Gospel Story Finder

But what of an existence beyond death? Is death the end of all? Robert Blatchford, in his book God and My Neighbor, attacked with vigor accepted Christian beliefs such as God, Christ, prayer, and particularly immortality. He boldly asserted that death was the end of our existence and that no one could prove otherwise. Then a surprising thing happened. His wall of skepticism suddenly crumbled to dust. He was left exposed and undefended. Slowly he began to feel his way back to the faith he had ridiculed and abandoned. What had caused this profound change in his outlook? His wife died. With a broken heart he went into the room where lay all that was mortal of her. He looked again at the face he loved so well. Coming out, he said to a friend: “It is she, and yet it is not she. Everything is changed. Something that was there before is taken away. She is not the same. What can be gone if it be not the soul?”

Later he wrote: “Death is not what some people imagine. It is only like going into another room. In that other room we shall find … the dear women and men and the sweet children we have loved and lost.”12

Since being in the Dominican Republic, we have had several experiences where members and friends of the Church have approached us and told us they were, or had friends who were, members. One Saturday, we walked into a jewelry shop that sold locally crafted jewelry. When the lady behind the counter saw our badges, she immediately said she had family who were active members of the Church. We had a wonderful exchange with her as we made a few modest purchases. nullA few weeks later, while at a mango festival in Bani, Dominican Republic, a young member, about missionary age, saw our badges and came up to greet us and welcome us to his city. We talked about missions with him and felt his warm and welcoming spirit. We could easily see him serving the Lord wearing his own missionary badge. We continue to be blessed by the people we meet because of the badges we wear and who we represent. The power of the badge continues to touch hearts as missionaries throughout the world strive to declare through word and deed “that there is no other way or means whereby man be saved, only in and through [Jesus] Christ” (Alma 38:9).

When Mom looked up from peeling the potatoes for supper, she saw Lucas standing in the kitchen doorway with a furrowed brow and a book in his hand. “What are you reading that makes you look so serious?” Mom questioned, wiping her hands on a towel.
“This.” Lucas held up his book so that Mom could see the cover.
Mom sat in a kitchen chair and lifted Lucas onto her lap. “I thought that The Night Before Christmas was one of your happy books,” she said.
“It is, Mom, but why is Santa smoking a pipe?” Lucas asked. “Isn’t he a Latter-day Saint like us?”
Mom was quiet for a bit as they looked at the picture of Santa with his pipe making a circle of smoke around his head. “I guess,” she said slowly, “that maybe the missionaries haven’t been to the North Pole yet to teach him about the restored gospel and about why it’s so important not to smoke.”
“But, Mom, everybody knows Santa Claus. Why hasn’t someone told him?”
“I don’t know,” Mom answered, stroking Lucas’s hair gently. “I guess someone really should.” Then she gave Lucas a squeeze and asked, “Do you want to help me peel the potatoes?”
“No thanks, Mom,” he replied. “I need some ‘time out to think’ time.”
“OK, Champ, but don’t be late for supper,” she said as he slid off her lap and headed for his bedroom.
Lucas climbed onto his bed, lay on his stomach, and opened his book again to the page with Santa smoking. All that year they had been learning in Primary about being missionaries. Sister Franklin had said that even a Sunbeam could be a missionary. Santa must have held a lot of Sunbeams on his lap. Hadn’t even one of them told Santa about being a Mormon? Suddenly Lucas scrambled off the bed, ran over to his bookshelves, put away his storybook, and took his favorite book from the shelf. He had a happy smile on his face when he went into the living room. He had a plan.
That night after supper Lucas asked Mom and Dad to come to his bedroom for a meeting. Mom didn’t even wash the dishes first, because she could tell that this was an important meeting to Lucas. When his parents were seated on the bed, Lucas showed them a package wrapped in newspaper comics. “Billy Anderson said that Santa is going to be at the mall this Saturday. I want give this to him.”
“You want to give Santa a present?” Dad asked. “That’s wonderful. Do you mind if we ask what it is, Son?”
Lucas showed Dad the page in his storybook with Santa and the pipe. “You see, Dad, I don’t think that Santa is a member of the Church. Mom said that maybe no one has told him about Heavenly Father’s plan and about not smoking. So I want to give him the Book of Mormon that you gave me when we started to read it as a family. I thought that you and Mom could give me another one for Christmas. That way Santa will know about what’s important, and maybe he’ll stop smoking that pipe.”
Dad reached out and pulled Lucas onto his lap. Mom reached over and patted his hand. Her eyes were watery, and Dad’s were too. That surprised Lucas a little. “It’s all right to give my Book of Mormon to Santa, isn’t it, Dad?”
“Yes, Son. It’s more than all right—it’s terrific! I’m very proud of you, Lucas. I’m proud that you want to be a missionary and share the gospel with others.”
Mom said, “Lucas, why don’t you let me help you write your testimony in the front of the book. You can put your name and address inside so that Santa will know who cares so much about him. Then you can wrap it again in Christmas paper, and I bet I can even find a bow for you to put on top. Would you like that?”
“Yea! All right!” Lucas yelled, ripping off the wrapping as fast as he could.
Dad took a pen out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Mom.
“Dear Santa,” Lucas began, “I am worried about you because I saw in a picture that you smoke. Smoking is bad for you. Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to be good to our bodies. This book is all about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I read it with my family every day. It makes me happy. You are so nice to all the children that I want you to be happy too.”
“That sounds great, Son,” Dad said. “I’m glad to hear that reading the Book of Mormon as a family makes you happy.”
“I want to write my name,” Lucas told Mom. “You can write our phone number under it.”
Afterward Dad did the dishes while Mom helped Lucas cut, fold, and tape the Christmas wrapping paper. Lucas put a big gold bow on last, and the gift looked super. Then Mom put it on top of the refrigerator so that nothing would happen to it before Saturday.
On Saturday morning there was a long line of children waiting at the mall to sit on Santa’s lap. It was hard for Lucas to wait, but finally his turn came. He was so excited that he jumped onto Santa’s lap.
“Well,” Santa exclaimed, “aren’t you happy today! And what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?”
“Nothing,” Lucas said. “I just want to give you this.” He handed the gift to Santa, give him a hug, and ran back to his mom and dad. When he looked over his shoulder, Santa was just sitting there, looking a little surprised.
That night Lucas was brushing his teeth when the phone rang. Dad answered it and talked for a few minutes, then called Lucas. “The phone call’s for you, Lucas. It’s Santa Claus.”
“Wow! Really?” he shouted as he ran to the phone.
“Hello, Lucas. Remember me? You sat on my lap and gave me a present this morning.”
“Sure I remember. Did you read the Book of Mormon?”
“Well, I haven’t had time to read the whole thing,” the voice on the phone said with a chuckle. “I had to work all day. But I did read what you wrote in it and the first few pages. I was wondering if I could come over tonight and meet your mom and dad.”
“Great!” Lucas exclaimed. “I’ll ask them. Dad, Mom, Santa wants to know if he can come over to our house tonight. He can, can’t he?”
“Sure he can,” Dad answered. “Why don’t you let me talk to him for a few minutes after you finish so I can make sure that he knows how to find our house.”
“Dad, he’s Santa Claus. He knows where everyone lives.”
“You’re probably right, but I’d still like to talk to him. It’s not every day that Santa Claus calls on the phone.”
Lucas grinned. “It’s OK with my dad,” he said, “and anything OK with him is OK with Mom.” He handed Dad the phone and ran into the bathroom to finish brushing his teeth.
When Lucas went back to the living room, he asked, “Do you think he’ll come in his sleigh?”
“No,” Dad answered. “He’ll be driving a dark blue car. We need to talk about that for a few minutes, OK?”
Lucas said, “If you mean that he’s not really Santa, but just one of Santa’s helpers, I already know that. His beard didn’t fit him very good, and he was a lot skinnier than Santa is.”
“Then you won’t be surprised when this Santa comes to the door as a young college man?”
“No, I could tell by his voice that he wasn’t an old man. And the real Santa would have to be pretty old if he were flying around when your were little.”
“Well, then, you know, Lucas,” Dad said, “that the most important thing is that you tried to share the Book of Mormon with someone, whether or not he was the real Santa.”
“I know. Missionaries teach everyone they can.”
Just then a car pulled into the driveway. Lucas jumped up and ran out the door before the young man even had time to get out of his car.
“Come in, Santa Claus,” he shouted. “We’re going to tell you all about the Book of Mormon and Jesus Christ and everything!”
Valentine Day was on Saturday that year, and Lucas got dressed in his Sunday clothes. He took an extra long time washing his face and brushing his hair so that he’d look just right.
“Are you ready, Lucas?” Mom called from the living room. “John is here.”
John was the Santa Claus helper, and today he was going to be baptized. Lucas shook John’s hand, and then John reached down and picked him up. “How about a hug, too?” he asked.
“Sure,” Lucas said, squeezing with all his might. “You may be only Santa’s helper, John,” he whispered, “but you’re the best Santa in the world to me.”
“And you’re the best missionary in the world to me,” John whispered back.

