the Teton Dam broke and all that water came down the Snake River Valley destroying virtually everything in its path. All of my friend’s milk cows were swept away. His barn was severely damaged. His house was mostly destroyed. The fence in front of his home—the one he had been painting just a short time before—was gone, not to mention the petunias.

A few days after the flood, my friend saw his neighbor again—you remember, the one who chided him a bit for fixing up his place. Only this time his neighbor said, “Aren’t you sorry now Marion, [with a certain spin on the word now] that you took that time to paint your barn, fix your fences, and plant those flowers?” My friend Marion hesitated for just a moment and then simply said, “No, they were ready to be taken.”

At age 13 I was called into Bishop Murray Holt’s office, and he extended a call to me to serve as the president of the deacons quorum. He told me I needed to go home and pray about who my counselors should be. He taught me that the Lord would help me decide. He did. I then learned about counselors, and I began to see why the Lord has His Church directed by presidencies, not just presidents. I loved my counselors in the deacons quorum, and we prayed and worked hard to help the boys in our quorum. Bishop Holt taught me the pattern of presidencies and taught me how a presidency should operate and function in the Lord’s Church.

President N. Eldon Tanner related the following experience: “A young man came to me and said, ‘I made an agreement with a man that requires me to make certain payments each year. I am in arrears, and I can’t make those payments, for if I do, it is going to cause me to lose my home. What shall I do?’
“I looked at him and said, ‘Keep your agreement.’
“‘Even if it costs me my home?’
“I said, ‘I am not talking about your home. I am talking about your agreement; and I think your wife would rather have a husband who would keep his word, meet his obligations, keep his pledges or his covenants, and have to rent a home than to have a home with a husband who will not keep his covenants and his pledges’” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1966, 99).

This campus and community knows the name of Brady Howell, one of 188 killed in the 9/11 attack on the Pentagon. The son of long-time Ricks College employee Ken Howell and his wife Jeanette, Brady was working as a presidential management intern in Naval intelligence with a promising career ahead of him. His wife Liz was beginning her promising career in nursing and the medical field. Her life was dramatically changed with this tragedy. Brady & Liz, who met and courted on this campus, had their dreams disrupted. From a recent Church News article, Liz stated: "I realized there are other people in the world who are suffering, and while I by no means am an expert on grief or trial, I'm acquainted with grief. I realized at that point that I wanted to serve others with all my heart, with everything that I had, and I realized that I had been blessed so much after the loss of my husband, and comforted so much." That is what helped her decide at age 30 to serve a mission to Portugal. Liz noted that "I took the responsibility to channel my grief in a positive direction."[12]

She has been part of an LDS team rendering humanitarian relief in Haiti. And the peace of service has helped bind her broken heart.

