Gospel Story Finder

My high school graduation was from a small Methodist boarding school in Thomasville, Georgia. I had enjoyed school very much and was hoping to continue my education at Berry College in Rome, Georgia. However, I was facing an uphill struggle to obtain the necessary funds for tuition, books, housing, and other expenses. My parents and family were not in a position to help me, and I made only a limited amount as a waitress during the summer. It was at this time that I received a surprising letter from the Women’s Division of Christian Service of the Methodist church. They offered to put me through college if I would fulfill a two-year mission for them as a teacher after graduation. I was deeply touched and astonished by their offer and wanted very much to accept. A few months earlier this would have seemed like an answer to my prayers, but now I wasn’t so sure.
I thought of every reason why I should accept the offer. My future would be secure, my dreams of a master’s degree in art would be realized, and I could devote my time to studying without having to worry about working. Was there really a difference in serving a mission for the Methodist church instead of the Mormon church? Weren’t they both Christian churches? My friends and teachers were encouraging me to take the offer. Their concern for my future was genuine, and I appreciated their love—I didn’t want to disappoint them. My personal desire to say yes to the Methodist church was strengthened by my fear of facing my friends if I did not.
“How could I turn down this offer?” I asked myself. But a still small voice, much quieter than the voices around me, whispered, “How can you accept it? How can you live a lie?” I realized then that if I accepted I would have to keep secret the fact that it was not the Methodist church I desired to serve. I could not use their support to achieve my goals. They were such wonderful people, so generous in their nature. The voice was right. How could I? I could not. My decision was made, and I had to find the strength to face it no matter how unrealistic it seemed to my friends. I wrote the council and explained that I was a Mormon, and though their offer was something I would never forget, I could not accept it. They answered my letter, expressing appreciation for my honesty with them, and wished me luck in my future endeavors.
Since then, through a lot of hard work and help from many people, I have graduated from Brigham Young University with the art degree I so much wanted. I was privileged to enjoy several teaching assistantships there plus the companionship of some of the greatest people I’ve ever known. When faced with similar decisions since then, I’ve reflected back on this experience of standing against the advice of friends and loved ones and listening instead to the whispering of one small voice that only I could hear. I have learned that no matter how great the problems and pressures or how difficult the decisions, Heavenly Father is always there to guide us.

While the Hendricks family was reuniting in the Salt Lake Valley, the men of Brigham’s return company were still venturing east on the trail. They had been traveling rapidly and were now exhausted and running low on food. Their horses were growing weaker and starting to give out. In the mornings, some animals needed help getting to their feet.37
Amid these difficulties, Brigham remained unsettled about his meeting with Parley.38 Although he had forgiven his fellow apostle and told him to forget the matter, their disagreement revealed a need for clarification—and possibly changes—in how the Church was currently led and organized.
In Joseph’s day, a First Presidency had presided over the Church. After the prophet’s death, however, the First Presidency had been dissolved, leaving the Twelve to preside in its place. According to revelation, the Twelve Apostles formed a quorum equal in authority to the First Presidency. Yet they also had a sacred duty to serve as a traveling council and take the gospel to the world.39 As a quorum, could they adequately fulfill this mandate while still shouldering the duties of the First Presidency?
Brigham had occasionally considered reorganizing the First Presidency, yet he had never thought the time was right. Since leaving the Salt Lake Valley, questions about the future of Church leadership had loomed over him.40 He pondered the matter quietly on the road to Winter Quarters, and more and more he felt the Spirit urging him to act.
One day, while resting beside a river, he turned to Wilford Woodruff and asked if the Church should call members of the Twelve to form a new First Presidency.
Wilford thought it over. Altering the Quorum of the Twelve—a quorum established by revelation—was a serious matter.
“It would require a revelation to change the order of that quorum,” Wilford observed. “Whatever the Lord inspires you to do in this matter, I am with you.”41