One Saturday evening in 2009, my missionary companion, Sister Alison Vevea, and I were sitting in a chapel watching the General Relief Society Meeting. I was thinking about Angela, a woman we were helping to prepare for baptism.
Two years earlier, Angela’s son had been killed. Angela was currently unemployed and, although excited to get baptized, often felt lonely and depressed. That evening before the broadcast, Sister Vevea and I had prayed for inspiration to know how to help Angela.
As President Henry B. Eyring spoke, I felt impressed to give something to Angela. But what? The Spirit then told me, “Angela needs flowers.” Almost immediately, President Eyring shared a story about a woman who was prompted to take tulips to a Relief Society sister.1 His story confirmed to me that Angela, for whatever reason, needed flowers.
After the broadcast had ended, I told my companion what the Spirit had whispered to me. Without hesitation, we drove to the nearest grocery store. While looking at the store’s meager flower selection, I picked up a bouquet of daisies.
“I don’t know,” Sister Vevea said. “What about the sunflowers?”
I pointed out their higher price, but my companion insisted. “I really feel that we should get the sunflowers,” she said.
Minutes later we were standing on Angela’s porch, sunflowers in hand. I don’t remember the greetings we exchanged when the door opened. I remember only Angela’s tears.
Angela explained that she refers to each of her children as her “little sunflowers.” Whenever she visits her son’s grave, she rests sunflowers by his headstone. The day before, however, she had gone empty-handed. Despite all her searching, she had not been able to find sunflowers anywhere. With our gift, she planned to return to the cemetery the next day to continue her tradition.
That evening the Spirit had worked through President Eyring, my companion, and me to deliver a message of love to Angela from her Heavenly Father. I am grateful for the whisperings of the Holy Spirit. They taught me early in my mission that God is aware of His children and that He is ever ready to help us accomplish His work.

This kind of shallow thinking can begin early. I know well two brothers I’ll call Steve and Scott, ages nine and seven. Steve had been baptized; Scott would be baptized soon. One day their father caught Scott heading for the candy counter at the neighborhood grocery store with a quarter that did not belong to him. As Scott and his dad sat down to talk about the seriousness of stealing, Scott was at first very penitent. But then he looked up brightly and said, “But Dad, Steve said it’s okay to steal things until you’re eight!”
Startled, the father went to find Steve, his young theologian, to ask him why he would say such a thing. Steve replied confidently with a shrug, “Yeah, that’s what I told him. When he’s eight, he’ll be baptized and all his sins will be washed away. So I say, Live it up!”