Gradually and painfully Peter became more stable. His arms and legs were tied up to prevent bleeding, and his eyes were bandaged. The doctor explained to him what had happened in the accident: he had dislocated an arm and a leg; had broken three ribs, seven or eight fingers, and his jaw; had received a serious concussion; had lost 50 percent of his skin; and had received first- and second-degree burns over another 40 percent. But Peter had one big question. Since the gas splashed into his eyes, would he ever see again?
I could hear the doctor leaving. He hadn’t answered my big question. I got my arm swinging. I must have caught his attention because he came by me and asked, “What is it, Peter?” I could only say, “My eyes, my eyes, my eyes.” He just squeezed my arm and didn’t answer. He knew what I meant. There was just the unsaid answer that there was no chance I would see again. He started to weep a little, and I could tell that things were very serious.
Peter spent months in the hospital slowly recovering. In fact, he would spend one year as a full-time patient and many more months in and out of the hospital as he underwent dozens of operations. One of the many operations to be performed was to remove the scar tissue from his eyes. Following the operation, while he was in the recovery room, Peter knew that the moment of truth would come that following morning. Then the bandages would be removed and his eyes tested.
Awake and alone in the middle of the night, Peter thought about what was to come.
I couldn’t handle the thought of that scene when my eyes would be uncovered. On the one hand, if I could see, what a grand moment it would be! But on the other hand, what if I were blind? All hope would be gone.
Awkwardly, because his hands were wrapped in bandages, Peter started to remove the wrappings from his eyes. He managed to maneuver a pan from beside the bed onto his chest. His plan was to reflect the light from his overhead bed lamp into his eyes. He flipped the switch, and the light exploded in his eyes. He could see! As his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room, he lifted the shiny, metal pan once more.
There, in all my excitement, was this horrid face. Because my family had been told that I didn’t have a chance to live, they hadn’t told me about some other things. They hadn’t told me that I had lost most of one ear and all my eyelids and all my facial features. My nose was gone; all mymouth was gone. In my excitement to see, I hadn’t thought about what I would see. I couldn’t handle it emotionally. I let out a big yell.
Now faced with new dilemmas, Peter spent all night talking with a sympathetic nurse, asking her about what could be done. What plans had been made? What was going to happen to him once he got out of the hospital? What was it going to be like going to a store? What about going to a dance? What if he wanted to dance with a girl? What if he liked a girl? What if he wanted to give her a kiss? Abruptly, he started to laugh. The nurse, puzzled by this sudden change in emotion, wanted to know what was so funny.
All of a sudden something flashed through my mind. I was reminded of another time when I had looked into a mirror, concerned about the way I looked.
When I was a junior in high school, I had an opportunity to go to the junior-senior prom. This was the first time I had ever worn a tuxedo. It was exciting! I had just turned 16 and had asked a special girl to go with me. It was the first time I was to take a girl out to dinner. I was so concerned I would be late that I started getting my tuxedo on at 2:00 in the afternoon. Just as I was putting on the cummerbund and the bow tie, I noticed something happening on my chin. No, not now! I hurried to the mirror. Right there on the left side was a blemish just starting to appear. I remember how angry I got. Why today? Why not tomorrow? Any day but today! Pictures will be taken. In my attempt to correct the problem, I made it bright red.
When I went to pick up my girl friend, I was so embarrassed at the way I looked that I positioned myself at her front door so that the right side of my face was toward her and the left side faced away. Throughout the dance she kept asking who I was looking at. To top it all off, when we went to the restaurant, I asked to be seated at a large table for 10 so that I could sit on her left side and she wouldn’t be able to see my blemish. I had been so embarrassed by the way I looked then.
Now, here I was in the hospital, remembering how silly and immature I had been about that blemish. Here I was, having fought for my very life, for everything I had. And even though my face didn’t look very good, that didn’t seem so important when I thought of the miracle that had taken place. There really had been no chance that I would see again; yet now I could see! I took a little moment to say a prayer of thanks to my Father in Heaven because he had answered that prayer.

Throughout my life, I have struggled to feel like I fit in. Growing up, I was labeled as “overly sensitive,” and my big emotions affected every aspect of my life. I felt like I was always too loud and too emotional.
As I got older, this insecurity about my personality began to affect my mental health. But I also noticed something else—the way my body looked depended on how I felt mentally. Sometimes, when I was in a cycle of depression, I lost weight quickly. In other times of my life, I gained weight quickly. For me, it felt like my emotions and body were tied closely together, and that made it hard to love what I saw in the mirror.
As I dealt with these struggles, my insecurity deepened. It made me wonder:
How could I find my place in God’s plan if I couldn’t find my place in this world?
When I was in college, I received my endowment. As I attended the temple for the first time, I was filled with a lot of peace, but I wasn’t entirely clear on what I had learned.
So, I decided to worship in the temple regularly to better understand. I also prayed to Heavenly Father with specific questions so I could understand what He was trying to teach me.
When I did this, the Spirit taught me that I could draw strength from my divine identity—even if I felt insecure about my personality or how I looked. The endowment ceremony in the temple showed me that a loving Father in Heaven created our unique bodies and spirits for a specific purpose—to come to this earth and become like Him.
Over time, the more often I worshipped in the temple, the better I felt about myself. This didn’t come instantly or perfectly, but for me, a combination of therapy, medication, and prayer was what I needed to create a healthy sense of self-image.
I now understand that my body and emotions are not a burden—they’re a blessing from Heavenly Father! And I’ve found that when we continually stand in holy places, even when we are going through a hard time, we will be blessed.
While the temple gives me a better understanding and perspective, there are still times when I struggle with a deep sadness about my mind and body. And I know there are others who may feel the same way I do.
For those who battle mental or physical challenges, I have found that standing in holy places anchors me to Jesus Christ and helps me endure those bad days. Now I love who I am and strive to improve every day—because I have found my identity as a daughter of God.
I promise that knowing your divine nature will change how you see yourself, and this knowledge will give you peace when you need it most.