The doctor at the army base near Taejon, Korea, looked up at me and smiled. I had been congratulating him and his colleagues on their brilliant management of a carbon monoxide poisoning incident. As Chief of Professional Services for the Surgeon of the U.S. Army and for the United Nations Forces, I had been so impressed by this young doctor’s actions that I came down personally to review the case with him.
In his tent we chatted about the incidence of such poisoning among soldiers. Korean homes are heated with a soft coal, called yantan, which is pressed into large bricks and burned in a stove beneath one corner of the house. Smoke and fumes are ducted through the clay and tile floor to a chimney on the opposite side of the structure, warming the building and its occupants. If a leak develops, carbon monoxide is released into the house.
Often U.S. soldiers would leave their base of assignment, go into a nearby village, get drunk, and fall asleep near a yantan stove. Occasionally they suffered carbon monoxide poisoning and were returned to the base unconscious. In the course of treatment, it was customary to check the alcohol level in their blood.
I asked the doctor what this soldier’s blood-alcohol level had been, and his answer was both startling and satisfying.
“Oh, I didn’t get a blood-alcohol reading on Private Christian,” he said. “He’s a Mormon.”
I pretended not to understand why that would make a difference.
“What’s that got to do with it?” I asked. “This soldier went into town and was found unconscious. How do you know his unconsciousness wasn’t caused by alcoholic intoxication?”
The doctor replied, “Because this is Christian. He never does anything that is not proper and exemplary.”
The doctor explained that nearly everyone on the base knew that Private Christian was a returned missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He had served his mission in Korea, spoke the language, and during his off-duty hours he often went to the village to visit with the people. He had taught some of them about his church, and they had joined. They lived in a small hamlet next to the base but had gone with Christian to religious services in Taejon.
The private had returned home with them Sunday evening and was invited to spend the night. Because he was the honored guest, he was given the place closest to the smoldering yantan. But it was a cold night, and all the openings in the building had been closed. A crack in the floor had not been noticed. As the American soldier slept, he had been overcome by the gases.
With utmost pride I informed my medical colleague that I, too, was Mormon. I marveled that he could have known this young private so well. He replied that he didn’t know many soldiers closely but that Christian’s life was so distinct that it set him apart from all the other men on the base. I have never had the opportunity to meet Brother Christian and can only speculate about the total amount of good he did in an environment that normally draws out the base instincts of men. But I will never forget the impression he made on the doctor who treated him and the example he set for me. He had made proper decisions about many things in life years before being plunged into the challenges of military life, and he had not allowed his environment to deter his power to be good. The other soldiers knew him for what he was—uncompromising. I am sure that many of them carry his example in their memories, even as I do, and I’m grateful to him for letting his light shine.

One way we can share our testimony is to have a nativity in our home so we can spark conversations about the Lord’s birth. Another way is to relate stories like that of John Weightman in The Mansion.

John Weightman was a successful man whose charities brought him attention and renown. One evening, after perusing a pile of newspaper clippings praising him for his generosity, he picked up his Bible. Soon he fell asleep after reading the Savior’s words: “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal” (Matthew 6:19).

As he slept, John found himself in “the heavenly city,” traveling with others as they received their mansions. When the Keeper of the Gate stopped in front of a tiny hut built of cast-off materials, he said to John, “This is your mansion.”

John protested, listing his many public contributions.

“Were not all these carefully recorded on earth where they would add to your credit?” asked the Keeper of the Gate. “You have had your reward for them. Would you be paid twice?”1

During this Christmas season, I hope each of us has the opportunity to give anonymously.

At a recent sacrament meeting, a man came into the chapel and sat down near the entrance. His clothes were untidy; his face was unshaven. He appeared somewhat uncomfortable, and I guessed this was his first visit to our branch. He seemed more interested in the furniture around him than in the meeting. This disappointed me because the talks that day were especially uplifting. When he left before the meeting was over, I followed him out. After a short greeting, I simply asked, “What made you leave?”
After a moment, he replied: “I am a very poor man, and the conditions of my life cause me a lot of suffering. I am looking for sympathy and compassion, and when I heard that good people attend your church, I decided to stop by. But I can see that your church is for the rich, and I probably will not find what I am looking for among those people.”
I was very surprised by his answer. The people in our branch are far from rich, and some of them have struggled with need and poverty for a long time. “What made you think that?” I asked him.
At first, his answer discouraged me. “They are so neatly dressed; they are quiet, and their children smile all of the time. Poor people cannot look so happy and content in this joyless life.” Then I invited him to visit us again and promised that if he would investigate the restored gospel, he would find what he was looking for.
Subsequently, as I reflected on our branch, I realized that the man was right. We truly are not poor people because we do not feel that we are. And although need sometimes knocks at our door, we are at peace. We truly are rich because of our faith in Jesus Christ, our knowledge, our families, and our Church. The Lord has blessed us with the eternal riches of a spiritual rebirth and the promise of a future with Him: “Mine eyes are upon you, and the heavens and the earth are in mine hands, and the riches of eternity are mine to give” (D&C 67:2).