But there was a time of darkness, a time when her light was in danger of being extinguished. Sasha had trained from an early age to become a professional dancer. Several months after her baptism, she was accepted in a modern-dance company. Most of the other dancers were adults. None were LDS and none lived Church standards.
The company started preparing for a tour in Switzerland. “Every day I danced for about eight hours,” she says. It was the chance of a lifetime, but her devotion to dancing was taking her dangerously far from her mother, her schoolwork, and the Church.
Fortunately, the mother of an LDS friend said, “Sasha, stop! Do you think you can remain clean in that environment? Those people don’t keep the Word of Wisdom or the law of chastity. Do you think the Holy Ghost can remain with you?”
“I suddenly realized I was surrounded by a spiritual darkness,” Sasha says. She and her friend fell to their knees. “After our prayer, there seemed to be a light around us. I knew I must leave the dance group.”
And she did, even though it was hard.
Today, Sasha is 20 years old, a member of the Kupchino Branch. She has served in Young Women and been a branch Relief Society president. She has brought many people into the Church. But she still remembers her choice between darkness and light, and the joy she felt when she turned to the gospel.

When I was growing up in the Cottonwood area of Salt Lake County; it was the rural part of the valley. One of the men who had the greatest dignity and commanded the greatest respect was an old Scandinavian brother who, after walking a couple of miles, traveled by streetcar to work at the Salt Lake City Cemetery and back every day. His work was to water and mow the grass, tend the flowers, and dig the graves. He said little because he did not speak English well, but he was always where he should be, doing what he should do in a most dignified and exemplary way. He had no problems with ego, or with faith, for while he dug graves for a living, his work was to serve God. He was a man of little status, but of great worth.

Each morning, these volunteers gathered to receive marching orders.
“The crew captain would give us the number for somebody who had asked for help,” says Nels S., 14, from Georgia, USA. “Then we would call and schedule a time to show up.”
Groups soon drove off to find their work sites. But the sight that greeted them was shocking.
“We started driving and after about 30 minutes we started seeing huge piles on the sides of the road,” says Hannah H., 14, from Alabama, USA.
“It was all of their personal stuff,” says Alana C., 15, from Alabama. “That was really sad. They were throwing it all out because it had gotten destroyed.”
“I was scared at first,” says Andrew H., 13, of Alabama, “because I saw all of this and thought it was going to take forever to clean up. But then I was happy because I realized this stuff wouldn’t stay sitting inside the house collecting mold. It would be easier for them to start new and get their lives back.”
And that was just what the Helping Hands hoped to do—help people start to get their lives back. So they set to work.
Teams tore out drywall, ripped out floors and ceilings, broke down walls, pulled out soggy insulation, removed furniture, and helped homeowners sort through their belongings. Then they gathered what was ruined and piled it by the road for sanitation services to haul away.
“Everyone did a small job,” says Meghan K., 12, from Georgia, “but it all ended up equaling a big work effort.”
Hallie R., 17, from Georgia, agrees. “It may not seem like you’re making a huge difference, but every little bit counts. When so many people come together and help, you can make a big difference.”
The Helping Hands weren’t alone in their work. Neighbors, other church groups, and larger organizations also joined the flood of service.
“There were rescue teams from other areas in Louisiana,” explains Anna J., 13, from Alabama. “I don’t think we would have been able to even get close to where we got with one house without those rescue teams and a few of the neighbors.”
“It was cool to see different churches working together under God’s name and to see God’s children working together even if they are from different churches and places,” Landon R., 14, from Georgia says.
Homeowners pitched in when they could too. Many of them worked side by side with the Helping Hands and others.
“You would think that they would all be absorbed in their own pain, and you wouldn’t blame them for that,” says Nels. “But most of them were positive and looking for ways to help their neighbors. They weren’t caught up in their emotions; they were just working to rebuild their lives.”
Working with one homeowner was especially memorable for Hallie. “He had been in an accident years ago, so he wore a back brace, and yet he was still helping with us,” she says. “It was an amazing experience.”
And “amazing” was just one way to describe it. Many youth also explained why the opportunity was memorable for them.
“The people we helped had gone through some rough times,” says Derek T., 13, from Alabama. “I felt warm inside doing service for other people.”
“Talking with the people, you couldn’t even tell that their houses were just destroyed. They were so thankful and smiling and positive,” says Gavin R., 14, from Alabama. “When you’re serving these people, the love you feel for them is definitely memorable.”
“You can see these things on the news, but you never really know what people are going through until you go out and help,” says Luke G., 13, of Georgia.
Many volunteers also felt that the hard work and service helped them gain new understanding.
“I realized that everyone has problems, and sometimes people need help because they can’t help themselves,” says Lindsay K., 14, from Georgia. “It was hard. It was really hard. But I am grateful that I am in a good situation so I can help others.” Madison C., 13, from Alabama says, “Service helps you understand that bad things happen to people and that they can get over it, so you know you can get over hard things too.”
“It was a great way to prepare for a mission,” says Jared R., 15, from Alabama. “You were tired, you woke up early, and it was hot. But you went in there and got it done. Once you got into the swing of things, everybody was talking and having a good time.”
Gloria G., 16, from Georgia, says, “I realized that there might be big problems in the world, but God will always be there. He’ll always find a way to help you even though you might think that you lost everything and there’s no hope. He’s not going to abandon you.
“I’ve been having issues with my testimony, but what He did for these people showed me that He really does care, He really is there, and He’s going to make sure we’re OK.”
“I learned that I should give my all and not give up when I’m tired or bored,” says Landon. “I think in some ways the man we helped blessed my life more than I blessed his. I know God gave me this opportunity to serve because He loves me and He knew I needed it.”
“I was able to serve as the hands of Christ,” says Julia C., 15, from Georgia. “It was humbling, and I was grateful that I was blessed to go. I loved the experience.”

