Gospel Story Finder

Dawn could feel that it had snowed during the night even before she pushed the drapes aside to see Gramercy Avenue hung with a new, perfect whiteness. And her anticipation eased only when the icy floor on her bare feet reminded her to start dressing. Putting on everything she could find laying around her room—two blouses, a sweater, two pairs of pants, her brother’s jacket, a scarf, and gloves—Dawn ran down the hall and through the front door, stopping on the porch momentarily to listen to the stillness. She breathed in the sterile, cold air and marveled at the sparkle of the snow-covered street and houses. Then she stepped high through the snow to avoid blurring her footsteps. The maple tree branches hung down, weighted with heavy snow. Cautiously, so as not to disturb the rest of the tree, she licked the pure snow from the tip of one of its branches.
“Hey you! Stop eating that tree!” shouted a deep voice.
Dawn turned and watched Mr. Wallace walk carefully in her footsteps so as not to further disturb the white blanket. He was carrying a snow shovel. The elderly man’s uncovered hair blended with the white snow, but his red face made a marked contrast.
“What’re you going to do with that shovel?” Dawn asked.
“Now, just what do you think?” he replied, scowling good-humoredly at her.
“You wreck everything,” she teased back. “You rake all the autumn leaves into the gutter and take all the snow off the sidewalks.”
He pointed his leather-gloved finger at her. “At least I don’t eat up all the maple trees.”
Suddenly they heard a door open, and Mr. Wallace rolled his black eyes heavenward. “It’s my wife,” he whispered and quickly ducked behind a snow-laden bridal wreath bush. Dawn watched Mrs. Wallace come out onto the porch. She looked around, waved at Dawn, and went back into the house.
“Is she gone?” Mr. Wallace asked hoarsely as he reappeared from behind the bush.
“Yes, but why are you hiding from her?”
“If she caught me out here, she’d skin me,” he said, wiping his gloved hand across his forehead as though he were perspiring. Great puffs of steam punctuated each word.
“Why?” Dawn pursued, tightening her scarf under her chin.
Mr. Wallace came closer and leaned toward her. His great black eyes reminded her of the coal eyes of a snowman. They seemed to laugh even when his face was serious. “She thinks I’m sick,” he half whispered to Dawn.
“Are you sick?” Dawn asked in disbelief. Mr. Wallace was such fun to be with that she didn’t want to even think about anything ever being wrong with him.
He straightened up abruptly. “Do I look sick?”
“You look like always. But Mother says you are getting old.”
“What,” he croaked, “why, I’m only a hundred and seventy-eight.” He laughed and touched Dawn’s cheeks. “Go tell your mother I’m bringing some deer meat over.” He put his hand on Dawn’s back and gently pushed her toward her house.
Dawn was soon sitting on a chair by the stove with her feet on the opened door of the oven. Her mother stood at the counter mixing batter for waffles. “I want to give Mr. Wallace a Christmas present,” Dawn said, holding her hands out to the warm oven.
“What do you want to give him?” asked her mother.
“Something beautiful, like first snowstorms and piles of autumn leaves and maple trees in the spring.”
“We could give him an old leftover moon or something,” her mother suggested, catching her daughter’s playful spirit.
Dawn smiled at her mother and pushed a wisp of hair off her flushed forehead. A drop of melted snow trickled down onto her nose and dropped off the tip. She stared into the oven, thinking about Mr. Wallace and Christmas.
Three days later Dawn awoke to the dripping sound of melting snow outside. The sunlight pierced her drapes to make wet-looking, dreary shadows on the wall. It will be gone by Christmas, she thought, lying still in her bed to prolong the moment of seeing it. Finally she got up, put on her robe, and walked slowly down the hall and into the kitchen where it was still cold. Her mother, wearing a flowered robe like Dawn’s, was taking the frying pan out of the cupboard.
“Good morning,” Dawn said, yawning. “The snow’s melting.”
“I know,” her mother said, so quietly that Dawn had a quick feeling of uneasiness.
“Is something wrong?” she asked as she reached out to touch her mother’s arm.
Her mother turned and looked searchingly at her for a moment. Then she put her arms around Dawn and said evenly, “He died this morning.”
Dawn knew Mother meant Mr. Wallace and shivered in the cold kitchen. She wanted to ask, “When? How? Are you sure?” Anything to know it wasn’t true. But it was true without her accepting it.
“He shoveled the walks only three days ago,” Dawn said feebly. “Everybody’s walks,” she said more desperately. “Farleys’ and Jane’s and Mrs. Boyle’s, the whole block!” she almost shouted.
They were both silent with their own thoughts for a short while. Then Mother said, “Life and death can be beautiful, Dawn, like first snowstorms and piles of autumn leaves and maple trees in spring.” She looked deep into Dawn’s eyes. “Aren’t you willing to accept that?”
Dawn wasn’t sure. She needed more time to think about it, but her mother’s eyes were questioning and Dawn realized she was waiting for an answer. After a few moments of silence it came to her that Mother was right. Finally Dawn nodded her head. “Thanks, Mom,” she said, giving her mother a quick hug. “There is a kind of beauty to death as well as to life.” And for now that was enough.