We find one of the most touching stories of sacrifice, faith, and loving charity in the life of Jens Neilson, who was a member of the Willie Handcart Company. Jens, a relatively prosperous Danish farmer, heeded the call to bring his family to Zion. In Iowa he wrote that he had let all of his money go to the Church except enough to buy a handcart and stock it with 15 pounds of belongings per person. Jens wrote, “Obedience is better than sacrifice.” The people for whom Jens was responsible were himself; his wife, Elsie; their six-year-old son, Neils; and a nine-year-old girl, Bodil Mortensen, whom Jens offered to take to Utah. In the early Wyoming blizzard, temperatures plummeted below zero. The Neilsons had consumed their last pound of flour days before, but somehow they made it over the treacherous Rocky Ridge, urged on by their indomitable courage and unconquerable faith. Tragically, 13 of the company died at Rock Creek and were buried in shallow, snow-covered graves—among them, Jens and Elsie’s son, Neils, and young Bodil Mortensen.
President Hinckley describes this portion of the trail as “a trail of tragedy, a trail of faith, a trail of devotion, a trail of consecration, even the consecration of life itself.”
Jens arrived at Rock Creek, 11 miles beyond Rocky Ridge, with both feet frozen. He was unable to walk another step and pleaded with Elsie, “Leave me by the trail in the snow to die, and you go ahead and try to keep up with the company and save your life.” Elsie, with her unfaltering pioneer courage, replied, “Ride, I can’t leave you, I can pull the cart.” Such was the strength and the faith of many pioneer women on the trail.

Talk to career counselors.
School counselors and counselors at job centers have tests and questionnaires that can help you identify your strong points. But these test results can’t measure desire. For example, one young woman had a learning disability that made school difficult. She was told that she would never be able to handle college-level work. She still wanted to attend college, so she arranged for tutors and learned methods of studying that helped her overcome her particular learning problem. She graduated with her college degree and went on to graduate school. She wanted an education badly enough to find ways to reach her goals.

Ben is a great example of helping others and being a blessing in their lives. He looks out for people who are not as popular or don’t feel as involved. He thinks of others more than himself. When Kelon moved into Ben’s ward, Kelon described his life as “nothing but a party” that was going in the wrong direction. He felt empty inside. But because of the examples of his Latter-day Saint friends and particularly that of his best friend, Ben, he saw there was a better way. Ben invited Kelon to participate in Church activities. At those activities Kelon noticed there was something different about the young men there. He wanted to be like them. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew he wanted it. He wanted to be happy like they were.
He prayed to God and knew that he needed to join the Church. Ben baptized his best friend when they were 16. Kelon said of his baptism, “I had finally found peace, and I felt the loving arms of the Savior as I came out of the font. I’m grateful for good friends who live what they believe.”

We all have heroes, particularly when we are young. I was born and grew up in Princeton, New Jersey, in the United States. The most famous sports teams near where we lived were headquartered in New York City. It was the home of three professional baseball teams in those faraway days: the Brooklyn Dodgers, the New York Giants, and the New York Yankees. Philadelphia was even closer to our home and was the home of the Athletics and the Phillies baseball teams. There were many potential baseball heroes for me on those teams.
Joe DiMaggio, who played for the New York Yankees, became my baseball hero. When my brothers and my friends played baseball on the school grounds next to our house, I tried to swing the bat the way I thought Joe DiMaggio did it. That was before the days of television (this is ancient history), so I only had pictures from newspapers to use to copy his swing.
When I was growing up, my father drove me to Yankee Stadium. That was the only time I saw Joe DiMaggio play. As if I am still there, in my mind I can see him swing the bat and see the white baseball fly straight into the stands at center field.
Now, my baseball skills never came close to those of my childhood hero. But the few times I hit a baseball well, I copied the level of his powerful swing as closely as I could.