When we choose the right, we are sometimes rewarded in our Primary by Officer Charles Theodore Rigatoni (his initials spell CTR!). He comes to Primary with a set of heart-shaped handcuffs and searches for the person who was “caught choosing the right” that week. He presents the person with a shiny gold or silver badge and then tells everyone about the good things he was caught doing. Sometimes it is making his bed, helping to fix dinner without being asked, or sharing toys with friends.
One day I was waiting to get my hair cut. A younger boy tried to knock the book I was reading out of my hand. I tried to ignore him, but he kept pushing me. Finally, I looked him right in the eye, pointed to my CTR ring, and said, “Choose the right!” He backed away and didn’t bother me again. Officer Rigatoni heard about this and gave me a badge. I am glad to have a friend like Officer Rigatoni to help me remember to choose the right.

A quick story on positivity. For five years, I served in the bishopric with PJ Rogers. One morning in 2019, my brother PJ was having a bad day. He woke up and noticed their house was broken into, and someone helped themselves to their van. It was stolen. Lori, PJ’s wife, called me to ask if I could help find it, and we spent the morning searching for it.

We eventually found it, but because the van was stolen, and PJ had to teach a class that morning, he rode his motorcycle to the location the van was found. After the police showed up and did their investigation, I left to go back to work and told PJ to call me if he needed anything else. A few minutes later, I received a phone call from Lori. She told me PJ tipped his bike over and needed help picking it up. My heart sank because I could only imagine what really happened. I know PJ and know he didn’t want to worry Lori about what really happened. As I arrived on Kam Hwy in front of Hukilau, I saw him lying in the road with a badly broken leg. The first thing he said to me was (in my best PJ voice), “Quick, take a picture.” I told him no and tried to scrap him off the road. He said it again, “Take a picture before the ambulance comes, that’s a gnarly broken leg.” Upset, I told him ‘NO! You’re an idiot.’ He calmly said to me, “Keni, it’s a broken leg, it’ll heal but my feelings won’t if you don’t take the picture. I’m just glad I didn’t smash my head or get run over. Now take the picture.” We peeled him off the road, gave him a blessing, and got him in the ambulance while the policeman wrote him a ticket. Upset, I crumpled up the ticket and threw it back to the policeman so the ambulance could leave. PJ took the ticket and said he would take care of it. With all that happening, he still managed to be happy, grateful, and positive and posed for this overly enthusiastic photo at the hospital.

I’m not even a Mormon, and yet I look forward to and enjoy my monthly edition of the New Era. Your magazine helps me to see and reinforce values, standards, and morals that I never learned in my years of growing up as an orphan. My good friends the Wilsons, who live on a beautiful little ranch in John Day, Oregon, were kind enough to give me a subscription to the New Era and also show me the wealth of a strong family unit in a society where everyone is struggling for an identity. Before I met the Wilsons, I had a very stereotyped misconception of Mormon people. But the Wilsons showed me with their generosity, care, and sincerity what wonderful people Mormons are, and my monthly edition of the New Era only helps to enhance these impressions.
Yvonne Mary PepinJohn Day, Oregon