Three years ago my family and I were sealed in the Orlando Florida Temple. The temple was as white as snow on the outside and I could feel God’s Spirit on the inside. When I was brought into the sealing room, I felt the Spirit so strong that I was trembling! It was good to have my brother there too. I felt so reverent. Now my testimony of the temple is very strong. I know that it is the house of the Lord.Keegan G., age 8, Florida

Have you ever stood on a high cliff with your toes on its edge and your back to the abyss below? In rappelling, even though you are securely connected to a system of strong ropes and equipment that can deliver you to safety, standing on the edge is still heart-racing. Stepping backward off the cliff and swinging into thin air requires trust in an anchor secured to an immovable object. It demands trust in the person who will apply tension to the rope as you descend. And although the equipment provides you with some ability to control your descent, you must have confidence that your partner will not allow you to fall.
I vividly remember rappelling with a group of young women. I was first in the group to go. As I stepped backwards off the cliff, I began to fall without control. Gratefully, the rope jerked and my too-rapid descent was stopped. As I dangled halfway down the jagged rock face, I prayed fervently for whomever or whatever was keeping me from dropping onto the rocks.
Later, I learned that the anchor bolt had not been securely set, and as I stepped off the edge, the person belaying me was jerked on his back and pulled towards the edge of the cliff. Somehow, he wedged his feet against some rocks. Stabilized in that position, he was able to laboriously lower me, hand over hand, with the rope. Although I couldn’t see him, I knew he was working with all his strength to save me. Another friend was at the bottom of the cliff, prepared to catch me if the rope ceased to hold. As I came within reach, he caught my harness and lowered me to the ground.

Set tries to be kind to others, even though people aren’t always kind to him.
“There was a guy at school who had some health problems. Also, his glasses didn’t work very well, and he sometimes bumped into things. One day he fell down, and people made fun of him. I didn’t—I went and helped him up. Soon, he stopped coming to school. I saw him later at his birthday party, and he was in a wheelchair. I tried to help him have a good time at his party. He was my friend.”

Jeffrey Holland, who remarked just two weeks ago of his own unspeakable love for BYU, recounted in a 1987 address something that happened in the early years of the Brigham Young Academy. This remarkable event teaches us about the faith of a young student who was willing to speak of what was surely a prophetic vision and also about the love of the larger Provo community for BYU. As I read this long account, I want you to think of this upper campus as one consisting of the Maeser Building, nearly complete, and several large fruit orchards extending to the mouth of Rock Canyon. Hold that thought. Now, in his talk President Holland had just spoken of Karl Maeser’s last visit to his beloved campus. He then told this story:

Several years after Brother Maeser’s death a proposal was made to construct a memorial building in his name, not downtown on University Avenue but high atop Temple Hill, where a new campus might be built consisting of as many as three or perhaps four buildings someday. The cost would be an astronomical $100,000, but the Maeser Building would be a symbol of the past, a statement of aspiring tradition, an anchor to the university’s future.

In spite of a staggering financial crisis clouding the very future of the university at the time, the faculty and student body took heart that in 1912 the Maeser Building was at least partially complete and the university would give diplomas to its first four-year graduating class. But even as graduation plans were being made, equally urgent plans were underway to sell the remainder of Temple Hill for the development of a new Provo suburb. The university simply had to have the money to survive. Eighteen members were graduating in this first four-year class, but even if the student body tripled in the years ahead, surely there would be more than enough room to accommodate them on the space now occupied by the Maeser, Brimhall, and Grant buildings on our present campus. Yes, the rest of the space on the hill should be sold. The graduation services would conclude with a sales pitch to the community leaders in attendance.

When Alfred Kelly was introduced that morning as the student graduation speaker, he rose and stood absolutely silent for several moments. Some in the audience thought he had lost the power of speech. Slowly he began to speak, explaining that he had been much concerned over his remarks, that he had written several versions and discarded every one of them.

Then, early one morning, he said, with a feeling of desperation regarding his approaching assignment, he walked north from his downtown apartment to where the partially completed Maeser Building stood (as Horace Cummings would later describe it) as an “air castle” come to earth on Temple Hill. He wanted to gain inspiration from this hope of a new campus, but he felt only grim disappointment. The sky was starting to glow from the morning light, but the darkly silhouetted Maeser Building seemed only a symbol of gloom.

Kelly then turned his eyes to view the valley below that was also still in shadow. The light from the rising sun was just beginning to illuminate the western hills back of Utah Lake with an unusual golden glow. As morning came, the light gradually worked down from the hilltops, moved across the valley floor, and slowly advanced to the spot where Kelly stood.

He said he partially closed his eyes as the light approached and was startled by what he could still see. He stood as if transfixed. In the advancing sunlight everything he saw took on the appearance of people, young people about his age moving toward Temple Hill. He saw hundreds of them, thousands of young people coming into view. He knew they were students, he said, because they carried books in their arms as they came.

Then Temple Hill was bathed in sunlight, and the whole of the present campus was illuminated not with one partially completed building, nor with homes in a modern subdivision, but rather with what Kelly described to that graduating class as “temples of learning,” large buildings, beautiful buildings, hundreds of buildings covering the top of that hill and stretching clear to the mouth of Rock Canyon.

The students then entered these temples of learning with their books in hand. As they came out of them, Kelly said their countenances bore smiles of hope and of faith. He observed that they seemed cheerful and very confident. Their walk was light but firm as they again became a part of the sunlight as it moved to the top of Y Mountain, and then they gradually disappeared from view.

Kelly sat down to what was absolutely stone-deaf silence. Not a word was spoken. What about the sales pitch? No one moved or whispered. Then longtime BYU benefactor Jesse Knight jumped to his feet and shouted, “We won’t sell an acre. We won’t sell a single lot.” And he turned to President George Brimhall and pledged several thousand dollars to the future of the university. Soon others stood up and joined in, some offering only a widow’s mite, but all believing in the dream of a Provo schoolboy, all believing in the destiny of a great university which that day had scarcely begun. (See B. F. Larsen, “Fifty Years Ago,” speech given at a BYU Alumni meeting, 25 May 1962, B. F. Larsen biographical file, BYU Archives, pp. 4–5.) [In Holland, “Who We Are,” pp. 24–26]

Even though I had been attending a preschool for three years to help me with my speech problems, when I started kindergarten, my family, friends, and schoolteachers still had a hard time understanding what I was saying. My parents were concerned. My family fasted for me, and my dad gave me a priesthood blessing. My speech didn’t improve overnight, but by the middle of the school year my teacher, my family, and my friends could understand me better. Heavenly Father blessed me and the people who worked with me. I could finally bear my testimony. I still have to take speech classes and work hard, but I know Heavenly Father hears and answers our prayers.