A few weeks after being confirmed as a member of the Church, I was called as a counselor in the Sunday School presidency of the Guynemer Ward in the Brazzaville Stake, the only stake in the Republic of Congo at the time. I remember one Sunday trying to lead a discussion on family history and the need to be sealed to ancestors.
Because of my little knowledge about this doctrine, the bishop came to my rescue—explaining the work performed in the temple and the need for us to do family history and to bring the names of our ancestors to the temple for sacred ordinances to be done on their behalf. Because of the bishop’s inspired remarks, supported with appropriate scriptures, we all came to an understanding of the doctrine.

Washington, Utah, MIA girls had an unforgettable time when they presented handmade gifts to children at the Primary Children’s Hospital in Salt Lake City. Each girl had made a gift; and five quilts, stuffed toys, and articles of clothing were presented. During the trip to Salt Lake they were guests of the Granger 13th Ward and were escorted on tours through the New Era offices, Temple Square, and other historic sites. (See photo).

It was February 14, Valentine’s Day, when I knelt across the altar in the Mesa Arizona Temple with my sister, Jennifer; my dad; and my mom. I was 15 years old and had been a member of the Church for just about a year. What had been only a goal a year ago was now a reality. We were about to be sealed as a family for time and eternity.
Twenty-one years before, my parents, who were not yet members, married in a Presbyterian ceremony. The minister said the marriage was “until death do you part,” but my parents thought marriage should last forever. They even started signing letters to each other, and later to Jen and me, “Love forever and three days.” It was their way of saying they hoped we’d always be together.
It wasn’t until my dad started having a lot of back problems that we met a member of the LDS Church. A therapist who helped my dad with back exercises began talking to my parents about the gospel. Slowly, they became interested and asked to meet the missionaries.
The first meeting we attended as investigators was a stake conference. Its theme was on strengthening the family. For my mom, who had been searching for ways to make our family closer, the conference was an answer to her prayers.
My prayers were answered too. After the missionaries invited us to be baptized, I began praying to know if the Church was true. As I read in John 14:26–27 about having the Holy Ghost and not being afraid, I knew that it was.
On February 11, 1996, my entire family was baptized. We had only been attending the ward for a few weeks, so we were shocked when dozens of people came to the baptism to show their support.
My family made a goal to be sealed as soon as we could. We began preparing to attend the temple, focusing on our relationships with each other and with the Savior. We’d always been a close family, and preparing for the temple made our family even closer. Our relationship became more spiritual as we read scriptures and prayed together.
On my own, I tried to read everything the prophets had written on going to the temple. I also followed my Young Women leader’s suggestion and began saying “thank you” prayers. Instead of asking Heavenly Father for all the things I wanted, I concentrated on simply thanking Him.
The day before we were to be sealed, we drove two hours from our home in Tucson to Mesa, where the temple is located. The next morning, Valentine’s Day, we awoke excited. This was the day. When we arrived at the temple, Jen and I walked around outside while my parents received their endowments. Arizona weather was perfect in February. It was as if all of the flowers had bloomed for us.
Finally it was time for Jen and me, dressed in white, to join our parents in the sealing room. I remember being struck by how bright and pure and beautiful everything looked in the temple. As we knelt across the altar, I glanced in the mirrors and saw images of our family extending endlessly. I felt the Spirit bear witness that our family would be together forever.
When we walked outside of the temple after the sealing, we were again surprised by the number of people who had come to support us.
It wasn’t until a few days after the ceremony that we realized we were sealed exactly a year and three days after our baptism. Suddenly my parents’ signature, “Love forever and three days” took on a whole new meaning. Their wish had come true—we were a forever family.