After the creation of the Come, Follow Me curriculum, I noticed in priests quorum, Sunday School, and seminary that our teachers began to give us more challenges to do things. They especially encouraged us to do missionary work among our nonmember and less-active friends. One week our priests quorum adviser challenged us to pray and ask God how we could reach out to our friends. We all accepted the challenge.
There was a boy at school named Gavin, who wasn’t a member of the Church. We all decided to start being more friendly to him. We started with small things—saying hi to him in the halls and inviting him to hang out. He even came to some Mutual activities with us. I know the Spirit guided us to him because we had prayed.
Most of my friends are on the wrestling team with me, and Gavin decided to join the team. Our team always prays before matches and studies the scriptures together when we travel for tournaments. Gavin started listening in and got really curious. Seeing us do these things together and being able to do them with us made him want to learn more. He started meeting with the missionaries and decided to be baptized.
After he was confirmed, he bore his testimony in sacrament meeting and thanked the boys in the quorum and on the wrestling team. His grandmother had passed away shortly before we started to befriend him, and he said the Spirit he felt when he came to Church activities helped him cope with the loss. We knew of his grandmother’s passing, but we didn’t think much about it until he bore his testimony that day. As I listened to Gavin’s testimony, I realized that God led us to do simple acts of kindness that didn’t take much work for us but that meant the world to him.

President Nelson promised that as we use the correct name of the Church, “we will have the knowledge and power of God” to spread the gospel. Teresa inspired me with her story about what happened when a friend at work asked her about the Church. Following President Nelson’s counsel, Teresa began by sharing the Church’s full name.

“He was interested in the Church,” she told me. “He investigated it for several months and then, miraculously, he was baptized by my son, the bishop. I felt so happy that day, and my family too. The promises are true.”

Elder M. Russell Ballard asked Church members in Argentina to invite someone to come to church before this general conference. Eight-year-old Joshua listened and invited his best friend and his family to an open house at his ward.
That night he kept checking, but his friend did not come. Finally they came, and Joshua ran out to greet them and hugged his friend. They came into the church and met lots of new friends. Elder Ballard said, “It was great to see the faith of this little boy and to know that Primary children can be missionaries too.” (See “Following Up” from the Sunday morning session.)

I heard a funny story about a captain of an aircraft carrier who is trying to navigate his ship during a storm at night. He sees a light in the distance that appears to be heading straight toward him. He shouts to his radio operator, “Tell that oncoming vessel to change course by 20 degrees!”
The radio operator does and waits for a response. “Captain,” he says, “they are telling us to change our course 20 degrees.”
The captain shouts, “Explain to that radio operator that I’m not asking—I’m demanding. Change course!”
The radio operator sends the message, waits for a moment, and then looks up. “Captain,” he says, “they insist that we are the ones who must turn.”
The captain grabs the headset and barks into the microphone, “I don’t know who you are or where you are going but there’s something you ought to know. I’m the captain of a navy aircraft carrier group accompanied by three destroyers, three cruisers, and numerous support vessels. We are proceeding directly towards you and will not change course!”
Through the static the captain hears a reply: “Understood, Captain. But there’s something you ought to know. We are a lighthouse.”

My friends and I were doing a play. There was a girl nobody talked to. My friend said something mean about her, and I did too. I felt really bad about it. The next day my friend made fun of her again. I said, “Maybe she needs a friend.” I went and talked to her. I told her she was doing a good job. She smiled for the rest of practice. I was glad I could make her day a little brighter.
Lauren C., age 11, Utah, USA