In April of 1830, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was organized in upstate New York. [8] By December of that same year, the Lord had given His fledgling Church “a commandment... that it is expedient in me that they should assemble together at the Ohio.” [9] The following month, He revealed: “There I will give unto you my law; and there you shall be endowed with power from on high.” [10]
Early missionaries found converts in Kirtland, and within months the Saints in New York were making their way to join them. [11] By 1832, the commands started coming to “organize” and “prepare” and to “establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God; That your incomings may be in the name of the Lord; that your outgoings may be in the name of the Lord; that all your salutation may be in the name of the Lord, with uplifted hands unto the Most High.” [12]
That language, recorded in the 88th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, is filled with a sense of excitement and anticipation for the outpouring of spiritual gifts the Lord had planned for His people once the temple was built and dedicated in Kirtland, Ohio. The temple is a place where heaven and earth overlap. It is a place where God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, can be more present in our lives. It is a place of sacred ordinance and covenant that amplifies and magnifies our most important relationships. In profound ways, “the power of godliness is manifest” most fully in the temple. [13]
Thus, when the Saints didn’t quite move fast enough or give construction of the temple the right priority, the Lord “chastened” them, and invited them to reconsider “the great commandment in all things, that I have given unto you concerning the building of mine house.” [14]
Received in June of 1833 by the Prophet Joseph, the 95th section of the Doctrine and Covenants reads like an anxious parent pleading with a child to receive some wonderful gift that the child cannot yet seem to appreciate or comprehend.
Indeed, the Lord had blessings in mind and was in a hurry. Quoting again from section 95, He says, “I design to prepare mine apostles to prune my vineyard for the last time... that I may pour out my Spirit... [and] endow those whom I have chosen with power from on high.” [15] Aware of how difficult it would be, He continued by promising the Saints that “if you keep my commandments you shall have power to build it.” [16]
Then, the Lord does something that emphasizes just how different and important this house, this temple, is going to be. He says, “Let the house be built, not after the manner of the world... [but] let it be built after the manner which I shall show unto three of you... The size thereof shall be fifty and five feet in width, and let it be sixty-five feet in length... And let the lower part of the inner court be dedicated unto me for your sacrament offering, and for your preaching, and your fasting, and your praying, and the offering up of your most holy desires unto me.” [17]
The “three” referenced in section 95 were Joseph Smith, Sidney Rigdon, and Frederick G. Williams, the First Presidency of the Church at the time. Truman G. Angell, a man who later became the architect of the Salt Lake Temple, recorded in his journal President Williams’ description of how the temple plans promised in section 95 were revealed. He wrote:
Joseph received the word of the Lord for him to take his two counsellors Williams and Rigdon and come before the Lord, and He would show them the plan or model of the House to be built. We went upon our knees, called on the Lord, and the Building appeared within viewing distance, I being the first to discover it. Then all of us viewed it together. After we had taken a good look at the exterior, the building seemed to come right over us. [18]
The revealed plans made such an impression that when he eventually saw the interior of the completed Kirtland Temple, President Williams observed that, “the Makeup of this Hall seemed to coincide with what I there saw [in vision] to a minutia.” [19]
Even with plans in hand, however, the Saints faced many barriers to construction in the summer of 1833. As a people, they were relatively few in number, they did not have enough money, and they were part of a new church trying to come together as a Zion people. [20]
Eliza Snow, who would later serve as the second General President of the Relief Society, described the scene in Kirtland this way:
At that time... the Saints were few in number, and most of them very poor; and, had it not been for the assurance that God had spoken, and had commanded that a house should be built to his name, of which he not only revealed the form, but also designated the dimensions, an attempt towards building that Temple, under the then existing circumstances, would have been, by all concerned, pronounced preposterous.
From 1833 to 1836, the construction of the Kirtland Temple was the primary focus of the Church in Kirtland. On June 5, 1833, they broke ground. On July 23, 1833, they laid the cornerstones. [21] A stone quarry two miles from the construction site was identified, and the Prophet Joseph himself would help quarry the stone used to build the temple. [22] Those who had a team of horses were enlisted to carry stones to the temple site. [23]
Obtaining wood was more difficult. Anything harvested nearby needed to be dried and seasoned before it could be cut and used in the construction of the temple. [24] To that end, the Saints built a kiln that, one historian explained, “required heat and evidently open flame.” [25] Unfortunately, the kiln caught fire frequently. In December of 1835, the Prophet Joseph recorded in his journal that:
The board kiln had taken fire... After laboring about one hour against this destructive element, we succeeded in conquering, and probably saved about one-fourth part of the lumber... There were about two hundred brethren engaged on this occasion; they displayed much activity and interest, and deserve much credit. [26]
Just three days later, the Prophet wrote, “To day the board kiln, took fire again.” [27] When the Saints could not overcome the problems with the kiln, they were forced to contract for lumber with a local supplier. [28]
Interruptions slowed or suspended construction on at least three occasions. [29] During the Winter of 1833–34, there was not enough wood, stone, or other materials. In the summer of 1834, Zion’s Camp took many of those working on the temple to Missouri in defense of Zion. During the winter of 1835–36, harsher and colder weather made work unbearable.
Those who helped build the temple worked long hours at considerable personal sacrifice. A brother named Daniel Tyler described those who worked on the temple this way:
How often have I seen those humble, faithful servants of the Lord, after toiling all day in the quarry, or on the building, when the walls were in course of erection, weary and faint, yet with cheerful countenances, retiring to their homes with a few pounds of corn meal that had been donated. And, in the case of those who lacked a cow to give a little milk, the corn meal was sometimes, for days together, all that they and their families had to subsist upon. When a little flour, butter or meat came in, they were luxuries. Sometimes a little New Orleans molasses, not as good as our sorghum, would be donated; but oftener the hands had to seek a job elsewhere to get a gallon or so, and then return to the labor on the temple. [30]
Others contributed and sacrificed from their homes. Heber C. Kimball reported that:
Women were engaged in spinning and knitting in order to clothe those who were laboring at the building, and the Lord only knows the scenes of poverty, tribulation, and distress which we passed through in order to accomplish this thing. My wife toiled all summer in lending her aid towards its accomplishment. She had a hundred pounds of wool, which... she spun in order to furnish clothing for those engaged in the building of the Temple, and although she had the privilege of keeping half the quantity of wool for herself, as a recompense for her labor, she did not reserve even so much as would make her a pair of stockings; but gave it for those who were laboring at the house of the Lord. She spun and wove and got the cloth dressed, and cut and made up into garments, and gave them to those men who labored on the Temple; almost all the sisters in Kirtland labored in knitting, sewing, spinning, etc., for the purpose of forwarding the work of the Lord. [31]
“Poverty” was a word used often in the many journals and records of the day. [32] When Heber C. Kimball arrived in Kirtland, he described the scene that greeted him:
When I got to Kirtland the brethren were engaged in building the house of the Lord. The commandment to build the house, and also the pattern of it was given in a revelation to Joseph Smith Jr., Sidney Rigdon, and Frederick G. Williams, and [it] was to be erected by a stated time. The church was in a state of poverty and distress, in consequence of which it appeared almost impossible that the commandment could be fulfilled, at the same time our enemies were raging and threatening destruction upon us. [33]
To keep the project moving, money was borrowed and missionaries were called to solicit funds. [34] By March of 1835, while the walls were still going up, Joseph felt the need to provide many of those working on the temple with a spiritual lift. One hundred nineteen individuals were gathered and received blessings given by the First Presidency. [35]
Later that same year, Joseph rallied the Twelve, promising them that:
Great blessings await us at this time, and will soon be poured out upon us, if we are faithful in all things... The house of the Lord must be prepared, and the solemn assembly called and organized in it, according to the order of the house of God... [ordinance there] is calculated to unite our hearts, that we may be one in feeling and sentiment, and that our faith may be strong... If we are faithful, and live by every word that proceeds forth from the mouth of God, I will venture to prophesy that we shall get a blessing that will be worth remembering... our blessing will be such as we have not realized before, nor received in this generation. [36]
On Sunday, March 27, 1836, the Kirtland Temple was dedicated. Of that day, the official history of the Church records Joseph’s account that:
The congregation began to assemble at the Temple, at about seven o’clock, an hour earlier than the doors were to be opened. Many had come in from the regions round about, to witness the dedication of the Lord’s House and share in His blessings; and such was the anxiety on this occasion that some hundreds (probably five or six) assembled before the doors were opened. The [First Presidency] entered with the doorkeepers, and stationed the latter at the inner and outer doors... The doors were then opened. Presidents Rigdon, Cowdery and myself seated the congregation as they came in, and, according to the best calculation we could make, we received between nine and ten hundred, which were as many as could be comfortably seated. We then informed the doorkeepers that we could receive no more, and a multitude were deprived of the bene?ts of the meeting on account of the house not being sufficiently capacious to receive them; and I felt to regret that any of my brethren and sisters should be deprived of the meeting, and I recommended them to repair to the schoolhouse and hold a meeting, which they did, and filled that house also, and yet many were left out... At nine o’clock a.m. President Sidney Rigdon commenced the services of the day by reading the 96th and 24th Psalms. [37]
For those without a seat in the temple or at the nearby schoolhouse, the windows of the temple were opened so that as many as possible could listen and a repeat of the dedicatory services was scheduled for the following Thursday. [38] Hymns were sung, sermons given, scriptures read, prayers offered, the sacrament passed, Church officers sustained, and then the dedication. [39]
Joseph had received the dedicatory prayer by way of revelation. [40] After reading it, those in the temple sang The Spirit of God by W. W. Phelps. [41]
In the days that followed, additional fast meetings were held. On March 31, a second dedicatory session was conducted. [43] On April 3, 1836, Christ appeared to Joseph and Oliver Cowdery and accepted the temple, saying, “I have accepted this house, and my name shall be here; and I will manifest myself to my people in mercy in this house.” [44] Appearances by Moses, Elias, and Elijah followed and the “keys of this dispensation” were committed. [45]
It is, I believe, important to remember that the outpouring of the Spirit at this time in Kirtland was universal and enjoyed by all those who came spiritually prepared to the dedication.
As Eliza Snow described it, “The ceremonies of that dedication may be rehearsed, but no mortal language can describe the heavenly manifestations of that memorable day. Angels appeared to some, while a sense of divine presence was realized by all present, and each heart was filled with ‘joy inexpressible and full of glory.’” [46]
The Savior appeared on five occasions, including a vision of both the Father and the Son. [47] Members of the congregation recorded the appearance of heavenly beings or angels at nine different meetings. [48] The letters and journals of the more than 1,000 who participated in the dedicatory meetings offer firsthand accounts that are remarkable, faith-filled, and transformative. [49]