The summer of 1831 was a time of great promise for a young printer by the name of William Phelps. He had just arrived with his family in Kirtland, Ohio. Brother Phelps was born in 1792 in New Jersey. In the spring of 1830, he read an announcement indicating that the Book of Mormon was about to be released from the press. His interest in this book later led him to purchase a copy from Parley Pratt. It was the reading of this book that prompted him to move to Kirtland where he sought audience with the prophet and inquired as to his duty. On June 14, Joseph received a revelation from the Lord, recorded in Section 55 of the Doctrine and Covenants.

The revelation also directed Brother Phelps to be ordained an Elder and to travel to Missouri to assist Oliver Cowdery with printing and writing books for children.
Brother Phelps had many significant opportunities to serve and his name is mentioned in four additional sections of the Doctrine and Covenants. One of the things for which he is best remembered is the fact that he composed or adapted the lyrics of fifteen of the hymns of our church, including the ones we will sing today. He helped print the 1835 copy of the Doctrine and Covenants, and he printed the first hymnal for the Church that same year.
One of the high points for the early saints came in March of 1836 with the dedication of the first temple of this dispensation in Kirtland. From the pen of Brother Phelps came the beloved words sung at the dedication service.

The time of rejoicing, however, was soon followed by a time of great trial. It was only thirty months after the glorious visitations from the Savior and other heavenly beings that Joseph Smith found himself imprisoned in the tiny jail at Liberty, Missouri. There he remained through the Christmas season of 1838, through the winter, and well into 1839. The pain and sorrow he suffered were expressed vehemently in letters to the saints. Many who stood beside him in the beginning of this dispensation and even shared in heavenly manifestations had apostatized and been excommunicated for one reason or another. Some of these dissenters testified against him during hearings in Richmond and facilitated his imprisonment.
Among these traitors was William Phelps.

Not long after this revelation was received, the incarceration in Liberty Jail came to an end. It was finished. Joseph moved with the Saints to Nauvoo, and enjoyed a few years of peace before the fateful day of June 27, 1844. Most of those who had apostatized from the Church in Missouri remained distant from the saints and some contributed to the horror of Carthage. One brother, however, felt the influence of the Holy Spirit, prompting him to repentance, sore repentance. Through prayer and answers in a remarkable dream, he was motivated to take the necessary steps. Hoping humbly, even desperately, for just a little mercy, William W. Phelps wrote to the prophet from Dayton, Ohio. It was the 29th of June 1840:
“Brother Joseph: I am alive, and with the help of God, I mean to still live. I am as the prodigal son, though I never doubt or disbelieve the fulness of the Gospel… I have seen the folly of my way, and I tremble at the gulf I have passed . . . I know my situation, you know it, and God knows it, and I want to be saved if my friends will help me . . . I ask forgiveness in the name of Jesus Christ of all the Saints . . . I will make all the satisfaction on every point that God or Saints can require. Amen. W. W. Phelps (HC 4:141-142).
William Phelps was in a dark place. More than anything, he wanted the darkness to end. Like Peter, he longed for a second chance. He wanted the terrible choice of the past to be finished.