When my father left for the war, I was almost seven years old. I couldn’t understand why he went—it had something to do with slaves. I thought about him a lot, mostly at night when the fire crackled on the hearth. Mother would sit in her chair, mending or knitting. We didn’t talk much in the evenings, but I knew she was thinking about him too.
Sometimes I tried to remember what he looked like. I knew he had black hair and strong, thick eyebrows, but maybe that’s because of his picture on the mantel. One thing I remembered for sure was picking plums together.
The meadow had high grass and as soon as we reached the trees, he’d swing me up onto his shoulders. When I think about it really hard, I can still feel his strong hands clasped around my ankles, balancing me. He never dropped me, and I felt safe and really tall up there.
“Pick the juicy ones, Tyler,” he’d laugh. “Make sure they’re firm.”
I’d stretch higher with one hand on his head, jiggling. I’d grab a plum, pull, and then throw it down into mother’s outstretched apron. She’d catch it and laugh. Those were happy times.
Now, after four years, a father I could barely remember was coming home.
It was a bright, sunny morning and I knelt on the soft brown dirt, thinning carrots. Mother was at the washtub behind the house. I pulled a carrot from the ground and drew it through my hand, rubbing off the loose soil. Then I plopped it into a willow basket beside me. Beads of sweat rolled down my face, so I paused to push back my hair.
I glanced once toward the road … then looked again. Can it be my imagination? I wondered. Nowadays hardly anyone comes along our road. I cautiously picked up the basket and, without taking my eyes off the road, headed for the house.
“Mother,” I said quietly. “Someone is coming.” I placed the basket on the bench by the table and nodded toward the road.
She swept her hand across her forehead and placed the other on my shoulder. As the figure drew nearer, she shielded her eyes and squinted into the sun. “Tyler,” she said, “get the rifle.”
I ran into the other room and lifted the rifle down from its place over the fireplace. Mother removed her apron and smoothed her hair. Carefully, I loaded the gun while she went to the window.
“It could be friend or foe,” she said quietly. “These are hard times. Show the rifle, Tyler, but don’t shoot unless need be.”
We walked to the door and my hands began to sweat against the wooden stock of the rifle. I wiped them on my trousers as we stepped out onto the porch. Whoever it was walked with the aid of crutches, and one pant leg was pinned up.
“He’s crippled,” Mother whispered. “Still, be on your guard.”
My heart pounded wildly. The cripple hobbled closer and at last paused at our gate. He stood panting with his head down, and his tattered blue uniform heaved with every gasp for air. Slowly Mother and I walked toward the gate. As we did so, the man raised his head. Tears were streaming down his dust-covered cheeks, and a weary smile lighted his face.
Mother suddenly gasped, then, with a deep sob, she rushed into the man’s outstretched arms. He rocked back and forth on the crutches as they swayed in a close embrace. My mouth dropped open and my grip relaxed as I lowered the heavy rifle to arm’s length.
Mother turned toward me and held out an arm. “Come, Tyler, your father’s home.”
Later that night Father sat in the chair by the fireplace, and Mother sat on a stool near his side. I curled up against the side of the mantelpiece, where I watched him from the shadows. Father’s hair was sprinkled with streaks of silver, and his face was like the rest of him—thin and shrunken. I couldn’t imagine how he had ever been able to swing me up onto his shoulders. And though I am ashamed to admit it, I almost wished he hadn’t come back. I excused myself early and left them to each other.
The following day I went about my usual chores. How can someone have changed so much! I wondered incredulously. Mother and I have gotten along well without him. Now he’s back with crutches and shoulders that droop like an old man’s. I kicked at a clump of dirt and looked up to see him swinging toward me across the grass. He was smiling, palely, weakly.
“Morning, Tyler,” he called.
“Morning, sir,” I mumbled.
He took a deep breath. “You’ve done well,” he said and nodded approval as he surveyed the plot with a sweeping glance. “Now that I’m home, we can grow more.”
I glanced up at him with blazing eyes. A one-legged planter! I thought.
He smiled as he eased himself down onto a fallen log. “Come on, son, sit here. Let’s talk. You and your mother have had a rough time while I was gone. For that, I’m sorry, son,” he began quietly. “Perhaps you don’t understand why I had to leave, but sometimes you have to stand up for what you know is right. Sometimes you have to fight. A lot of men lost their lives; I only lost a leg.” He patted the stump of his leg. “I was lucky. And I’m home now, Tyler. Can’t we be as we were?”
“I don’t even know you anymore!” I replied harshly. “Why did you leave us?”
“To fight for freedom, Tyler.”
“We were free!” I insisted.
“Only when all are free can any be. There were slaves, Tyler—whole families who were owned by other people. No one has the right to own another person. God made us all free, and if we don’t stand up for our brother’s freedom, how can we ever expect him to stand up for ours?”
“You’re not much good at standing now!” I lashed out. Then I saw the hurt in his eyes. I was sorry I had spoken so quickly and without feeling. “Father,” I began.
But he touched my arm and smiled. “It’s all right, Tyler. I know you resent how I look and what I’ve become. It was hard coming home like this, but I am your father and I love you very much. Please try to see beyond what I lack and look instead at what I want to be.”
My chin quivered and I turned abruptly to bury my face in his shoulder. “I do love you, Father,” I sobbed. “And I’m glad you’ve come home.”
“I’m glad too, Tyler. I was away a long time. But my love never changed,” he said.
We sat quietly talking, then Mother called, and he reached for his crutches.
“Here, Father,” I offered, “let me help you.”