The youth I saw confined to a wheelchair was a startling contrast to the boy I remembered from the year before. I remembered him as a happy, 18-year-old Indian boy whose swift, strong legs had carried him up and down the basketball courts. But that was yesteryear. Today he was in a wheelchair. Today his dark eyes and handsome smile caused me to be amazed at his youthful courage.
I first met Don a couple of years ago and learned that he was a convert to the Church. His widowed mother lived in a remote section of the Navajo Indian reservation, and he was a participant in the Indian student placement program, a program that places Indian children and teenagers in foster homes during the school year so that they may get a better education. His school work was excellent; he played the piano skillfully; and with the same slim brown fingers he could paint beautiful pictures or strum the guitar in accompaniment to his clear soft voice. Don’s personality was pleasant, his standards were high, his testimony strong. He was soon to graduate from high school, and his plans were to spend a short time with his people on the reservation before returning to live with his foster parents, where he would work preparatory to receiving his expected call to the mission field.
Life seems to have a way of changing the most carefully made plans, but no one would have expected the traumatic experience that awaited Don. His fun on the reservation was cut short by painful events, and his mission began in a much different way than one would have imagined.
While riding in the back of a small truck with some of his friends, Don accidentally fell out onto the hard, black pavement and skidded painfully along its rough surface. That was the last thing he remembered until he awoke in a hospital bed, his body in physical torment.
An excruciating pain in his back persisted through the long night, and as the new day began, Don found himself unable to move his arms, hands, or legs. He was paralyzed from his neck down!
Following an emergency operation, he awoke in a recovery room conscious that the pain in his mended back was subsiding; but he was also painfully aware of his helpless limbs that refused to respond to his efforts to move them.
Don’s concerned doctors had little hope that this condition would ever change. As he lay helpless in his hospital bed, fighting back the tears of discouragement, he expressed the feelings of his heart to his Heavenly Father, asking for strength to endure and for a recovery from his affliction if it were His will.
Night after night while others slept, Don struggled through the long, dark hours attempting to move his helpless hands that lay inertly by his side. He would pray and try, pray and try, repeating over and over in his mind, “I can do it, I can do it, I can do it!” Then, as the early morning light filtered softly through the blinds of his window, he would surrender himself wearily to a merciful sleep.
On one such interminable night, Don’s heart suddenly pounded with excitement as an almost imperceptible movement was made by one of his fingers! Holding his breath in suspense, he moved his finger again!
There was no sleep for Don that night. A wonderful, elated feeling of hope buoyed his troubled spirit and gave him renewed determination to regain the use of his hands.
Each night became a new adventure as gradually, with great effort and perseverance, the use of his hands and arms slowly returned to him.
In the meantime, Don’s doctor had procrastinated the unwelcome task of informing him that he must mentally prepare himself to accept his paralysis as an unalterable fact of his young life.
With great difficulty, the doctor told this news to Don. It was a poignant moment for the good doctor who turned quickly to leave the room to conceal his emotion. As he left the room he stole a last glance at Don lying quietly in his bed. Just at this moment, Don reached his arm up to the head rail of his bed and pulled himself into a more comfortable position. The startled doctor could not contain himself. “Do that again, Don! Do that again!” he shouted with excitement. Soon the room was filled with nurses and doctors who came running to learn the cause of the great commotion. It was a moment to be remembered.
Although Don was happy to feel the strength gradually return to his arms and hands, he had to fight back the tears when he looked down at his helpless legs.
In these trying circumstances he began to fulfill his desire to be a missionary. He told his roommate about the Book of Mormon and gave him a copy to read. Charles, a Hopi Indian boy, immediately became engrossed in the book, and when darkness came at the close of the day, he continued reading. He eagerly read the words of this book for three days and two nights, resentful of the time it took to eat or rest. Finally, when he had turned the last page, he rose from his bed and walked over near Don’s side and asked, “Don, where did you get this book? I have shared in the traditions of my people that we hold to be sacred. Many of our traditions are written in this book. Where did you get it?”
Don happily shared his testimony with his new friend as he told him of the restoration of the gospel and of its special meaning to them as Lamanites, a covenant race and descendants of the Book of Mormon people.
Soon after this Charles was released to go home, anxious to share this new message with family and friends. Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps away the feeling of unhappiness.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble prayers to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known cheerfully as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often sang as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for singing and entertainment and patients joined together with singing and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name.
All was not happiness for Don, however, for he longed to see his home, his family, and his friends. In spite of his high resolve, his vision clouded when he looked down at his crippled legs. Wonderful Church members tried to fill his hour of need, and Don said, “Through their kindness they put a smile on my face and laughter in my mouth.”
As time drew near for him to be released, he began to worry about his acceptance by friends and family upon his return.
The day finally came when his foster parents arrived. It was an ordeal for Don to get enough courage to ask the question that had filled his mind completely. “Do you want me to come back?” he asked apprehensively. They softly replied, “Of course, Don. We have a bed waiting for you.” The kind response was too much for him! This time his tears flowed freely and mixed with theirs in a demonstration of joy and love.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special program was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song sung in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had affected the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.
Upon his return home, Don’s numerous friends were out to greet him and welcome him back into their circle of friendship. Don soon found a job at an LDS mailbox bookstore that enabled him to meet the payments on his car, a vehicle equipped with special controls that would carry him to his work and to the Mesa Community College where he was enrolled for classes.
As I concluded my visit with him, he handed me a letter. “What is this?” I asked. “It’s a letter from my physical therapist in Denver,” he smiled in reply.
I unfolded the pages and began to read. “Dear Don,” the letter began, “I don’t know how to thank you. Yesterday was the happiest day of my life. It was the day I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
I hope I will remember the example of Don. I hope I will remember his parting words when I asked about his future. He looked directly at me and spoke with conviction: “I’ll wipe away my tears and let the wind of discouragement blow. I cannot fail, for God is with me.”