As a young man, I had an opportunity to serve in the U.S. Air Force as a jet-fighter pilot. Each unit in our squadron had a motto that would inspire its efforts. Our unit motto—displayed on the side of our aircraft—was “Return with Honor.” This motto was a constant reminder to us of our determination to return to our home base with honor only after having expended all of our efforts to successfully complete every aspect of our mission.
This same motto, “Return with Honor,” can be applied to each of us in our eternal plan of progression. Having lived with our Heavenly Father and having come to earth life, we must have determination to return with honor to our heavenly home.
How do we return to our Heavenly Father with honor?
Just as aircraft pilots must obey certain rules in order to avoid disaster, there are laws, ordinances, and covenants we must understand and obey as we go through this earthly life—this preparatory period—if we are to reach our goal of eternal life.
The preparatory gospel is that important part of the total gospel plan which gives us an opportunity to prepare ourselves for greater service, the ordinances of the holy temple, and eternal life.
The fourth article of faith outlines the first principles and ordinances of the gospel. They are:
“First, Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; second, Repentance; third, Baptism by immersion for the remission of sins; fourth, Laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
Elder Bruce R. McConkie, a man of great faith, said, “Faith is a gift of God bestowed as a reward for personal righteousness. … The greater the measure of obedience to God’s laws the greater will be the endowment of the [gift of faith]” (Mormon Doctrine, 2d ed. [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1966], p. 264; italics in original).
In other words, obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel is essential to obtain faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.
The Doctrine and Covenants stresses this very important point of obedience in a very simple way. The Lord says: “Keep my commandments continually. … And except thou do this, where I am you cannot come” (D&C 25:15).
The Lord tells us plainly, “If ye love me, keep my commandments” (John 14:15).
In pilot training, we spent hours in a training device that simulated real flight. There an instructor would teach us about emergencies which could occur when flying a jet-fighter at the speed of sound. For each emergency, we were taught the procedures for avoiding disaster. We would practice each procedure over and over so that when a real emergency came, we would have developed what was called an automatic, or conditioned, response. We would know exactly what to do if the fire-warning light lit up or the panel indicated some other technical failure in the airplane. We would even predetermine the safe altitude at which we would bail out if the plane were on fire or out of control.
This training process can be compared to the lessons we learn in our homes and in the quorums of the Aaronic Priesthood—the preparatory period of our lives.
We are here at priesthood meeting this evening to learn those things which are necessary to prepare us to be strong and dedicated priesthood holders. We are preparing ourselves to take on higher laws and covenants such as obedience, sacrifice, service, chastity, and consecration of our time and talents. Why do we do this? We should learn this before we go to the temple, brethren, because afterwards it will help each of us to be valiant missionaries, caring eternal companions, and devoted fathers. We are preparing to return with honor to the presence of our Heavenly Father along with our entire families.
Following is an incident that illustrates what could happen if we do not use this preparatory time wisely.
I had a dear friend, an all-American football player. His team earned the opportunity to play in a New Year’s Day bowl game. Before 100,000 spectators and a large TV audience, his team lost by a huge score. It turned out that he and the other members of his team had not kept the training rules that their coach had tried to teach them. They paid a dear price. They had to live with the consequences of knowing they were not prepared to play the big game; they had to live with the final, very embarrassing score.
Years passed. Two members of this same football team were in my flight-training unit. One was an exemplary, well-disciplined student—a model pilot who had learned his lesson well from the failure in the bowl game.
However, the other friend had not learned to listen to those with more knowledge and more experience. When it came time for him to go to the trainer to learn emergency procedures and to precondition his mental and physical responses so that they would be automatic, even instantaneous, this all-American would put his arm around the instructor and say, “Check me off for three hours of emergency procedure.” Then, instead of training, he would go to the swimming pool, pistol range, or golf course. Later in the training the instructor said to him, “What are you going to do when there is an emergency and you are not prepared?” His answer, “I am never going to bail out; I am never going to have an emergency.” He never learned the emergency procedures which he should have mastered in preparatory training.
A few months later, on an evening mission, fire erupted in the quiet sky over Texas. The fire-warning light lit up. When the plane dropped to 5,000 feet in flames, the young pilot who was with him said, “Let’s get out of here.” And, with centrifugal force pulling against him, the young man who took his training seriously struggled to get out of the airplane and bailed out. His parachute opened at once. And he slammed to the ground. He received serious injuries but survived.
My friend who had not felt the need to train stayed with the airplane and died in the crash. He paid the price for not having learned the lessons that could have saved his life.
When fire-warning lights come on in our lives, our eternal progress may be blocked, the price we pay for neglecting the warning. If we ignore the warning lights in our lives, we may not return with honor.
Fire-warning lights of a personal nature are activated for many reasons. For example, the use of alcohol, tobacco, and drugs should turn on warning lights because, when we choose to use these substances, we become slaves; our agency is limited. We must be prepared with a conditioned response to reject them—they are harmful agents—or we will jeopardize our right to have the Spirit guide us and direct us and our ability to return to our Heavenly Father with honor.
Sometimes choosing good friends is difficult, but the important choices we make in our lives are influenced by our friends. We cannot excuse our conduct because of the actions of our friends or because of the pressure they place upon us.
Do you know how to recognize a true friend? A real friend loves us and protects us.
In recognizing a true friend, we must look for two important elements in that friendship:
A true friend makes it easier for us to live the gospel by being around him.
Similarly, a true friend does not make us choose between his way and the Lord’s way. A true friend will help us return with honor.
By applying these two fundamental principles to our selection of friends, we can determine what kind of friends we will have and what kind of friend we will be.
As Aaronic Priesthood holders, what kind of friend are we? Are we the type of friend who always makes sure that those around us know it will be easier for them to live gospel principles, such as the Word of Wisdom or the law of chastity, when they are with us? Do our friends know that they will never have to choose between what we want them to do and what the Lord would have them do?