Sadness does not come from nothing, nor does it come suddenly or by chance. A short while ago, I felt sad and could not find a reason. When I prayed, I realized the Holy Ghost was trying to warn me that I was not choosing the right. I decided to change my spiritual state. I began to set goals, pray more, and study the Book of Mormon.
Juliana Lazzarotti dos Neves Oliveira, 17,Santa Clara Branch, Coimbra Portugal District

Ann’s parents chose to raise her without religion. Newel had a business mindset. But as they set up house in Kirtland, Ann sensed something missing in their lives. They began looking for a church that followed the gospel as taught by Jesus Christ in the New Testament. For a while they worshipped with Alexander Campbell’s Disciples of Christ.

“One night,” Ann recalled, “… as my husband and I, in our house at Kirtland, were praying to the Father to be shown the way, the Spirit rested upon us and a cloud overshadowed the house. … A solemn awe pervaded us. … We heard a voice … saying, ‘Prepare to receive the word of the Lord, for it is coming.’”

In New York, hundreds of miles away, the Lord told Joseph Smith to send missionaries to preach the gospel. When those missionaries—led by Oliver Cowdery and Parley P. Pratt—preached in Kirtland, Ann listened and later wrote, “I knew it to be the voice of the Good Shepherd.” The witness of the missionaries, other believers like Lucy and Isaac Morley, and most importantly, the Holy Ghost, led them to make sacred covenants. Ann and Newel were baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in November 1830.

Arriving in Kirtland in 1831, Joseph Smith introduced himself to Newel, saying, “I am Joseph, the Prophet. … You have prayed me here.”

Another revelation told the Saints to “go to the Ohio,” where they would receive “a blessing such as is not known among the children of men” (Doctrine and Covenants 39:14–15; see also 37:1).

Joseph and Emma Smith arrived in Kirtland in February 1831, and Newel and Ann took them into their home for a month. Eighteen months later, they again provided a home for Joseph and Emma in their remodeled store.

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

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

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

This was a period of growth for Newel and Ann as they worked together to keep their covenants. Ann wrote about one way they served others:
“According to our Savior’s pattern … , we determined to make a Feast for the Poor … ; the lame, the halt, the deaf, the blind, the aged and infirm.

“This feast lasted three days, during which time all in the vicinity of Kirtland who would come were invited. … To me it was “a feast of fat things” [Isaiah 25:6] indeed; a season of rejoicing never to be forgotten.”

Newel later served as a missionary with Joseph Smith and as a partner in the United Firm, a business cooperative for addressing the needs of the Saints. The proceeds from his store funded much of the Church’s growth in Kirtland and Missouri, and he served the Church in many other ways. Perhaps most importantly, Ann and Newel had 14 children and raised 10 to adulthood.

Others gathered to build the stakes of Zion. The Kimballs, Youngs, Crosbys, Tippets, and many more were trying to center their lives on the gospel of Jesus Christ. Each brought energy and specific talents. Early revelations guided, rebuked, and reassured them and directed the expanding Church.