Photo illustrations by David Stoker
The reverberating dance music echoed loudly down the church hallway into the lobby where I sat with a set of scriptures open in my lap. I could hear the other youth laughing and socializing in the cultural hall, and I knew that somewhere down there the handful of young men from my small branch were catching up with old acquaintances.
I was the youngest person from my branch there and was still fairly new to Church dances. I wanted to meet other LDS youth and wanted to dance with some of the young women from my stake, but I always felt too out of place and self-conscious. So, I sat in the lobby.
This wasn’t my first dance, either. I’d been to a handful before, and some of the older young women had even asked me to dance, but that only made me more self-conscious. A hundred personal flaws would rush through my mind, and I knew that they were just being nice to the new kid. I felt that no one really wanted to dance with me.
That’s why this time I decided to stay in the lobby and leave them to enjoy themselves without worrying about me. Several times youth leaders and others from my branch tried to convince me to join the activity, but using the scriptures as a shield, I argued that I was happier studying the scriptures, idly reading about the bravery of Nephi, Captain Moroni, and the stripling warriors without putting their examples into practice. I went home that evening feeling miserable and alone.
At subsequent dances, I began to notice something when I went to the gym: as slow songs were played, most of the young women would sit down and remain seated until the next fast song. Though the more confident young men asked some girls to dance, they always seemed to pick the same two or three young women (generally from their wards). This meant that most of the girls sat through the slow songs watching from the sidelines.
I don’t remember exactly when the dance challenge first came about, but a couple of the young men from my branch decided that the young women should be able to dance to the slow songs. The challenge was simple: Ask a different young woman to dance for every slow song, and never sit out a dance.
Taking strength from the stories of Nephi, Captain Moroni, and the stripling warriors, I took the challenge to heart. For every dance after that, I did what I could to ensure that every young woman at every dance would have the chance to dance.
I started by asking any young women who were away from the center of the dance floor or who were from wards or branches that didn’t appear to have any young men there. I often had enough time to ask some girls twice, having danced with every young woman at least once.
Because of this goal, I had the opportunity to get to know dozens of incredible young women over the years, and a girl declined to dance with me on only two or three occasions.
The last youth dance I attended was held immediately after seminary graduation. I looked around the small gathering and noticed the faces of dozens of young women I’d danced with during the last three years. I felt grateful for the experiences I’d had, so I began the dance challenge again for one last time, inviting many girls to dance. Some of the young women were new, but most were now old acquaintances.
As one young woman eagerly jumped up to dance with me, I remembered the first time I’d asked her to dance three years before. I’d been very intimidated to ask her, because she was very beautiful, modest, and mature, and it seemed to me that if any young woman deserved to dance with someone better than me, then it would be her.
As we talked about our plans for college and careers during that last dance, she changed the topic very abruptly.
“I just want to tell you thank you,” she said with a sincere smile.
Caught by surprise, I croaked out a confused response: “For what?”
“When I first started coming to these dances,” she said, “no one would dance with me or the other girls from my branch. I really wanted to get to know other LDS people, but I’m shy. So I would sit in a chair and wait and wait, but none of the boys would ever ask. It was so humiliating that one time, while sitting and watching other people, I vowed that I would never come to a Church dance again.
“That was just before you asked me to dance for the first time. Because of that, I came to the next dance, where you asked me again. I kept coming to dances these past few years because I knew that even if no one else would ask me to dance, you would. So, thank you.”
I found myself at a loss for words. This amazing daughter of God, whom any young man should be honored to dance with, had experienced the same struggles I’d felt while sitting in that lobby.
I realized that all my fears hadn’t been anything to worry about and that by applying the principles of courage, faith, and consistency, I was able to bring happiness into both my life and into the lives of those around me.

Karl G. Maeser was certainly one of the most refined and educated men to join this Church in the first fifty years of its restored existence. Trained in the great classical tradition and distinguished in Saxony for his breadth of learning, he gave up virtually everything he had to enter the waters of baptism. Ostracized in his community and with no way to make a living, he brought his wife and two children to America, serving missions as he came and finally joining the Saints in these valleys of the Rocky Mountains. Once here he gave the rest of his life to the educational efforts of the Church, including fifteen years in abject poverty as the first and greatest principal of the then new and struggling Brigham Young Academy located in Provo, Utah.