There is nothing more heartbreaking to a bishop or a parent than to have a young woman say the young man she loved and trusted most told her that if she really loved him, she would prove it by violating with him sacred laws of morality. May we this evening resolve that when fire-warning lights of this nature come on in our lives, we will have made up our minds to do the right thing—to remember who we are and to act accordingly.
Learning your Aaronic Priesthood responsibilities well is like the experience of a student pilot when he is in the trainer. The Aaronic Priesthood holder should be preconditioned with an automatic response to keep gospel standards. He will know what his response is going to be, and the adversary will not triumph over him because he will have preconditioned himself to keep the commandments even when he is under stress.
I hope that Aaronic Priesthood holders can understand the importance of preparing, blessing, and passing the sacrament to the members of the Church. It is so important that we do so with clean hands and a pure heart. It is so important that the young men with whom we serve in the Aaronic Priesthood know we are doing so worthily and that every member in the congregation can look toward the sacrament table and trust that the members of the priesthood are worthy to perform the ordinances of the Lord.
Each Sunday, as we participate in the sacred ordinance of the sacrament, we promise three things as the blessings over the bread and water are given by a priest. In the prayer, the voice of the priest at the table is for all in the room so that each of us can renew our covenants:
First, we promise that we will always remember our Savior, Jesus Christ, and his atoning sacrifice for us.
Second, we take upon us once again the name of Jesus Christ, allowing us to renew our baptismal covenant.
Third, we promise that we will keep his commandments, renewing our covenants of obedience (see D&C 20:77–79).
If we keep these three promises, we are given one of the greatest blessings that can be bestowed upon us: that we will have his Spirit to be with us always, meaning that we will have the Holy Ghost in our lives to guide us and protect us and direct us each day.
The reason why we come to sacrament meeting each week is to renew these covenants so that we can have his Spirit to be with us and remain on the strait and narrow path that leads us to eternal life—to return with honor (see 2 Ne. 31:17–21).
I have stressed the importance of obedience. However, as important as obedience is, sometimes people are deceived and choose to be selectively obedient. A young man may recognize that he must be obedient, yet selectively do only part of what he is commanded to do.
The Lord tells us in 2 Nephi the following:
“Yea, and there shall be many which shall say: Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die; and it shall be well with us.
“And there shall also be many which shall say: Eat, drink, and be merry; nevertheless, fear God—he will justify in committing a little sin; yea, lie a little, take the advantage of one because of his words, dig a pit for thy neighbor; there is no harm in this; and do all these things, for tomorrow we die; and if it so be that we are guilty, God will beat us with a few stripes, and at last we shall be saved in the kingdom of God” (2 Ne. 28:7–8).
My brethren, this is deception, as the Lord has taught us. Wickedness—not even a little wickedness—never was happiness (see Alma 41:10). And it never will be. Wickedness prevents us from returning with honor to our Father in Heaven.
Remember, the Lord told us: “Keep my commandments continually. … And except thou do this, where I am you cannot come” (D&C 25:15).
Many young men enter the mission field having made great sacrifices. They may have had to postpone athletic, artistic, scholarship, and career plans. There may be great financial sacrifice on the part of the family. They may have even left a young lady whom they loved dearly and whom they may lose to some other young man who comes home from the mission field first.
But no matter how much an individual or family may sacrifice for a mission or anything else, unless missionaries choose obedience, consecrating all of their time, talents, and resources in the service of the Lord while they are in the mission field, they cannot fully realize all the great blessings the Lord has in store for them. But it will be much more effective if they learn to be obedient before they go to the mission field.
In order to return with honor, we need the Spirit of the Holy Ghost to be with us each day. You who hold the Aaronic Priesthood, be obedient and exercise your free agency righteously. Be worthy and be prepared to perform your calling well.
As a father, I put my arms around each of my boys as they left to serve their missions and whispered in their ears, “Return with honor.” I can picture our Father in Heaven putting his arms around each of us as we left his presence and whispering, “Return with honor.”
That we will remember who we are and be obedient to the commandments of the Lord and return with honor into the presence of our Heavenly Father with our families is my prayer, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Miss Walker stood at the front of the classroom beneath a big alphabet poster. “Good morning, class,” she said. “Welcome to kindergarten. We are going to learn so many great things this year! Let’s start by learning how to write the letters A, B, and C.”
The assignment wasn’t easy. I turned to Heather, the girl sitting next to me. “This is so hard,” I said.
Heather looked up and nodded. “It is hard,” she said. “But my teacher at church told me I can ask God for help when things are hard, and He will help me.”
“Church?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I love church. I go every Sunday with my family.”
Heather told me about some of the things she learned at church. She even taught me a song called “Jesus Loves Me.” I loved singing it.
My parents had taught me about Jesus Christ, but my family had never been to church. I wondered why we didn’t go to church like Heather.
On Sunday morning, I woke up and ran into my parents’ room. I jumped on their bed and said happily, “Good morning!”
“Good morning,” Mom and Dad said together.
I decided I should tell my parents what had been on my mind all week.
Rolling over, I looked at Mom. “Why don’t we go to church?”
Mom’s eyes widened. My question surprised her. She was quiet for a few seconds and then said, “Would you like to go to church?”
“Yes, I would!” I said.
“OK. We will go next week,” she promised.
I was so excited that I would be able to go to church like Heather. The next week went by quickly as I counted down the days until Sunday.
When Sunday arrived, I woke up early and put on my white dress with pink flowers and big, puffy sleeves. I only wore it for very special occasions.
In the car I asked, “What church are we going to?”
“The church near our house,” Dad said. “It’s called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
After arriving at the church, we walked into the chapel. Instantly I knew that there was something special about the place. It wasn’t like anyplace I had ever been before.
I learned many new things in Primary. There was so much to remember. I began to feel overwhelmed, just as I had when I learned to write the letters A, B, and C.
My Primary teacher, Sister Anderson, realized how I felt. She gave me a big hug and said, “You have learned a lot today, but for now, all you need to remember is that Jesus loves you.”
Immediately the song that Heather had taught me came to my mind. I felt peace again, and I knew that it was true.
After church, I asked my parents if we could go again next week. They had felt the Spirit strongly too and agreed. After my family and I learned more about Jesus Christ, we were baptized. We have attended church every Sunday since then.
Of all the things I learned that year, the greatest lesson was that Jesus loves me. I am so grateful that Heavenly Father gave me a special friend, Heather, to teach me that church is a place where I can learn about God. And just as I will never forget my ABCs, I will never forget that Jesus loves me.