On July 22, less than a month after William Phelps had written his letter of repentance, the prophet Joseph responded with the following:
“Dear Brother Phelps: I must say that it is with no ordinary feelings I endeavor to write a few lines to you in answer of yours... Believing your confession to be real, and your repentance genuine, I shall be happy once again to give you the right hand of fellowship, and rejoice over the returning prodigal. Your letter was read to the Saints last Sunday, and an expression of their feeling was taken, when it was unanimously resolved that W. W. Phelps should be received into full fellowship. ‘Come on, dear brother, since the war is past, for friends at first, are friends again at last.’ Yours as ever, Joseph Smith Jun.” (HC 4:162-164).
William W. Phelps joined the Saints in Nauvoo. He became an ordinance worker in the Nauvoo temple. He traveled west with the Saints in 1849. Shortly thereafter, he served a mission for the Church. In 1872, he passed away in Salt Lake City, an active high priest.

Jorge Popá, a member of the Quetzaltenango Guatemala Stake, originally invited the sister missionaries to his home to help his wife understand the English instructions that came with the bread maker he had bought her. The sisters agreed—if they could also share the gospel message with the family. After the missionary lessons, Jorge and his wife, Mirna, told the missionaries they weren’t interested in baptism. But that night neither Jorge nor Mirna could sleep. At the same time, each felt moved to get out of bed and pray about what they had been taught, and each received the same manifestation of the truth. They sought out the sister missionaries at church on Sunday and asked to be baptized. After their baptism, the Popás faced the problem many converts face: how to tell their family they had broken with the traditional religion. Their four-year-old son (who is now a deacon) solved that problem at a family gathering. When someone served tea, he stood and announced, “We don’t drink that! We’re Mormons.”

I now understand better the dream given to Karl G. Maeser in the 1880s during a very difficult financial period for the university. Brother Maeser became so discouraged with the lack of resources for the university that he decided to take a job at the University of Utah. He told his wife and daughter to pack the household goods and prepare to move. This they did, and then they waited two days. On the third day the daughter finally asked when they would leave. Brother Maeser replied: “I have changed my mind. I have had a dream—I have seen Temple Hill [upper campus] filled with buildings—great temples of learning, and I have decided to remain and do my part in contributing to the fulfillment of that dream” (from Brigham Young University: The First One Hundred Years, eds. Ernest L. Wilkinson and Leonard J. Arrington, vol. 3 [Provo: Brigham Young University Press, 1976], 3).

Now there has been added another element. It began some years ago when drought in Africa brought hunger and death to uncounted numbers. Members of the Church were invited to contribute to a great humanitarian effort to meet the needs of those terribly impoverished people. Your contributions were numerous and generous. The work has continued because there are other serious needs in many places. The outreach of this aid has become a miracle. Millions of pounds of food, medical supplies, blankets, tents, clothing, and other materials have staved off famine and desolation in various parts of the world. Wells have been dug, crops have been planted, lives have been saved. Let me give you an example.
Neil Darlington is a chemical engineer who worked for a large industrial company in Ghana. Eventually, he retired.
He and his wife were then called as a missionary couple. They were sent to Ghana. Brother Darlington says, “In areas of famine, disease, and social unrest, we were there as representatives of the Church, extending a helping hand to the destitute, the hungry, the distressed.”
In small villages they drilled new wells and repaired old ones. Those of us who have fresh, clean water in abundance can scarcely appreciate the circumstances of those who are without.
Can you picture this couple, devoted Latter-day Saint missionaries? They drill into the dry earth. Their drill reaches the water table below, and the miracle liquid comes to the surface and spills over the dry and thirsty soil. There is rejoicing. There are tears. There is now water to drink, water with which to wash, water to grow crops. There is nothing more treasured in a dry land than water. How absolutely beautiful is water pouring from a new well.
On one occasion, when the tribal chiefs and the elders of the village gathered to thank them, Brother Darlington asked the chief if he and Sister Darlington could sing a song for them. They looked into the eyes of the dark-skinned men and women before them and sang “I Am a Child of God” as an expression of their common brotherhood.
This one couple, through their efforts, have provided water for an estimated 190,000 people in remote villages and refugee camps. Contemplate, if you will, the miracle of this accomplishment.