In December of 1900, two months before he died, Brother Maeser was brought back to see once more the modest single-building campus on University Avenue he had built and loved and defended. He was helped up the stairs and into one of the classrooms where all of the students instinctively stood as he entered. Not a word was spoken. He looked at them slowly, then made his way to the chalkboard. With is bold script he wrote four statements on the board, turned, and walked out of the BYA forever, closing as he did so perhaps one of the most distinguished educational lives this university has ever known.

I was in a pretty depressed mood when mom picked me up from school today to go to my piano lesson. After the lesson, when I got in the car, I saw I had a letter from a friend plus the June New Era. By the time we got home I was so engrossed in the story “Fifteen Summers” that I stayed in the car to read. Well, one article led to another, and after a few more, I emerged from the car with a completely different attitude. Thanks to the New Era, I’m feeling much better.
Lora WilliamsSylva, North Carolina

One of the challenges I have been blessed with (ah, perspective) are chronic migraines. One morning I woke up with one and I knew that day I had to go to work, because I had signed up for a workshop in which tithing funds had been used for me to attend. So I took some medicine, said a prayer, and went. That day we learned about strengths and how we all have been anointed with strengths by our Heavenly Father. We learned that those strengths we have are unique to us. When we use our strengths for good, we can be better used as a tool by which we were designed.

Perceptions of others in my eyes were also changed. One of the things that had the biggest impact on me that day was when she talked to us about toxic conversations. She taught us that when we are frustrated with someone it's because they have strengths that are not connecting with our strength. When this happens we need to stop and look out (see it through their lens), and then look up. Turn to your Heavenly Father realizing that those same strengths that seem to be frustrating us are the same strengths that our Heavenly Father possesses. Perspective.

Now, can we see them and the conversation in a different way? When we look at those experiences in that way can we put our own perceptions away and listen, observe, and learn from them? Can we just try to see them through our Heavenly Fathers eyes?

When I think of what I could have missed that day if I would have let my challenge get in my way. I would be different, even this talk written today would be different. That day I gained knowledge, understanding, and learning through my observations and being actively engaged. I have been able to use those things I learned in just that one day in all areas of my life.

Heavenly Father has sent us all here to be His tools and His hands. It is up to us to do our part to be allowed to be molded to become and reach our full potential. Sometimes our part is just having the courage to say or do something when moved upon by the Spirit without knowing why. By having trust in the Lord and the Holy Ghost, knowing there is a greater plan (and that His plan is a better one) we can help others succeed and get closer to our Heavenly Father's eternal perspective and our potential. That day my life was molded in a way I was not expecting and with that touch in my life I have been able to take what I learned to help others see maybe what they had not seen before.

Years ago, as a campus stake president, I called a local Tongan brother to serve on the stake high council. "But how can I serve in a university stake?" He protested, "I know very little English. I’ve had no formal education. I will be a laughing stock among all those smart students." This man recited a list of reasons why he couldn’t possibly serve among smart people. I held to my conviction that this appointment was from the Lord. His wife finally said in her own native tongue, "I know my husband. I know his weaknesses. He is a good man and if the Lord wants him to speak in any language, I know he will find a way to do it."

This man did serve in the BYU-Hawaii Stake for several years. For the first few weeks, he was in torment with fears and feelings of inferiority but he took his calling seriously. When he had to speak in his role as high councilor, he prepared with all his might, mind and strength. He practiced in front of his mirror. He memorized and recited and repeated over and over the difficult lines. You can all predict what happened. This brother became one of the most popular speakers in the Stake. He never became fluent in English but he had a humble style and a fervor and wonderfully fresh ways of putting words together. That made him beloved and appreciated. When he stood at the pulpit before all those smart people, they paid rapt attention. He fed the hungry, gave drink to the thirsty and liberated the captive.

This story is about my little brother, Daniel. One day, when our family was driving through a storm, our big brothers told us that a car was a safe place to be during a thunder-and-lightning storm because it has rubber tires. Tyler, 10, trying to help Daniel not be afraid, told him that if the rubber tires would keep us safe, maybe the thick rubber on the bottom of Daniel’s shoes would also help him to be safe.
One night, Daniel, I, Mom, and two of Mom’s friends—Sister Bowen and Sister Eyring—were together when it suddenly started to rain. The rain got louder and louder, and there was lots of lightning outside. The thunder was booming very loud. The lights went out, and it was very dark. Mom went to find candles and flashlights. While she was gone, I said a prayer with Daniel to ask Heavenly Father to protect us.
After the prayer, Daniel must have been remembering what Tyler had told him about rubber shoes, because he looked to see if everyone was wearing some. He saw that he was barefoot and begged Mom to bring his rubber shoes. Sister Bowen sat by us and said that Daniel could wear her rubber shoes until Mom found his. Even though they were too big for him, he was glad to have them on. Then he started to cry. He said, “If I’m wearing Sister Bowen’s rubber shoes, then she won’t have any to protect her.” He gave them back to her so that she’d be safe. He told Mom later, “I wanted Sister Bowen to be safe. I had to give her shoes back, because if I was wearing her rubber shoes, she might have got hit by lightning. I didn’t want her to die.”
Mom told us that when we care and sacrifice for others, like Daniel did for Sister Bowen, we are showing that we really are trying to be like Jesus Christ. She said that the best way to be protected is to pray to Heavenly Father, just as Daniel and I had when the lights first went out. We are glad to know that we can pray anytime, anywhere.

After my brother passed away, I made up my mind to quit basketball entirely. There was nothing temporal worth holding on to anymore. We were getting a new Coach, and I rehearsed how to tell him I was done. I was happy I didn’t have to face Coach Hess, who recruited me. I didn’t want him to think he wasted his efforts. Little did I know that the new coach, Ken Wagner, was a conman! When I finally met him, he talked me out of quitting. I will be eternally grateful that he convinced me not to quit. He was an excellent coach and perhaps even a more excellent mentor and father figure. Even these days, he loves to tease me that I was older than him when he coached me, and in return, I tell him he is the best grandpa I could ever ask for! God bless you, Coach, and God bless all the good people I met here.