The first of the events involved a trip to France in the spring of 1994, not long before the 50th anniversary of Operation Overlord that began on June 6, 1944—a day commonly referred to as D-Day, a day in history that we should never forget. Approximately 150,000 men were landed in a single day on the beaches of Normandy using 5,000 ships of every size and nearly 12,000 aircraft. During the next three weeks a total of a million men would funnel across Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno, and Sword Beaches.

The day I spent at Normandy was a cold and dreary day. The clouds hung low in the sky, and the wind caused the waves to crash against the shore—not unlike that day nearly 50 years before. During my short visit I climbed a 100-foot hill that overlooks Omaha Beach to the east and Utah Beach further to the west. From this vantage point, despite the distance of three to 10 miles, you can plainly see both beaches. It was on this point, according to Allied intelligence, that the Germans had placed six 155-mm howitzers. These guns had to be destroyed to prevent them from wreaking havoc on the Americans landing at Omaha Beach and the naval fleet offshore. The task was assigned to Americans of the 2nd Ranger Battalion, which landed below the cliff at what is known as Pointe du Hoc. As these men attempted to scale this cliff, German soldiers hurled grenades and opened fire from their positions of advantage in an effort to repel the attack. Only 90 of the 225 Rangers who began the ascent were able to still bear arms at the end of the climb, but when the fighting was over, Pointe du Hoc was in American hands.

You can get a good view of the geography from the vantage point of that high ground and can easily visualize the thousands of German firing positions that surrounded the area. Standing on that point looking out over those beaches, particularly Omaha Beach, with its wide, soft-sand shoreline, it was difficult to visualize anyone surviving the fields of enemy fire placed in the way. It was humbling to realize that within a few short hours on a single day, within a few hundred yards of where I was standing, more than 12,000 men gave up their lives so that others could live free—others in a future generation that they didn’t even know and would never see. That experience had a deep impact on me. Most of these men were your age or younger. They would never marry, never attend college, never experience the joy of children or grandchildren on their laps, and never see their wives or sweethearts again in this life. They gave their lives in selfless service so that we—and the rest of the world—could have one more opportunity to get it right.

We went to church in Port Harcourt from Omoku, our hometown. It was about two-hour drive. We did this every Sunday until sometime in 2001 when the Port Harcourt West Stake Presidency authorized me and family to stay back and worship in Omoku under the supervision of the Rumueme Ward. We reactivated some members of the Church who resided in our town and surrounding towns, two of whom were old schoolmates at the university. We started worshipping in my one-room apartment and later moved into a three-rooms flat in the city center where, on the 9th of January 2005, the Church was officially organized with me as the first branch president and my wife as first counsellor in the Relief Society. We had 36 members of our branch.

Based on this small success, Elder Lorenzo Snow, who was president of the Church’s missionary work in Italy, Switzerland, and Malta, decided to include India in his jurisdiction. He sent Englishman William Willis to Calcutta and Scotsman Hugh Findlay to Bombay. Willis arrived in Calcutta on Christmas Day of 1851. Findlay arrived in Bombay by March or April 1852.

Initially, Elder Willis had wonderful success. He was greeted well and warmly by six members of the Church. White, the branch president, had left for England, but James Patrick Meik and Matthew McCune had taken up the work and had baptized several others. Meik was constructing a small meetinghouse in the heart of Calcutta. Elder Willis was pleased when representatives of various groups of Indians sought him out and exhibited interest in his message. Before long his ministry took him 20 miles or so beyond Calcutta in several directions. He regularly wrote to Church leaders in Liverpool regarding his successes. In January 1852 he wrote that he was “bounding with grateful emotions” that he had been called to preach the gospel in India (“Letter from Elder William Willis: The Gospel in Calcutta” Millennial Star 14 [15 March 1852]: 91). He began baptizing groups of Indians—all former Christians, mostly Baptists. Four months later, in May 1852, he reported a Church membership of 189. Most of these were native farmers. There were about 19 Caucasians among the group.

Willis’ seeming success and positive reports to England led Elder Snow to carry a positive recommendation to the leading Brethren in Salt Lake City that the East India Mission should be enlarged. On August 28–29, 1852, the Church held a special conference in Salt Lake City. The First Presidency called 108 missionaries to many states and nations. Nine elders were called to India and four were called to Siam (Thailand). They left Salt Lake City in late October and traveled south to San Bernardino by wagon train in a group of almost 40 missionaries. At San Bernardino they sold their wagons and stock and sent their money back home. Then it was on to San Pedro, where they found a small ship to carry them to San Francisco. After several weeks of unsuccessful fund-raising there, the elders were blessed to receive a large contribution from a California member named John M. Horner. They could now continue on to India. They sailed through the Golden Gate on January 28, 1853, and 86 days later arrived at Calcutta. Captain Zenos Winsor and his clipper ship, the Monsoon, had been wonderful hosts.