For the early members of the Church, on a collective and an individual level, receiving the promised endowment of power was the center of their temporal and spiritual striving (see Doctrine and Covenants 38:32).

The Lord repeatedly commanded the building of temples in Kirtland and Missouri. In Kirtland, the Saints succeeded with heroic effort to raise a remarkable building. It was their best effort to build something worthy of the Lord Jesus Christ. The temple still stands today. Newel’s store, along with his nearby ashery, were essential parts of the economy in Kirtland that supported the temple project.

In 1836, the Savior appeared in the temple and accepted their efforts. He promised that His people “shall greatly rejoice in consequence of the blessings which shall be poured out, and the endowment with which my servants have been endowed in this house” (Doctrine and Covenants 110:9). Then Moses, Elias, and Elijah came and conferred keys critical to the last dispensation (see Doctrine and Covenants 110:11–16).

The coming days would try the Saints, including the Whitneys. In a nationwide economic downturn and banking panic, many turned against the Church and the Prophet. Commanded to move to Missouri, Newel hesitated. He had poured his life into his store in Kirtland. Much of the wealth it made sustained the Church. How could he just walk away?

The Lord chastised him for paying too much attention to worldly things and for “littleness of soul” (Doctrine and Covenants 117:11). Newel repented and obeyed. He settled in Nauvoo, Illinois, where he continued serving as bishop and later as Presiding Bishop.

In Nauvoo, the temple was again the center of temporal and spiritual activity. As the walls of the temple began to rise, the Lord organized the Relief Society through His prophet. Emma Smith was the first president, and Sarah Cleveland and Ann Whitney were her counselors. Emma delegated important duties to Ann and asked her to lead the organization when she was not there.

The Lord continued to reveal temple ordinances to the Prophet. In 1842, with the Nauvoo Temple still unfinished, Joseph Smith gathered Church leaders, including Newel, in the upper floor of his Red Brick Store and administered the endowment ordinance. When part of the temple—the attic—was dedicated, both Ann and Newel administered the endowment to other Saints before they left for the Salt Lake Valley.

Along the covenant path, Ann and Newel sought the Savior, repented, served wholeheartedly, consecrated, sacrificed, and rejoiced. They came to know Jesus Christ and see themselves as children of the covenant. Millions after them have followed the same pattern to make and live sacred covenants and build the Lord’s kingdom. The effort to know their stories helps us during our seasons of ease and trials.

Near the end of her life, Ann wrote: “To feel you have acquired a little insight into the purposes of God in your creation … can you realize that these things are worth living for, worth suffering for? Can any sacrifice be too great … if we would follow in our Master’s footprints?”

When my family lived in Mesa, Arizona, our one-year-old daughter became ill with viral meningitis. When the doctor diagnosed the illness, he told us that we would know within the next twenty-four hours whether she would live or die. We began to fast and pray for her recovery. She lingered near death for a week, much longer than the doctor had expected in terms of seeing some kind of change.

After that week of struggling, we again fasted, and the ward joined us. When we prayed, fasted, and said to the Lord, “Thy will be done,” a peace as tangible and real as anything we have ever experienced came to our minds. We were not in turmoil, nor were we anxious about the matter. We did not know whether she would live or die, but we were at peace. Happily, she began to recover.

I did not serve a regular mission until we were called to preside in New England. When I was of missionary age, when I was your age, young men could not be called to the mission field. It was World War II, and I spent four years in the military. But I did do missionary work; we did share the gospel. It was my privilege to baptize one of the first two Japanese to join the Church after the mission had been closed 22 years earlier. Brother Elliot Richards baptized Tatsui Sato. I baptized his wife, Chio. And the work in Japan was reopened. We baptized them in a swimming pool amid the rubble of a university that had been destroyed by bombs.

I remember walking home from church alone the day I became a deacon. I didn’t know much about the Holy Ghost then, but He bore witness to me as I walked home that I held the holy priesthood and that it was very important. I’ve never forgotten that.
Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ love you very much. Children are pure and close to Heavenly Father, and you can have incredibly powerful spiritual experiences, just like my experience as a deacon walking down the street. If you will remember these spiritual experiences throughout your lives, they will serve as a very strong foundation for future spiritual growth.