But on arriving in India the elders faced disappointing news. Elders Willis and Joseph Richards (who had returned to India as a full-time missionary in the summer of 1852), had left Calcutta to preach the gospel at various cities and cantonments up the Ganges basin. By April 1853 they were in the vicinity of Delhi. Furthermore, almost all of the native Indian members in and around Calcutta had already fallen away. There was also an apostasy among the European Saints. Only six or eight members remained of an expected 200.

For the youth of the Utah South Jordan West Stake, youth conference will never be the same again. Neither will the Book of Mormon.
For years, the stake had spent their youth conferences at local water parks or college campuses or going river rafting. Then the leaders planned a Book of Mormon conference.
At first the youth worried that it would be boring. But it didn’t take long to see they were wrong.
“It’s been kind of like living in a really intense movie for three days. I wouldn’t mind doing this every year,” says Ian Jack, 15.
He doesn’t have time to say more. The call to battle sounds. He picks up his foam rubber sword and runs out to join the army, which is acting out the Nephites’ and Lamanites’ last battle. All the youth agree that the battles are a blast.
But battles are just part of the fun. The youth have acted out scenes from the Book of Mormon, built their own wooden tower, and lived through the three days of darkness and destruction preceding Christ’s visit to the Americas.
They saw Abinadi burned at the stake, witnessed an angel appear to Alma the Younger and the sons of Mosiah, and went to battle as the 2,000 stripling warriors.
After each activity the youth gather in discussion groups to talk about what they are learning and feeling about the Book of Mormon.
On the last morning of the conference the youth are given “golden plates” and asked to record their feelings. Most of the youth make commitments to continue their study of the Book of Mormon.
But this time it will be different. They won’t just be reading. They’ll be understanding, feeling—and remembering—the Book of Mormon. Perhaps for the first time.
The plates are buried in a box made of bricks, to be “discovered” at a later time. But the youth have already made the most important discovery. They’ve lived the Book of Mormon, and it was anything but boring.

My father, Kurt, was a young boy in Poland during World War II. Often he felt hungry, cold, and frightened. Then something wonderful happened. His 10-year-old friend Otto Dreger invited him to go to Sunday School with members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In Sunday School, Kurt and Otto learned they were children of God. They sang songs. They learned to pray. Kurt loved the way he felt when he went to church: peaceful and happy. He asked his parents and his sister to go with him. Before long my father and his family were baptized. The gospel of Jesus Christ helped them feel brave through difficult times.

Recognizing the consistent comfort and guidance of the Holy Ghost has always been one of the most tender evidences of God’s love for me. I’ve always felt profound gratitude for the personal guidance I receive from the Holy Ghost. Because of my illness, I had to relearn to do the most simple tasks, and going through that process meant learning to listen in new, important ways. The Holy Ghost helped me with everything from not eating too fast or taking too big a bite when I was relearning to eat to learning whether to push my limit or back off when relearning how to sit or stand up.
The Holy Ghost also taught me to focus on my caregivers rather than my own pain and discomfort. I was regularly prompted to say, “Tell me your story.” The Holy Ghost taught me of the heroism of these hardworking, overworked angels and instructed me to testify to them of God’s love for them and to acknowledge their nobility. Focusing on something besides my own miserable condition was important training to think of others before myself when my personal needs were so huge.
God’s love is evident in the lessons learned in each of our personalized curriculums and His unfailing companionship through them.
The most important lesson I learned was to praise Him: to acknowledge unceasingly that He is good; that He has all knowledge, love, light, and power; and that His perfect plan has power to save His children. I rejoice in being a part of it.
Praise is more than gratitude. It implies trust, a sense of God’s love for us personally, and an acknowledgement of His consistent comfort and guidance. Praise saved me from despair.
Elder Christofferson concludes his talk: “In the end, it is the blessing of a close and abiding relationship with the Father and the Son that we seek. It makes all the difference and is everlastingly worth the cost.”4
Francis Webster, a survivor of the Martin handcart company, expressed it perfectly: “The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay.”5 I am a witness: it is a privilege indeed.
The image of praise in the hymn “Love Divine, All Loves Excelling” expresses my joy that God is my Father, that Jesus Christ is my Savior and Redeemer, and that the Holy Ghost is my teacher and testator—that these three are indeed my truest, most unfailing and faithful Friends.
Finish then, thy new creation; true and spotless let us be.
Let us see thy great salvation perfectly restored in thee.
Changed from glory into glory, till in heav’n we take our place,
Till we cast our crowns before thee, lost in wonder, love and praise.”6
This beautiful hymn is referencing Revelation 4:10–11:
“The [faithful] fall down before him that sat on the throne, and worship him that liveth for ever and ever, and cast their crowns before the throne, saying,
“Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honour and power: for thou has created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”
We receive those crowns by virtue of the perfect obedience and generosity of Jesus Christ. He shared His earned inheritance with us, who could never earn it without Him. How fitting that we should cast those crowns at His feet, in eternal praise for His goodness and the goodness of our great Father, who would allow that perfect Son to suffer all our hard things with us so that He could share celestial glory with us.
I was spared to witness that I’ve learned these things by the power of the Holy Ghost. For this priceless knowledge, I praise the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.
The author lives in Utah.

Isabelle tried to focus on the reason for their journey. They were going to the temple to be sealed as a family! She remembered hearing her parents talk about the beautiful temple in São Paulo ever since she was a little girl. Going there almost seemed like a fairy tale. After all, Isabelle’s family lived in Manaus, deep in the Amazon rainforest, and the temple was more than 2,000 miles (3,219 km) away.
Then President Santiago had planned a six-day trip to get there. More than 100 members had decided to go. “It will be a sacrifice,” Mamãe had told her. “But sacrifice brings blessings.”
Soon the boat reached land. But they still had 1,500 miles (2,414 km) to go. Everyone got on a bus for the rest of the trip. For days, the bus jolted over the rough roads. One time it bounced so hard that the windshield broke! Sometimes they rode through hot, crowded cities. But at least the roads there weren’t so bumpy.
Everyone was always grateful when they stopped at a village or town to eat. They ate at chapels or with Church members along the way. The first night, they arrived so late that Isabelle was afraid that no one would be waiting. “Don’t worry,” Mamãe said with a tired smile. “Look!”
The branch president and Church members were lined up across the road. They held a banner that read “Sacrifice brings blessings.” Isabelle smiled. Mamãe was right!
After three bumpy days, they finally reached São Paulo. Isabelle stood on her seat to get a better view as the bus drove around a curve. Suddenly everyone on the bus burst into cheers. “O templo! O templo!” They could see the tall, thin temple spire rising above rows of palm trees.
Everyone was exhausted, but no one wanted to rest. They wanted to be sealed right away. When it was time for her family to be sealed, Isabelle carefully dressed in white. As she walked into the sealing room, she saw her father beaming. Tears of joy streamed down Mamãe’s face. Their journey had been long and even dangerous. But the sacrifice was worth it, Isabelle thought. She smiled as she took her place to be sealed to her family forever.

You’ve all heard the miracle tales about the young man or woman raised in poverty who overcomes great odds to become a world-class athlete, complete with wealth and fame.
Well, we’ve got a similar story for you, but it starts out even worse and ends up even better. Sound impossible? Read on.
Olivio Gomes Manuel grew up in a small Angolan village. He and his seven brothers and sisters lived in a two-room mud hut with a dirt floor and thatched roof. Plumbing and electricity were unheard of.
When Olivio was nine years old, his country was thrust into an extremely violent civil war in which thousands were murdered or just disappeared. Then, when most of the fighting was over, famine swept through Angola, and thousands more died of starvation. “It was not a good life,” Olivio says, in his very deep, soft voice. Understatement is typical of him.
But Olivio was saved from starvation by his incredible height and agility. He was able to play basketball for food. “God blessed me,” he says.
By the age of eleven, Olivio was six-foot-three. He had been playing professional ball for about two years. “Professional” meant that the company that sponsored his team would sometimes feed him on game days. Some weeks, those were the only full meals Olivio ate.
And the road trips were the best of all—his meals were all taken care of. Olivio played in Nigeria, Algeria, Zaire, and even in Czechoslovakia. “I was there for ten days, and they gave us money for food,” says Olivio. “With this money I bought clothes and shoes for my family. It was difficult to buy clothes in Angola. They were so expensive.”
Olivio had been raised by his parents to be a good Christian, but at times his faith was tried. “If there is a God, how can he let so many people die—so many people suffer?” he asked. Still, Olivio could not deny that God had had a hand in his survival. He felt that he was being prepared for something.
When Olivio was seventeen, he played on a team for the Angloan military. All the boys in the country were required to go into the military for an indefinite amount of time. He also made the national team.
That’s when Olivio began to dream of playing ball in Portugal. He was fluent in Portuguese. (Angola is a former Portuguese colony, and Portuguese is the official language.) And what’s more, Olivio heard that they actually paid professional players salaries in Portugal. He would be able to send money home to his family.
It took Olivio a few years to get a visa to go. But once he arrived in Portugal, it took him only a few days to find a professional team that wanted him. At six-foot-seven, he not only had the stature they were looking for, but he also had the skill.
And it took him only a month to find something else. “I was on the metro, and I saw these two boys—they were only boys, but they were wearing nice suits—and they said they wanted to talk to me, so I said okay.
“They started to teach me the discussions. The Joseph Smith story surprised me, but it felt good. Everything felt good. One week later I went to a conference. I attended the meetings, and afterwards I was baptized. Baptism is for the remission of sins. I was a good guy, but I knew I needed to be baptized.”
Little did Olivio know what that baptism would lead to. When he wasn’t playing basketball, Olivio was at church. “I tried to go to church all the time. Every time I would go, my mind would open up, and I would learn something new. It felt good.”
Then one day, about a year later, one of Olivio’s American teammates said, “Hey—you’re Mormon. Don’t Mormons go on missions? Are you going to quit the team and go too?”
That started Olivio thinking. “The things I learned made sense to me, and I said, ‘Well, if these things come from God. I have to explain them to other people.”
But leaving basketball—that would be tough. Olivio had just made the Portuguese national team, and his professional team had offered him a very lucrative contract—lots of money, a car, and a luxurious apartment.
“It was a difficult decision to leave basketball, so I decided to get my patriarchal blessing. There it said that I was going to serve the Lord, so I decided to do it. God prepared me to come here and find the gospel by giving me these talents to play basketball. I don’t have a problem leaving it to serve him. I think I can help many people.”
And now, Elder Olivio Gomes Manuel, who left northern Portugal almost two years ago to serve in southern Portugal, is helping many people. He’s well known throughout the mission for his good nature and easy smile, his hard work, and his gentle rapport with the people he towers over.
That isn’t the kind of fame that makes you a star on national television—it’s more the kind of fame that makes you a star in the eternities. And while he won’t make lots of money from gigantic contracts and endorsements, he knows that his eternal reward will be far greater.
Still, you see his eyes light up when you put a basketball in his hands on preparation day. Watching him glide around the court, you realize basketball is as natural for him as swimming is to fish. It seems to be what he was made for. Oh, once his mission is over he would like to use basketball to earn a university education. But then he wants to return to Angola “to help the Church and help the people grow there.” Elder Manuel speaks mostly Portuguese now, but he remembers his native language, an African dialect called Quinbondo, and he knows English as well.
Even though the end of this tale is far from written, it’s already a success story as tall as Elder Manuel himself. After all, the richest pro in the world can’t buy his way into heaven. And no matter how many autographs you’ve signed, if your name isn’t written in the book of life, your fame won’t mean a thing.
Elder Manuel has already gained more success than he ever hoped to, and his secret is simple: “I listen to God, and when I do what he says, he blesses me.”

Outside of the airport, a man was waiting with our names and a taxi to take us to the temple where we were going to stay. Before we got there, we stopped by a supermarket to buy some groceries. The following day, my husband received his own endowment, and we did a few more sessions, spending the day at the temple. Then the big day arrived for our family sealing. Everyone there had heard about us and knew what we were there for. On that day we had the temple to ourselves. We got ready, and when we arrived, some missionary couples were there to assist us. When we got to the sealing room, everything was prepared; we were sealed first, and then our two daughters were sealed to us. It was the most wonderful thing, the way that we felt is unexplainable. There was not a dry eye in the room. All the missionaries who were there and the sister who had fed us at the airport was there, and they were all in tears. The Spirit was so strong and was felt by everyone in the room.

I learned this lesson of meeting standards as a teenager.
As a teenager I spent my summers working on my grandfather's ranch in Wyoming. It was a sheep and cattle ranch of more than two thousand acres plus additional rangeland. The ranch operation required a lot of equipment. Since the closest repair center was a long way away through part of the Wyoming Bad Lands my grandfather taught us to carefully maintain the equipment and inspect everything before we left the ranch house. If we had a breakdown, it was usually miles from the ranch house and that meant a long walk. It didn't take long for me to learn the law of consequences. It was always better to avoid the problems than have a long walk. The same is true with the commandments of our Heavenly Father. He can tell the difference between someone who is striving to become like Him[7] and an individual who is pushing the edges but trying to stay just inside the acceptable limits.

Let me share with you the true account of one sister, Ellen Yates from Grantsville, Utah. Early in October, 10 years ago, she kissed her husband, Leon, good-bye as he left to go to work in Salt Lake City. This would be the last time she would see Leon alive. He had a collision with a young man 20 years of age who was late for his first job and had tried to pass a slower vehicle, resulting in a head-on collision that killed them both instantly. Sister Yates said that after two compassionate highway patrolmen told her the news, she plunged into shock and grief.
She records, “As I tried to look ahead in life, all I could see was darkness and pain.” It turned out that her husband’s best friend was the bishop of the young man’s ward. The bishop called Sister Yates and told her that the young man’s mother, Jolayne Willmore, wanted to talk with her. She remembers “being shocked because I was so centered on my grief and pain that I had not even thought about the young man and his family. I suddenly realized that here was a mother who was in as much or more pain than I was. I quickly gave my permission … for a visit.”
When Brother and Sister Willmore arrived, they expressed their great sorrow that their son was responsible for Leon’s death and presented her with a picture of the Savior holding a little girl in His arms. Sister Yates says, “When times become too hard to bear, I look at this picture and remember that Christ knows me personally. He knows my loneliness and my trials.” One scripture that comforts Sister Yates is “Wherefore, be of good cheer, and do not fear, for I the Lord am with you, and will stand by you.”
Each October Sister Yates and Sister Willmore (both of whom are here together in the Conference Center today) go to the temple together and offer thanks for the Atonement of Jesus Christ, for the plan of salvation, for eternal families, and for the covenants that bind together husbands and wives and families on both sides of the veil. Sister Yates concludes, “Through this trial, I have felt the love of my Father in Heaven and my Savior in greater abundance than I had ever felt before.” She testifies that “there is no grief, no pain, no sickness so great that the Atonement of Christ and the love of Christ cannot heal.” What a wonderful example of love and forgiveness these two sisters have demonstrated. It has allowed the Atonement of Jesus Christ to be efficacious in their lives.

I love the hymns that our primary children sing. One of my favorite songs as a child was "Give, Said the Little Stream." The text of this hymn was written in 1860 by Fanny Crosby, one of the most prolific hymnists in recorded history, who composed over 8,000 hymns. Now Fanny had several circumstances that could have prevented her from contributing to society. When she was six weeks old, an inflammation of the eye and its resulting treatment left her blind. Her father passed away when she was only one year old, leaving her mother to find employment in various towns, and leaving some of the care of Fanny to her grandmother. Because she was blind, Fanny did not receive a public education. It wasn't until she was 15 years old that she enrolled in the newly-opened New York Institute for the Blind. She could have been hindered in acquiring knowledge because of her limited access to printed material. Yet Fanny did not let her disability prevent her from helping others. She dedicated her life to serving others, as a poet, hymnist, teacher, lecturer, and provider of assistance for the sick, poor, and needy in blighted neighborhoods and missions.[14]

As a young child, Fanny loved being outdoors where she could feel the sunshine and the wind, and listen to the songs of the birds and the flowing brooks. She would often play "among the shallow streams that fed the Croton River."[15] On long walks her grandmother vividly described nature to her-the shapes and colors of leaves and trees, birdcalls, flowers-so vividly that Fanny could distinguish among them. Fanny experienced firsthand how streams are a life-giving resource, and her Biblical training gave her perspective that "there is something all can give." At age 8 she reflected on her condition:

Oh, what a happy soul I am, Although I cannot see, I am resolved in this world Contented I will be.
How many blessings I enjoy That other people don't! To weep and sigh because I'm blind I cannot nor I won't.[16]

Fanny's love of nature and her optimistic attitude in spite of challenges make the meaning of "Give, Said the Little Stream" more powerful. This hymn teaches us three important messages. First, there is something that all can give. Second, when we give, we lift others. Third, living for God and others will bring such joy that we might be "singing all the day, 'give away, oh, give away.'"